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Agnes Klemper Blog Entry |
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September 1, 2023, 2:00:06 AM September 1, 2023, 2:00:29 AM 9/1/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Agnes Klemper, hair up (top drawing) and hair down (bottom drawing). She's Georg's wife and Godfrey's mother. She and Georg are deceased by the time of the main story. They're a pretty poor farming family and while Agnes cares greatly for Georg and especially Godfrey, Georg eventually starts drinking and things go terribly downhill in ways I can't get into here. There'll be more about her later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se. Regarding her design, she's meant to look rather thin and worn. TUMBLR EDIT: "Give me that gun, you little piss, or I'll make you regret it even more!" Georg takes a threatening step forward and Godfrey's foot goes back--but aside from that he doesn't budge, and doesn't lower the gun. In a tiny shaking voice, eyes watering, he then says something that confuses the hell out of Georg: "Der Flaschendämon. Let--let him go. I want my Vater back." Georg blinks again, wonders what that means, then immediately stops caring--"Give me that gun, you Schwuchtel, you can't even fire it like a man!"--and he makes a grab but Godfrey jerks back, the barrel swinging. Georg raises his fists and his voice in a fury--"WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU--!!" and hears Agnes, her own voice raised--"Godfrey!"--and Godfrey's wailing voice--"I want my Vater back!"--and then the tiny sober part of his brain remembers, that's right, Godfrey does know how to use the rifle, he taught him, he wanted him to stand up for himself and be a man--right before a brilliant flash blinds him, fire blasts in his chest, and he stumbles backwards, toppling and slamming into the floor. He regains his vision just long enough to see the wide wet eyes of his wife and his son, the rifle barrel smoking, before everything flickers, the darkness rapidly crawls in--like looking down a tunnel again--and instead of red, everything goes black. Agnes Klemper stands frozen in place, battered and bruised, eyes wide. She sees her husband let out one breath and then relax, blood starting to pool on the floor beneath him. His face is oddly surprised. Her own eyes fill up with tears--"Georg--?" she nearly whispers--then another small sound draws her attention. Ten-year-old Godfrey is still standing beside her holding the family rifle--a huge gun about as long as he is tall--Agnes is amazed it didn't knock him over when he fired it. For a brief moment she almost forgot about the third party involved here, the reason they're all currently stuck in this tableau--she has no real idea what triggered this, just that her husband burst into the house with Godfrey in tow, yelling foul names at their son, grabbing the bottle of beer Agnes is accustomed to handing to him, dragging Godfrey up the stairs. Then, the screaming--awful screaming. She'd tried to make herself go up there, help Godfrey, but had been too paralyzed with fear. When Georg had reappeared, she'd finally tried to confront him, her concern for their son overriding her fear--and had ended up knocked down the stairs. A brief bout of kicks and blows followed--she'd never seen Georg so enraged--and then, there was Godfrey, the giant gun in his hands. And then the blast. And now... The rifle jiggles in Godfrey's hands. Agnes notices how badly he's shaking, his eyes wide and wet, as well as his injuries--his eye is blackened and swelling, bruises on his arms, and he's bleeding--and he starts sucking in short sharp breaths. "Vater...?" he says in a small voice. Of course Georg says nothing. Godfrey slowly lowers his arms and his breathing gets more staccato, his eyes flooding. Agnes has seen that look before, on the faces of a few of the hired hands, those who fought in the war. She reaches out and grabs the rifle as Godfrey lets it go, shoving it out of reach, then hurries to wrap her arms around her son as tightly as she can. He doesn't hug her back. "Don't look," she murmurs even though it's a ridiculous request, by now. Godfrey's voice is barely a gasp. "I want...I wanted to get rid of der Flaschendämon. I want my Vater back." He starts shaking like a leaf, small whimpering noises escaping him. Agnes does the only thing she can think of to do, and bustles him out of the room. She sits him in the corner out of view of Georg--very briefly feels him over for any broken bones, she doesn't detect any though the way he's bleeding fills her with dread and nausea--then has to leave him there while she reluctantly returns to her husband's body. Georg's eyes are glazed by now; he's definitely gone. Agnes fights down her own tears--despite what he's done, he was still her husband, and Godfrey's father--and tries to figure out what to do. Normally...Georg would make the decisions. She takes a steadying breath, then heads upstairs. Pulls the sheets from her and Georg's bed, brings them downstairs, puts them on the floor beside him. Briefly breaks down crying and kisses his forehead before pushing on his arm and rolling him over. It's rough going, he's heavier than she is plus he's literal dead weight, yet her adrenaline is still pumping and she's used to hard work; she gets Georg wrapped up in the sheets and ties them around him, trying to ignore the bloodstains. Wipes her eyes, catches her breath, then returns to Godfrey. "Godfrey...?" she says, kneeling in front of him, then grasps his arms firmly and looks in his own glassy eyes. "Götz," she says--her pet name for him, which she hasn't used since he was quite little, as Georg had insisted she needed to stop babying him, let him grow up. Godfrey blinks and his eyes focus on her. "Are you all right?" she asks, even though she knows it's a dumb question--obviously he's not all right. Godfrey swallows and says, "I hurt," then--"Is Vater all right?" Agnes bites her lip--he must be in shock, as she knows he's familiar with the concept of death, he knows what a gun does. And indeed, her lack of response seems to hit him; his eyes well up again and he starts whimpering. "I just want Vater back," he says, and she squeezes his arms again. "I know, Liebe, but I need your help. You're a big boy, ja?--you're the man of the house now. I need you to be brave and strong. Can you do that for me...?" Godfrey shakes and cries for another moment--he presses his hands to his eyes and whines--yet then lowers them and nods through his tears. "Good boy," Agnes says, swallowing her own tears, and adds, "Fetch the wheelbarrow and the shovels from the shed, bitte, and bring them to the door, then wait for me, ja--? Good Götz." Godfrey obeys, standing up with a grimace, then limping off outside. Agnes allows herself a moment to quietly sob before the soft call, "Mutter...?" draws her attention, and she calls Godfrey back in. He's still tearful, but lucid; she has him follow her back, and they stand for a moment staring down at the bloodstain on the floor and the still shape wrapped in the sheets. Everything's changed; everything will be different now. Agnes and Godfrey struggle to carry Georg's body out to the wheelbarrow. They take the shovels and head into the woods, sometimes pushing, sometimes pulling; they clamber over rocks and roots for a while before Agnes pants, "Stop--here. Right here," and they halt the wheelbarrow beneath an especially large oak tree. Agnes knows this spot, knows Georg would occasionally come out here to be alone with a view of his fields; in the absence of a proper burial plot it seems suitable. She searches a bit more and locates an especially good area shielded by a big root, and she and Godfrey get out the shovels and begin digging. It's slow going, as she's a woman and he's a child and both of them are sore and battered; a few times she coaxes Godfrey into resting, and continues digging on her own while he sits and sniffles and rubs at his eyes. He always returns to digging, though--"You said I'm the man of the house now," he mumbles through his tears--and finally, between the two of them, they dig a hole deep enough. It's a physical and an emotional struggle getting Georg's body into it, and they both cry as they shovel the earth back in; Godfrey ends up sitting huddled atop the root, hugging his knees and weeping, while Agnes finishes the job, her own eyes streaming. She finds a few sticks and lashes them together in the rough shape of a Todesrune or death rune, planting it firmly in the soil; Georg believed in the old gods and spirits, so this symbol seems more fitting than a cross. Godfrey climbs down and she puts her arm around his shoulders as they stare mutely at the grave for a little while before slowly heading back home. Agnes pumps water from the well, heats it, carries it to the tub and pours it in, over and over, then has Godfrey undress and climb in. She gives him a bit of privacy, then returns with a small container of salve. She starts with alarm on seeing the color the water has gone in her absence; Godfrey hangs his head, seeming ashamed of the bloody shade. "Quick, out, wrap yourself up," Agnes urges, giving him a towel, and he obeys; she instructs him to take a moment to check himself over while she drains the tub, and "Let me know if...if the bleeding's stopped." She empties the tub, fetches a smaller basin, again fills it with water, crying softly to herself--"Why, why did you do this?--to your own son?--this isn't who you were, why?"--then calls Godfrey back; he shakes his head when she asks if he's still bleeding, and she lets out a breath and has him sit. He winces and whimpers a little as she applies salve to his cuts and abrasions; as she's tending to his swollen eye, he peers at her and says in a small voice, "I'm sorry." Agnes: *furrowing brow* "What for?" Godfrey: "I'm supposed to protect you. I'm sorry I didn't." Agnes: *eyes fill with tears; takes a breath* "Oh...Götz." *wipes eyes* "I'm the one who should've protected you...I'm sorry." *voice cracks; wraps her arms around him, crying* "I'm so sorry, Götz. I'm so sorry." After she tends to both their wounds, Agnes puts Godfrey to bed, but stays beside him through the night, gently stroking his head when he whimpers in his sleep. She dozes only fitfully; after this night she knows things are only going to be more difficult. Despite his abuse, Georg was still the breadwinner, the one who kept everything running, and now they need to learn how to make their way in the world without him. Agnes's head is full of thoughts and plans and worries. She's not sure if they'll be able to make it, but for her Götz, she has to try. Early the next morning, before dawn, she murmurs for Godfrey to sleep in just a bit--a very rare treat, he deserves it--and goes downstairs. Makes him a meal for when he wakes, takes some money out of the small emergency stash Georg always kept, and heads out. She makes the long trek to the nearest neighboring farm. The woman of the house gasps a little on seeing her, but calls her husband when Agnes asks to speak with him. He, too, blinks at her battered appearance but says nothing as she asks if he can help them just a little on their farm, she'll pay him if he can. "Where's Herr Klemper...?" he asks, confused; Agnes swallows and says there was an accident with the family gun, and now she and Godfrey are on their own. It's not that big a lie. The looks on the other couple's faces make it clear they don't believe it was an "accident"--yet they don't argue. They've seen the bruises on her and Godfrey before. At first the husband says he has his own farm to see to, he's not sure how helpful he can be, but the way Agnes's eyes well up--plus a slight squeeze to his arm by his wife--make him pause, and he finally relents, muttering, "My men and I'll stop by a couple times a week...through the fall...help you get everything in for the winter. And hopefully back on your feet." He adds that she'll still need to hire some itinerant workers, and advises her how best to find them. He shakes his head and waves her away when she tries to offer him some money: "Nein, you'll need that for the Poles. Herr Klemper helped me out a few times...I'll return the favor." Agnes returns home; she and Godfrey do what work they can, then wash, then eat, then retire to bed. The next day Agnes takes Godfrey with her as she walks along the treeline bordering the fields. They locate a group of traveling workers for hire; Agnes hails them, and they approach, though when she tries to offer them work on her farm she realizes none of them understand each other. She's at a loss for what to do until Godfrey tentatively speaks up--she doesn't understand a word of what he says either, though the lead worker starts responding, and they go back and forth a few times. Godfrey peers up at her and murmurs, "I told him we need workers...he says they can come a few times a week starting tomorrow, until they move on. He wants to know how much pay?" Surprised, Agnes names a price, and Godfrey translates. The lead worker whistles through his teeth in a disapproving manner and says something curt; Godfrey replies, the worker purses his lips in thought, then says, "Tak." "I told him we'll offer that money and also room and board," Godfrey says; then, meekly, in response to Agnes's befuddled look, "Did I do bad...?" Agnes gives him a quick hug and a kiss atop his head--"Nein, Liebe, that's just fine, tell them so"--and he does so. The lead worker holds out his hand; Agnes takes it and they shake, then the workers go on their way. Agnes grasps Godfrey's shoulders and looks him in the face. Agnes: "Götz! You understand their language--? You speak it? How? When did this happen?" Godfrey: "When...when I worked in the fields with Vater. He'd talk to them in their own tongue. I listened and I learned some of it. He said...he said it would be useful someday, when I take over the farm." *eyes well up* "Do I have to take over the farm now...? I thought...I thought I'd be a little older, first. I don't know what to do on my own." Agnes: *hugs him* "Sweet Götz...we'll do it together, ja? Until you're old enough. We'll figure it out. Don't you worry. Good boy." The following months are hard ones, even harder than the Klempers are used to...yet with the aid of the neighboring farmers and the itinerant workers, they manage to get the crops in before the snow falls, and make it through the long winter. By the next spring, they've gotten most of their new routine down, and have made or strengthened enough of their local connections to keep their farm running. Georg may have been a brutish insensitive a-hole when drunk, but he made himself useful to enough of the neighbors and workers that they're willing to assist as needed (with proper pay or barter, that is). They never exactly prosper--nobody on these dirt-poor farms way out on the frontier ever does--but they survive. Agnes is skilled at negotiating (her mild temperament goes over much better than Georg's abrasive one), and Godfrey is quite useful as an interpreter as well as a foot messenger between the farms. He hits his growth spurt--it isn't much of one, he never grows especially tall or muscular or even athletic, always keeping his rather slight, androgynous build--yet his persistence, and a stubborn streak inherited from his father, help make up for this. He's not particularly strong, yet he's good at carrying a multitude of things at once, earning the nickname "Packesel" (pack mule/packhorse). Then, Agnes's health takes a turn. She's never been quite hardy; though accustomed to hardship and work, she was somewhat weakened by several unsuccessful pregnancies and by Godfrey's birth, and the past few years of grief, stress, and added labor have worn her down. She falls ill, and soon is bedridden. She feels extreme guilt over being unable to carry her weight any longer, and tries a few times to rally herself back to health, but even standing up and walking more than a few steps proves to be almost more than she can handle; although she tries to eat what Godfrey brings her, she starts wasting away. Despite her guilt, Godfrey insists on her resting, and vows he can do the necessary work without her: "You took care of me, now I take care of you." And he does the best he can. He works the fields and bargains with the workers during the day, and returns to tend to Agnes in the evening, washing and feeding her and murmuring encouragements about how things will be when she gets better. Both of them know this is unlikely to happen...Agnes gets thinner and weaker and more ill every day, yet neither mentions the likeliest outcome. Every night when he puts Agnes to bed he strokes her face and sings the old lullabies she once sang him. He sleeps on the floor at the side of the room in case she needs anything in the night, brings her warm broth and wipes her with a damp cloth in the morning, and kisses her forehead before heading out to the fields. "I wish you didn't have to do this," she murmurs weakly more than once. "I wish you'd had the chance to be a little boy." To which Godfrey always shushes her and strokes her hair and replies, "Don't worry about me. You always looked after me, and now I look after you. Rest now, ja...? And I love you." Agnes always feels even guiltier at this--all she can think of is all the times Georg hit his son, and especially Georg's last awful night alive, what he inflicted on Godfrey then, while Agnes cowered on the stairs, unable to bring herself to stand up to him--yet Godfrey refuses to listen to her protests. He tells her to rest, to have good dreams, to get better, and they'll be fine. Agnes always complies. One morning Godfrey wakes, slips downstairs to fix her some broth, and brings it back up to her, only to notice how still she is. "Mutter...?" he says softly, then again, then touches her face. Her skin is cool. "Mutter...?" Godfrey says one more time, swallowing down a small whimper. He sits by Agnes's bedside for a while, clasping her frail hand, before finally standing and wiping his eyes. Godfrey is thirteen years old, and now he's alone. He doesn't go out to the fields this day. Although he's not hungry, he drinks the broth he'd made, then gathers a few things--the old wheelbarrow, a shovel, twine and wood, a knife, the family rifle and ammunition, a waterskin, a loaf of bread for the long walk. He washes Agnes one last time, dresses her in her nicest dress, puts her little old rosary in her hand; he pulls the corners of the sheets loose from the bed and wraps them up around her, breaking down crying a little when only her head is left visible--gaunt and still, yet peaceful looking for the first time in years--and kisses her forehead, mumbling one last "Schlaf gut, Mutter," before pulling the sheets up over her and tying them tight. Godfrey carries his mother--feather light--down the stairs that Georg had knocked her down a few years ago, out the door, and settles her carefully in the wheelbarrow that had carried Georg's body into the woods. He slings the rifle over his shoulder and starts pushing. He has to wipe his eyes repeatedly throughout the bumpy, twisty trip, finally arriving at the spot below the large root of the oak spreading massive overhead; beside the grave marked with the Todesrune he digs a second, kisses the sheet before gently lowering Agnes into it, then fills it back in. He uses the twine to reinforce the old Todesrune as well as lash together a marker for Agnes's grave--a cross--and with the knife he roughly carves GEORG KLEMPER on the rune and AGNES KLEMPER on the cross. Godfrey then sits for a while between the two markers, hugging his knees and weeping as the shadows start to grow long. As dusk falls he wipes his eyes dry, grasps the wheelbarrow handles, and heads back home. He can smell the smoke long before he sees it. His skin prickles as his ears pick up crackling and creaking noises, and he spots brilliant orange flickers through the trees. He abandons the wheelbarrow and starts pacing briskly, then jogging, then running--he emerges in the clearing where his home is located to find the house engulfed in flames roaring toward the darkening sky. He stares up at the windows to the bedrooms where he and his parents slept, then gasps and steps back--a beam collapses, taking half the roof with it, and the room where Agnes had slept just the night before evaporates into smoke and embers and ashes. After staring mutely for another moment or so--he has no more tears left to cry--Godfrey retreats to the edge of the woods and sits the rest of the night and watches the fire burn itself out, taking his family home with it. He rouses himself from a half-doze after dawn, rubbing the smoke from his bleary eyes. The fire is nothing more than a haze of smoke strands hanging in the ashy air; the big farmhouse is nothing more than a charred beam or two over a stone foundation full of rubble. Godfrey waits a bit longer before venturing gingerly into the ruins, poking here and there with the rifle. He manages to find the area where Georg once stashed away their family papers and the bit of money they owned; wonder of wonders, it's escaped mostly unscathed, and Godfrey takes the papers and bills that are still intact and tucks them in his coat. He searches a little more, picks out a few trinkets of personal rather than monetary value, and, unable to find anything else remaining of any worth, shoulders the gun again and heads back into the woods. He sees no point in contacting the neighbors...it'll just be awkward useless sympathy, and he has nothing left here anyway. Once they find the farm abandoned he's sure someone else will take ownership of the fields, since he and Agnes were the last of their family and there's no one to pass it on to; he's still too young to do it on his own. Rather than be a burden on anyone else, he decides to move on...to what, he doesn't know. After a day of walking (he takes the papers and helmet off a wounded soldier who asks him to shoot him, to which Godfrey obliges) and a night of fitful sleep, Godfrey comes across a group of men listening to someone speak. The man in a helmet and army coat is extolling the virtues of serving the Fatherland in the Heer. Godfrey has no future left following the family tradition of being a farmer...he wonders if this, and his earlier run-in with the dying soldier, is a sign, if a life in the army is what he was meant for. He steps out of the woods and joins the group, listening to the recruiter speak. Some of the details are out of date, but Godfrey Klemper's entry is HERE. Also somewhat outdated, more of Klemper's story is here: Frieder Dasch, Elias Baswitz. [Agnes Klemper 2023 [Friday, September 1, 2023, 2:00:06 AM]] [Agnes Klemper 2023 2 [Friday, September 1, 2023, 2:00:29 AM]] |