The Twins. Sheldon Cohen

face. “Nothing,” she said. “I’ll get you your beer.”

      Alfred raised his hands, palm up. “Wait, don’t run away so fast. Cheer up. What’s your name?”

      “Frieda,” she said, not making eye contact.

      “Where are you from?” Alfred inquired in a compassionate tone of voice.

      “I’m from Austria.”

      “I figured that by your accent. How old are you, Frieda?”

      “Twenty.”

      The rapid-fire questions by Alfred would keep her around a bit longer. He liked what he saw, but he sensed some unhappiness. She looked depressed. “Okay, Frieda, my name is Alfred Stegerwald. It’s good to know you, but I think you could use some happy time. I can tell when a woman is down.”

      Frieda looked at Alfred. “Stegerwald,” she said with a mask like face. “I’m fine,” she added.

      They spoke for a few minutes with Alfred doing most of the talking. Back to his jovial and carefree manner, he asked Frieda many questions. She answered in a monotone.

      “I better get you your beer,” she said.

      He watched wide-eyed as Frieda walked away. Her long skirt could not hide her curvaceous body.

      When Werner and their friends arrived, Alfred was half-finished with his beer.

      “Boozing up already? The wedding boy is not supposed to pay,” said Werner.

      “I told the waitress you were coming, and she said she’d run a tab. Drink up, boys. My brother has more money then he knows what to do with.”

      “Yeah, right,” said Werner. He was deep in his own thoughts. He was at the beer hall because he had to be and would try to get his frustration with his own wife out of his mind. Plenty of beer might be a good way to do it.

      Alfred searched the bar with his eyes. When he saw his waitress, he waved his hand. “Frieda,” he called, holding up four fingers.

      “You know her name already?” said Sigmund, Alfred’s barrel-chested boss.

      “You bet I know her name, and her age, too. She’s twenty. She’s from Austria. It never takes me long to learn about a good-looking lady.”

      “You got damn good taste,” said Reinhard, a neighbor and former schoolmate of Alfred’s. He stood a full head taller than his classmate did. Their peers had once deemed them an unusual combination as they walked to school together.

      “She lives in one of the cabins in the back,” said Alfred.

      “I suppose you also got her measurements?” asked Sigmund.

      “He doesn’t have to ask such questions. Lover boy gets the measurements in person,” said Reinhard.

      Frieda returned with the four beers perched on a tray on her right hand, shoulder level, palm up.

      “Thank you, Frieda. My brother here, money bags Werner, gets the bill.”

      With unchanged expression Frieda said, “Here you are gentlemen. Heidi will be your server now.”

      Alfred sat upright. “What? You’re deserting us, Frieda?”

      “I’m off duty now. I only work until 9:00.”

      “But we were just getting to know you. The beer’s gonna turn bitter if you leave,” said Alfred with a wink

      Werner smiled. He knew his notorious, womanizing brother was on the make.

      “As long as you’re off duty, maybe you’d like to join us, Frieda,” said a flirtatious Alfred.

      Frieda stared at Alfred, her eyes like slits. “The boss wouldn’t like that. He says I can’t sit with the customers.”

      “What a narrow-minded man. What about your cabin? Can you sit with the customers there?” asked Alfred.

      Frieda bent over Alfred, cupped her hand over his ear, and whispered, “I can sit with anyone I want in my cabin. I pay rent there. If someone leaves the beer hall, then he isn’t a customer anymore.”

      “Yes,” said Alfred delighted with her sudden change.

      Frieda turned and walked away. She left her apron at the bar, and, just before she left the beer hall, she glanced back and stared at Alfred. Her face had a dual mask: sadness and anger.

      Werner watched this interplay between the attractive waitress and his brother with the knowing smile still on his face. He looked at Alfred. “What the hell was that all about?”

      Sporting a smug smile, Alfred said, “The poor thing has fallen in love. She can’t help it. I have that effect on all women. It’s a curse I must bear,” said Alfred, placing the back of his right hand on his forehead.

      Reinhard told his friend, “Don’t worry. Since I’m a good friend of yours, I’ll be ready to help anytime I can. After all, what are friends for?” Then he added, “Time for a toast. Let’s drink to my crazy friend. He should have such a good marriage that he won’t have to think of the Frieda’s of the world.”

      “I’ll drink to that toast,” said Alfred, “but I need to add something. May I always appreciate a woman with a body and face like Frieda’s, even though I have a good marriage.”

      “Drink up,” said Werner, guzzling his beer.

      They sat there conversing for twenty minutes, and then Alfred said, “This beer is starting to run right through me.” He frowned and added, “And I’m feeling some cramps.” He rose and walked with a hesitant gait. “Save my seat,” he laughed.

      After about fifteen minutes of animated conversation, Werner realized that Alfred was not yet back. “Where the hell is my brother?” he asked, gazing around the beer hall.

      “I bet he’s still pissing from all that beer,” said Reinhard.

      “He said he had some cramps. Maybe he’s working from the other end too,” laughed Sigmund.

      “I better go check. The way he’s been guzzling, for all I know he passed out,” said Werner.

      In the rear of the beer hall were a number of outhouses for the customers to use. Werner passed several cabins on the way. A full moon illuminated the area. He reached the outhouses and checked them all. Alfred was not in any of them. As he started to return, he heard the door of one of the cabins open and saw Alfred walk out. Werner stopped. He realized that his brother had visited Frieda, but he was not surprised. He backed up into the shadows. He froze. He hoped Alfred had not seen him.

      As he stood there watching Alfred leave, his marital situation flooded his brain. He became angry; he thought about the coldness of his wife. His muscles tensed. His fists clenched. He visualized Frieda in her long skirt incapable of hiding her desirable body. His mind’s eye could see her swaying as she walked. His body stirred. Lust began to overwhelm him. He could feel his heart pound and accelerate. He walked toward her cabin, his wide eyes fixed on the unclosed door. He buried every other thought; only one thing was on his mind. He would not take no for an answer. He walked into the unlit room. It was not easy to see, but he could detect Frieda lying in bed. She turned her head and looked at a dim outline of a man silhouetted against the open door. She said nothing as Werner closed the door, darkening the room, and walked toward her.

      Werner returned in fifteen minutes. “Did you get lost?” said Alfred, eyeing his brother with suspicion.

      “Me? Where the hell were you? I thought you fell in. I looked all over for you,” said Werner.

      “You took a world record piss,” said Alfred.

      “Second place,” said Werner. “You got first prize.”

      They changed the subject and stayed until midnight. Werner arrived home and crawled into bed without disturbing his wife. He fell asleep