"I am very pleased to meet you, Comrade Kuryakin." Despite the anxious, angry way Illya's behavior makes him feel, there's an undeniable pleasure in being able to say that. There they are now. Comrades. Equals. Brothers. Soldiers on the same side in the same glorious fight.
"My name is Martin Rauch. Martin Ingridovitch Rauch."
Another small victory comes with being able to say that. Genosse Hauptmann isn't there to correct him, to make him use his long-dead grandfather's name instead or -worse- make a name up. If he doesn't have a father, he shouldn't have to have a patronymic. Mama is enough for him and ought to be enough for everyone else.
He keeps walking straight ahead, glancing behind every now and then to make sure Illya is still following him. The apartment complex really is quite close and before too long it comes into view, not looming like blocks he's seen in Berlin, but appearing gradually from among the other buildings, as if embarrassed to be there and trying to hide. "There it is. I think I have my own apartment in here."
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"My name is Martin Rauch. Martin Ingridovitch Rauch."
Another small victory comes with being able to say that. Genosse Hauptmann isn't there to correct him, to make him use his long-dead grandfather's name instead or -worse- make a name up. If he doesn't have a father, he shouldn't have to have a patronymic. Mama is enough for him and ought to be enough for everyone else.
He keeps walking straight ahead, glancing behind every now and then to make sure Illya is still following him. The apartment complex really is quite close and before too long it comes into view, not looming like blocks he's seen in Berlin, but appearing gradually from among the other buildings, as if embarrassed to be there and trying to hide. "There it is. I think I have my own apartment in here."