The thing about great adventures is that they are meant to be unexpected. Martin is as sure of that fact as he is of gravity or the principles of the worldwide workers' revolution. Waking up in a strange city of the future isn't the same as being kidnapped, or having dwarves show up unannounced to tea, or finding a treasure map, but it is wonderful all the same. Especially once he pieced together what his older self must be doing there.
The knowledge gives him a near constant thrill of excitement. (Even if it is more of a theory than an indisputable fact. A hypothesis that still needs testing.) Adult Martin would surely be pleased with how nicely he's caught on. Now he just has to continue playing along.
It's fun at first, nodding in mute reply when a few people address him as Moritz, pretending that he's meant to be there, marveling at the cars, marveling at the people, marveling at the shops, marveling at everything really. He couldn't have imagined anything more new and exciting and sinister if he tried for a whole year and he wants to explore as much of it as possible.
It all comes crashing down as soon as he sees a smaller boy -so Soviet and incongruously homelike that it almost physically hurts, intruding on the wonder like a slap interrupting a dream- standing alone on the sidewalk. The boy might as well be a marble statue, absolutely white and still beneath his miniature military overcoat and hat. Before he can think, Martin is already on his way over, calling out in German in an effort to break the spell.
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The knowledge gives him a near constant thrill of excitement. (Even if it is more of a theory than an indisputable fact. A hypothesis that still needs testing.) Adult Martin would surely be pleased with how nicely he's caught on. Now he just has to continue playing along.
It's fun at first, nodding in mute reply when a few people address him as Moritz, pretending that he's meant to be there, marveling at the cars, marveling at the people, marveling at the shops, marveling at everything really. He couldn't have imagined anything more new and exciting and sinister if he tried for a whole year and he wants to explore as much of it as possible.
It all comes crashing down as soon as he sees a smaller boy -so Soviet and incongruously homelike that it almost physically hurts, intruding on the wonder like a slap interrupting a dream- standing alone on the sidewalk. The boy might as well be a marble statue, absolutely white and still beneath his miniature military overcoat and hat. Before he can think, Martin is already on his way over, calling out in German in an effort to break the spell.
"Hey! Are you okay? Are you lost?"