'SEE YOU MORNING' 102 Farewell of Tears

The San Jacinto would gradually fly to low Mars orbit for a trial run before being officially deployed. As the mothership’s speed and altitude steadily increased, all systems were functioning normally. Lübeck felt he could finally leave and rest. In fact, his shift had ended long ago, but as captain, the weight of responsibility rested on his shoulders, and he had to monitor every critical step.

Back in his quarters, Brittany was already asleep. The dim guide light in the room faintly outlined her body lying on the bed. Lübeck took a quick hot shower to wash away the day’s fatigue, then returned to bed, lying beside Brittany. He looked at her cheeks, listened to her calm breathing, and thought about how she had woken up alone that morning and would fall asleep alone that night, with only a brief moment at noon when he had managed to spend time with her. It felt as if the day for both of them had been stolen.

Lübeck placed his hand on her shoulder, gently stroking her skin, her collarbone, her breast, as if to make up for the companionship he owed her.

He wanted to put his arm around her shoulder to help her fall asleep, but worried that his elbow might press against her chest and hinder her breathing. So he moved his hand down to her waist, but then worried his forearm might compress her abdomen as she breathed. Finally, he shifted lower, draping his arm over her hip and thigh, and gently pressed his cheek against her shoulder, breathing in her scent, as if that way he could compensate her with more of his presence even in sleep.

The ship’s bedroom no longer had viewports. This was a warship, and defense came first. The cabin only used simulated light to alternate day and night, so the body’s circadian rhythm wouldn’t be disrupted. Yet this confined space seemed to bring people even closer together.

When you have someone beside you, the beautiful memories of being accompanied by a loved one seem to reappear. It was an autumn day, warm and radiant. The plants in the garden were busy blooming and setting seed, trying to secure their future in the final hours.

Bees and all kinds of insects were also bustling in the brilliant afternoon, attending this last feast, flitting among flowers of different colors.

“Erich,”

In the warm autumn sunlight, her soft call.

“Erich, I’m here.”

Following the voice, Lübeck pushed aside the overgrown mugwort and the purple and yellow flowers. There lay Ruth in the grass, her long skirt tightly wrapping her legs to keep insects away, which only accentuated her slender figure. The fragrant field air was filled with the occasional buzz of insect wings flitting past. Ruth raised her arm to shield her eyes from the sun, and seeing that Lübeck had found her, she said softly,

“Ah, I’m tired. Let me rest a while. You wait here, don’t wander off.” Then she closed her eyes. Beside her lay the basket she always carried on her hip, filled with sweet roots she had dug up, still with soil – some already dry, some still damp. There were also some blackberries, picked with twigs still attached, the kind of snack for children back then.

Lübeck lay down beside her, picked some ripe blackberries, wiped them on his sleeve, and popped them into his mouth. As he savored the faint sweet-sour taste, he gazed up at the drifting white clouds in the blue sky. A gentle breeze carried the warm, fresh scent of the meadow into his nostrils, mingled with Ruth’s scent. It seemed that, beside her, little Lübeck could always be so carefree.

On a rainy night, Lübeck carried his suitcase along the street leading to the San Diego Naval Base. The deserted street was filled only with the crackling sound of raindrops hitting the ground. Scattered streetlights dimly lit the puddles on the road. Amid the rain-blurred vision, Ruth’s face at their parting still lingered before Lübeck’s eyes, blending with the rainy night scene and gradually fading.

“Erich, don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll wait for you to come back…”

Her final, unfinished words of parting, carrying her longing, seemed to follow Lübeck’s footsteps across the ends of the earth.

The blood and fire of war might make a man grow up, but the test of life and death makes one understand what is truly precious in one’s own life. Ruth, back at home, on a tranquil night, lay prone on the bed, her cheek pressed against the sheet. Her loose hair could not hide her thinness; her sunken eyes were closed in deep sleep.

The pale light of dawn filtered through the curtain, outlining her cheek. Lübeck could not help but think of that face that had accompanied him as he grew up through the years. How he longed to see Ruth open her eyes again, to feel her tender, caring gaze once more, to see if there was any sadness in her eyes over the years that he needed to compensate for. But he did not want to disturb her, in this pre-dawn moment after his return.

The longing and concern of separation, the companionship and gratitude of years – in that moment they turned into hot tears that burst from his eyes and fell onto the floor.

“Erich.”

“Erich.”

“Erich, wake up.”

Lübeck slowly opened his eyes. She was leaning over him. She had big brown‑green eyes and short blond hair. She was not Ruth, but Brittany.

She gently wiped the tears from the corners of Lübeck’s eyes and asked with concern,

“What’s wrong? Erich?” As she asked, she fluttered her big eyes, repeatedly watching his reaction, and her chest swayed before him with her movements.

For some reason, this scene suddenly gave Lübeck the feeling of a familiar harbor – a shelter from the wind, a place to rest his momentary fatigue, to repair his fleeting vulnerability.

He wrapped his arms around Brittany’s back, gently drew her toward himself, and buried his face in her chest, still wet with cold tears. As he breathed, he recalled the scene just before – it felt as if he had dreamed a long dream, as if he had been busy all night.

Brittany supported herself with one hand and stroked Lübeck’s head with the other, looking down at him.

“What’s the matter, my little baby?”

Lübeck buried his head in her embrace, turned his face, and burrowed deeper. He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth turned up – perhaps in self‑mockery.

“Did you have a dream? What was so sad?”

Lübeck gently caressed Brittany’s back, turned his head, and lightly kissed her breast with his lips. Still he said nothing.

After a moment of silence, Brittany asked softly again,

“Was it about her?”

“Yes. Don’t mind it.”

This time Brittany did not reply either, just stroked his head. After a while she said,

“I don’t mind. But please, don’t be sad because of her all the time, okay?”

“Yes,” Lübeck looked up at Brittany’s big eyes and answered softly. Then he asked,

“Have you been awake long?”

“For a while.”

“So what was I like just now? You must laugh at me.” As he spoke, Lübeck put his arm around her waist, laid her flat beside him, and pulled her into his embrace. After all, he didn’t want to show too much vulnerability. As a man, he still needed to be someone Brittany could lean on.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not good enough, and that’s why you always think of her.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault for not clearing my memory,” Lübeck hurriedly explained.

“Oh, then let me clear it for you, shall I? Do you need that?” Brittany turned over, draped her leg over Lübeck’s body, and said with feigned seductiveness.

Lübeck smiled, one arm around her waist, the other stroking her hip, looking into her eyes, saying nothing.

“Oh, you don’t want me to erase her from your memory? Then add me to your memory of her, okay? So that later you’ll never be able to tell me apart from her.” Brittany spoke in a slightly annoyed tone, lying on top of Lübeck, one hand on his chest, the other pinching his chin, demanding coquettishly.

“Okay.”