Brothers

Ginger (whose name is something I can't pronounce without spitting) did Fusel a favour.

And Bêbe tells me this whilst rubbing something stinging into my side where the tiny hole is puckered up. She also is dismissive:

"You flower-waving now, Lemur boy?" she asks, as she kneads her antiseptic fingers in (and I get hot-eyed, angry, gritting teeth to stop from crying out).

"The commissar was a braver man than you know," she says, "your Fusel took the easy road."