Kippe

“Kippe”
Starring Joey Letz, Paul Landers, and Richard Kruspe

Joey’s POV

It had been 20 minutes since Richard left me in the studio alone, off to get more smokes and run whatever other errands he had to. I wasn’t personally working on anything at the moment, so I left the studio to wander around Richard’s huge house. I tried keep away from the bedroom belonging to Richard and Paul, warned by Richard to leave his partner be. Paul was going through a rough time at the moment, detoxing from drugs and alcohol. Stubborn Richard had taken it upon himself to nurse Paul during this difficult time. Despite all of us -- that is, the rest of Rammstein and myself -- telling Richard to place Paul in a proper detox facility.

“I can handle this,” Richard had insisted, though often sporting shaggy hair and a five-day old beard. It was obvious that Richard was neglecting his own personal care to care for his partner Paul, but the stubborn man had reassured us that he was okay. Schneider had butted in when he couldn’t stand it any longer and dragged Richard to a salon to get his hair and nails done, or a facial or a pedicure or whatever else gay men got done in salons. I myself had butted in then and spent all my time with Richard in his studio, working on Emigrate stuff with him, in the hopes that my company and presence would keep Richard from going insane. It all worked, because Richard began to take care of himself again and no longer looked like a sleep-deprived hobo.

During my wandering, I mysteriously found myself outside of Richard’s and Paul’s bedroom, despite Richard not wanting me in that part of the house. But Richard had been gone over an hour by then, and surely someone should check on Paul. I knocked lightly on the door, calling out to Paul. There wasn’t an answer, and putting my ear to the door had revealed no sound coming from inside.

“Hm, must be sleeping,” I muttered to myself. I wandered away and headed to the kitchen, my stomach telling me to make it a sandwich. I was surprised to find Paul sitting at the kitchen table, looking a bit melancholy as he nursed a cup of coffee. “Hey, Paul!” I greeted cheerfully, opening up the fridge to see what I could build a sandwich with.

There was no answer from Paul, which kind of made my stomach drop, and when I followed his stare I realized what he was looking so forlornly at: the liquor cabinet.

He spoke to me in German, of which I only understand very little. I caught the word ‘Schlüssel’ and realized what he was asking for.

“Uh… Richard probably has it with him, sorry,” I replied in English, hoping I’d answered him correctly. I began pulling various deli meats and cheeses out of the refrigerator, drooling thinking of the monster sandwich I was about to devour. Before settling down with my creation, I thought twice about it and cut the giant sandwich in half, offering it to Paul. But he put a hand up to refuse it, going back to his coffee.

Paul began speaking in German again, and the only word I caught was ‘Kippe.’ I wasn’t sure if he was asking for a fag, or calling me one.

I laughed and replied, “I don’t swing that way, Paulie. But I have plenty of fags in my pocket.” I grabbed my pack of smokes and threw it on the table, followed by my lighter.

“Danke,” Paul responded with a laugh. He’d caught my joke, and it was great to see him smile. He shakily reached for the smokes and lit one up. I had to wonder how much coffee he’d had, but then I realized what his shakes were really from.

Richard finally returned, and I smiled as I noticed Richard’s nails beautifully done in silver. He must have taken time to get a manicure. He set his brand new pack of smokes on the table and began speaking to Paul in German. I caught the word ‘ruhe’ and surmised that he believed Paul should be resting.

“Leck mich! Du Scheißt mich an!” Paul blurted. I didn’t get the gist of what he said, but I knew it wasn’t good. I grabbed my smokes and my sandwich and headed back to the -- thankfully -- soundproof studio. Richard was going to kill me for eating in there, but I wasn’t about to bear witness to an argument, even if it was in a language I barely understood.

Once in the studio I played back one of our clips, maniacally chewing on my sandwich. I avoided dropping crumbs though, not wanting to annoy Richard any further. Though when he finally came to join me, he stared at me like I was committing a heinous crime. I paused mid-bite and looked back at Richard. “Sorry,” I apologized, and moved to sit on the nearby sofa instead. He was still staring me down, so I stood up. “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll return to the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” Richard was able to sit down and relax after that, and I left his precious studio with sandwich in hand.

Paul was gone. Off to his room or perhaps off on a run, I didn’t know. But wherever he’d gone, I hoped he was okay.

END.