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Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

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There were two sisters of county Clare,
Oh, the wind and rain
One was dark and the other was fair,
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain,

 

‘One was dark and the other was fair.’ Just like Klaus and me. We would have been the most stunning couple. If only he'd loved me.

I loved him, all those years. He knew I did. Stubborn, cold, heartless Klaus. For nearly ten years he was the centre of my existence. Until finally, I knew it had to end.

 

And they both had a love of the miller's son,
Oh, the wind and rain
But he was fond of the fairer one,
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

 

Klaus wasn’t fond of anyone else. It might have been easier if he had been. Rivals can be dealt with. It wasn’t another man. Or even a woman. It was his work. His sense of duty. His work always came first. How do you compete with that?

 

So she pushed her into the river to drown
Oh, the wind and rain
And watched her as she floated down
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

 

Of course, I didn’t push Klaus into a river to drown. No. A bullet at close range was much surer. Who would have thought the English faggot would shoot Iron Klaus? Everyone knew he couldn’t use a gun. Everyone knew he was too honourable to shoot a man as he lay sleeping.

 

And she floated till she came to the miller’s pond
Oh, the wind and rain
Dead on the water like a golden swan
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

 

Klaus looked innocent when he was asleep. That night, he wasn’t asleep any more, he was dead. He still looked innocent. With a wet red flower blooming at the side of his head.

 

And she came to rest on the riverside
Oh, the wind and rain
And her bones were washed by the rolling tide
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

 

Nobody knew I’d been in Bonn that night. My boys all thought I was in Beirut, being wined and dined by old Bakchial. I’d left early, and come to Bonn. Once more, I’d told myself; just once more I’ll try to get through that iron-clad shell around his heart. It was no good. I realised as soon as I arrived, standing outside his apartment, he’d never let me in.

It was his own gun. His magnum. He slept with it under his pillow. I took it out without waking him, and—

They never found his assassin. They never looked in the right place.

 

But the only tune that the fiddle could play was
Oh, the wind and rain
The only tune that the fiddle would play was
Oh, the dreadful wind and rain