The Broken Penny

by Julian Symons

  Arbitzer came down the steps of the house. Two guards were holding his arms, but he shook them off with a gesture that held authority and advanced slowly toward the car. Peplov said something to the other officer and began to walk toward Arbitzer with his quick, nervous step. Now Garden glanced sideways and saw that Granz had the rifle to his shoulder and was looking gravely downward along the barrel.

  Peplov came into the floodlit area.

  Granz’s face above the rifle butt cradled in his shoulder was serene and almost compassionate.

  Arbitzer stood still, waiting for the other to come to him. One hand was in his pocket, the other at his side. He appeared perfectly at ease.

  Peplov came forward, head bent down a little, thoughtfully, his walk plebeian and ungraceful. The two men were perhaps six feet from each other when Granz fired. Arbitzer spun round, crumpled slowly to the ground.

  In a voice he did not recognise as his own Garden cried, ‘Theo’, but Granz, bent low, was running now over the roof. Garden stayed a moment looking down at the street that was filled again with hurrying figures. Arbitzer lay on the ground, unmoving. Peplov and two other men knelt by his side. Some of the police were rapping on the doors of houses. Others were firing wildly into the air. Garden realised that they had little idea where the shot had come from, but even as he thought this Peplov said something to a man beside him, an order was shouted and the floodlight began to play over the houses. Ilona’s voice called him. Garden ran.

  It was almost as easy as Granz had said, although he slipped a little on the roof. He heard Ilona’s voice again saying, ‘Are you there? Why don’t you answer?’ Then he was by her side and had taken her hand. Beyond her loomed the shape of the fire escape. ‘The others went on. Why were you so long? Why are you trembling? Where is Jacob?’

  ‘Later.’ He pushed her toward the fire escape and they began to go down. The descent seemed endless. and although they went as quietly as possible, the clatter of their shoes upon iron seemed tremendously loud. At last they reached the bottom – and saw nothing. In this narrow back street there were no lights, and darkness was complete. Garden heard footsteps approaching with something decisive about their even beat. They edged along a wall, turned a corner, found a doorway and crouched inside it. Just beside them something moaned. The footsteps came closer. Garden put a hand over the girl’s mouth and held his breath. Her hand clutched his. There was another moan. The steps came closer. A fork of light stabbed at the bottom of the fire escape, ran quickly along the wall revealing a man in police uniform lying in the gutter not two yards away from them. He stirred as the light flashed on him, and moaned again. The light moved on, picked them out in the doorway and disappeared. Milo’s voice said, ‘You’ve been long enough. Over the road. They’re waiting.’

  Ilona asked, ‘Who is that man?’

  ‘Guard. They’ve got one or two men along the back here. I’ve been on guard for the last five minutes.’ Milo chuckled. ‘Now over the road, quick.’

  He took their arms and they hurried through the darkness, in which the little man seemed able to see without difficulty. They slithered down an embankment. Garden heard the slap of water on stone. ‘To the right, under the bridge,’ Milo said, and then, ‘Here’. In the prevailing blackness something was a deeper black. Garden put out his hand and touched rough stonework. Milo said, ‘This way,’ his feet crunched on shingle and he stepped into the boat. They began to move, although Garden could not hear the splash of oars, nor distinguish any of the other people in the boat. No word was spoken until after what seemed a long time but was perhaps only five minutes, they clambered up the ladder of the People’s Pride. Here too nothing was said as they went down a narrow companionway and entered a small cabin with a smell of mingled engine oil and garlic. Now, at last out of the moleskin dark, they stood and blinked at each other beneath a lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Granz still held the rifle. Milo had the happy smile of a conjurer who has brought off a difficult trick with particular neatness. The girl rubbed thoughtfully at a smear of dirt on her cheek and looked from one to another of them like a child who fears to ask a question. Garden caught sight of his reflection in a bit of cracked glass, and was shocked by the deep lines on his forehead, the weariness that showed in his faded blue eyes.

  The girl said it at last, timidly, ‘Jacob?’

  Milo shrugged his shoulders, Granz stood perfectly still, holding the rifle. Garden told her.

  ‘But why?’ she asked, turning from one of them to the other. A tear ran, as if by accident, down her cheek. She brushed it away fiercely, and the smudge of dirt lengthened. ‘Do you understand?’ she asked Milo.

  ‘I am not a politician. Of politicians I can believe anything.’

  She turned to Garden, ‘Do you? Couldn’t you have stopped him?’

  ‘I could have knocked his arm but I thought he was shooting at Peplov. Oh, no, he got the man he meant to shoot, don’t imagine anything else. At the time I didn’t understand, but now I know why he did it.’

  ‘Would you have done it?’ She turned straight at Garden, as though much depended on his answer. And what did depend on it, he thought? Why nothing, nothing at all. Somewhere below them engines began to throb, voices murmured indistinctly. Milo undid the high neck of his jacket, pushed his cap to the back of his head, sat down and stretched out his legs.

  ‘I don’t know. A few years ago I would have done it, yes, certainly. Today, perhaps, if I were in Theo’s position – I don’t know, I can’t tell you.’

  ‘But why, why?’

  Garden waited for Granz to speak, but he stood in the little cabin, about which there was now a sense of movement, like a man made from wood. ‘I can tell you why Theo shot. Jacob was going to give himself up, he would have been put through the farce of a public trial, he would have confessed whatever they wanted. Don’t argue about it, that is what would have happened. Perhaps Jacob thought he was saving us, perhaps he really believed Katerina was still alive and thought he might see her again; perhaps he simply did not care any more. But what Theo thought of was the effect of such a trial. To us it would be a farce, but people outside this country would say, “There is something in it, perhaps.” And inside the country – cannot you imagine the effect of Jacob’s confession that he was linked with foreigners to regain power? Could anything bind the people to a government they hate more surely than the threat of aggression from abroad? Could anything be more certain to ruin the cause?’

  ‘Oh, the cause, the cause,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Are you saying what you think yourself?’

  ‘I am telling you why Theo shot Jacob.’

  ‘And was he right?’ Garden turned away without answering, to touch the arm of an old leather armchair from which a spring ominously protruded, to run his finger along the rough grain of the wood, to peer out of the porthole at darkness. ‘He is a murderer,’ the girl said, with her arms hanging down in just that helpless fashion that Garden remembered from his first sight of her. And now at last Granz moved, putting down the rifle with a great thump in a corner of the cabin, throwing himself into the leather armchair and speaking deliberately.

  ‘You are a fool, little girl. Jacob’s life was over, and he knew it. You saw him yourself, like a man who has lost his senses. If he had been able to think as he used to think, he would never have tried to give himself up.’

  ‘And because he was not very clever, that gave you a right to kill him?’

  ‘Ah, be quiet.’ Granz shook his great head like a pestered bull. ‘Do you suppose I enjoyed it? Where’s the captain? And what are you doing here?’ he asked Milo.

  ‘It’s hot in here.’ The little man took off his black jacket, revealing a gaily coloured shirt and braces. ‘Cigarette?’ They lighted cigarettes. ‘The captain will be here presently. For half an hour he keeps a special look-out, but I think we are safe.’

  ‘What makes you think they won’t realise we are on a boat?’

  Milo chuckled. ‘In a car outside in
the garage they will find food and drink prepared for a journey. In one of the pockets not too obvious, but not too well hidden they will find also a map drawn by me which shows that we are making for the western frontier. They will find a note about the chance of bribing the frontier guards at one of the crossing points. No, I do not think they will suspect that we have gone down the river. We are going to get away by car, that is the idea, but they arrived too early for us. So how have we gone? On foot, in another car, by train? At any rate they will have no doubt that we are making for the western frontier. It is the logical thing to do, and they are very logical people.’ He laughed at the surprise on their faces. ‘You revolutionaries are clumsy conspirators. You need a reactionary to handle things for you.’

  ‘But Sophie knew, except that you tricked her over the time,’ Garden said. The little man nodded. ‘Won’t she tell?’

  ‘Warm in here, but my feet are cold.’ He took off his boots and spoke without looking at them. ‘Sophie was an intelligent woman, but she miscalculated. She thought that if she gave up Arbitzer she would be safe, she could use her little influence. Not so. This thing is too big for little influences. Sophie was finished. She could not have saved me, she could not have saved herself. She would have been off to a labour camp and she would not have liked that.’

  From the other side of the cabin Granz was glaring at him. ‘Say what you mean, man!’

  Milo bent upon Granz the full light of his merry smile. ‘It was an act of mercy you carried out by shooting Arbitzer, was it not? I too have a merciful nature. I saved Sophie from the labour camps.’ He looked reflectively at hands that were remarkably large for so small a man. Garden remembered that single choking scream.

  Was something discernible on Granz’s face besides simple anger, Garden wondered – pity, remorse, a recognition of the power and inhumanity of the forces that had led Sophie Granz and Jacob Arbitzer to almost equally ironical deaths? Or were these merely the thoughts of an inveterate self-deceiver, grown too old and soft for his revolutionary trade? What Granz said certainly contained no hint of pity for the woman who had been his wife. ‘What are you doing here? There was no arrangement that you should come with us.’

  ‘Arrangement, no. But I had made up my mind. I should have been a fool to stay with Sophie. And have I not been useful? Aren’t you glad I came?’ His laughter at sight of Granz’s scowl filled the cabin. ‘I feared you might not be. That is why I didn’t tell you what I meant to do when you questioned my good faith back there. I shall come with you to England.’

  Garden shook his head. ‘I doubt if you would like it there. At the moment it’s hardly the country for a man with your talents.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It is the country – and the time. Ah, hallo there, Captain.’

  The Captain was a villainous-looking figure with a black patch over one eye. He wore a dirty uniform, had a three-day growth of beard and chewed continuously at what was presumably a plug of tobacco. He looked reassuringly like a man who has little use for law and order, as he stared at them all with his one pig eye. ‘Where is the other?’ he asked.

  ‘He could not come,’ said Milo brightly. ‘No doubt you will not be sorry.’

  The Captain spat into the fire. Then he turned round and stood warming his backside at a miserable fire. ‘The money.’

  ‘It is in English pounds. One hundred and sixty.’

  ‘Two hundred.’

  ‘Two hundred was for five. Now we are only four. It is also true, as you know, that the fifth was the most important. The figure should really be one hundred and fifty, perhaps less, but we will say one sixty–’

  The Captain’s face turned red, and he gobbled furiously. ‘Two hundred.’

  Milo smiled up at him. ‘Come now, you are being unreasonable.’

  The Captain gobbled again. ‘You want me to put you ashore, eh?’

  Granz spoke harshly. ‘He is a fool, take no notice of him. Pay the money.’

  Garden got out two of the packets that Arbitzer had given him, and laid them on the table. Captain Kaffel counted the notes carefully. He undid some layers of filthy clothing and came to a belt with a purse in it. He put the notes in the purse. Then, moving with great solemnity, he drew from a cupboard two small medicine glasses, a tooth-glass, two chipped cups and a bottle containing a white liquid which Garden recognised as a national drink, in taste somewhere between vodka and slivovitz. The Captain filled the glasses and the cups, took the larger of the cups for himself, threw its contents down his throat and poured some more. Milo’s technique was similar, although a little less impetuous. Granz drank his medicine glassful in three great gulps, and Garden did the same. The drink was even more powerful than he had remembered. The first gulp made him feel as if the lining of his throat and the inside of his cheeks had been burned rapidly away. The second went down while his throat was still numb, and he felt the full force of it in a prodigious hiccough. The third gulp was comparatively pleasant, but it made him cough. The Captain slapped him on the back and roared with laughter. ‘Englishman, eh? Englishman they’re looking for.’

  ‘Yes.’ There were tears in Garden’s eyes, but good relations seemed to have been established.

  ‘Another drink.’ The white liquid splashed into Garden’s glass. ‘Remember you, fought with you up in Craska. Good days, eh, raiding the villages, always a full stomach, never known anything like them.’ He struck the great mass of clothing with his fist which rebounded as if he had struck a board. ‘Remember me, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ Garden said untruthfully.

  ‘You looked different, younger, but I put two and two together. We all grow older every day, eh?’ The Captain roared with laughter, clinked his cup against Garden’s glass and threw the liquor down his throat again. ‘Listen. We are running into fog, thick. Lucky for you if they are after you, but we must go slow, slow.’ His hand indicated the miserable speed at which they must proceed. ‘We reach Dravina perhaps in early morning. I set you down one mile, two miles this side of it. In Dravina is too dangerous. All right, eh?’ He addressed Garden, who nodded. The little pig eye inspected him critically – or greedily, it was hard to know which. ‘Another thing. Your clothes are too English. I fit you up with real good stuff.’

  ‘Too English!’ Garden stared in surprise at his shabby jacket and trousers.

  ‘You come along with me, I fit you up,’ Captain Kaffel said. There could be no doubt this time about the gloating look with which he gazed at Garden’s sports jacket. It did not seem polite to refuse. Garden went along to the Captain’s cabin and exchanged his jacket, trousers and pullover for a collection of patched and greasy garments of indeterminate colour and purpose. He also, more profitably, exchanged his raincoat for a kind of old duffel coat which, although somewhat filthy and ragged, was at least reasonably warm. The Captain was delighted. He slapped Garden on the back and gave him another drink.

  They returned along the deck, moving through layers of fog that seemed to swathe their bodies and make soundless their passage through the night. At sight of Garden Milo burst out laughing. The Captain was offended. ‘You do not like the clothes, eh?’ he said menacingly.

  Milo went on laughing. ‘I hope you paid him for them, Mr Garden, though truly they are beyond price.’

  The Captain waved a dirty hand. ‘Between friends there is no bargaining. Now I shall lock you in. For your own good. Until the morning.’ The door closed, a key turned in it.

  ‘Rats in a trap,’ said Granz, who had relapsed into gloom. ‘And it is what we deserve. To bring along a girl, what foolishness. She was bad luck.’

  Garden made a gesture of protest, but Ilona stopped him. ‘Let him talk, perhaps it is true. What have I been all through my life but bad luck to myself and others. There were three I loved, Jacob, Katerina and Nicko. Now they are all dead, I am alive. Isn’t that bad luck?’

  ‘I was a fool.’ Granz bent his great black head so that he was looking down at the floor. ‘I should have said “Jacob yes, Charles yes
, others no.” Then if he had not come it would not have mattered. Perhaps he was bad luck too. Now here we are in an old tub travelling with a reactionary aristocrat. What is the point of it all?’

  There was a rosy flush now on Milo’s cheek from close proximity to the fire. ‘The point is to get to Dravina, and then to England. I know a man in Dravina who might help.’ He chuckled. ‘At least he might help me. About the rest of you I don’t know. You, Granz, I think he would draw the line at you.’

  ‘Do you suppose I care? Do you suppose I want help from your sort? I would as soon be dead.’

  Stockinged feet thrust out toward the fire, wholly at his ease, Milo said, ‘Ah yes, that is the sort of help you prefer, isn’t it, the sort you gave to Arbitzer.’

  Granz’s head jerked up. Then he was across the room and like a bull had bowled over Milo and his chair to the floor. His hands were on the little man’s throat, he was muttering inarticulately. With an effort Garden dragged him off. ‘We’re in this together,’ he said. ‘Keep your quarrels until it is finished.’ The schoolmasterish piety of the words sickened him, but what other words were there to use?

  ‘You talk like a fool,’ Granz said. ‘How can it be finished, now, except by our being caught?’

  ‘We may get to England.’

  ‘And what do I care for England, land of bourgeois smugness? Better to die here.’

  ‘Nevertheless some of us would rather live in England.’

  Granz grunted. ‘Very well. But keep him away from me.’

  Milo was smoothing down his hair and rubbing his neck. He did not appear to be hurt. Garden extended his school activities to cover the role of dormitory prefect. ‘We’d better try and get some sleep. There will be work to do tomorrow. Ilona, do you want the chair by the fire or the sofa under the porthole?’

  In a voice barely audible she said, ‘The chair.’

  ‘Good. Milo can have the sofa. Theo, stay where you are.’ Garden turned out the lantern, pushed a small hard chair back against the wall, sat down on it, closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. The chair was very uncomfortable. Images rose before his closed eyes, images that had the delusive clarity of a dream and yet were wholly conscious products of his waking mind. Little Mr Hards leaned over and nipped the waitress’ bottom, three figures, two short and one tall, advanced across the shining tarmac and were replaced by another, a man of medium height with a plump friendly face, who moved with a nervous step across an invisible room. This figure faded and he saw Granz on the roof, rifle at shoulder, looking gravely down the barrel, down, down, down to the street below where – a voice whispered to him. Garden opened his eyes. In the firelight’s flicker he saw Ilona’s fair head near his chair. ‘You jumped,’ she said. ‘What were you thinking about?’