Paving the New Road

by Sulari Gentill

  Rowland felt a glimmer of hope and with it a rush of blood and strength. Richter was not a young man, and his build was slight…He would need two hands to beat a man to death with the fire iron. He would have to put down the gun and then, Rowland thought, he might have a slim chance.

  With the pistol still aimed, Richter stepped over to the gramophone and reset the record. Once again, Wagner became a backdrop to violence.

  Rowland braced himself…despite his injuries, he was certain he could overcome Richter if the man would just put down the gun.

  But Richter swung the fire iron first with a single hand. The blow was weak but it was well aimed. Rowland cried out in agony as the iron bounced against his broken arm, and he fell back incapacitated by pain. Only then did the tailor place the gun on the card table so that he could grip the rod in both hands. He heaved the fire iron above his head while Rowland lay helpless beneath him. Stasi barked suddenly, and for a breath, the tailor hesitated.

  The shot entered Richter’s back and exploded out of his chest in a bloody splatter. He fell forward onto Rowland.

  Rowland wasn’t sure what had happened. Just faintly over the music, he could hear someone crying—a woman—but it was not Edna. Richter spasmed and gurgled before he fell still. Rowland felt the warm moist spread of the tailor’s blood as it soaked his chest.

  He assumed Richter was dead…he was certainly a dead weight. The body was slippery with blood and Rowland was able to slide out from under it, though the effort was excruciating. As he lay gagging on the floor, he could just make out the figure by the card table. A woman. She held Richter’s gun in both hands.

  “Eva?” he said.

  She looked at him, her eyes wild and glassy. The revolver shook in her hands, but she didn’t let the barrel drop. It was pointed at him now.

  “Eva…no…” Rowland stared at her, confused and finally beaten. A cold certainty that he was about to die pressed heavily on his ribs.

  Eva looked down at the revolver and then back at him. Slowly, gradually she placed the weapon on the card table and then dropped to her knees beside him. At first her lips moved without sound. “Robbie,” she rasped in the end.

  Rowland’s chest heaved, and he realised he’d been holding his breath. “I thought…” He didn’t finish. Eva stroked his face.

  Rowland groaned. “Would you mind turning off that blessed gramophone?” He was beginning to despise Wagner as much as Clyde did.

  Eva did so, switching on a lamp before she returned to him. She was bewildered, crying. She spoke in a stumbling outpour. “The door was not locked and I heard the music so I came in. It was dark, but I saw him hit you…and put down the gun…He was going kill you. There wasn’t time to do anything else…”

  “Eva,” Rowland said as he reached out with his good hand and grabbed hers. “We have to get out of here…We must leave Germany before they—”

  Eva interrupted, distraught. “Mein Gott, I have killed a man. He’ll never be with me now.”

  “Eva,” Rowland said again. “We cannot stay. Herr Richter had powerful friends…”

  Eva stopped crying. She looked at him in horror. “I cannot go. I cannot leave my Wolf. Not now, not ever.”

  “Eva, if he loved you, surely he would marry you,” he said, more harshly than he intended in his desperation to snap her out of her mindless devotion. “He would not let anything stop him.”

  “That is not true!” She turned on him angrily, striking him with her fist. “If it were, you would be married to Millicent Greenway.”

  Rowland pulled away, cursing, not because the blow had of itself been hard but because it had landed on his arm. Eva was immediately sorry.

  “Oh, Robbie…I did not mean to hurt you.”

  Rowland almost laughed. Röhm had broken his arm and burned him, Richter had tried to smash his skull, and Eva was sorry. He tried again to convince her that she should leave with him, begged her to do so, but the girl was resolute. She would not leave her Herr Wolf.

  Rowland dragged himself upright and away from Richter’s body as he tried to think. The SA had intended to kill him. Even with Richter now dead, they needed to leave. But how could he abandon Eva to the consequences of having saved his life? He looked at her. Smeared with blood and tears, she could not even leave the house.

  “Take off your clothes, Eva,” he said.

  She stared at him.

  “Put them into the fire and burn them. Go upstairs to the second floor. The first door on the right is Miss Greenway’s room—her clothes should fit you. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hallway…shower and get dressed. He glanced at her blood-splattered feet. “You’d best take a pair of her shoes, too.”

  “But why?”

  “You’re going to go home and forget you were ever here. You must burn the painting I did of you and deny it ever existed. I don’t know who your Herr Wolf is among the Nazis, but Röhm seemed rather keen to make an improper connection between us.”

  “Gott, meine leiber Gott…What did they make you say?”

  “Nothing, Eva. Really. If you go, they will have no reason to accuse you of anything.”

  Eva looked at the cigarette burns on his chest, visible despite the blood, and hesitated. He followed her gaze, blanching though he knew what was there.

  “I didn’t say anything that could be misconstrued, Eva,” he said again. “You have my word. Nobody need know that we’re anything more than passing acquaintances, or that you were here tonight.”

  “But what about you, Robbie?”

  “All the buildings around here are commercial offices…empty at this time. I’m hoping no one will discover Herr Richter’s body until the morning, when the servants return. When they find him, they will assume I killed him…and with luck, I will be long gone.”

  Eva stared at him mutely.

  “Eva, please, hurry. If you insist on staying, this must be done.”

  She nodded and unbuttoned her dress, letting it drop to the floor, as she stepped out of her slip. Naked, she stoked the fire and threw the garments into the flames. She left Rowland then, to do as he asked.

  Rowland used the back of the armchair to struggle to his feet, and then, staggering over to the front door, he bolted it shut. He made his way back to the drawing room and, with one arm, fumbled with the decanters to pour himself a drink. He drained the glass and resisted the urge to pour a second. He would need his wits about him.

  He coaxed Stasi out from under the couch. The terrier sniffed the body of his master, whining and pawing at the corpse. Rowland felt sick.

  Eva descended the stairs wearing the green-spotted sundress that Edna had last worn when they were at the Starnberger See. Her hair, still wet from bathing, had been pulled into a coif and she’d reapplied her makeup.

  Rowland backed away as she approached him. “Be careful, Eva. You don’t want to soil your clothes again.”

  “But you are so terribly hurt,” she said. “I cannot leave you like this.”

  “The Greenways and Herr Ryan will return in a couple of hours,” Rowland said firmly. “I’ll be all right till then. Will you not change your mind and come with us, Eva? If you don’t wish to go to Australia, I could take you to London or Paris…”

  Eva shook her head. “My place is here with Herr Wolf. I cannot breathe without him.”

  Rowland exhaled. “Then remember, you must never talk of us or Herr Richter. You must deny knowing me other than as a vague acquaintance and you must destroy that painting. Promise me you’ll do that, Eva.”

  Her eyes welled again, but she nodded.

  “Don’t cry,” he said gently.

  “I’ll never see you again.”

  “Not unless things go rather badly from here.” He was aware that he was shivering again. He smiled, not wanting to distress her, lest she try to stay and help him.

 
Stasi whimpered and she looked down at the confused hound who sat by his master’s body.

  “Shall I take him?” she whispered. “May I take him?”

  Rowland hesitated.

  “Please…”

  “If anyone asks, you found him in the street,” Rowland said, relenting. He could feel himself fading and he needed to get Eva away while he still had the strength and will to do so. He motioned towards the hat rack where Richter had always kept the dog’s lead.

  Eva found it, and, coaxing Stasi away from the body, secured it to his collar. Despite everything, her misery seemed to lift with a simple childlike glee that she had a dog of her own.

  Rowland unbolted the door, with a single unsteady hand. “Walk down to Hoffman’s and catch a taxi from there. It will look as though you’ve simply worked rather late.”

  She nodded.

  “Eva.”

  She looked up into his face.

  “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  She smiled. “Pfüat di, Robbie.”

  He locked the door after her and, stumbling to the chair by the fire, collapsed into it to wait.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  DRIVEN UNDERGROUND

  GERMAN COMMUNISTS

  WHOLESALE ARRESTS

  (Australian Cable Service)

  BERLIN, July 30

  In spite of the ferocious measures taken to suppress the Communists, the secret police declare that the movement has only been driven underground and that the Reds are plotting throughout Germany. Stormtroops at Niochsen, in the Ruhr, discovered an organisation with 40,000 to 50,000 members resulting in arrests and seizures of explosives, ammunition and weapons. Thirty were caught practising military exercises and will be charged with high treason.

  —The Cairns Post, 1933

  Milton slipped behind the wheel of the Mercedes and started the engine, screeching away from the parking valet who’d brought the car around.

  Alois Richter had been determined that his young guests should enjoy every minute of the reception, and so had insisted on taking a motor cab back alone to determine what was delaying Robert Negus. When after an hour neither had returned, Joseph Ryan and the Greenway siblings had decided to abandon the ball. Leaving, however, had not been easy. Millicent Greenway had caught the eye of many gentlemen who had done everything civilly possible to prevent her departure.

  In the end, Edna’s concern outweighed any obligation she felt to fulfil the social contract of a full dance card, or be gracious to Richter’s potential clients, and she simply walked out with Clyde and Milton.

  The chauffeur, not expecting to be required for several hours, was nowhere to be found, and so they left without him. In his style, the poet drove without any pretence of patience.

  But as they neared the mansion, Milton slowed suddenly and pulled over. “Isn’t that Eva?” he said, pointing out the figure that hurried down Schellingstrasse. “Good Lord—she’s walking that bloody dog.”

  “Stasi doesn’t walk,” Clyde murmured, twisting to see.

  Edna leaned out of the window and called out.

  Eva stopped. She seemed relieved.

  “Eva, darling,” Edna said. “What are you doing out here on your own?” She opened the car door. “Come on, we’ll drive you home.”

  Eva looked at the open door. She shook her head, smiling and pointing.

  “Are you meeting someone?” Edna asked, looking carefully at the girl.

  Eva pointed in the direction she was going, and waved.

  Edna shut the door slowly, her brow furrowed as she watched Eva walk towards Hoffman’s Photographic Studio with Stasi on a lead. Suddenly Edna was cold, her mouth dry with a creeping dread. “Drive home quickly,” she said.

  Milton obliged.

  The house was quiet and dark when they pulled up. “Something’s not right,” Clyde muttered. “They wouldn’t have just decided to go to bed.”

  “Let’s see if there’s anyone home.” Milton ran up the stairs and knocked on the door. There was no response and he pounded again. After a couple of minutes he turned back to Clyde and Edna, perplexed. “Where the dickens is everybody?”

  And then they heard the bolts being moved. The door opened.

  “Rowly…Bloody hell!”

  Rowland grabbed Milton’s shoulder and used it to steady himself. The poet moved in to help him. Edna and Clyde followed.

  “Close the door and lock it.” Rowland said, before they could ask anything.

  Clyde complied without hesitation. “What the hell happened?”

  Rowland wasn’t sure where to begin.

  “Rowly, where’s Alois?” Edna asked. “Didn’t he come back?”

  Rowland leaned heavily on Milton.

  “Give him a chance, Ed,” the poet muttered. “Come on, mate, you’d better sit down.”

  If Rowland’s mind hadn’t been exhausted by pain he might have stopped them going into the drawing room.

  Edna didn’t scream. She didn’t make a sound, but simply stared in horror and grief at the body of Alois Richter, lying in a pool of blood which had been smeared across the floor when Rowland had slid out from under it. Clyde pulled her away and she pressed her face into his broad chest, her breath rasping as she tried to obscure the image with darkness.

  Milton eased Rowland back into the armchair, his eyes stopping on the revolver which lay on the table beside it. “We need to find you a doctor, mate.”

  Rowland shook his head as he attempted to stand again. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Suppose you tell us what happened, Rowly,” Milton said, pushing him down firmly.

  Rowland closed his eyes. He tried, beginning with the photograph he had found in Richter’s study, and Röhm. And then Richter’s arrival, his murderous intent. He wasn’t sure he was making sense. He said nothing of Eva.

  Edna left Clyde’s protective embrace to go to Rowland. Her eyes were still dry, wide with shock in a face that was so ashen that her lips appeared blood red. Her hand seemed unsteady as she smoothed his hair. Rowland wondered whether she was shaking; aware that it might instead be him. For what seemed like a long time she said nothing. Then, “My God, Rowly…what…Eva was here.”

  Rowland did not reply.

  “She was wearing my dress and she had Stasi. It wasn’t you…you didn’t shoot Alois.”

  “Does it matter who actually shot him, Ed?”

  She looked at him, biting her lip to stop it trembling. “No…I’m just glad someone stopped him…that you’re alive. We need to call a doctor, Rowly—you’re covered in blood.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not mine,” he said, trying not to look towards Richter’s body. “We’re in serious trouble, Ed. We must get out of here before the servants return in the morning or Röhm begins to wonder why Richter hasn’t reported the murder of Robert Negus.”

  Clyde stood. “Rowly’s right, we may only have a couple of hours.” He was calm and practical. “Ed, you and Milt go up and pack a trunk.”

  “A trunk?”

  “We can’t very well escape Germany dressed in white tie and tails. Get enough clothes for all of us and don’t forget our papers and overcoats…they’ll cover these get-ups initially at least. The money Rowly withdrew is still hidden in the car.” He glanced back at Rowland. “I’ll look after Rowly.”

  Edna bent down and kissed Rowland’s forehead. The tears had come now.

  He smiled weakly. “I’m all right, Ed…really.”

  She touched his arm gently, her eyes lingering on his chest, where Röhm’s cigarettes had burned a blistered swastika. Edna swallowed, struggling to believe what had happened.

  “Ed,” Clyde said sternly, as he poured Rowland a drink, “go, quickly.”

  She followed Milton up the stairs and Clyde placed the welcome glass into Rowland’s left h
and. “Here, get this into you…it’ll take the edge off. How does your arm feel?”

  “Wretched…it hurts like the blazes…I can’t move my flaming fingers.” He let his head fall back against the chair. “God.”

  “We’ll find someone who can help, Rowly,” Clyde promised. “I’m going to duck into the kitchen to see if I can find something for those burns…Look at me…can you hang on for a while—honestly?”

  Rowland nodded. “I think so.” Perhaps it was Clyde’s calm that allowed him to let down his guard. He permitted the panic to creep audibly into his voice. “What the hell are we going to do, Clyde?”

  “We’ll have to find somewhere to hide until we work out how to get out of this godforsaken country.”

  Rowland groaned. “Where could we possibly hide?”

  Clyde tapped the glass in Rowland’s hand. “Drink,” he instructed. “And chin up, old mate. I have an idea.”

  It was just past midnight when they pulled into the decrepit street. In the light of day, the window boxes had given the grimy buildings an incongruous appearance of life, but at night the geraniums were not visible. It seemed a forgotten place, empty and abandoned. But Clyde had not forgotten it.

  He instructed Milton to park the Mercedes in the alleyway between two factories and he got out alone. Praying that the Underground had not relocated, he replicated the knock that they’d heard when he and Rowland had come here before.

  The gun was trained through the door before it was fully opened. Clyde had expected that. Eisen’s bulk filled the doorway. He spoke in furious German.

  “We need help,” Clyde said, hoping the man understood at least that. “Please.”

  Egon Kisch squeezed past Eisen. “Mr. Ryan,” he said quietly, “what are you doing here?”

  Clyde told him quickly. “We have nowhere else to go, Kisch. We need somewhere to hide.”

  Kisch translated for his comrades. Eisen frowned and protested, but Kisch seemed to wield greater authority and spoke for them.