by P. G. Glynn
“I’m sick and tired of hearing you champion him when it’s your husband you should be championing … and if you must poke fun I wish that at least you’d stick to the facts.” Ludwig thought back. The ‘enemy’ in question had been huge and hairy in his sheepskin uniform, seemingly possessing the strength of ten men. Noted as cavalrymen under the tsars, Cossacks were widely feared for the tortures they inflicted in the name of war and for their utter nervelessness.
Tales of their cruelty were legion and left nothing to the imagination. At the time of his encounter with the lone soldier in a raging blizzard Ludwig too was alone, having lost his regiment in the drifting snow. As well as quickly covering tracks this muffled sound, creating an eerie silence. So there were no pounding hooves to warn of danger and Ludwig was suddenly face-to-face with the Hairy One. He did as any Dragoon would have done, levelling his pistol and firing – at point-blank range. The Cossack did the same and they both aimed straight. But instead of feeling lead sear his flesh prior to meeting his death Ludwig felt … nothing.
Nor did his intended assailant fall from his horse mortally wounded. Stupefied by the coincidence in which two pistols had misfired simultaneously the horsemen just spurred their horses and galloped off in opposite directions. Before being enveloped by the protective cloak of swirling snow the Cossack had raised a finger in the sort of mocking salute Otto had just given. “My brother,” Ludwig told Lenka, “would never have had the guts to fight the Russians. He’s so gutless that in my shoes he’d have panicked … in which event the Cossack would have fired again and shot him in the back. How I wish that had happened! If only it had I wouldn’t have to watch you flirting shamelessly with him, nor listen to your belittlements. It’s solely since Otto came home that you’ve treated me so badly. Considering the fact that you once jilted him I’m surprised at you, Lenka, for behaving as if you’d sooner be Frau Otto Berger.”
“You are?” she queried sarcastically. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Tempted but for her pride to tell him who in truth had done the jilting, Lenka said instead: “You’re brother’s twice the man you are. He must be. He and Marie have hardly been married five minutes and already he has given her a baby.”
Ludwig groaned. “How many more times are you going to ram that down my throat? I keep telling you that Marie’s baby has nothing to do with Otto’s virility or my lack of it. He was simply born lucky, which makes all the difference. No matter where he goes or what he does, Otto unfailingly comes up trumps. That’s one of the many things I despise in him – but it won’t be ever thus. One day the tide will turn in my favour: it must. The law of averages dictates that nobody can be as lucky as he is and get away with it forever. I tell you, Lenka, that my luck will change for the better and his for the worse … and when that happens you’ll be glad you married Ludwig Berger.”
“I shall?” she queried. “That rather rests, doesn’t it, on my becoming a mother?”
+++++
The snow was so thick on the trees that they were frozen into strange distortions. Ruebezahl’s home was said to be here on the Schneekoppe and it seemed to Otto that the snow-laden trees might very well represent the giant’s family. They towered above the sleighs, sleeping giants needing the gentle warmth of spring to thaw into the legendary creatures that had been so real in his childhood stories. Then they would walk again, guarding these mountains that had been named after them and entertaining new generations of children. Odd to think that Otto’s offspring would have those same stories told to them and that often he would be doing the telling. He still felt like a boy himself and yet was expected to behave like a man. Would he ever feel like an adult or would the boy within forever have charge of him? Otto rather imagined that his boyhood was far from over and that it would flourish for as long as he lived.
How he loved these mountains … how, in winter especially, they exhilarated him! He had first skied here on his father’s shoulders, whizzing between the trees, excited by speed. Then, almost as soon as he could walk, there had been a pair of skis for him and he had sailed across the snow as effortlessly as if the skis had been extended feet, not needing sticks. The same could not be said of Ludwig. He professed to be a skier but had never looked like one, always seeming ungainly somehow, being so bow-legged and with his bottom often stuck out. Rudolf claimed no excellence in any sporting direction, except perhaps in bed, preferring his music and indoor pursuits to outdoor ones, but it was typical of Ludwig to fancy himself as something of an expert when he so patently lacked expertise.
It might be fun to challenge him and Lenka to a race … beating them both to the finishing post. Yes, there was scope here for showing Lenka yet another of her husband’s shortcomings! Otto must watch, though, that she did not win. While he – thanks to his long absence – was comparatively rusty on skis, he had seen her skimming over Herrlichbach’s snow as expertly as any man.
“Schau mal an!” cried Anna, suddenly pointing, nodding and smiling.
“Yes, there it is,” Otto told Marie, his already buoyant spirits lifting. “There’s our little log cabin!”
‘Little’ was not a word she would have used in description. At least twice the size of Beulah, the cabin seemed at first sight to be perched right on top of the Schneekoppe. This was illusory, though, and Marie soon saw that the peak was still distant. The Berger cabin was similar to others they had seen on their journey, with pretty shuttered windows and a gently sloping wide roof. Filling the roof’s apex and covering the width of the building above the upper storey’s shutters was an intricately carved canopy from which hung hundreds of icicles, sparkling in rays from the sun. Well below these on the verandah stood a stout, white-haired woman wearing a big smile and, over her black dress, a long white apron.
“Wilkommen, wilkommen!”
Frau Pohl, the Berger’s resident housekeeper, welcomed them warmly as the coachmen drew in the reins. With hearty exchanges of greetings after they alighted and some foot-stamping to loosen snow from their boots, they were then ushered in.
The front door opened straight into a large living room whose atmosphere was one of cosy comfort and informality. Most eye-catching were the black beams from which were suspended bunches of colourful dried flowers and an assortment of copper pots and pans. Tapestry cushions brightened the predominantly wooden furniture and the hearts carved into the shutters were also woven into the green and cream curtains. Beyond a table set for luncheon burned a lively log fire, above which was a delightful watercolour of children picnicking by a river, the three boys in the group each wearing a top hat.
It quickly made Marie drowsy to be in such warmth after the cold mountain air and the meal made her still drowsier. Serviettenknoedel were followed by a choice between Rehruecken – haunch of venison – and partridge, lentils and bacon and when the family had had their fill of these Frau Pohl proudly served her speciality. Busserle-Speise were a mixture of egg-yolk, sugar, rum and whipped cream that was chilled before ‘kisses’ of meringue were added. Despite her drowsiness Marie did the dessert justice, even accepting a second helping. Frau Pohl was a better cook than Dora Kluge at the castle she decided.
As they finished their meal Lenka said casually: “I think I’ll ski over to see the Steins. Who’s coming with me?”
“I’ll ski with you,” Ludwig told her, “but not in that direction. I can’t stand the Steins and can’t imagine why you bother with them.”
“I bother because they’re good friends.”
“Nonsense!” Ludwig had had rather too much to drink and was feeling aggrieved that Lenka had paid unnecessary attention to Otto during luncheon. “It’s beyond me how you can describe any Jew as a friend. I find them all as offensive as the pigs they call unclean.”
“Ludwig!” Marta cautioned him. “That’s no way to talk. Jan and his family are kindness itself. Try remembering that and forgetting your prejudices. I won’t tolerate your comparing them, nor indeed any of their
race, with pigs.”
“Sorry, Mutti,” he said, instantly chastened. “I meant no offence.” He then turned to Lenka, suggesting: “We could visit Inge and Lotte. They’re always welcoming.”
“As well as being non-Jewish,” Otto put in with a grin. “Subtlety was never your forte, was it, Ludwig?”
“Keep your big mouth out of this!”
“It’s Jan I want to see, not Lotte,” Lenka told them both, looking at Otto. “So, I repeat: who’s coming with me?”
He saw the challenge in her eyes and was tempted. Ludwig was such a self-satisfied prig that it would do him good to see his brother and Lenka ski off together. It would not hurt, either, for him to wonder what they might say to each other. But there was Marie to consider …
She was seated beside him. He asked her: “Would you mind if I went?”
Before she could answer, Lenka observed mockingly: “The Prinzgemahl bows as ever to his queen!”
He hated her describing him as Marie’s prince consort, implying that his wife wore the trousers. Otto said: “I’d like to see Jan again.” He added resignedly to Marie: “I expect you’ll be wanting to sleep?”
“I shall,” she agreed.
“Just sleep?”
“Yes … ” she met his eyes, countering the glimmer of hope in them with her closed expression “ … just.”
“How boring for poor Otto!” said Lenka, coasting her tongue over her lower lip as she smiled at him. “Skiing to the Steins could relieve his boredom.”
“It could,” he agreed, rather too eagerly, almost regretting that there were certain difficulties in having sex on skis. “It could, indeed!”
+++++
She was a bird on the breeze, all but flying as she used her skis effortlessly. There was freedom out here on the snow and exhilaration in conquering the slopes. It was exhilarating, too, to know there would be another kind of conquest before the day was through. Lenka recognised a deprived man when she saw one and had not needed that little exchange between Marie and Otto to be conscious of his deprivation. Of course he had only himself to blame. Fancy marrying such a prima donna in the first place! Yes, he richly deserved his current frustrated state. But Lenka wasn’t one to hold a grudge – not when the holding of it stood between her and a baby. So she would be kind, reminding him of past times and of love’s delights. Zooming ahead of him, she smiled.
He did not see the smile but saw her teasing haunches. Watching as she swung her hips Otto tried not to picture himself in bed with Lenka, doing with her all that he so longed to do with Marie. Needing a woman as he did he was surprised at having lasted so long without one. He was a man, after all, with a man’s appetites … and Marie was wrong in denying him his rights. Could she not see how much he needed release? Had she no pity for him … no sense of shame at being a wife solely in name? She might still be feeling weak, but were his feelings, his needs of no concern to her? They weren’t or he and she would currently be together beneath the Perina, doing the things that other husbands and wives did …
She was the snow’s mistress. She was also Eve, tempting Adam. Yes, she was the original temptress and by tonight she would have what she wanted from him. Lenka wanted just one thing and Otto alone could accommodate her wish. It was lucky that a man such as him had plenty of babies to give. Her baby would be a half-sister to Marie’s and, oh, the delicious irony of the child being seen as Ludwig’s! With Otto the true sire and with Ludwig posturing as the father there would be plenty of scope for fun in Schloss Berger. But first there must be fun in Jan’s cabin, with Otto succumbing so totally as to guarantee her pregnancy …
“Laggard!” she taunted over her shoulder.
Only now did it occur to him that he was being out-skied by a woman. Even the appetising sight of those sinuous limbs did not justify such a thing. “Laggard indeed!” he scoffed, zigzagging between misshapen trees and using sticks to put on speed. “We’ll see who’s laggardly.”
They were soon neck and neck, each straining to get ahead. He was out of practice, of course, skiing seriously for the first time since before the war. But he was a man and, practised or not, could undoubtedly out-ski Lenka. Surging over hillocks and finding still more speed by bending forward and drawing his head in, he went into the lead finally. With the Stein’s cabin looming in front of him he, poised like a spring, threw his full weight into one last thrust. Oh, the thrill of it as his hand contacted the verandah just before hers did!
“You can still ski then,” Lenka said, looking speculatively up at him. “I wonder what other skills you still possess.”
Uncomfortable under her scrutiny and noticing that the snow on the verandah and around the cabin was unsullied, Otto responded: “Either Jan is away or he hasn’t been out for days.”
“How observant you are!” Lenka commented, unfastening her skis. “But don’t look so worried. I know where the key is.”
Experiencing a mixture of emotions he watched as she, stamping snow from her boots, climbed the four steps to the front door. He knew that he should not follow her. She had planned this and there were no prizes for guessing why she had planned it. Lenka was all-woman, though, and Marie had not let him near her for months. He was not made of ice but of flesh and blood and he needed … someone. If he couldn’t have Marie, who better than Ludwig’s wife to ease his torture? He must not think of her as Lenka, Vienna’s foremost whore: much better to think of her as a belonging of his brother’s and fair game therefore.
“You’ve obviously forgotten,” her told her, “that I’m no worrier. Whatever you see in my expression, it isn’t worry. Where are the Steins?”
“At home in Oberaltstadt,” she said easily. “So we won’t be disturbed.”
Following her across the threshold, he started trembling. What a state to be in! Marie should not have put him in this position. It was her he wanted, not Lenka, and yet … and yet …
Otto wished he did not remember the things Lenka used to do to him. They were things no-one else had ever done and he could not imagine asking Marie to do them. She was too young … too virginal. She might see herself as a woman of the world but there was much that she had yet to learn.
Lenka had learned survival on the streets of Vienna and survival back then had meant magnetising men. Yes, she was a magnet and, now that he was here with her, he had little choice as to whether …
“Light the fire,” she invited, tossing him a box of matches, “while I take off my jacket and pour us a drink.”
The fire lit, she arrived and kneeled on the hearthrug beside him. He saw that she was holding one glass. He also saw that the buttons of her jumper were undone and that she was naked, as ever, underneath. Accepting the glass from her, he salivated as she cupped one luscious breast and brought it from beneath its covering. Leaning toward him she dipped her big nipple into his Schnapps before lifting it and whispering: “Drink!”
Otto could not resist. He drank with a thirst that took skilled and lengthy quenching.
28
Marie felt the twinge and lay in the darkness wondering. It was too soon to say whether things were finally starting to happen, besides which the twinge had been in her side, not her abdomen. So perhaps it meant nothing. But it might mean that she was due to give birth. Marie felt no fear at the prospect – just a sense of anticipation.
Odd to think that although she had not met her baby yet, the child already had its very own identity. Part of Charles and part of Marie, she (Pa said the baby was a girl and Marie trusted him implicitly!) would also be a new human being – and unique. Not that one should think of her in the future tense since she existed in the present. Existing, was she aware of impending events?
It occurred to Marie then that birth and death must be similar. When, during her illness, she had ‘died’, she had arrived somewhere filled with light. She had left darkness to be there, just as her child would be leaving the dark and restrictive womb to arrive in a world where sun shone and where space seemed to stretch forever
. Yes, perhaps death was a sort of re-birth and yet another adventure …
“Ouch!” Marie clutched her side as a second twinge, stronger this time, made her gasp with a mixture of shock and delight.
With Otto breathing steadily beside her she smiled. There seemed no need to disturb him just yet. She had no sense of urgency. Her chief feeling was one of wellbeing and of wanting to savour the moment. If only Charles were here to share it with her! By rights he should be – or, rather, she should be in London with him instead of in Bohemia with Otto’s mad family. Otto himself had been behaving more oddly than ever since that day on the Schneekoppe when he and Lenka went off together.
While they were gone Ludwig had paced the cabin like a caged lion, fuming over their togetherness and continuing to castigate the Steins for their ‘crime’ of being Jewish. Then, upon their return, he had had plenty to say about the length of their absence and it had been easy to see that he suspected them of having had sex on skis. Was this a possibility? Even given Lenka’s rendition of a cat that had swallowed the cream, coupled with Otto’s guarded and altogether shifty demeanour, Marie didn’t see how it could be.
At the fifth twinge she dug him in the ribs.
“Was ist?” Disturbed from a dream in which he was in bed with Lenka, he was relieved to discover whom he was with and now repeated in English: “What is it?”
“It’s time, I think.”
“Time?” he queried sleepily.
“Oh, wake up, Otto, do! I need you to go and get Mama for me.”