“No. Changed my mind. You weren’t finished. And it’s proof that maybe makes it easier to convince people that the danger is real. That the degenerates act systematically and are not just some unorganized raiders.”
I nodded.
She was right, and I liked the fact that she had put this logic above her impulses.
Anyway, our big goal was to leave Frankfurt in spring at the latest and head to Vatican City to put an end to this madman. After all we had experienced with the Degs, it was out of the question for us to just look for a warm place and hope that nothing more would happen to us.
We disagreed about Mariam. Wanda wanted to take her with us, which I could understand very well, because she had already lost way too many people. I on the other hand preferred the thought of leaving her here, perhaps in the care of Gustav - in a quasi-monarchic society, yes, but still as safe as possible.
Neither Wanda nor I had a place we belonged to and the only, desolate alternative to our megalomaniacal, dreamy plan of murdering the insane priest was to somehow go on with life and eventually, somewhere, somehow, sooner or later, to die.
To die without leaving a trace, like so many before us.
But if you took a closer look, we wanted two different things. Wanda had suffered much more from the degenerates than I had. She didn’t just want to neutralize the Degs’ danger. She wanted revenge. Retribution for her own suffering, for the death of her parents, for Thomas’ suicide - and for everything else. It was an impenetrable web of guilt and lust for revenge that drove Wanda.
I too felt anger, but my anger was less personal, my need to take action against Da Silva from a more fundamental, logical nature and based on my morals. And in quiet moments, when I was completely honest with myself, I realized that I was just looking for some sense in my existence, and that’s one of the reasons why Wanda’s Quest became mine.
In this barren, hopeless time, something as destructive as the plan to assassinate someone could give you the necessary strength to carry on, and Wanda and I clung to that like drowning people to a straw. I knew that it was the same for her, even if she perfected her mask face more and more.
But before we could devote ourselves to Da Silva, there would be other things to tend to in the here and now, and we could at best make guesses what the world around us and above all what the Ivan might throw at us.
Foreworld II
Toni
Toni was crying in pain. The man had beaten him again. He had no idea what his real name was, only that his mother knew him from before, from her time in Rome, and that he was not allowed to talk about him - with anyone. When his mother gave him these instructions, her face was so serious that the accompanying blows hadn’t been really necessary.
When Toni asked what he should call him, he had only said: Call me Azrael.
Azrael simply had shown up at some point and hadn’t left the house a single time ever since. Toni knew Azrael was the name of a demon or something. It had not seemed inappropriate to him to call this man by that name. Azrael had a strange accent. Toni could not assign it directly, but he did not believe the man an Italian. He liked to beat his mother too, but that didn’t really bother Toni. Often he would have liked to do so himself.
Carefully, so as not to hurt himself even more with a thoughtless movement, Toni put his clothes back on. He always had to undress when he was to be beaten in the basement. Kind of weird. He didn’t think that the man felt the same way Toni did when he watched Luca’s sisters bathing in the lake. There had to be another reason for the nudity.
In general, the man was very odd. He read strange books and had strange beliefs, which he vehemently advocated, and did not tolerate being contradicted. He seemed to have nothing but contempt for the Italian way of life, for socker and for the Church. He always called normal people sheep, priests and the church were liars and their web of lies for him. He was always talking about energy that had to be released. Toni was not sure if the man - Azrael - was really that much smarter than everyone else, or if he just was some kind of lunatic. He had been bossy and violent from the beginning.
Toni’s mother had her fair share. But unlike him, she didn’t seem to mind much. Toni even suspected that she liked it when she was stripped and beaten. This daily ritual always resulted in sexual acts between her and Azrael.
More and more often the man ordered Toni to watch them. That he should try to see the energy that was supposedly exchanged between the two while Azrael was fucking his mother. Then the same question every single time: Did you see it? Say, Toni, did you see the energy?
Toni knew what answer the man was hoping for, but he hadn’t said yes yet. He hadn’t seen shit so far. Nada. Nothing but his mother’s bare and striated ass and Azrael’s coarse hands clawing into her flesh as he pushed her from behind. Often his mother had to be gagged because otherwise she would have screamed too loudly, either with pain or horniness. It was different with Azrael. He seemed highly focused. Mumbled to himself. He looked more like a man who had a particularly complicated and strenuous task to solve. He often used the blood of rats and mice, of which there were more than enough to catch in the cellar, to paint strange symbols on his mother’s body before taking her.
When Toni had finished dressing, he heard Azrael calling for him.
He guessed it was that time again.
“I’ll be right there,” Toni called back.
He didn’t hurry. Azrael had been so mad because Toni had drawn the attention of the village preacher to himself and his mother - and thus to Azrael himself - that he had beaten him particularly hard. For a moment Toni had even seen something like fear in the coarse, badly shaved and strangely triangular face of the man.
What could he be afraid of? A man like that, tall and strong, who considered himself smarter than anyone else?
“Hurry Toni, it’s really important!”
That was his mother’s voice. Toni was annoyed that she liked everything Azrael did. She constantly backed up everything the man said and permanently repeated what he preached. Yes, he preached. Just like that damned Bianchi. Only it was different things he said. And when he wasn’t preaching, he tried to influence Toni in other ways. According to Azrael’s philosophy of life, you had to take what you wanted - no matter how great the risk. Only such a life was worthy of a man-god.
Man-god.
This word had already disturbed Toni when he first heard it in connection with Azrael’s philosophy of life. He gave himself the name of a demon and rejected the Church, but described himself with terms which had been conceived by the very Church which he denigrated as a web of lies. In fact, Azrael had to a large extent caused the problems Toni had brought home with him by himself. With his never ending speeches.
You must be a predator.
You mustn’t know hesitation.
You have to be smarter than the others and hit harder.
Feel no remorse, for none of your desires you may ever apologize.
Stupid talk, wasn’t it?
When he told at dinner how he had stolen Luca’s sister’s panties and joyfully played with it and his dick, his mother had praised him. Azrael was just asking:
“Why do you take the panties, when you actually want the girl, you little idiot?”
Then he slapped Toni hard.
When Toni told Benno had fouled football, Azrael said:
“He betrayed you. He stole your victory. Go and take away what is precious to him most.”
Speaking those words, he had looked as if he had just received a divine vision. It had been similar with Pietro and Fillipe. Nevertheless, it did not seem unfair to Toni to be beaten bloody for the priest’s appearance, even if it had been Azrael who had encouraged Toni to his actions. Toni just wasn’t good enough.
Toni had somehow managed to do everything Azrael had asked for, but he obviously wasn’t smarter than anyone else. Otherwise the priest wouldn’t have noticed anything, right?
Toni climbed up from the cellar into the twili
ght of the strange smelling candles burning in small brass bowls on the steps of the wooden stairs. Azrael had burned the reports, the essays of Toni’s intimate enemies in the oven so that no one could read them anymore. Slowly and timidly Toni opened the door to the kitchen. They were sitting at the table. Azrael pulled Toni’s chair back a bit and patted on the seat.
“Come. Sit down.”
Toni hesitantly obeyed. He knew that it was rarely a good thing when adults chose to use this official tone of voice. Hesitantly, Toni sat down and tried to stay out of the reach of Azrael’s big hands. He folded his own hands under the table top. His mother noticed it and said:
“Give me your hands, honey.”
When Toni did not react, but glided his gaze back and forth between the two adults, she took the initiative and came over to him. Her touch was surprisingly soft as she took his wrists and finally enclosed her hands around his. Toni tried not to show his surprise as she squatted down in front of him and, holding his hands, looked deep into his eyes.
“Azrael and I have been talking over this whole thing. You can’t let these guys get away with what they did. They didn’t just refuse you what you wanted. They also humiliated you and then slandered you to this wretched priest. This game, Toni, you gotta win, you hear me? Otherwise it will forever bind your energy and overshadow all your lifetime. Maybe you’re too young to understand ... to understand how important this is...”
She was right. Toni didn’t understand exactly what she wanted him to do. But he slowly but surely understood one thing, without knowing when exactly this realization had befallen him:
Azrael had been right. He didn’t want the panties, he wanted the girl. He was just a coward. He didn’t want to win the soccer game. He had wanted to destroy the opposing team. He had just been too weak. All this and more he had wanted. But instead he had gotten himself defeated and humiliated.
“Toni, if you ever want to be a shining one, a godlike one, a man-god, then you have to strike, do you hear? No leniency. No remorse. Only the will to win. You must claim the absolute right to be yourself,” Azrael also interfered in the mother-son conversation. Toni saw Azrael’s hollow face. The eyes deep in the caves glowed with an eerie fire.
“This time I won’t help you. I’m not giving you any advice. You’re gonna make it on your own, and you’re gonna take them down. Not just the boys. The priest, too, has earned a hard lesson for his impudence. Do you understand that?”
His voice sounded soft, child-friendly and completely perverted. Toni could more than clearly perceive the threat that lay within those words. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded.
“Good. I think you actually do understand. Now go to your room and make your plans.”
Toni obeyed, but only slowly and sluggishly. He didn’t want Azrael to think he was afraid of him.
“Good night, mother. Good night, Azrael.”
“Go.”
Toni did as Azrael had ordered him. Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling of the small chamber he had to live in since the strange man suddenly moved in with them, he saw the faces of Benno, Luca, Pietro and Fillipe in front of him. The beatings they had given him had not physically hurt half as much as what Azrael did to him when he was in a bad mood or wanted him not to forget a certain lesson. Nevertheless, as Toni now recognized, the defeat - the powerlessness - had clearly afflicted him way more. Azrael’s blows had not been full of rage and mockery. They were just his tools. And Azrael was right. He shouldn’t let those pissers get away with it. They simply were not allowed to feel superior. He had to be smarter than them. He had to make them feel safe. They were not allowed to suspect anything. Tomorrow he would go back to school.
***
All in all, the following two weeks were quiet. At school Toni behaved inconspicuously and Luca, Benno and Pietro and Fillipe also ignored him as best as they could. Only the priest showed signs of increased vigilance. Constantly his gaze seemed to rest on Toni and when it didn’t, Bianchi mainly watched Benno with attentive eyes. The other students hardly seemed to be touched by this whole matter. Some avoided him, others, unaware of why their classmates did so, expressed their sympathy for him being bound to the oxen and the beating that had followed, which he endured with an impassive expression, but most simply he behaved as usual.
During this time Toni even made two learning appointments with other children. These afternoons were calm, concentrated and friendly. But inside Toni was still boiling with rage. This feeling never did let go of him. And Azrael did the rest. It wasn’t like he put Toni under direct pressure, but when they were in the same room, he watched him with his dark and yet somehow glowing eyes at least as intensely as the priest did in class. This, however, was a little rarer than usual, as Azrael retreated to his room more and more often. He would study there, he said. One day as Azrael accidentally had left the door open and Toni used the occasion to take a look. Piles and piles of strange-looking books. They had aroused Toni’s curiosity and he wished that at least every now and then the man would leave the house so that he could take a closer look into the room and at the writings that were treasured there.
His wish was not granted.
Azrael stayed where he was and so Toni had no reason to doubt his testimony. More than once Azrael had helped him out in the natural sciences and seemed to know his way around. On these occasions Toni did discover that the strange, malicious and violent man was a surprisingly good teacher. Thereupon Toni had tried to give more weight to his words. The fact that Azrael refused to help him with the boys and the preacher seemed to mean one thing: Toni was to be tested.
All right, Toni thought, let him test me.
Now he held back when playing soccer and usually stayed on the bench voluntarily. In class he was quiet and obedient and as inconspicuous as he could. But in his head the wheels were spinning. In his daydreams he saw himself triumphantly standing above his tormentors with his arms torn up, whilst they lay on the ground and wept.
The more often Toni had this daydream, the more devastated the bodies of his defeated opponents looked and the more dark red blood ran down from his hands over his forearms and dripped down onto the ground.
Yeah, that’s what he wanted. What he wanted with all his soul. But - how should he achieve this goal? As much as he liked to dwell within his childish fantasies of omnipotence, he knew that the idea of luring his tormentors to a remote place and defeating them there in something like a great final battle was bollocks. And then there was Father Bianchi. How would he get to him?
Besides, Azrael hadn’t specifically requested that he should kill him. He was tossed to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life. The longer Toni thought about that, the more certain he became that he would not be satisfied with teaching just a lesson.
It had to be something big. Something glorious.
He had to think of The Valiant Little Tailor. A fairy tale that his mother had read to him from time to time when he was still small. Seven at one blow.
Well, five in this case.
If the little tailor managed to kill seven, then he certainly would somehow manage to do five.
With poison, perhaps?
Or a traffic accident?
No. That was bullshit.
Toni continued to think for two weeks, but none of his ideas seemed suitable to him.
Maybe I could ...
Time passed and Toni felt as if the hours and days had become considerably longer than before. His life had changed in some hard to get way. At some point during the second school week since Father Bianchi’s visit nearly had come to an end and the weekend was just around the corner.
Toni left the house early on Saturday. He had still not made a concrete plan for passing his test and earning Azrael’s respect. He hoped that he would find a solution to this problem in the course of the day. He wondered if he should walk to the lake in order to clear his ever circling thoughts. Maybe Luca and his sisters would be back at the lake.
> A little later, he felt disappointed to find that this was not the case. Discontentedly he looked for a nice place, sat down and let his feet dangle in the crystal clear water. The walk hadn’t been very long, but the cold water did him good and refreshed him. After he had recovered in this way for some time, he became restless. The burning thoughts were back again.
He got up, put on his socks and shoes and made his way back to the village.
When Toni had already walked for ten minutes, he stopped abruptly. The hairs on his arms had straightened up. He turned around. Was someone there? A rustling of leaves. The barely perceivable cracking of a small branch. A blurred movement at the edge of his field of vision, twenty meters away. Someone had scurried from the small gravel path down into the undergrowth in order not to be discovered by him.
Toni went on.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
He kind of listened backwards with great exertion. He was sure he was being followed.
Soon the path would make an almost right-angled bend, Toni considered. With his lead of twenty meters, he would then disappear from his pursuer’s field of vision for a few moments. He wanted to watch out for this moment, hide himself, like his persecutor just had done, into the undergrowth and lay himself in hiding there. He wanted to know who came after him. Toni found it strange that at that moment he was not flooded with adrenaline like in the heat of the fateful football match.
No, it was more of a cold kind of rage that was spreading inside him. When the time had come, Toni put his plan into action.
Unlike his clumsy pursuer, he managed to avoid making treacherous noises. He hid behind the thick trunk of a tree and waited. He could hear the quiet footsteps of his unknown hunter slowly approaching. While he concentrated on the sounds, part of him again wondered how calm his heart was beating. His eyes fell on a gnarled branch sticking out of a fern. He could get to it just in time.
Should he take it now?
The Rats of Frankfurt: The Gospel of Madness (Book 1 of 6) (The Gospel of Madness - (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series)) Page 15