by Tom Gabbay
I pulled the curtain back and heard the end of her sentence at the same moment I saw a mouth full of fangs sink into my calf.
“—watch out for Bruno” was what she said.
Bruno was a big boy, a Doberman with a bad attitude. His mistress was able to call him off before he did any serious damage, but he managed to get a piece of my pants and a chunk of flesh to go with it before unclamping his jaw. She explained that he was usually very friendly, that I’d taken him by surprise. Meaning, I guess, that it was my fault. She asked if I wanted a doctor and reluctantly offered to pay for my trousers, but Bruno looked a little too pleased with himself to worry about any of that. I thought I should get out before he decided on a second course.
The door opened onto a narrow alleyway. I leaned against a garbage can, rolled my pant leg up, and checked my wound. The beast had put two neat holes in my lower leg, like a fucking vampire dog. It hurt like hell, too. I’d have to get it cleaned up, but first I had to figure out what my next move was.
It was 12:40. The Colonel’s note, which I’d burned as soon as I’d looked at it, had given me the time and place for our second meeting:
Berlinerstr. 347, 9 pm
Eight hours and twenty minutes to kill with no food, no money, no sleep, and my goddamned leg starting to throb like a son of a bitch. What the hell was I doing here, anyway? I was supposed to be floating on the smooth coral sea with my hook in the water.
Horst looked worse than I felt, which was pretty damned bad. His face was like chalk, his hair was standing on end, and he could hardly open his bloodshot eyes. He squinted out from behind the door and pulled his sister’s bathrobe tighter around his waist. It took a minute, but he finally recognized me. I thought he’d be more surprised.
“My goodness,” he said in a surprisingly chirpy way. “What is the time?”
“About two.”
“I see you’ve wakened earlier than me,” he grinned. “Come in. … Please.”
He led the way up to the apartment. “I feel as though my head has a hammer on the inside of it,” he said merrily. “We have really tied one up last night.”
“We sure did,” I agreed.
He didn’t even ask why I was there, just explained that his sister was at work and excused himself. “I must have a bath. Please sit down, feel yourself at home. … Would you like something to drink?”
“As long as it’s not schnapps,” I answered.
“Not even I would like one of these now,” he winced. He got me a Coke and disappeared into the bathroom.
I was so beat I could hardly think anymore. The sofa was tempting, but I knew if I lay down that would be the end. There was a telephone across the room and I thought it might be an idea to touch base with Powell. I didn’t want him to put out a shoot-to-kill order, if he hadn’t already done so, that is. After that, I’d have to deal with the leg, which was starting to swell up.
The operator connected me to BOB’s main number and I finally got through to Powell’s office. His secretary put him on the line right away.
“Can you imagine how deep in the shit you are, Teller? I’ll tell you. It’s creeping up around your ears and you’re about to suffocate in it.”
“Did you like the flowers?” I asked, forming a picture of that vein in his temple starting to quiver.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I had a nice meeting with our friend.” Silence while he thought about it.
“You had contact?”
“Yeah, we spent the whole morning together. … And guess what. He’s a big fish.”
“How big?”
“Somewhere between a tuna and a great white.”
“What?”
“Big enough that Washington is gonna be very proud of you.”
“You’d better come in, Jack. No shitting, this isn’t fun and games anymore.”
“Remind me which part was fun and games.”
“You know it’s not just me anymore, Jack,” he purred. “You’re fucking with everything now, and you know how that goes. They’ll crucify you.”
“Yeah, and you’ll be happy to provide the nails.”
“If you get your ass in here, I can help.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“You choose.” I was too tired for word games.
He sighed into the phone, then went silent again. I waited.
“Who is he?”
“I didn’t get a name.”
“What did he want?”
“I can’t say yet.”
“What do you mean, you can’t say?! Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to!”
“I need another day.”
“You can’t have another day! You can’t have another fucking minute!” He tried to get hold of himself. “Look, just come in for a debriefing. … If you’re worried about this morning, it’s forgotten. Just come in and let’s figure this out together.”
“When does Sam get in?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning. He’s flying in early, but—”
“I’ll see you then.” I replaced the receiver before he could say anything else. Clearly the call hadn’t done much to ease the situation, but at least I could say I’d checked in.
Horst was standing on the other side of the room rubbing his head with a towel. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, pointing to the phone.
“Not at all,” he answered. I wondered how long he’d been standing there.
“Your leg is bleeding,” he added nonchalantly.
I told him about Bruno, leaving out the details, and he led me to the kitchen, made me sit while he rummaged through various cabinets and drawers. “I really have no idea where Hanna puts things,” he apologized. Finally pulling a wooden box out from behind some pots and pans, he opened it and found a bottle of iodine.
“Perhaps you should remove your trousers,” he suggested.
“I’ll just roll the leg up if you don’t mind,” I replied.
“I don’t wish to ruin them.”
“I think they’re pretty well shot already, Horst,” I pointed out, poking my finger through one of the holes that Bruno’s fangs had created.
“It can be repaired,” he assured me.
It wasn’t worth arguing, so I took my pants off and sat back down.
“You’d better prepare yourself,” he said. “I think it must hurt a little bit.”
I’m not sure if you can ever really prepare yourself for someone pouring a corrosive poison directly onto an open wound, but I sure as hell hadn’t. I screamed like a banshee, flew out of my chair, and hopped around the room peppering the air with arbitrary obscenities that I won’t try to re-create.
“My goodness,” was Horst’s reaction.
“What the hell are you doing?” I turned on him, grabbed the bottle of iodine out of his hand. “You don’t just pour it on! You use some of that cotton and gently DAB it on!”
He shrugged and pouted. “Perhaps it’s a good idea that you get an injection for rabies….”
“It’s a terrible idea, Horst! The worst fucking idea I’ve heard in a very long time! Jesus Christ, do you know how painful this is?!” It was stinging like a bastard.
“Perhaps you’ve changed your mind and want that schnapps now.”
I didn’t want a schnapps or anything else. I just wanted to lie down and shut my eyes. He started unwinding a roll of bandages.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s best to wrap your wound.”
“Forget it.”
“It won’t hurt.”
“You’re goddamn right it won’t because you’re not coming anywhere near it,” I said, being as clear as I could.
“I think it’s best—”
“It’s best to leave it open to the air.”
Her voice took us both by surprise. We swung around simultaneously and saw Hanna standing in the kitchen door frame, holding two paper bags full of groceries. She wore a thin cloth coat and a slightl
y faded blue dress with a creamy floral pattern and pale buttons up the front. A silk kerchief was tied loosely around her neck and her hair was pulled back behind her ear on one side while the other side fell softly across her cheek. She tilted her head and looked across at me.
“Hello again,” she smiled, her lips pursed in a gentle smirk. I guess I was a sight all right, standing there pantless with red dye running down my leg.
“Hello,” I smiled back.
“Jack has been attacked by a vicious dog,” Horst explained.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed in mock horror, placing the bags on the counter, then removing her coat. “How lucky then that you’ve found my brother. As you can see, he is a highly trained professional in these medical matters.”
“She takes the piss from me all the time,” Horst moaned. “I really don’t deserve it.”
“What do you deserve?” she scoffed.
He stepped forward and kissed her forehead, then turned to me. “You see, the problem is that my sister believes she is my mother.”
“The problem is that my brother is twenty-eight years old and still needs a mother.”
“Then you’ll cook a meal for us?” he grinned.
“I’m not sure you deserve that,” she muttered as she started putting groceries away.
“I suppose I should get dressed,” Horst allowed.
“Why not? The workday’s almost over.”
Horst winked at me and disappeared.
I grabbed my pants, started to pull them on, being as nonchalant about it as I could, which wasn’t very. She was arranging soup cans, trying not to notice.
“Leave them off,” she said, without looking over.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll sew them for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
Then she gave me a long, hard look.
“What brings you to Berlin?”
“Business.”
“Ah.” She went back to the cans. She must have had a very complicated system for organizing them because she kept shuffling them around the cabinet, stepping back, then making one last adjustment that apparently upset the whole arrangement, causing her to start all over again. She was a woman you wouldn’t give a second glance on the street. Attractive enough, but not a head turner. There was something about her, though, something I couldn’t really put my finger on. Compassion, but without weakness, is the best I can do.
“He’s a good kid,” I said, just to break the silence.
“He’s not really a kid,” she smiled. “He just acts like one.”
“There are worse things to act like.”
She closed the cupboard door and looked at me again. She had this way of looking directly at you that was a little disquieting. Like she was trying to get behind your eyes. Then she’d look away, do something like fold the grocery bags and place them in a drawer.
“My brother is fascinated with your country.”
“I noticed that.”
“He thinks everything about America must be good.”
“He’s never been there,” I shrugged.
She nodded her agreement, then said, “You seem very American.”
“What’s ‘very American’?”
“You are,” she laughed.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Horst doesn’t seem to think so.”
“What do you think?”
She hesitated, looked at me again in that intense way. “I think you look very tired.”
We weren’t close but we were looking directly into each other’s eyes. Maybe it wasn’t so tough to see that I was exhausted, but she’d hit something else, too. It wasn’t just lack of sleep she was talking about.
“You’re right,” I said. “I am tired.”
“Then you must have a nap!” Horst boomed out as he entered the room. “The sofa is quite comfortable, I sleep there every night.”
“He can sleep in my bed,” Hanna said, her eyes reaching across the room, sending me an unambiguous message. “I’ll get it ready for you.”
She skittered past Horst and he gave me a look of undisguised astonishment. “This is not like my sister,” he said.
Normally, I would’ve lay there in her bed thinking about her, but I fell asleep the moment I hit the fragrant, soft pillow.
“Lieutenant!… “The voice called to mefiom a million miles away. “Can you hear me, Lieutenant?” it shouted. I couldn’t answer, lost in the depths, unable to find my way to the surface, not even sure I wanted to. “Come on, Lieutenant! You have to open your eyes!” I realized he was right. I would have to try….
I came to in the darkness, only half-awake, and realized I’d had the dream again. Damn. I hated that dream. It hadn’t been around for ages, why was it showing up now? I replayed it in my head, hoping if I moved it into consciousness, it would leave my subconscious alone. It was the same every time.
I’m separated from my unit, lost and cold, wandering through the snowy woods. The enemy’s all around us, confusion everywhere. Suddenly I find myself standing in front of a house—a three-story brick house with a gabled roof. It doesn’t belong in the middle of the Belgian forest, but there it is, standing in a clearing, untouched by the devastation that’s all around it. It seems impossible. I approach, wondering if it’s a trap, if the enemy put it there to lure me inside. But as I get closer I realize—I know this building. I’ve been inside it many times, know every room and every item in the rooms. But I can’t figure out how I know it. Have I been here before? I move to the front entrance, try to open the door, but it’s locked. I’m about to shoot the dead bolt off when I realize I must have the key. I find it in my jacket pocket, slip it into the lock, and push the door open. But when I step inside I see that the building’s facade was some kind of illusion. Inside, the walls are falling down, the roof has caved in, the windows are shot out. And then I see them. The house is full of bodies—the bodies of every one of the guys I’d lost since Normandy, all seventeen of them, each one lying exactly in the position that I’d last seen him in. I need to bury them, I think, but before I can move, something hits me from behind. … A sledgehammer coming down on my neck, then a burning agony shooting down my back. My legs go and I hit the ground. Then there’s darkness for a while and the voice comes in.
“Lieutenant! … Can you hear me, Lieutenant?!”
And that’s when I wake up.
It wouldn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure it out, but I wasn’t interested in that. I just wanted the damn thing to quit.
Then it hit me—what the hell time was it! I leapt off the bed and found a wall switch. A warm, dim light came on over Hanna’s bed. My watch confirmed what I already knew—9:22. Fuck me! I was supposed to meet the Colonel at nine!
Horst was lying on the sofa watching a news report about Kennedy’s arrival in Bonn. “Ah! The dead have risen!” he announced as I entered. I could hear Hanna moving around in the kitchen and saw my pants neatly folded on a side table. I quickly pulled them on and stepped into my shoes.
Horst hauled himself up and turned the volume down on the set. “You’ve slept well,” he grinned, checking his watch. “More than six hours. And we have waited dinner for you,” he chided.
“I’m sorry, Horst, but I’m late for a very important meeting.” I asked where I could find a taxi and was halfway out the door before Hanna came into the room. But there was no time to say anything.
As the taxi pulled up I realized that I was still broke. The driver didn’t look like the kind of guy I could intimidate and the last thing I needed was a loud argument with a fat man, so I gave him my four-hundred-dollar Rolex to cover the six-dollar fare. He was happy enough with that.
It was dark, almost pitch-black after the car drove off. The nearest working streetlight was a block away and I could barely make out the silhouette of the gloomy structure that was supposed to be our meeting place. If anyone was in there, it sure as hell wasn’t obvious.
&nb
sp; I found an old iron gate that took me up an overgrown path toward the front of the building. Once I got closer I could see the place was an even worse mess than it looked from the road. A large town house that had probably been deserted since the end of the war; the windows were broken, the brickwork was crumbling, and it didn’t look like there was much left of the roof. In better days it could’ve passed for the Addams Family home, including a medieval-style turret that rose out of the middle of the property.
A short flight of steps led to a gabled porch dominated by a massive weather-beaten hardwood door. I gave it a push and it moved, but not much. When I put my shoulder to it I was able to slip inside.
Even with the door ajar I couldn’t make out my own two feet. I could feel that the floor was covered with debris, probably pieces of plaster from the ceiling and walls, some broken roof tiles, who knows what else. Glass crunched under my feet when I took a few steps into the void. The place was goddamned eerie and I had no intention of going on a blind sightseeing tour, so I stayed put. If the Colonel was still there he’d know where to find me.
I waited. Maybe ten minutes, probably not that long. There was a scratching sound a few feet in front of me. Rats. More than one. And the stench was getting to me.
“DID SOMEBODY ORDER A PIZZA …?!”
My voice bounced off the walls, carried up through the building, and came back to me. I must’ve been standing in a huge entrance hall. I waited another minute. Nothing but me and the rats. The Colonel was long gone and Powell was going to nail my ass to the wall.
“FUCK YOU, THEN, I’M GOING HOME!”
And I meant all the way home, to my beach house, where I’d pack my fishhooks and my typewriter, get in my boat, and get really lost this time. Maybe the Gulf Coast. Or Mexico. As long as it was warm and there were no spooks, I didn’t give a damn.
I was about to take my first step in that direction when I heard a Zippo flip open a few feet in front of me, followed by a spark and a flame illuminating his face. The fire went out, leaving the Colonel’s features bathed in the red glow of cigarette ash.