“Ask him,” he said to Kohler, and swallowed. “Ask him if he is threatening us.”
Again, Kohler spoke rapidly and listened carefully to Stavros’s response. The other Greeks behind him nodded. Kohler looked up at Gruber. “He said he’s trying to help us. There is something in the forest.”
*
The room was small but serviceable. A bed, a small night stand, and a wobbly table which served as a desk. There was no electricity, so Gruber had to make do with several candles and an army lantern. The map lay spread out on his bed. He sat at the table writing, as he did most nights, a letter to his wife. How he missed Truda. And their little house, just blocks from the university. That life seemed so far away now, he thought, gazing at the flickering flame of a candle. Teaching at the university, researching in the library, having friends and colleagues over for dinner. And of course, Truda. And the baby, of course. So hard to think about. His son Hans, whom he had never seen, except in the photographs she had sent. He took one out from his satchel, and smoothed out the creases. Truda, sitting in a rocking chair, her face tired but beaming with happiness as she held their son. Only weeks old. Gruber had been promised furlough so he could attend the birth, but that had been cancelled. And then another furlough cancelled. He hoped to be able to return home by Christmas, at least. He put the photo down and quickly finished the letter.
Gruber rose, and using the lantern to guide him, left his room and descended the narrow staircase. Krause was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, smoking. He stood up when Gruber approached. Gruber motioned for him to sit back down. The other men were spread out on the floor in their rough canvas sleeping bags. Most were asleep, but several were quietly playing cards by the light of the fire. Against the far wall Kohler sat by himself, reading. He looked up as Gruber entered the room.
“Have any of the villagers volunteered to be guides?” he asked Krause.
Krause shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll alert you if anything happens.”
Gruber nodded.” All right. I’ll be turning in.”
“Sir?”
Gruber turned to Krause. “Yes?”
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but how is it you can read Greek, but not speak it?”
Gruber smiled. “I suppose that’s why I’m here. I’m a professor at the university in Cologne. I teach a course on ancient Greek history and mythology.”
“That’s why you’re ‘here’?” Krause repeated. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.”
The men playing cards had turned to listen. Kohler still sat alone, the fire reflected in his glasses. Gruber nodded.
“You would have found out eventually, and now is just as good a time. May I have one of those cigarettes?” Krause handed Gruber a cigarette, then held out his lighter. Gruber inhaled. Held it, then exhaled. “Danke.”
For the first time since he had arrived, Gruber felt at ease. Like a teacher again. All eyes on him, listening intently.
“I’m not sure how much you know about the ancient Greeks, but they believed that their destinies, their lives, deaths, and everything in between were all predestined, even before they were born. And they personified these beliefs with three women. Three sisters called the Fates. Or more properly, the Moirai. The Moirai control the destinies of all men, and even the gods themselves. They measure one’s life as a length of thread. And as long as that thread isn’t cut, we live.
The first sister was Clotho, who spins the thread of life. She’s often shown sitting at a spinning wheel. The second sister is called Lachesis. She measures out the thread. The third sister is Atropos. Atropos has a pair of metal shears, which she uses to cut the thread.”
“What does this have to do with us?” asked a voice from the men on the floor. “Are we looking for three women?”
Gruber put out his cigarette in a half-full cup of water. “No, according to our orders, we are looking for the Shears of Atropos. Some say that whoever possesses the shears cannot die. And our orders are to locate the shears and deliver them to the Fuhrer.”
*
Gruber slept fitfully. He dreamed he was in a forest and saw a beautiful dark-haired young woman in a white shift. When he approached, she glided away behind a tree. He followed her and as he caught up, he realized it wasn’t her, but it was her, only older. She was still beautiful, though. She moved away from him again, stole behind another tree trunk. He followed her around the tree. She turned. It was still her, but she was dead. Her face was an ancient mass of scars and sores, her eyes red, oozing holes. Her toothless mouth gaped open, revealing a black tongue and cracked, diseased gums. She sprang at him.
Gruber sat up, heart pounding. He sat for a moment, getting his bearing and collecting his thoughts. Dim light was forcing its way through the battered blinds. Morning. He dressed quickly, smoothed his hair back, and checked his reflection in the mirror. He had to look his best for these men. He felt better after talking to them last night. Perhaps they might view him as more of an authority figure. He had stuck the picture of Truda and Hans in the corner of the mirror, and he snatched it up and put it in his breast pocket.
Gruber stood in the of the center village square. It was really just a space surrounding a crude stone statue of three weather-beaten figures. Candles and dried flowers littered the ground around it.
Dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon, a rosy pink in the distance, but the town and surrounding woods lay shrouded in grey. Although it wasn’t raining, the air was moist with a constant drizzle. Gruber was cold and wet, and longed once again for his kaffee. He clapped his hands together for warmth and to show the enthusiasm he didn’t feel.
The mayor and several of his cronies stood miserably in front of him. Twenty or so villagers stood behind them. Their faces were hostile. There was no fear there, thought Gruber. Just malice. But after all we’ve done to their country, who can blame them?
Kolher was speaking quietly to the mayor, who was shaking his head. He looked frightened.
Kohler stepped up to Gruber and spoke quietly. “There have been no volunteers to guide us to the site. The mayor says he cannot force his people to help us. And he also warned us again not to enter the woods.”
The mayor was speaking animatedly with an old woman who had approached and was tugging at his sleeve. Gruber motioned for Krause to come over and asked quietly, “This is a little out of my … area of expertise. What do you recommend? How can we get a guide?”
Krause looked at the villagers, thought for a moment and spoke quietly. “When we had trouble with the hill people sabotaging our vehicles and attacking us at night, we made examples of them.” His eyes met Gruber’s. “Memorable examples.”
Gruber paced across the square. This was a crucial moment. The wrong decision could cost him the respect of his men or the enmity of the town. He stopped and returned to his men.
“Take the mayor into custody,” he told Krause. “Have him guarded. No one may see him or have any contact with him.” He nodded at Kohler, then turned and spoke directly to the civilians.
“This village is now under a curfew” He waited for Kohler to translate. “At sundown all citizens are to remain indoors. Anyone caught out of doors, will be arrested and held for questioning. No one is to leave town. All we are asking for is a guide to lead us to the temple of the Moirai. We know it is nearby. As soon as we have that guide, the mayor will be free and you can get back to your lives”.
He could see some of his men grumbling, and some of the younger village men began shouting and gesturing but were shoved back by the soldiers. Gruber was about to speak again when the sound of a motor caught his attention. He looked up the road. A military kubelwagen rumbled toward them. Gruber looked at Krause, but he was hurrying towards the cars.
The car stopped and the driver exited and opened the rear door. A black-booted leg exited, followed by a slender man wearing the traditional black uniform of the SS. He looked around at the crowd the way a teacher looks at a room full of disobedient kinderga
rteners. He shook his head and approached Gruber.
He lifted his hand. “Heil Hitler.” Gruber saluted back.
“You are Captain Heinrich Gruber.” It was not a question.
“I am, sir.”
“I am Sturmbannfuhrer Engels. I am now assuming command of this mission. You will remain as an advisor. I am told you have some background knowledge in the object we seek.”
Gruber opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Engels gestured at the gathered crowd, “What is happening here?”
Kohler approached him, saluted. “Sturmbannfuhrer Engels, the townspeople are not cooperating with our search. The captain has just declared a curfew until we find a guide.”
Engels’s face brightened at the sight of Kohler. “Wilhelm! How are you?” The two men embraced warmly. Engels held him at arm’s length and gave him the once over. “You are looking well. How is your father?”
Kohler smiled. “He is in excellent health, sir. I will tell him you inquired about him.”
Engle patted him on the shoulder. “Unfortunately I will not be able to make our hunting trip this year. I will be in Berlin.”
“Ach, that is too bad, sir. I know you will be missed.”
Engels nodded. “Yes. Now what was this about a curfew?”
Kohler straightened. Back to being a soldier. “Captain Gruber has just set… a curfew.” He said “curfew” distastefully.
Enges glanced at Gruber. “A curfew? Really? Apparently, Captain Gruber is not accustomed to dealing with these types of people.”
“No, sir,” Kohler added. “I don’t think he is.”
Gruber said nothing, but his thoughts were dark as he glared at Kohler.
Engels put a forefinger on his lower lip and silently scanned the crowd. He motioned for two of his men and pointed at a young woman wearing a red print dress. The soldiers pulled her, one on each arm, from the other villagers. A man lunged forward but a brutal blow from a rifle butt knocked him to the ground. The soldiers brought the woman before Engels and forced her to kneel. She was pleading, reaching out towards him.
“Tell them this is just the beginning,” Engels said to Kohler, approaching the woman. “Tell them no one is safe until someone offers to lead us to that temple.”
As Kohler translated for the crowd, Engels drew his pistol, pulled back the slide, and shot the woman in the head. She collapsed without a sound. her body twitched once and was still. Blood pooled beneath her.
“Now!” shouted Engels over the cries of the villagers. He reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a steel magazine, full of bullets. He raised his arm, holding the magazine high in the air. Even in the gloom of the overcast morning, the shiny steel gleamed menacingly in his hand. The crowd quieted down as he began to speak. Kohler loudly translated. “As you see, we have more bullets. More, I think, than there are people in this village.” Engels paused, let the meaning of that statement sink in. “What we do not have is time. Therefore, if we do not have a volunteer to guide us to this temple in five minutes, I will use another bullet. Five minutes after that? Maybe two.” He looked coolly at the shocked, frightened faces. He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. He snapped it shut and looked directly at the mayor. “You have five minutes.”
*
Forty minutes later, Gruber was marching. The forest seemed endless; trees after trees after trees. Not enormously tall, or thick, but there was so many of them. Their branches intertwined, often blocking out the sky. It would be easy to get lost in a forest like this. Gruber adjusted his shoulder straps. His pack was too heavy. He was heavy as well. He had put on weight since his assignment to Athens. Sedentary work, not enough walking, he supposed. And now here he was. He was wet, he was cold, he was hungry, he was tired, and they were chasing a myth. This entire mission was a waste of time. He wished fervently that he had been left behind. But no, Engels had told him they might need his “expertise.”
Within minutes of the woman’s death, an older man had stepped forward and volunteered to be their guide to the temple. There was much shouting and gesticulating by the other villagers, but after Engels fired his gun into the air, they calmed down.
The guide walked purposefully along a narrow, barely noticeable path that led up a slope. Engels followed, speaking with Kohler. Behind them was Krause, with his men, who were spread out in a line, walking easily as they spoke quietly with one another. They soldiers had to keep pace with Engels, who moved very slowly and daintily, often grabbing onto Kohler’s shoulder for support.
Gruber brought up the rear. His boot slipped on a wet rock, he fought for balance, stumbled and slipped to one knee in the mud. One of the men turned around but did not bother to help him up. Gruber reached for a limb to pull himself up when a pale shape dashed by just out of his field of vision. He turned, but whatever it was, it was gone. Something white. A goat? A wolf? Did they even have wolves in Greece? He quickly got to his feet and hurried after the others.
*
After an hour or so, Engels requested a brief rest. Gruber gratefully sat down on a large rock. Krause walked around, looking at the soldiers. He seemed troubled.
“Where is Hahn?” he demanded. Nobody answered. Some shrugs, uncertain murmurs.The villager stood off to one side, watching them. His face was impassive.
Werner looked down the path. “Last time I saw him, about twenty minutes ago, he said he had to take a piss.”
“HAHN!” Krause shouted. No answer. “HAHN! Where the hell is he?”
The men spent five minutes calling for Hahn until Engels called an end to it. “He will follow our tracks. We don’t have time for this.” He looked at Kohler. “Ask him how much farther.”
After consulting with the man, Kohler reported to Engels. “We should be there by nightfall. If we hurry.”
Engels nodded. “Then we hurry.”
*
The rest of the day was a blur. Marching. Occasionally stopping for a few minutes at a time. Krause and some of the men shouting for Hahn. Then marching again. Weaving through the oaks, crawling over rocks and fallen tree as they followed the barely perceptible path.
They stopped when one of the men claimed he had seen someone through the trees. Krause sent three soldiers to investigate, but they found nothing.
Gruber passed the time by imagining what Truda and the baby were doing. Noon: lunch of course, and then perhaps a nap. Two o’clock; perhaps a stroll through Geusenfriedhof, the beautiful old cemetery in Cologne. So peaceful and serene. He and Truda would often spend hours among the beautiful monuments and statues. The cemetery always felt more about celebrating life and the living than death. The dead were dead. They didn’t care about grand tombs or statues. It was the living who designed and cared for them. The living who visited and remembered them.
As the sun began its slow descent over the western mountaintops, the group reached a small clearing atop a plateau. In the center was a mass of huge boulders, about five meters high. The guide spoke urgently to Kohler, who looked at Engels. Engels, in turn, shouted orders at Krause. Krause called his men to him. Gruber walked toward them, feeling that he should be part of the conversation.
“And what exactly does he say is the threat?” Engle was asking Kohler, although he was staring at the guide, who looked extremely uncomfortable. He held his hat in his hands, his eyes on his feet.
“He’s not saying exactly, just that the temple is ‘protected’. He wants to return to the village as soon as possible.”
“Are we here?” Gruber asked excitedly. “Are we at the temple?”
Engels glanced at Gruber, scowled, then back at Kohler.
“First of all, tell him he’s not going anywhere. We may need his help to get back to the village. And second of all…” he turned around, holding out his arms in an exaggerated fashion. “Where is this temple?”
Kohler rattled off some Greek and the guide pointed to the rock mound. Gruber and the others approached it, and sure enough, on closer inspection, it d
id indeed look like a man-made structure. Roughly rectangular in shape, with vines covering much of it, and the opening blocked with large boulders, almost as if someone wanted to conceal it. As he got closer, he saw carvings in the stone above the entranceway(if that’s what it was).Very old, and in disrepair, but definitely there.
Gruber stepped on a rock, balanced himself, reached up and began pulling vines away. He uncovered some carvings and brushed them off. Faded and worn, but legible. He stood back and took out a notebook and began quickly writing.
“What does it say?” Engels demanded.
Gruber looked down at his notebook, back up at the entranceway. He pointed. “That says ‘Moirai’.” Noting Engels’s blank expression, he added, “The Greek name for the Fates. And this…” he moved closer to the structure. “This says ‘infernal goddesses’… only…” He rubbed his mouth, gazing up at the inscription.
“Only ‘what’?” Engels’s tone was impatient.
“It’s just that the Fates were generally not seen as evil or ‘infernal’.” That epitaph usually refers to the Erinyes, or the Furies. They were the goddesses, demons, of vengeance. Three sisters, just like the Fates. They punished wrongdoers.”
“So? What does it matter, as long as the shears are here?”
Gruber shook his head. “But why the Erinyes?”
“Ne! Erinyes! Erinyes!” The elderly guide pointed at the ruined temple
Engels approached the opening and pulled at one of the boulders. It didn’t budge. He motioned for Krause.
“Have your men clear this opening.”
Moments later, three soldiers, coats off, shirt sleeves rolled up, began prying and lifting the boulders from the entranceway to the temple.
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 24