Alphabet House

by Adler-Olsen, Jussi

  Army Surgeon Thieringer was apparently satisfied with his treatment results. From now on their care would be intensified. Perhaps it was only a question of months before they again would be considered fit enough to serve the Führer.

  ‘Thieringer doesn’t suspect anything,’ Kröner began softly, looking at Lankau and Schmidt in turn. ‘But prospects aren’t good. We’ll be back at our old posts before we know it. How do you suppose that’ll be? Does the Postman have a solution to that problem as well, little Schmidty?’

  ‘As for myself, I’m making goddamn sure I’m not sent to the front. You can, too!’ Lankau growled, dropping his voice. ‘We have worse problems, in my opinion!’ He got up and calmly faced Calendar Man.

  ‘Up you go, Fricke. You’re lying over here,’ he said, slapping his bed. At first Calendar Man didn’t take the broad-faced man seriously and made no attempt to move. After the third slap Lankau clenched his first and held it threateningly in front of Calendar Man. ‘Next time it won’t be with the flat of my hand, understand? It’ll be with this! Are you gonna move now?’

  ‘How do you think the nurses will feel about all this shifting around? Are you deciding which is your own bed now?’ Kröner looked weary.

  ‘They won’t notice it as long as the right case notes are in the right pocket. That’s all!’ Lankau turned up the case-note holders and turned towards Dieter Schmidt, who was once again his neighbour. ‘So we’re a happy little family once more, you gnome! And you’re going to answer our questions, comrade, so spit it out: where’s the Postman, and what the hell do you know about his plans? After that, you can tell me what we’re going to do about those two bastards!’ The broad-faced man pointed at Bryan’s empty bed and jerked his thumb in the direction of James without taking his eyes off Dieter Schmidt. ‘Those two devils know too much, I agree. They’re our biggest problem right now.’ He glanced briefly at James, who lay with his eyes closed, breathing lightly. ‘What would happen if that stupid von der Leyen tried to run away again? You think the Postman can tell me that too?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Dieter Schmidt stared at him coldly.

  ‘Then I think you should bloody well tell us!’

  Footsteps in the corridor warned Lankau. All of them were lying apathetically when Sister Petra looked in on them. She didn’t appear to notice Lankau’s new place. She only had eyes for James.

  That night the malingerers continued bickering about the Postman and the valuables in the goods wagon. And about Bryan.

  Things had taken a turn for the worse. James could scarcely move. His nausea seemed to be chronic and he’d begun feeling feverish. Bryan had never been away so long for treatment. Everyone in the ward was worried, though the reasons were totally different.

  On the one hand, James wished fervently that Bryan would return soon, safe and sound. Normally a shock treatment only took this long if the patient got cramps. Then it could easily take a couple of hours longer. But on the other hand Bryan might have been moved to another ward. And even though that meant separation and uncertainty, it would definitely be best for Bryan in the long run.

  As the hours passed, the malingerers became more and more intent on doing away with Arno von der Leyen as soon as he was brought back. Their whispering got on James’ nerves. He, too, was the object of their quiet discussions, but for the time being they seemed confident that he was under control. Red-Eye and Calendar Man they ignored entirely.

  For once Kröner was the most cautious. Lankau suggested tying a sheet around Bryan’s neck and throwing him out the window. Kröner grunted and shook his head. It was only a few hours since they’d been moved. A ‘suicide’ in this little ward would be risky business.

  ‘Then we’ll only be six when it comes to the interrogation,’ he finally said. ‘Are you two really sure you can manage being cross-examined?’

  Then Kröner stiffened. The answer came from an unexpected quarter.

  ‘I can!’ The voice in the dark was new, authoritative and icy cold. Its effect practically lit up the room. ‘Whether you others can is probably more doubtful.’ The words came from the insignificant, sharp-featured man with bloodshot eyes, Peter Stich.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen after such a long, one-sided acquaintanceship.’ The sounds coming from Kröner and Lankau’s beds indicated they were probably already sitting up. James didn’t take his eyes off Stich. ‘Stay where you are, Herr Sturmbannführer!’ Addressed by his well-deserved title, Dieter Schmidt stopped in his tracks in front of James’ bed. ‘You have done excellently. I’m very satisfied with your loyalty and silence. You’ve brought us a long way towards our goal. Now go back to your bed. As for you, gentlemen,’ he said, taking note of the attention he was attracting, ‘having got thus far, let me introduce myself. As you have doubtlessly already figured out, I am the one who’s been haunting your thoughts for such a long time as the “Postman”.’

  The effect of the words was unexpectedly slight. The muttering from Horst Lankau’s bed was instantly interrupted by Kröner. ‘Well, well, how about that! What an exclusive, little society we’re becoming.’ Kröner nodded to Red-Eye with no trace of astonishment. ‘The leader himself has shed his skin. And an interesting disguise, too, one might add. Highly effective!’

  ‘And so it shall continue.’ The Postman silenced Kröner’s irony. ‘But, as you say: an exclusive society. Do I need to remind you that the man you gentlemen are thinking of dispatching to the next world is the highest-ranking officer in the ward? Naturally I share your opinion, gentlemen. Arno von der Leyen does not behave as a madman should. In fact, I, too, am pretty convinced he’s just as healthy as you gentlemen and myself. I’ve seen him doing things he shouldn’t. Hiding pills, for example! But there’s another snag about this von der Leyen we need to bear in mind. I doubt whether you gentlemen are as familiar with Oberführer von der Leyen’s merits as I.’

  Lankau snorted. ‘He’s a wimp, he is! One of those good boys who stands by while we others go into action and then takes all the credit.’ Lankau’s ridicule applied to anyone with a higher rank than himself. Here in the ward Arno von der Leyen was the only one. ‘He was easy to catch, the wimp. Like a flustered lap dog!’

  ‘Possibly. But you should realise he’s also an opportunist with a history. Apart from being a natural ass-licker, he’s utterly loyal. A true Nazi. And not least of all he’s one of Hitler’s confidants. One of the Berlin saints. But despite all the outward glamour, I think you should be damned glad he was so easy for you to catch, Herr Standartenführer Lankau. Because the Arno von der Leyen I know is not merely a wunderkind but also an extremely efficient killer.’ Red-Eye looked around slowly, nodding affirmatively. Lankau’s expression was doubtful and disapproving. ‘Yes, indeed, my dear standartenführer. How do you imagine that guy has got as far as he has? I can assure you that Arno von der Leyen had scarcely begun growing down on his chin before he earned himself a worthy place among our Führer’s bodyguards. With death’s head and everything. It’s not everyone who gets as far at so young an age. The epitome of youth, indeed! But also a war hero. There’s blood on his medals, as there should be. He’s being given special treatment because of his status. Without him, I doubt any of us would have landed up here. We’re the ones who are the small fry and he’s the one who’s important. We are merely his roommates, his backdrop! Do you understand that, gentlemen?’

  James was terrified by the Postman’s cold, monotonous voice. During the months of silence this man had been assessing both his enemies and his friends. He was their puppeteer. James shuddered at the thought of how he might have given himself away to him.

  ‘But it’s not only Arno von der Leyen’s history and merits I’m familiar with,’ the Postman emphasized. ‘I also saw his face once, though it’s a long time ago. At the time I scarcely noticed him.

  ‘And now comes the interesting part: I cannot connect the Arno von der Leyen I saw with the man lying over there. I’m not even certain I’ve ever seen that face before
we arrived in this hospital! I have my doubts, you see.’

  He shushed Kröner, who was about to interrupt. James was trembling all over. The sheet was already clammy with sweat. The situation could scarcely be worse. Bryan’s identity was getting shaky and even Kröner could be made to shut up.

  The fact that Kröner let this happen was disquieting in itself.

  ‘We must think rationally and take all possibilities into consideration. And now you must listen extra carefully, gentlemen. For which is worse? That he commits suicide with our modest help and thereby departs from our lives, possibly meaning torture for us as a consequence, or that one day he is revealed as a deceiver, a malingerer? If we let him live and he is the real Arno von der Leyen, then everything is fine, apart from the fact that he knows too much about our plans, thanks to the great need of you gentlemen to whisper at night. And should he not be Arno von der Leyen, he would still know too much. If it turns out one day he’s faking it, the security people would almost certainly suspect us as well. They would dig into our past. That’s why I had to come to his rescue with the bomb shutter! I’m certain he would have avenged himself on you gentlemen for spoiling his escape if he’d been found out. There too, our fates could inadvertently have been linked to his.’ He glanced around. His audience looked grim. ‘Yes, indeed. It’s definitely a dilemma worth thinking over.

  ‘I’ve been studying him since the day we arrived. I consider him to be unstable, young and confused. It’s hard to determine whether he’s Arno von der Leyen or not. But if he’s not the real thing, I don’t think he’ll be able to carry out his deception to the bitter end.’ He scrutinized each of them in turn. ‘For me, pain is a titillating dance of new sensations, I might add. A way of investigating the outer elements of the body. But not everyone need see things the way I do.’ Dieter Schmidt shrugged his shoulders. He was pale. The Postman rounded off with, ‘Am I right?’

  It was clear that Dieter Schmidt’s respect for the Postman was not shared by Lankau. Kröner accepted the situation. ‘Shut up, Lankau! We know what’s on your mind,’ Kröner admonished, as Lankau’s grumbling increased. ‘From now on we stand together! Got it?’

  ‘Then let us agree,’ said the Postman dispassionately, ‘that Herr Standartenführer Lankau, man of action that he is, would also be the right man to dispatch the so-called von der Leyen from this miserable world.’

  Practically all the plans were ready for Bryan’s liquidation by the time he was brought back to the room. ‘You can’t use his own sheet, Lankau! They’ll see it when they put him to bed. Use yours, if you insist on getting ready now,’ Kröner spluttered. ‘You can always switch it later.’

  ‘Let’s wait until he returns. Then we can take his sheet anyway.’ The Postman smiled across at James. ‘Isn’t that true, Herr Standartenführer Peuckert?’ James didn’t react, but continued staring into space as his blood turned to ice in his veins.

  ‘I don’t like him seeing what we do.’ Lankau looked hatefully at James.

  Red-Eye nodded. ‘I know, but he won’t report us. I don’t know why, but he won’t. You gentlemen have got him well under control.’

  James looked out towards the fir trees and began counting them unconsciously. When he finished he counted them again. The calm he was so badly in need of was not forthcoming.

  As anticipated, Bryan had got cramps following his shock treatment. He had been under observation all night. It would take a long time before he could defend himself. James was at his wit’s end. Exhausted and hard-pressed in both mind and body.

  While the nursing aides were dealing out lunch rations further down the hallway Lankau wrung out Bryan’s sheet in the washbasin. It was now as thin and taut as a length of hemp rope and lay ready under Bryan’s blanket, fastened at one end to the head of the bed.

  The nurses had already made up his bed. They would leave Arno von der Leyen unattended until he woke up.

  ‘Is that the right way to do it? Suicide, that is? Shouldn’t we just toss him out?’ Lankau asked uneasily. ‘It would look like an attempt to escape. It’s not far to the firs on the other side of the fence. With a good jump from the windowsill it would be possible to land over there.’

  ‘And …?’ The Postman didn’t seem to want an answer.

  ‘And then his “jump” would fail, of course!’

  The Postman sucked in his cheeks. ‘In other words, there will have been an escape attempt in our ward and we’ll have the investigations again. Not to mention them bolting the windows. Then that route would be barred for us should the situation demand it. And what if he were to survive the fall? Nope, we’ll hang him when it gets dark.’

  James was the only one who didn’t have a bell-cord over his bed. His placing in the middle of a six-man ward was merely temporary. It was a depressing situation. If he tried to foil their plans he would end up like Bryan. And right now he had trouble enough just remaining conscious.

  The help would have to come from without. He’d have to see to that.

  But if the makeshift rope were discovered, investigations would be put into effect immediately and Red-Eye’s prophecy brought to fulfilment in all its horror. Only Sister Petra could avert a complete catastrophe and cast suspicion in the right direction.

  But Petra no longer came every day.

  That day it began growing dark already in the middle of the afternoon, as if symbolizing Bryan’s vanishing existence.

  Petra entered the ward quite without warning. Kröner was clearly taken by surprise when the ceiling light was switched on. She filled her jug with tap water from the washbasin and walked past every bed, filling up the glasses on the bed tables.

  When she reached James he tried to force himself up in bed for a moment. ‘My goodness, Herr Peuckert!’ she exclaimed, pressing him back gently. James positioned his head so that her head blocked the others’ vision. But the words wouldn’t come. His desperate eyes and uncontrolled movements were new to her and incomprehensible.

  So she fetched the senior nursing officer.

  This person of authority, who was seldom caught displaying signs of sensitivity either to the staff or patients, studied James attentively. Bending over him, her face shone with realisation. Shaking her head indulgently, she scurried past the anxious Petra and over to the window, where she drew the curtain a trifle over the anti-bomb shutters. Thus a tiny patch of greyish light that had been dancing on James’ cheek was extinguished. Feeling momentarily pleased with herself after this little operation, the head nurse turned to Bryan and patted him surprisingly hard on the cheek.

  Bryan grunted distantly and drew his head away from the direction of the blow. ‘He’ll wake up soon,’ she said, heading out of the room without looking to see if Petra was following. ‘About time, too!’ were her final words.

  Petra bent over James and stroked his hair gently. He emitted a faint, unintelligible whisper. Petra’s eyes smiled. The whistling sounds made her lips part with delight.

  Then the senior nursing officer called for her.

  The following seconds seemed like infinity.

  ‘Well, buddy,’ Lankau smiled at Calendar Man. ‘Now we’re going to have some fun. Come over here!’ he called, tightening the sheet around his victim’s neck so the knot covered the pulsating carotid artery as planned. It would be a short, efficient fall, designed to break the neck.

  The malingerers knew what they were doing. James lay in his bed hyperventilating while Calendar Man grinned like a child at play. He raised Bryan up onto his shoulder as instructed by Lankau. He patted Bryan’s naked buttocks and wriggled with glee while the broad-faced man laughed and flung open the window behind Bryan’s bed. The other malingerers merely looked on languidly.

  Calendar Man’s pats, grunts and rough movements made Bryan open his eyes. Bewildered by his position and the cold, hard edge of the windowsill beneath him, he raised his head and began squealing senselessly like a stuck pig.

  ‘Take hold of his arms, damn it!’ sputtered Kröner, jumping
out of bed and striking Bryan a hard blow on the shoulder. Calendar Man suddenly stopped and let go, confused about the abrupt, serious turn the game had taken. He twisted around and began to whine, slapping the back of his hand feebly and reluctantly against Lankau and Kröner’s bodies as the two stood on either side of Bryan, struggling with him. The despairing figure now had one leg out of the window, the other hooked firmly over the windowsill.

  The Postman didn’t move from his bed, but the skinny man shot up and ran with all his hate and fury headfirst into Bryan’s diaphragm. The effect was unintentional. With a roar, Bryan jerked forward so violently that it sounded like a hammer blow when his forehead struck the top of the puny man’s head. Dieter Schmidt toppled over without a sound.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted the Postman, and ordered the malingerers back to their beds. He had heard the running footsteps in the corridor before they had.

  The two porters came to an abrupt halt when they found Bryan on the floor. Madness radiated from his eyes and his groans were half-stifled on account of the tight sheet.

  ‘He’s completely out of his mind! You hold him down,’ one of them admonished, as he closed the window. ‘I’ll fetch the straitjacket.’

  But then the air-raid sirens started wailing.

  Chapter 23

  The evacuation to the cellar took place in great haste, giving the porters other things to think about. As the days passed Bryan became more and more convinced they had never reported the episode, and thanked God they hadn’t got as far as putting him in a straitjacket. Then he would have been an easy victim.

  The bombardment of Freiburg had not caused any damage in the immediate vicinity.

  Some small barrack buildings were being erected over by the square, presumably to relieve pressure on the wards. Any thoughts of escaping by that route were thereby eliminated. Moreover, all the fences sported porcelain insulators and warning signs. But apart from that, and the strained expressions on the nursing staff’s faces, things were pretty much as usual for everyone. Except for Bryan himself.