by Derek Hansen
By the time two months had passed, Colombina was beginning to question her motives. The extra days on duty had become a drag on her social life. She never knew from one day to the next whether she’d be called upon and she’d grown tired of apologising to her friends. Besides, her memory of the man in the photograph had begun to fade. She no longer had a clear image or impression of him, and couldn’t recall quite what it was about his picture that had caused her to react. Besides, she’d known the Oberstleutnant for less than a year. Could she really hope to recognise him from a photo after forty-eight years? She decided to see Helen and get herself taken off the stand-by list.
Helen understood. That was the way it went with relief volunteers. But Colombina had been more reliable than most and Helen didn’t want to let her go entirely.
‘What if I put you on my emergency list?’ she asked.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a list of people I call when I run out of standby volunteers.’
‘Okay,’ said Colombina reluctantly. It seemed churlish to say otherwise.
Five weeks passed before Colombina was asked to put in an extra day. It was a Wednesday, the busiest day, when the volunteers also distributed frozen meals for the weekend when the centre was closed and there was no Meals-on-Wheels service. Those recipients with microwaves and no relatives or friendly neighbours to look after them gladly paid the eight dollars for the two extra meals.
Colombina groaned. It was her bowling day and they were due to play competition against a visiting team.
‘Isn’t there anyone else?’
‘Well, yes there is,’ replied Helen. ‘But John and Edna have asked for you specially. They’ve got to go to Melbourne for a funeral and for once I can’t help them out. Apparently you offered to help them if they ever got stuck.’
‘Yes. That’s right. I did.’ Now that the opportunity to meet Heinrich Bose had finally come, Colombina was no longer certain that she wanted to. She’d put him right out of her mind.
‘Then you’ve only got yourself to blame,’ said Helen. She laughed and hung up.
When she drove up to the centre, Colombina was as bright and cheerful as always. She met her partner for the day, a retired bank manager called Ted, who insisted that everybody appreciate the sacrifice he was making by giving up his Wednesday. He was the type who made the people on his route feel guilty for being helpless.
‘You drive. I’ll take the food in,’ he told Colombina.
‘I’ll drive and we’ll both take the food in,’ replied Colombina brightly. ‘I like to meet my customers.’
‘Suit yourself.’ It was going to be one of those days, Ted could tell. Next time he got called up he’d go down to the club instead and have his usual roast beef and potatoes, and hope some of his mates turned up.
‘Right,’ said Colombina. ‘Who’s first?’
She served lunch and spread her cheer through eight homes before she reached number fifty-seven Blaxland Street, the stone and fibro cottage where Heinrich Bose lived. Ted took the hot meal out of the insulated box on the back seat and led the way down the path.
‘The odds are a million to one,’ Colombina told herself.
‘Good afternoon, I am Heinrich Bose. Thank you for giving up your time.’
The front door had been left ajar and Ted had marched right in, barely bothering to knock. Colombina heard Heinrich Bose greet Ted and certainly heard the welcome in his voice. Yet there was something about it which chilled her. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. The accent was strange—then again, she’d never heard the Oberstleutnant speak in English—but the tone of his voice and the intelligence it conveyed touched a nerve.
‘Good afternoon, I am Heinrich Bose.’
‘I’m Colombina. This is Ted. Please don’t get up.’
The old man wouldn’t be deterred. He rose to his feet without hesitation, his right hand firmly planted on the arm of his chair to protect his right knee. Once upright, he stood to attention as Colombina knew he would, and formally bowed his head before extending his hand to her. She took his hand and knew immediately.
‘I am pleased to meet you … Colombina?’ Heinrich arched his eyebrows as if querying the name. ‘People say we Swiss are neutral but we are never neutral where beautiful women are concerned.’
Colombina laughed, but her mind raced.
‘Colombina Galli. I’m pleased to meet you.’ She calmly placed the two frozen meals she was carrying on the table beside her and shook the murderer’s hand. ‘You seem surprised by my name.’
‘No, delighted. Little dove. I cannot think of a more suitable name.’
‘Do you want the soup now?’ Ted cut across their conversation, miffed that Colombina was the centre of attention, not him.
‘No thank you, Ted. Put it in the fridge if you don’t mind. I’ll keep it for dinner.’ Heinrich answered Ted but never took his eyes off Colombina. They’d lost little of their intensity and she felt as naked before their scrutiny as she had as a seventeen year old.
‘How did you get the name Colombina?’ He turned from her finally, placed his hand back on the arm of the chair, and slowly eased himself into it.
Colombina very nearly told him. His inspection had unsettled her. In fact if he hadn’t looked away she would have told him, and that would have begged the question as to her real name. Absurd as it seems, she hadn’t considered the possibility that he might recognise her or question her. It was such a long shot. Besides, surely she was no more than one young girl among many who had shared his bed. She cursed her foolishness. She knew the calibre of the mind she was up against. Whatever happened next she knew she would have to be careful and always on her guard. She watched him for any small sign of recognition, but he was now more interested in his lunch.
‘I was a very small baby … tiny … not more than two kilograms. My father said I looked like a little featherless bird.’
‘A little like my lunch perhaps.’
‘Roast chicken,’ said Ted proudly, as if he were personally responsible for cooking it. ‘And roast potatoes and broccoli. Delicious.’
‘Nutritious, yes. Delicious, no. Tell me, Colombina, would you describe this meal as delicious?’
‘Nutritious will do nicely.’
‘Indeed. Please do not think I am not grateful. I appreciate the system that provides it and the two of you for bringing it. For giving up your afternoon for the likes of me. I imagine you both have many better things to do.’
‘Any time,’ Ted responded. ‘It’s a small sacrifice in the overall scheme of things. My friends will just have to do without me for a while.’
Colombina was tempted to laugh and she suddenly realised that Heinrich was playing up to her, implicating her, making her side with him as he’d done with Cecilia so many years earlier. Ted was oblivious to such subtleties. She carried the two frozen weekend meals through to the small kitchen and stacked them in his freezer. She looked back at the Oberstleutnant, taking the opportunity to look at him more closely. His straight back had bent with age, and the broad shoulders had grown gaunt. His face was more angular and his slightly beaked nose more pronounced. And his lips had retreated to become thin red lines. But his attitude, his bearing, had not given in to the years. She fumbled for the right word … what was it? … patrician! Yes, he was patrician. Intelligent, aloof, aristocratic. And there were other things age had not and could not change. The burns on his hairless hands and the scar that tracked from above his left ear to the back of his skull.
‘Will I see you again, Colombina?’
Columbina started. Had he caught her staring? Colombina was flushed with guilt. But how could he have? He hadn’t looked up. His attention hadn’t wavered from the meal in front of him.
‘If you behave yourself.’
Heinrich laughed. And if Colombina had any vestiges of doubt left, his laugh dispelled them. It was more of a throaty chuckle really. Warm and genuine and unforgettable. More the laugh of a lover than a murderer.
Colombina was glad to leave the house and review everything that had happened second by second. ‘Heinrich Bose’ was no more his name than ‘Colombina’ was hers. He was no more Swiss than Attila the Hun. She knew exactly who he was, but did he know who she was? She shuddered when she recalled the way his eyes had seemed to bore right into her; to seek out her thoughts and hold them up for inspection. He’d seen through Ted quickly enough, but what had he learned about her? Probably not much. Would a murderer knowingly make jokes and play games with the daughter of one of his victims? She didn’t think so. If he had recognised her it would have shown. She felt sure of that. Then another thought occurred to her, stunning in its implications. What if he had recognised her? What if he was now sitting there in his armchair, tray on his knees, eating his lunch and wondering if she had recognised him! What if he was playing her game? That was exactly the sort of thing he’d do.
If Ted noticed any change in Colombina, he didn’t mention it. When Colombina suggested she stayed in the car while he delivered the rest of the lunches, he had only one thing to say.
‘About time you came to your senses.’
The following day, Colombina did her normal Thursday deliveries with Ann. Once again, her partner accused her of being insufferably content.
‘Come on, Colombina,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me all about your secret lover. You must have one. Your smile gives you away. There’s only one thing that makes a woman smile like that, and that’s a good, healthy bonking.’
‘Don’t you wish.’
‘Who is he? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone outside of the centre, the bowling club, or our card games. In fact I won’t tell anyone outside of the peninsula.’
Colombina began to laugh. ‘Thank you. You’re not usually so discreet.’
‘Good, then that’s settled. Tell me everything. I want to know everything. Even the naughty bits. Especially the naughty bits.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
But of course there was. Colombina was desperate for someone to talk to. She couldn’t get the Oberstleutnant out of her mind. He had been her lover and the first man to reach her heart. Some of the things she’d loved about him, she’d glimpsed in him still: his gentleness and his charm; the keen brain behind the kind eyes; his quiet confidence; his sense of humour, often ironic or mocking, and often self-deprecating; and, the thing that worried her most, his immense self-control.
Colombina now realised that if he had recognised her, he would have given no indication. She had no doubt at all about who had controlled their encounter. He’d taken charge the moment they’d walked into his home. He’d worked Ted out and realised he had an accomplice in her for his brand of humour. He’d achieved this in just a couple of sentences. But was it pure intuition? Or had he recognised her and tested her for confirmation? This is what worried Colombina. The exchange had been brief, but oh so familiar! So practised! So instinctive. It was as if the intervening years counted for nothing. If he’d set out to trap her, he’d succeeded. She was no match for him. She never had been.
‘Are you going to tell me?’
‘Sorry, Ann.’
‘We’re getting worried about you. You keep doing that, drifting away while we’re talking to you. Are we boring you? Am I?’
Ann was joking of course, but Colombina had to concede the substance behind her comment. She’d have to be more careful. She didn’t want her friends noticing a change in her, not now. She laughed once more, as she was expected to, as she always did.
‘No, Ann. Without any doubt you are the most exciting person I ever get to talk to. As a matter of fact, because you are my best friend, and because I know I can count on your discretion, I will tell you. There is a new man.’
‘Really? Tell me, tell me!’
‘Well, he’s very intelligent.’
‘And …?’
‘Very charming.’
‘And …?’
‘And at least twenty years younger than me with ears that stick out and a thing that doesn’t.’
‘Colombina!’
‘Maybe I’ll be luckier next time and get it the other way around. Now on your feet, we’ve got customers waiting. You take this one in and I’ll do the next.’
Colombina sat in the car and wondered what she should do. If she had to rely on John and Edna being called away to funerals, she’d get nowhere. She had to see the Oberstleutnant again and the sooner the better. But what reason could there be to call in? She needed a reason and a good one. She couldn’t just turn up on his doorstep. If he hadn’t already recognised her, then that would make him suspicious. And if he had, that would be the ball game. If she was going to avenge her mother, she’d have to find a way to get close to him. Then she’d deal with him. Exactly how, she’d no idea. But one thing was for sure, she had no intention of martyring herself in the process.
Two weeks passed before Colombina’s son-in-law inadvertently handed her both the means to make contact with the Oberstleutnant and to exact retribution. Her daughter Alessandra brought her family up to Clareville for their monthly Sunday visit. They dragged Mario’s little runabout down the slipway, and motored out to the last of the moorings and tied up. Her grandchildren loved fishing but they particularly loved it when they dragged lures behind the boat to jag squid. They loved the way they squirted black ink everywhere and tried to crawl up their arms. But Colombina wouldn’t let them catch squid when she went out with them. They made her flesh crawl. In her mind, the only good squid was a stuffed squid.
So they sat on the mooring and dangled lines over the side and caught illegally small bream and tailor and talked. Her son-in-law loved his food, and he particularly liked the small fish they caught cooked whole. He begged Colombina to cook them for dinner, so outrageous in his flattery and praise of her culinary abilities that he gave her no choice.
‘Everybody deserves to eat well,’ he said. ‘Good food is like good sex. Without either, life is not worth living.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘It’s true, Colombina. Think of the people you deliver your food to. Do they wake up every morning—or even any morning—and say, “Aha! Today I will have a meal I will remember for the rest of my life”? Do they? No! They are just waiting to die, knowing they will never again have good sex, and never again have a good meal. Life no longer holds any pleasure for them. What you do is a necessity, Colombina, not a kindness. Imagine their faces if you were to cook a meal for them. Eh? With rosemary and basil, with bay leaves, garlic and ground black pepper. Imagine if you took these little fish and made them misoltitt. Or made them your risotto Gorgonzola. That is something to live for!’
‘Probably kill the lot of them stone dead.’ Colombina laughed—but she now knew how to get close to the Oberstleutnant. It was true. The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Perhaps it might also lead the way to his grave.
Colombina knew Heinrich wasn’t on a special diet, otherwise his lunch would have been specially marked. So on the following Saturday she made a pot of Blumenkohlsuppe—cream of cauliflower soup—a Rouladen—braised beef rolls stuffed with bacon, mustard and pickled cucumber—from a German cookbook she’d bought the day before, and baked an apfel strudel. To a man faced with the prospect of reheated tomato soup, reheated roast lamb and a garishly coloured strawberry mousse, this meal would seem nothing less than miraculous. This would give the Oberstleutnant something to live for.
On Sunday morning, Colombina went to Mass. She did not take the Sacrament, nor did she consider going to confession. If she had, what would she say? That she had every intention of becoming a murderess? No, all she wanted was a little of the comfort her mother had found in her religion. And she wanted to feel close to her and say a prayer for her. She didn’t say a prayer for herself or ask forgiveness for what she was contemplating, because even thinking about it probably put her beyond redemption, and Colombina wasn’t a hypocrite. She didn’t deny the existence of God—indeed she’d never had a
moment’s doubt that He existed—but she had little use for the church or its servants. They dealt in platitudes and wishful thinking, she in practicalities and reality. How would the church deal with the Oberstleutnant? They’d preach forgiveness and suggest she leave judgement to God and the proper authorities, whoever they might be. Either way, the Oberstleutnant was certain to escape retribution in this life and that, to Colombina, was unacceptable.
She hurried home and packed lunch. Three servings of soup because Heinrich Bose would probably want to keep some for his dinner. Three servings of strudel because he’d probably want a second helping. And the Rouladen. She parboiled some potatoes and sliced some cabbage and onion into a steamer. She taped the pot lids down and wrapped the plate holding the strudel in a tea towel. She packed her best china, enough for both of them, and her best silverware. At the last moment, she remembered the silver salt and pepper cruets. There was no time to waste. Heinrich Bose would be accustomed to eating at twelve forty, which was the time his meals normally arrived. But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t take his Sunday lunch earlier. She decided she had to be there before twelve fifteen.
As she loaded up her car for the five-minute trip to fifty-seven Blaxland Street, she concentrated on the good deed she was doing, and the pleasure she’d bring to the charming old man. Her motive had to appear unambiguous. An act of kindness, that’s all. She would have to take on the role as surely as any actress. But, then again, Colombina was hardly inexperienced. She rang his doorbell and took a deep breath. She prepared her smile. She could see movement through the frosted glass beside the door.
‘Yes?’
The Oberstleutnant showed no sign of recognition. He swayed a little as he squinted at her. Colombina was perplexed. She didn’t quite know what to do. Then she noticed the little indentations on the bridge of his nose. She flashed her mind back to the last meeting. Was he wearing glasses? No! Yes! He put on glasses when he began to eat. So he could see his dinner! They were reading glasses, but did he need glasses to see normally? Yes! She was certain he did. It was clear in the way he squinted and swayed. He was trying to focus. The Oberstleutnant was shortsighted, probably quite severely. Colombina was elated. He couldn’t have recognised her. Dear God, he was lucky he even saw her!