The Cyclist

by Fredrik Nath

  ‘Yes. My parents were always there for me. Never a raised hand, seldom any beatings like my friends at school.’

  ‘Ha! German discipline. It is why I am so different to you. Had it not been for my father’s discipline at home I would never have appreciated the things I do now in life.’

  ‘Discipline?’

  ‘Yes. When a child misbehaves, he needs beating. My father was very good at that, I can assure you. It made me the man I am now, rigorous, disciplined and loyal to the Fatherland and the Party. He was a noble sort.’

  ‘I don’t beat my daughter and never have. I think children respond better to being shown the way, rather than punished for transgressions.’

  ‘No. The German way is the right one. It enforces the laws of society and makes a child understand how to conform to its rules.’

  Sick of the German’s soliloquising, Auguste said, ‘So Helmut, tell me the truth.’

  ‘Truth?

  ‘Yes, can pleasure be gained from another’s pain and suffering? You strike me as a man who enjoys his work’

  ‘Yes, but I do it because it is my duty. For the Party and my Fürer. I feel I stand guard against the ungodly forces of racial mixing, protecting the purity of the Aryan race.’

  ‘You really enjoy it though?’

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes, it is beginning to interest me. I puzzle over it sometimes and I must confess to being curious.’

  ‘Well. Where should I start? There are two types of inflicted pain. One is to gain information; it is what my men do downstairs. Linz was good at that though unlike him, it gives me no pleasure at all. The other, I hesitate to admit, comes from the admixture of pleasure and pain.’

  ‘Pleasure?’

  ‘Yes, it can be sexually arousing. Do you never slap your wife’s rump when you make love?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Auguste lied, ‘the harder the better.’

  He tried to offer a nonchalant laugh but all he could conjure up was a choked giggle. Auguste realised Brunner had to drink most of the next bottle and knew he had to slow down his own consumption. He would make it happen.

  ‘It is something special to hear a whimper from a young woman as you give pleasure and mix it with pain, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, but I am a married man and there is so little time for lovemaking when you have young children in the house.’

  ‘It is not a problem I am burdened with now I am in France. Here I feel I can indulge myself a little.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘That is not all; the power of life and death is equally fascinating. Linz understood. He was a man who showed keenness and understanding.’

  ‘Yes poor Linz. They did terrible things to him.’

  ‘I thought you were unconscious?’

  ‘I saw the body as they lifted me out of that terrible place,’ Auguste said with haste.

  Brunner’s eyes lit up. He became animated again. The subject now stimulated him and Auguste for his part, felt only deeper revulsion if such were possible. It was like poking a snake. One moment you experiment to see what it will do, the next, you jump away in case it bites.

  Halfway into the third bottle, Auguste enjoyed the sensation of being over-refreshed but he had all his faculties, if not his reflexes.

  ‘I often wondered what it would have been like to make love to that girl Bernadette. You know, the singer in the restaurant, the one who died.’

  ‘Her? Why do you bring her up?’

  Brunner’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Well, she was beautiful. I bet she wouldn’t have minded a bit of pain.’

  ‘Her? No. Too young. Stupid girl, no sense of fun. She made me angry. I don’t tolerate rejection by girls like that who have no morals. The way she moved when she sang, even when she walked was provocative.’

  ‘All the same, a beautiful body.’

  Auguste’s mind wandered back to the mortuary and the last glimpse he had of Bernadette’s body. It had been a mortal shell, emptied of love. Emptied of life as well as the organs making life. Despite his revulsion, he continued.

  ‘Whoever killed her must have enjoyed her. I wish it had been me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.’

  ‘But it could only have been a sweet fuck.’

  ‘She fought. She cried and there was no pleasure at first.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know how it was?’

  ‘No, no. I am only using my imagination.’

  ‘Of course. All the same, my imagination tells me it must have been an exquisite pleasure with a young beautiful body like hers.’

  Brunner was silent. He stared into the distance for a few moments then seemed calm and cold.

  ‘I tell you it was no pleasure. The girl fought tooth and nail all the time. As soon as I released her wrists to tie them above her head, she bit me. You saw how she scratched me. She had no capacity for pleasure yet she taunted men with her body. I would have let her live had she just once expressed interest in me. Her death was the only way I could obtain anything other than screams and crying. To be honest, I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted her to stop screaming.’

  ‘But Helmut, why did you not confide in me before? What did you think I would say?’

  ‘You seemed so keen to arrest the killer. It hardly seemed a sensible move to explain then.’

  Brunner stood up. His chair toppled over with a dull thud; he waved his arms.

  ‘If that is all France can offer in the way of women, then you,’ he leaned across the desk, scowling to Auguste, ‘can keep your French whores.’

  Auguste said nothing. The wine dulled him enough for him to react with a slow, careful line of thought. He finished his glass.

  ‘Helmut, it’s been a really pleasant afternoon but I simply must be going back to the Prefecture. We must have this discussion another time over some more of your excellent wine.’

  ‘What?’

  Brunner swayed back and forth. A greenish colour began to evolve on his face and it gave Auguste a deep satisfaction and pleasure to imagine the wine jettisoning from the German’s gullet. It was as if such a beautiful, living thing might have the power to reject Brunner and not the converse. It would be symbolic; the wonderful wine of France rejecting the German.

  ‘But you can’t go now.’

  ‘We could perhaps manage another bottle?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. Maybe you are right, the day is waning.’

  Brunner tried to raise his right arm in a salute, but his left failed to support him and for a moment, he fell across the desk. He recovered with speed but it was clear to Auguste now was the time to go. He had learned enough. In court, he would be solid and truthful. Brunner would go to the guillotine.

  He stood, saluted and said, ‘Auf wiedersehen Major.’

  Brunner looked up.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  As Auguste made for the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Brunner sat with his head in his hands, his shoulders rose and fell and Auguste felt satisfaction at last. The beast was weeping.

  He smiled as he descended the stairs. Germans. They can engineer, they can build armies, but they cannot tolerate good French wine.

  3

  The rain ceased when Auguste parked outside the Prefecture. He looked back at his car then realised one wheel was on the pavement and one of the windows was still open. He descended the stairs and corrected his inebriate parking, shut the window and thanked his lucky stars there was no one to challenge his drunken driving. It would have looked bad, though of course there were no other consequences for a policeman of his rank.

  Once ensconced at his desk he stared straight ahead and despite his lack of sobriety, he began to think things through. Brunner had admitted the murder. It was a triumph but he needed to be cautious. If Judge Dubois were an accessory, then Auguste would have to be secretive too. He needed to commit the entire conversation to paper. He ha
d no wish to involve Édith; it was a safety issue. He could not afford for her to be a target of the SD.

  He wondered what Claude might do if he found out about the hangings. Most likely, he would never find out the hanged men were not the ones Brunner expected. If Claude was in league with Brunner then he would have to be excluded, but he was an unknown quantity now.

  Édith knocked and entered.

  ‘Auguste, there is a small silly matter...’

  ‘Oh?’ he said.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Well I had a few glasses of excellent Bordeaux and I don’t care.’

  ‘Auguste, do you need to go home?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but later. I have some things to write.’

  ‘Dictate them then and I will type them up.’

  ‘No, it is a private matter. How can I help you?’

  ‘Help me?’

  ‘You said there was a matter...’

  ‘Yes. It’s that poacher, François Dufy again.’

  ‘Dufy?’

  ‘He has been arrested again.’

  ‘What for now?’

  ‘He was doing almost the same thing as last time.’

  ‘Which was?’

  She held an index finger to her mouth.

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I... I...’

  ‘You can speak freely.’

  ‘He was in the market place again selling game. He was shouting things.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Fat trout, not as fat as Göring.’

  ‘What?’

  Auguste smiled and he saw the glimmer of a smile on his secretary’s lips.

  ‘One of your constables picked him up. Claude questioned him and cautioned him.’

  ‘Send him up. I will have to reprimand him myself. He takes no notice of Claude.’

  Auguste sat alone. He tapped an index finger on the desk. He knew the SD were listening. He knew he had to make it good but he had doubts about his ability to be subtle after a bottle and a half of beautiful Bordeaux. He had to concentrate. He poured a glass of water from the jug on his desk and glugged it down, hoping it might sober him up.

  The old poacher’s knock came before he was ready, but he put down the glass and looked up.

  François said, ‘Now what? I hoped you would let me rest in the cells.’

  ‘Dufy, you are a fool. This is the second time you have been spouting insulting remarks about the German High Command. What have you to say for yourself?’

  He raised his index finger to his lips, indicating silence.

  Dufy said, ‘But you arrested me because I said my rabbits were as fat as Göring. Now you do the same when I say it is not true.’

  ‘You think you are funny? See if you think this is funny.’

  Auguste smacked his closed fist on his palm. He hoped it made the right sound but it seemed limp.

  ‘Get up Dufy, you reprobate. I don’t ever want to see you here again. Wait. On second thoughts, I will escort you out. I don’t trust you not to steal something on the way down.’

  He got up and took Dufy by the arm. He walked him down the stairs. Close to the door, he whispered, ‘well?’

  ‘I delivered the message. The five men are safe and their families know what to say.’

  ‘Good. Tell Pierre I have proof of Brunner’s guilt and I will need to see him in a couple of days.’

  ‘He won’t come. It is too dangerous. He came to you once and that was enough risk. You can’t ask him to do it again.’

  ‘Just tell him the old tree stump, ten o’clock at night tomorrow. I will have news.’

  ‘He won’t come.’

  Auguste smiled. ‘He will come.’

  ‘Here, have you been drinking?’

  ‘Shut up François, go now.’

  Auguste was still smiling as he climbed the stairs back to his office. He wiped his hand on his jacket as if the old man might have contaminated him. It was the first time things had gone right for a long time. He felt confident he had enough on Brunner to prosecute and nothing would stop him now.

  Chapter 19

  1

  Auguste slipped in the dark on his doorstep when he came home. The evening frost had begun its shiny, white encroachment onto the porch. He saved himself from the fall by grabbing at the clematis adorning the wall next to him. The plant, an ancient remnant of years gone by, ripped from its wires. It hung dejected in his hand. He giggled. His head spun and he realised his back pained but the discomfort was not as severe as he expected. Wine, it was clear, dulls pain. He repeated it to himself as he took off his shoes.

  Entering the kitchen, he bumped into the doorframe and cursed. Odette, eating with the two girls looked at him and smiled.

  ‘You’ve had an argument with a bottle I see, you naughty man. You know you shouldn’t use such words in front of the children, you of all people.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, I did have a few bottles of an excellent ’23, an ethereal pleasure, but a formidable one.’

  ‘I’m glad. It is the first time I’ve seen you smiling when you come home for a long time.’

  ‘Not much in my day to smile about but some hope has come. I will tell you later.’

  ‘Papa,’ Zara said as she hugged him.

  Monique too, left her plate and he drew her in as well.

  ‘My little girls. How have you been today?’

  ‘Well...’ Zara began and she launched into a blow-by-blow account of her school day, pausing only to breathe.

  Auguste sat down and looked at his wife as Zara continued her tale of events.

  ‘Papa, you aren’t listening,’ she said.

  Auguste propped his chin on his hand but his elbow slipped from the table edge so he sat back and tried to pay attention. It was as if he had managed to remain attentive to events until now but the relaxation of homecoming had released the alcohol in his veins, trapped there through tension and fear.

  He felt good. True, he had much to do, but he thought he could see an end to his problems. Brunner would pay, somehow Brunner would pay.

  ‘Uncle Auguste,’ Monique said.

  Her voice seemed to jolt him. He opened his eyes wider and tried, despite his inebriation, to concentrate upon the little beings who now occupied all the attention he could muster.

  ‘Yes, my little one?’

  ‘I saw a black car outside today. I hid myself in the attic like you told me.’

  ‘Good, good,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry I looked out. I heard it and I’m sure no one saw me. I didn’t know whether to hide in the attic or not.’

  ‘You are a good girl.’

  ‘Papa, you told her not to look out. I told her too. Tell her off.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Odette said, ‘you must stop telling tales on Monique and causing trouble. How many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘You never listen to me,’ she said.

  ‘Dear Zara,’ Auguste said, ‘I always listen to you. What a lovely day you have had.’

  ‘No it wasn’t. See. You didn’t listen.’

  ‘I love you anyway. Never forget it.’

  ‘No you don’t. You love her.’

  Zara pointed at Monique.

  ‘I love you both but in different ways because you are different people. One can love many children. Now eat your supper and don’t fight.’

  The girls finished their food in silence.

  Odette said, ‘You girls go upstairs now and don’t forget to brush your teeth. I will come and tuck you both up in half an hour.’

  ‘Not yet Maman, please. I want daddy to put us to bed.’

  ‘I will come up too. Now run along my children. The day is nearly done and a new one will dawn just for you, before you know it.’

  Monique looked at him with curiosity.

  ‘What do you mean, Uncle Auguste?’

  ‘Well, just... just that it... Oh never mind. Off you go.’

  His momentary confusion cleared and he realised he was talking rubbish. He knew he
was still drunk and since he had taken less of the wine than Brunner had, he hoped the German would not recall the whole conversation.

  ‘Odette,’ he said, once he could hear the girls’ footsteps upstairs, ‘I saved five men’s lives today.’

  ‘The reprisals? There were no hangings?’

  ‘Well there was a public hanging but the men who were hanged were not our local farmers.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘You remember Duboef the prison Governor in Lyon? He has been a good friend ever since I left the prison service. He helped; he understands. I had five condemned criminals from Lyon transferred here for execution but told Brunner they were local men.’

  ‘But Auguste, Brunner will find out as soon one of his informers spots even one of them.’

  ‘No, that’s the beauty of it. I passed a message to Pierre to get the five men away and they will be safe. No one but me and a handful of partisans will ever know.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Really, it will work. It has only to work long enough for me to arrange Brunner’s arrest.’

  ‘Arrest?’

  ‘Yes. He confessed to the murder of Bernadette Leclerc. He drank a lot of wine and told me.’

  ‘Do you think the Judge will listen to you? He refused before. What has changed?’

  ‘I can give evidence in court. It is worth a try.’

  ‘Brunner will have you arrested, Auguste. You will disappear and we will never see you again. Dubois was right; you are obsessed to the point of now risking your own life.’

  ‘He is a sadist and a murderer. He must face justice.’

  Odette stood up. She leaned towards him, her mouth set. Their faces close, she said, ‘I have married a fool. You risk everything. Do you hear? Me, Zara, Monique. We will all be interned and killed. You cannot do this.’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘What was she to you? That girl, Bernadette, you hardly knew her.’

  ‘She was a young woman, as Zara one day will be. Brunner tortured her for sexual pleasure and then killed her. If it was our daughter, how would you feel about it?’

  ‘She wasn’t our daughter. Our daughter is the one whose life you are risking by pursuing this.’