by John Wray
—I wouldn’t presume to say.
—Here I am, said Else, coming to the door.
The three of them stood silently for a few moments, Voxlauer and Kurt at the edge of the drive, Else on the steps. —Might I come inside? Kurt said finally.
Else reached for the door handle, then stopped. —Where are you going, Oskar?
—I thought I might take a walk.
—I’d rather you stayed. Or let us come with you.
—Let the man go, for heaven’s sake, said Kurt.
—I’d like to come, Else said. —Would you mind very much?
Kurt kept his eyes on the ground.
—No, said Voxlauer, slowly. —I suppose I wouldn’t mind.
Else came down the steps, much relieved, and took them both by the arm, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. —Where shall we go?
—The ponds? Kurt offered.
—I’d thought possibly the Kugel-tree, said Voxlauer.
Else clapped her hands together. —Yes! The Kugel-tree, Kurti. We’ve never been there yet, the three of us.
—I’ve never been at all, that I can remember.
Else began walking. Kurt waved Voxlauer past him. —After you, Voxlauer. I have the cavalry in my saddlebags. A little malted hops.
—Courtesy of the Niessener Hof?
—Now, Oskar! Kurt said, waggling a finger. —I was dedicating a football green in Treibach on the evening in question. No court of my peers would convict me.
—I’m sure of that.
—Don’t be angry with me, Oskar. Please. I brought Ischinger’s this time, still cold from Rindt’s greasy icebox. Kurt brought out the bottles. —What’s more, I didn’t pay him for it.
—Well, in that case, said Voxlauer. —I’ll go find a place for them inside, away from the beasts of the field.
The light was just leaving the top of the ridge when they reached the tree, a perfect globe of evergreen suspended above the yellow rock and the slope of woods falling away to the south and west. Voxlauer had caught up with them halfway to the ridge and Else had noticed the smell of beer on his breath but had said nothing. Now they stood looking down into the valley, the three of them side by side, catching their breath. Peach-colored bands of sunlight drew softly down into the pines. —What a funny old shrub, Kurt said, squinting up at it.
—Don’t make light of the Kugel-tree, Kurti.
—I’m only saying, Liesi. It looks like a jelly bean.
—Or a Reichs-German, in profile, murmured Voxlauer.
Kurt let out a deep sigh. —For all our sakes, cousin-in-law, I prefer to leave my ideology in town.
—Is that where you’ve left it?
A silence followed. —Papa did bring us here once, said Else after a time. —Do you really not remember?
Kurt let out a snort. —He never. He’d have burst half his blood vessels.
—This was before, Kurti. He took us with him everywhere.
—The only place he ever took me was the Niessener Hof. But he took me there very regularly.
—Don’t be an ass. You’re trying not to remember.
—Stowed me away, first thing, in some piss-smelling corner. Sat and guzzled and messed himself for days on end.
—Well, Kurti. That’s family, said Else, leaning back against the tree. —Our family, at least.
—Yes. Our family, said Kurt, looking at her.
—You forgot Resi, said Voxlauer.
—What?
—To bring her.
—Oskar, Kurt said patiently. —I see Resi nearly every day.
—I don’t, said Else.
—Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Liesi.
She looked away. —That’s all right. Just bring her along next time.
—Of course, said Kurt. He shaded his eyes.
—That is, if you’re not too busy preserving law and order, said Voxlauer.
—Oskar! said Else.
—I’m only saying. That would keep a person busy, I’d think. What with accidents and fires and so on. He paused a moment. —Does it?
Kurt let out a sigh. —Does it what, Oskar?
—Does it keep you very busy?
Else was looking at him now with a mixture of sadness and alarm. Kurt took a very long time to answer. Up between the trees, falteringly at first but then steadily louder, came the low clattering rumble of a truck. —I have no need of starting any fires, Voxlauer, Kurt said.
—Or of putting any out, either, I suppose, said Voxlauer, feeling his hands balling in spite of themselves into fists, his arms stiffening at his sides. He kept still, waiting for the feeling to pass, feeling the alcohol in his arms and shoulders, waiting as he always did for nothing to begin happening again. Then, as always, the feeling faded as quickly as it came. His arms relaxed.
The noise of another truck carried up to them, and another. —Where could all those trucks be going? said Else.
—God knows, said Voxlauer. He tilted his head back to look at the sky, then let his eyes move down slowly to take in the two of them, leaning shoulder to shoulder against the mottled trunk. In the failing light, with their deep-set dark eyes and soft, childlike faces, they looked as alike as two cameos in a locket. Kurt was smiling at him oddly. —You mean you haven’t heard the news? Neither of you?
—What news? said Voxlauer.
—Ryslavy’s sold his trees.
Voxlauer looked at Kurt a long moment in silence. —Say that again, he said.
—I think you heard me, Oskar, Kurt said, turning to Else. —Ryslavy—he began, and was about to go on when Voxlauer stepped forward and shoved him hard into the tree so the back of his head made a sharp, percussive crack like the popping of a firecracker against the wood and he let out a groan and toppled over.
—Oskar! Else shrieked. Voxlauer gripped Kurt’s head by the hair and tilted his ashen face back and screamed into it. He himself could not make out what he was screaming but he saw the face receding further into its ashenness and that was enough. It was enough that the noise was coming from him and that he, Kurt, was suffering under it. The world all around them both had grown pale and dull and slowly he himself became detached from the noise and dull and colorless like everything else and then suddenly very calm. After a time he became aware of Else’s hand on his shoulder.
—Let it be, Oskar, she was saying, almost tenderly. She took hold of him firmly by his shirtsleeves and he allowed himself to be pulled back from Kurt, who was now lying against the base of the tree. He let her sit him down and watched as she stood and looked down at him an instant longer, holding her breath and knitting her face together as though he were something entirely new to her now and strange. —Kurt, he heard her saying a moment later, crouching not before him any longer but alongside Kurt’s legs, shaking them carefully and calling out a name:—Kurt.
—Let’s lay him out on the grass, said Voxlauer. Else looked up at him again with that same look, not disgusted so much as curious, as though he’d transformed before her eyes into a rare species of tropical bird. —All right, she said after a moment. Voxlauer knelt beside her. They spread Kurt out with his jacket folded under his head and wiped the blood from his nose with a kerchief. He sputtered and coughed. —Voxlauer, he said effortfully after a time.
Voxlauer leaned over. —Yes.
—I forgive you, Voxlauer, Kurt said slowly, licking the corners of his mouth.
—I haven’t asked you to.
Kurt nodded, looking past Voxlauer into the grass. —You’re forgiven.
—I’m not sure that lies within your powers, Obersturmführer.
—Yes, said Kurt, sitting up slowly. —Now I want to go.
They led him down with many pauses through the pines, holding him at his wrists and shoulders. At the road he shrugged them off and began to move more surely, still wavering every few steps. Now and again he stopped and shook his head bemusedly. —Who’d have thought it. Oskar Voxlauer, he said, smiling down at the ground as though at some private joke.
Else neither answered him nor looked at him as he spoke. She was not looking at Voxlauer, either, but away from both of them, staring back up at the line of trees as if trying to recollect where they’d been. Voxlauer watched her a moment helplessly before turning slowly to the steps.
As he made to go into the house Kurt put out a hand and stopped him. —I’d not try that again, Oskar. I’d not try that again, boy.
Voxlauer said nothing, looking him in the eyes.
—Let it be, Kurti, Else said. —Oskar’s sorry.
—Yes, yes. He’s forgiven already, Liesi. Still—Kurt said, closing his eyes a moment and taking a half step backward. —Still. I’d not try that again. He opened his eyes and stared at Voxlauer. —What do you say, Oskar?
—You go on back to town, said Voxlauer.
—No! said Else, furious now. —You come inside, Kurti. Let’s get you straightened up. Kurt nodded weakly.
—He’s coming along inside, Oskar, Else said.
Voxlauer didn’t say anything for a moment. —I’ll get some water, he said, going around the house.
—You’re forgiven, Oskar! Kurt called after him.
As I stood leaning over the sideboard two shots pealed out one after the other and quivered for a moment in the empty room, darkening and condensing along the ceiling. I stood perfectly still for a long time, cradling the cut-glass decanter. Then I let it fall and ran around the table to the paneled door and forced it open. Ley was the first to turn toward me, blood down his shirtfront in bright, gaudy streaks. Spengler looked up at me for the space of a few seconds with that puzzled expression I knew so well. He clucked to himself and put away his pistol. “Oh, it’s you, Bauer,” he said, getting to his feet.
I looked down to where Dollfuss lay on the floor, twin jets spurting from his neck in bright pulsed arcs, his child’s mouth opening and closing. Light from the window caught the blood and lit it an impossible, garish shade of purple. I closed the door behind me. We stood a few moments longer watching Dollfuss struggling like a fish at the bottom of a boat before I could think clearly enough to form a sentence.
“Where’s the security secretary?”
Spengler jerked his thumb behind him.
The secretary sat huddled against the wall, tapping at it with his fingers. “They were trying to break out,” said Spengler, pointing to an iron shutter.
“Through there?” I said. The shutter was thick and rust-covered and riveted shut. It looked like the door of a pharaoh’s tomb.
Spengler nodded. The secretary was looking about him now, his eyes traveling up and down the walls. He let out a whimper. Ley crossed over and knelt down beside him. “Be quiet now, Josef,” he said gently, taking him by the shoulder. Spengler was looking at me, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if to ask me whether I was game.
“I’m game,” I said quietly.
Spengler grunted. “How loud were the shots?”
“Loud. The boys in the corridor heard something definitely.”
He frowned. “Go and explain things to them. Nicely. They were going for the shutter,” he repeated, still watching me closely.
“I heard you the first time, Heinrich,” I said, going to the door.
Ernst and three other boys were on the other side. “He’s dead all right, fellows,” I said, leading them to the table.
“Dollfuss?” asked Ernst.
I nodded, watching the fact of it sink in to them. “Going for the shutter. Two shots. One wide, one through the neck.”
“Who was it?”
I made my face as blank as possible. “Who do you think?”
“We’ll never make it out now, will we?” said one of the boys, letting out a short clipped laugh.
Ernst turned on him violently. “You didn’t come here to get out, Willi. Or did you?”
“No, Unterscharfführer!” the boy said hurriedly, snapping to attention. Ernst waved him off with a disgusted look. “How is it in there?” he said, trying to look past me.
“Messy.”
“And with you, Obersturmführer? Does the sun still shine on your behind?”
“Little Ernst! I’m deeply moved by your concern. Only you mustn’t fret on my account. We have other worries. Run along now and break the news to the boys downstairs. Don’t go shouting it out any windows.”
He hesitated for an instant. “Is Ley still inside?”
“Do your duty, Scharfführer,” I said. “Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler!” said Ernst loudly, saluting. The boys filed after him in a state of complete bewilderment, saluting me hurriedly as they went. I spent the next few minutes at the conference table, staring at the somber-toned row of chancellors, trying not to think about anything specific. After a time, I rose and went to a window and looked out. More Home Guards were assembled on the curb, pushing the gendarmerie back against the cast-iron fence of the Volksgarten. I watched them for a minute or so, ordered neatly into eight-by-twenty-man standing units, the look on their faces identical, I was sure, to the look mine had worn at ten o’clock that morning in Glass’s office. From time to time a closed brown car would round the corner from the Ring and pull up at the curb. The car always pulled away a moment later and this or that wedge of troops pressed back to accommodate another officer. The columns extended side by side the full length of the block and farther around the corners, blocking the entire Löwelstrasse and God knows how many side streets afterward. Looking down from the quiet of the cabinet room, I felt as though I were watching the newsreel playing before the feature in a lavish, cavernous, empty theater. A moment later as I reached for the curtain a piece of molding above the window ledge exploded with a crack and fell away in a cloud of white-blue powder. I dropped flat onto the floor as though I’d been hit and crept back across the parquet to the carpet.
When I came back into the little room Dollfuss was under a yellow sheet taken from God knows where, his stockinged feet peeking out at one of its ends. The security secretary had quieted and sat slumped over his bench, staring down at the floor between his shoe heels. Ley and Spengler sat on stools in the opposite corner. No one looked up as I entered.
I let my eyes rest awhile on Dollfuss, saying nothing to disturb the quiet. His feet pointed directly at me as I stood in the door. I was gripped all at once by a superstitious feeling and took a tiny, discreet step to the left.
After Kurt had gone Else and Voxlauer sat at the kitchen table looking out through the screen door at the dark. —If I’d thought that would happen, Else said. —If I’d ever thought something like that would happen.
Voxlauer sat forward with one leg pulled up under the chair, his arms lying heavily on the table. —So they’ve finally managed it, those sons of whores and bitches, he said.
—Yes, said Else tiredly. —Yes, Oskar, they have. There wasn’t a thing we could have done about it.
—There was, said Voxlauer, nodding. —There was.
—What could we have done?
—Anything, he said after a time.
—The things you’ve seen fit to do haven’t helped at all. Are you listening to me? Not in any way. She let her breath out heavily and leaned back in her chair.
Voxlauer didn’t answer.
—Today, she went on. —Do you think you helped anybody today? Me? Pauli? Any one of us?
—I could have.
—How the hell could you have helped us?
—I could have pushed harder, said Voxlauer.
She cursed at him and sat forward. —Don’t you understand a thing? Haven’t you realized yet that Kurt’s the only reason we’ve been allowed to have a life up here at all? Who in hell would it have helped if you’d pushed harder? The Polizeihaus?
—Me, Else. It would have helped me.
—Where did you learn to help yourself that way? She waited. —In the war?
—I told you
what I learned in the war.
Her expression changed slightly. They were both of them quiet. —I’m sorry, Oskar, she said a moment later, taking hold of his arm.
—You go to hell, said Voxlauer.
She flinched as if he had hit her. Somewhere outside the door the tops of two trees were sawing together in the wind. —Why would you say something like that to me, Oskar? she said.
Voxlauer let out a slow, steady breath.
—Oskar?
—You were there with me. At the Niessener Hof. Weren’t you there?
She closed her eyes. —What happened there, that was everybody, the whole town. Not just Kurt. Everybody. What could we have done to stop it? She paused a long moment, frowning to herself, then sat forward suddenly and took hold of his hand again. —What we can do is try to live. Outlast it. It can’t go on and on this way forever. I’m sure it can’t.
—Of course it can. Why couldn’t it?
She sighed. —That’s all that I can do, anyway. All I can do is wait. Or go away. I can’t do anything else.
—They’re forcing him to sell. He paused. —Else—
—I know it.
—And that doesn’t trouble you at all, in a cousin? He was forcing the words out now, almost spitting them. —Doesn’t that upset you? No? He gripped the edges of the table. —Don’t you have any right and wrong in you? What more can you possibly want?
She stood up from the table. —I want to see Resi. I want to see my little girl. I’m not sure he’ll let me anymore, after what you did. Is that all right to want, Oskar? You’ll allow me that? The both of you? She quivered there a moment between the table and the door, vacant and unreal-seeming in spite of her grief, hands opening and closing on empty air. —That’s all I’ve wanted now for seven years. She swallowed and took a breath. —For all this time I’ve barely had it. She stopped again, then said:—He didn’t bring her today. You saw.
—No, said Voxlauer. —He didn’t bring her.
Else turned and pressed her face against the screen. —She was supposed to come to stay. Did you know that? The rest of the summer, until school. And now she won’t.
—Why is that?
Else shook her head. —Go to him, she said pleadingly. —Make friends with him again, Oskar. Please.