by Pierre Rey
Volpone looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "What the fuck you talkin' about?"
"O'Brion answered you, Italo. Don't you see? A dying man doesn't utter his last words in a foreign language. If he said Mamma mia, that's our code name!"
There were three uniformed policemen pacing up and down on the sidewalk in front of the Zurich Trade Bank. Homer felt as though he had been hit in the stomach when he saw the main banking hall that had been devas tated by fire and explosions. The chipped marble pillars were evidence enough of how violent the firefight had been.
Workers were busy cleaning up the debris, and the main attendant, totally unperturbed, was at his post, standing behind an improvised table.
"Victor," Kloppe greeted him.
The attendant bowed respectfully. "Herr Kloppe..."
For all his sorrow, Homer's heart swelled with pride. He indeed belonged to a solid, stubborn, hardworking race. All the catastrophes in the world might befall his country, but come what might, banking sun went on.
Above the second floor, things were intact Marjorie, alerted to his arrival, was waiting in the reception room outside his office. She greeted him as if nothing unusual had happened since they last saw each other.
"There have been many calls for you, sir. I’ve listed them all. Do you want them now?"
"Later," Kloppe told her.
"Should I put any calls through to you?"
"The ones you feel are important"
He was getting his bottle of Waterman's out of the drawer when Marjorie announced on the intercom: "Mr. Schmeelbling is on the line, sir. Will you speak to him?"
"Put Mm on."
Homer poured himself a couple of drops of liquor. Eugene Schmeelbling was the man who was handling the two-billion-dollar deposit
His voice came through. "Homer, good Lord, my man! I've been sweating ink worrying over you. What the devil's been going on?"
"The police are investigating."
"What have we come to, tell me. Is mere no respect for anything these days?"
That’s the way it looks." Kloppe sighed.
Figures started dancing in his head. Between the in terest he'd have to pay and the rate he got from Schmeelbling, right now he would be collecting eight times $109,588, or $876,704 in pure profit Even if he had to foot the bill for rebuilding an even finer facade for his bank, he'd still come out ahead. But, of course, he wouldn't have to pay for that That’s what insurance was for....
"Say, now, Homer," Schmeelbling was saying. "About that deposit you made with me—you know what I mean?"
"Of course."
"What do I do with it?"
"Just keep it working, Eugene. Keep it right on working until you hear from me."
"Fine, just fine. That was all I wanted to hear you say. Please remember me most respectfully to Frau Kloppe, your charming wife."
"I won’t fail to, Eugene, m talk to you again soon."
"Talk to you soon," he replied.
Marjorie slipped into the sanctum sanctorum and closed the door behind her.,
"It’s that policeman, sir, Lieutenant Blesh," she half whispered. "He's been here several times already."
"Show him in."
Homer put the bottle of Waterman's back into the drawer and got up to welcome Blesh.
"Ah, Herr Kloppe," said Blesh, "if s so good to see you back safe and sound."
"Thanks very much, lieutenant"
"Your wife let me know you were back. I immediate ly called off the search."
"Oh, I must apologize to you. I can't tell you how sorry I am to have caused so much trouble. It was un pardonable of me to have failed to notify you."
Blesh's face closed up. I’m afraid I don't follow you, Herr Kloppe."
"Well you see, lieutenant, I was so upset by the loss ... I went off without advising anyone. I needed to be alone, to meditate."
‘‘May I ask where you went sir?"
The banker faced his visitor with a slight look of surprise on his face. "I wouldn't think that could be of interest to anyone, lieutenant’'
"You're mistaken, sir. Two of my men were killed. Four more are seriously wounded. We had two hours of open warfare in order to protect your property and your person!"
"Well that's why the citizens of the confederation maintain a police force, isn't it, lieutenant? You seem to be surprised that you did your duty."
"Not at all, sir. I am only surprised at your answer. Your wife told me you had been kidnapped."
Kloppe retorted with a darkly knowledgeable look, "After all we've been through, lieutenant you shouldn't be surprised if my wife is a little nervous. I think you might have checked out what she told you before you launched your campaign."
Blesh found it hard to swallow his saliva. "Do you know Italo Volpone and Ettore Gabelotti?" he finally asked.
Kloppe's face grew even more distant as he said, "No, lieutenant"
"Not even their names?"
"I just heard them for the first time."
"Your daughter was killed in a Beauty Ghost P9 that belonged to one Orlando Baretto. Was this Baretto an acquaintance of your daughter's?"
"Renata is no longer here to answer that, lieutenant Allow me to point out that I received you here today as a friend. I must say, I didn't expect to be addressed in such a tone or subjected to this kind of interrogation."
"I’m investigating, Herr Kloppe. I’m just trying to get at the truth."
"That's what I want you to do, too, lieutenant. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to catch up on."
Blesh choked down his fury. Kloppe had good con nections in high places. If he wanted to stand mute, no one could force him to talk. On the contrary, his peers would secretly applaud his behavior. For the time being, Blesh decided, it would be best to bow to the inevitable.
‘I do apologize to you, sir, and I hope you will ex cuse me if I seemed a bit overzealous."
"Duly noted, lieutenant Yon will, of course, under stand, that I find it hard to accept being treated as a guilty party when, as it so happens, I am the victim."
He got up to indicate that the meeting was over. Blesh did likewise, but he couldn't resist adding, "The slightest lead would be of the greatest help to me, Herr Kloppe. As you see it, who might have assaulted your bank?"
Kloppe eyed him at great length. "Now, that is something I would dearly like to know myself, lieutenant But if I were a police officer, it seems to me I would start looking among certain troublesome elements that your service permits to gad about Zurich freely."
"What elements do you have in mind, sir?"
"The extreme New Left, lieutenant"
Kloppe took three paces to the door and held it open. "Don't hesitate to come back to see me if you make any progress in your investigation," he said. "I am always fully at your disposal."
Blesh saluted and went out Waiting in the reception room were two of the city's best-known business lawyers, Philip Diego and Karl Deutsch.
"They don’t have appointments, but they are very insistent’’ Marjorie said to her employer. "Can you see them?"
"Yes," Kloppe replied.
Once inside, Philip Diego was first to open the ex change.
"We heard what happened. Why, that’s most un speakable."
"Unbelievable, unpardonable!" Deutsch chimed in.
Kloppe, sitting rigidly behind his desk, eyed them, his hands remaining flat on the tabletop.
"I am very busy," he said in a glacial voice. "Can you inform me what brings you gentlemen here?"
"Well, yes, this is it," Philip Diego began. "My col league Karl Deutsch and I jointly represent a client who has a large numbered account here in your bank. This client has instructed us to have that money transferred this very day to the Chemical Inter Trust of Panama."
"Under what name did your client set up his ac count?"
"Mamma mia."
"What is the account number?" "828384."
"And the amount of the deposit?" 'Two billio
n U.S. dollars."
Kloppe picked up the telephone. "Marjorie," he said, ‘‘ask Garnheim to bring the Mamma mia account file up to you."
For the next five minutes the three men did not move’ nor did any of them utter a word. There was absolute silence.
Marjorie came in and set the file down before Kloppe. Homer opened it, leafed through its contents, and took out a paper, which he handed over to Diego.
‘Sign on the right-hand side, at the bottom, please."
Philip Diego signed.
"You too, please," Kloppe said to Deutsch. Karl Deutsch complied.
Kloppe stood up immediately. Philip Diego held his hand out tentatively, but Kloppe appeared not to notice.
The whole matter will be taken care of before the end of the day," he said.
Once the lawyers had gone, he went to the window and pressed his forehead against the pane. This year, spring had broken out in all its glory, the finest springtime that had ever cast its light on Zurich.
But Homer Kloppe turned his back on it He returned to his desk, sat down heavily in his chair, and took his Waterman's ink bottle from the drawer.
Epilogue
Between Lausanne and Morges, the railway cuts a hole in the mountain for a distance of a mile and a quar ter. At the west end, the tunnel opens onto a landscape of huge fir trees rising up the steep flanks of a valley with an icy mountain stream at the bottom.
On the banks of this stream, the Hummler family had gathered for a picnic The weather was fair and he had this Saturday off, so Franz Hummler had taken his wife and two children on an outing. Jean-Francois was eleven, Michel just past nine.
"Mamon," Michel asked, "can we go and play?"
"Where?’
"We want to climb up the hillside." "You didn’t finish your cake." "I don’t want any more."
Birghitt carefully wrapped the remnants of their meal in a plastic bag.
"Don’t get too far away," she cautioned. "Jean-Francois, keep an eye on your little brother!"
Michel shrugged scornfully. "I’m just as big as he is."
"Dont get yourselves dirty!" said their mother.
The children ran off, shouting like wild Indians.
"Franz, will you open the trunk for me?"
Franz went over to this brand-new red Volvo, knelt down, wet his finger with saliva, and started to polish a tiny mud spot off the body below the trunk.
"Well are you going to open it?" Birghitt repeated, trying to keep from laughing. "What's so funny?" "You're just like a kid." "Well, it is beautiful isnt it?" "Magnificent"
"What about taking a little spin instead of just stay ing here?'
"Franz, it's very nice here. You’ll have plenty, of chances to try out the car."
She put the bag in and was about to close the trunk when he put his hand forward quickly, to stop her.
"Wait! Don't touch it. It shouldn't be slammed. Just pushed. Nice and easy..."
"Come on!" Birghitt burst out with a laugh. "Let’s go back to the monsters."
She grabbed his hand and dragged him along. They had finished off a bottle of Alsatian wine that they had chilled in the stream. The air was warm, very clean and light They started up the hillside, making their way be tween the fir trees, at times supping on the carpet of needles.
"Can you see them?" Birghitt asked.
Franz ran his eyes up the steep slope. It had a sharp break in it at the point where, the railway twisted through. Very near .the roadbed, somewhat down from the em bankment he saw the red and blue spots of his children's clothes. They were standing motionless in a semicircle of trees.
"Jean-Francois! Michel!" he yelled to them.
The boys swung their arms in broad signals, asking them to come up. The tree they were standing under had a flock of crows flying over it; it seemed strange. The treetop still had a splotch of snow that the sun had not yet succeeded in melting.
"Come on," Franz said.
He and his wife started to climb again, and when they were within earshot, Jean-Francois and Michel called out, "Papa! Maman! Come and see! Look at the birds!"
‘I thought I told you not to get very far away," Birghitt scolded.
"Papa, Jean-Francois says those are crows."
"Yes," the elder said, "they are crows. Aren't they, papa?"
Out of breath, Franz looked up. The crows seemed to be fighting over something in the snow, their wings beat ing noisily, and hunks of hardened snow were chipping off as they fought.
"What are they doing, papa?"
They're eating,’’ Franz answered unthinkingly.
"Are they eating the tree?’’
Franz moved over several yards. He was down be low the right-of-way, at the opening of the tunnel, which was just about level with the top of the tree. He looked more closely. In a fork of the tree, stuck between two branches, was a man's body—or what was left of it— lying on its back. Two crows were digging their beaks into the face at the place where the eyes should have been. Others were hopping up and down on the body, waiting to get their turn.
"Go back down to the car,’’ Franz choked out, his voice sounding as though he had a wad of cotton in his mouth.
"What do you see, papa?" Jean-Francois asked as he came closer.
"Go on, beat it!" his father snapped. And he made an impatient gesture to his wife. "Birghitt, take them down!"
She could tell that Franz had just seen something awful, and she did not want to know what it was. She took the two boys by the hands.
"Okay, now, last one down is a monkey's uncle!"
The body was elegantly dressed in a dark suit The wristwatch it wore reflected the sun's rays in a profusion of fine golden arrows. Even at this distance—fifteen or eighteen feet—Franz could clearly see that the shoe on the left leg was made of luxury leather. The corpse did not have a right leg. At the groin, where the leg had been severed, the flesh was covered with a crust of co agulated blood.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND TRANSLATOR
Pierre Rey is one of France's bestselling commercial novelists. He is known worldwide as the author of The Greek (over four million copies in print) and The Widow, which was translated into fourteen languages. Out was a major French novel and to date has been translated into English, Italian, Norwegian, Portuguese, Turkish, Dutch, Spanish, German, and Slovenian.
Harold Salemson is a former journalist, nun corre spondent and film company executive. He has subtitled some two dozen foreign feature films in addition to. translating over twenty books from French to English.