by Guy Rosmarin
The sight of two alarm clocks set to wake him up at 6:30 the next morning gave Andy the assurance he needed to go to sleep with ease. Just as he was ready to plunge back in his bed, he remembered there was one more thing he had to do. “Doktor Schmertz,” he said out loud and rushed back to the coffee table in the living room, where his research material was still piled up. He grabbed Ziegler’s record from the top of the pile and started skimming through it. “Cause of death, cause of death…come on,” he mumbled as he read through the entire file, and when he didn’t find what he was looking for, he felt the bumps popping on the skin in the back of his neck. On his second read, he tried to be more thorough, and the missing paragraph suddenly appeared. He sighed with relief when he found no changes in the text.
“Based on oral testimony from German prisoners, it is evident that Gruppenführer Ziegler was killed on the early morning of September 10, 1941, in an ambush set by partisan resistance in northern Poland. His body was never found.”
Andy wiped the sweat that gathered on his forehead. Adding to his relief, he picked up a segment that outlined Ziegler’s busy activities during the summer months of 1941. Solid proof that the Doctor was very much alive after their presumed encounter. “Just a dream!” Andy said. “All it is…is just a freaking dream!” He returned to bed with a clear and peaceful mind, but deep down inside he felt the sting of disappointment.
Chapter 18
Darkness dispersed slowly, but the foul odor was too familiar and fresh in Andy’s mind. There was no surprise when he found himself exactly where he was before he woke up a little over sixteen hours earlier, facing the toilet seat in the Estate Theatre men’s room. He still had the Gruppenführer cap and overcoat on. It’s only a dream, he reminded himself, but just as he was about to step out of the stall, he heard the bathroom door squeak open and drew back from the door. The sound of heavy boots clunking against the marble floor with fragments of a German dialogue reverberating in the stale air reminded Andy he was still a high-level fugitive on the run. The comfort of being bound by no rules or consequences vanished. His mind accepted the dream as reality. He paid close attention to the conversation. To his relief, there was no mention of an escaped prisoner at large. He figured it would be best to wait until they finished their business then step out of the bathroom and exit the theatre unnoticed. Then the two revealed their true intentions. He shook his head, hoping he had misinterpreted what he heard, but they left him no room for doubt.
“Wait until the show is over,” one of the men whispered in German. “When the curtain drops, we move in.”
“Of course,” the other replied. “I wouldn’t have it otherwise. Let them play to the last note. We’re here for entertainment first, and then work.” A roar of laughter followed.
Andy peeped through a crack in the wooden door. A cold chill surged through his bones, yet he was not surprised when he got a close look at the insignia on shiny black overcoats. Gestapo. He drew back from the door and froze, holding his breath as he tried to capture every word spoken with his heart pounding in his eardrums. Fear and anxiety crippled any attempt to stay the logical course, but as soon as he heard the bathroom door shut, his mind began to digest the implication of what he had just heard. He stepped out of the stall, and the men’s laughter rang in his head as he recapped their conversation.
“It’s all in your head,” he whispered as he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. Just turn the other way and nothing will ever happen to anyone as long as you don’t experience it. His firm conviction began to crack. If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
“Of course it does!” The quick response renewed his urge to take action. He took another close look at his face in the mirror. His untidy appearance called for a few touch-ups before assuming the role of a high SD officer. He let the water run, but when he tried to get his hands under the flow, it felt more like a burst of wind. It was neither cold nor warm and he could not get the wet sensation he had expected even when he splashed some on his face (though he did manage to dampen his “borrowed” overcoat in the process.) Approaching footsteps pulled him from the abstraction. He quickly turned the faucet valve shut, straightened his hair as much as he could and lowered down his cap visor.
“Your dream…your rules!” he whispered to his reflection then turned away and tried to maintain his confidence as he brushed against the man who walked through the door on his way out.
The lobby was brimming with men in gaudy suits and women in glamorous dresses. Andy detected more than few in uniform who stood apart in the crowd, while keeping an eye for the two in black. It did not take long before he noticed the concerned gazes and stares directed at the insignia on his overcoat. Drawing attention was the last thing he needed, so he quickly found a shaded corner where he could get a good view of the lobby. A bell ring stimulated the crowd’s motion into the theatre, but Andy was still unable to locate the men. He figured they must have entered the auditorium before he walked out of the bathroom or somehow managed to elude him. It’ll be impossible to find them if they are already in. His doubts made him reconsider his plan, but then, as if looking at a mirror image of himself, he spotted a figure moving in a shaded area on the other side of the lobby. There they are. He felt as if he was mimicking their moves, and the irony sent an eerie chill down his spine. He took the cap off his head and looked at the skull pinned in its center. Wearing this is making me think like them. The two came out from hiding and tailed the last group of Wehrmacht officers filing into the concert hall; Andy noticed they were not looking for anyone in particular but rather trying to keep away from suspicious eyes, just like he was. He continued to watch them closely from behind as they walked in.
“Officers of the Reich on duty,” the taller one growled at the usher’s request to see their tickets. The usher nodded and escorted the two inside, leaving Andy alone in the empty lobby. He still wasn’t sure if he had the courage to proceed with the plan, but the show was about to begin and his window of opportunity was closing fast. He took a deep breath, and when the usher reappeared, he picked up his stride and rushed in.
“Ich bin mit ihnen,” He tried to imitate Ziegler’s Bavarian accent. The usher nodded and directed him to the last row of seats in the mezzanine section where the Gestapo men were seated. When the door closed behind him and the lights quickly dimmed, he stealthily advanced towards the two. He found a vacant seat two rows behind, sufficiently close to keep his eyes and ears on them but far enough not to be noticed.
***
A roaring applause stirred the auditorium when a cellist, violist, and two violinists walked to the spotlight in the center of the stage. A string quartet, Andy recalled the words of the teller at the box office when he first entered the theatre. That was last night. The realization that time kept on ticking in his dream world in his absence baffled him, but a whisper from the Gestapo corner pulled him away from pondering further on the matter.
“Das weibliche Violinist und der Violaspieler,” the words hissed like venom from a serpent’s fang. Andy kept his eyes on the stage as he listened closely to the conversation. His eyes were locked on the violist and first violinist. The spotlight could be their last sanctuary, he thought as he closely examined the two performers. The violist was a stout man, maybe close to his age. His chubby cheeks glimmered in the spotlight as he bowed in unison with the others. He had an aura of innocence about him. The first violinist was a girl, slim and much younger. Her long, dark hair draped over her face, but her pale skin radiated through so bright in the dimmed theatre. She held her violin with a noticeable tight grip, and her sad eyes almost convinced Andy that she was aware of the danger that awaited her. She looked like a lost child to him. His sympathy was abruptly interrupted when the opening note struck.
Perhaps it was his sharp senses or his acute emotional sensibility that made him so vulnerable to the way he perceived his surro
undings, but once the ensemble began playing, the music immediately pulled his mind away from the gloomy thoughts that entrapped him.
The violins carried the melody afloat above the abrupt rhythmic bows of the thicker viola and cello strings, only to come together in sweet harmony for a crescendo ending at the cadences of the opening three phrases. Andy was familiar with the piece but couldn’t quite put his finger on the title. His phenomenal memory bank included a significant storage space for almost every classical piece ever to rattle his eardrums, and he had often demonstrated this unique trait when identifying compositions just by listening to the opening notes.
He had it on the tip of his tongue. Haydn String Quartet 33…or is it 32? He wished he had a program, but it didn’t take long before the eruptive bursts of violin shrills gave it away. “The Bird.” It has to be the first movement of “The Bird,” Quartet 32 in C major, Opus 33, Number 3. He let out a sigh of relief. Now that he got it out of his system, he was ready to devote himself entirely to the music. He closed his eyes and let his consciousness flow with the warm, mellow viola-cello duet that opened the second movement, following the notes as if he was reading them off an imaginary score. The melodic high notes did not fail to arrive exactly where he expected they would, but he felt there was something different about the sound of the violin playing them. He had heard many live performances of ensemble music that featured intimate encounters with violin lines, but nothing ever sounded so…sublime. At first, he dismissed it as part of the dream. It’s all in your head, he reminded himself, anything can happen here, but the deeper he listened the more convinced he was that the unique sound was only coming from one source. The second violin had a certain brilliance to it, but it did not sound quite the same. He opened his eyes and could clearly sense the intensity coming from the fragile pale violinist playing her instrument. For a moment, he could feel an aura of energy shimmering above her head. He kept staring at her as the second movement came to a close until the sight of her fist tightly clasping the bow pulled his mind back to the grim reality he was caught in. He glanced at the Gestapo men two rows down and felt even more compelled to prevent them from harming her. But once the program continued, he could not help falling under the spell again.
The ensemble played another two pieces, keeping Andy floating in the clouds before breaking for intermission. It took a few long minutes of rapturous standing ovation to pull him out of his hypnotic trance, but as soon as the crowd’s applause began to fade, a barrage of hissing whispers yanked his mind away from the musical sanctuary. Adrenalin spiked his veins when he heard one of the Gestapo men calling to take action. He rose from his seat and mixed with the exiting traffic to sneak a quick peek at them, but they remained seated, so he stayed tuned to their conversation while pretending to stretch his limbs. The dialogue took a sharp turn and almost became a loud argument just before it resolved in an agreement to wait for the concert to be completely over before moving in on the targets.
The postponement temporarily dispersed Andy’s anxiety and let his spirit rise again with the thought of the remaining portion of the performance.
The second half of the program was almost as exhilarating as the first despite Andy’s inability to recognize the first two pieces played. His ignorance was somewhat of a relief since he was less prone to pay as much attention to unfamiliar tunes and this freed a portion of his brain to concentrate on surveillance. The third piece was not as easy to ignore. How appropriate, Andy thought, when the musicians bowed the cheerful opening note of the “Emperor” quartet’s first movement. It was one of his favorite pieces, and he suspected he was going to have a tough time keeping himself from indulging. He locked his eyes on the musicians and forced himself to acknowledge that the fate of two of them could be in his hands. But when the sweet, sad melody of the second movement theme began to fill the air in the theatre, his conscious mind was no longer in control. Looking at the stage only drew him closer to the music and away from himself. When the viola and the violin intermingled in a contrapuntal variation, the two players, their instruments, and the music all turned into one entity in his head.
All four instruments struck the dramatic opening chords of the finale in unison, pulling Andy from the trance he was under. It felt like a violent slap to his face, and if that wasn’t enough, his head began to spin to the rapid cello triplets that followed. On a regular day, he would take much joy listening to the last movement of the “Emperor,” but now he was riding a rollercoaster bounded by no limits. He turned his eyes back to the first violinist, as if to keep himself from falling off his seat. Shades of red replaced the paleness in her cheeks, and he could sense the fire in her dark eyes, as the piece began its climatic ascent. She looked as if she were on a personal journey, completely inside her performance, and her passion feeding the theme of the quartet—the absolute power of an evil emperor. Or maybe that was the theme of the entire concert, Andy thought. All four parts intertwined in a contrapuntal frenzy leading to a powerful cadence. The closing chord decayed into silence, and the crowd burst into a standing ovation that dragged Andy into its midst. He got up and stood for a long minute, expressing his admiration for the most spectacular ensemble performance he had ever experienced.
When he remembered what brought him there in the first place, it was too late. He looked two rows down and to his left…the last two seats were empty.
Chapter 19
Andy squeezed his way through to the aisle on the left side of his row, right where the Gestapo men had been seated. They were nowhere in sight. He turned his eyes to the stage in an instant. The four musicians bowed in the spotlight. He let out a sigh. Whatever you do, don’t leave the stage! He wanted to shout out. With the crowd fully engaged in applause, he felt he could run down to the stage and warn them. He started gliding down the still-clear aisle, but halfway through to the stage, the theatre lights switched on, and the masses began to spill in. He was caught in the midst of the upward rush. His path was now completely blocked. He tried to raise his head above the crowd and watched the performers leaving the stage. The simple task of making his way to the stage seemed impossible now, but he wasn’t ready to give up. With the help of the ranks on his borrowed uniform and the sternest face he could put on, he pushed his way through the oncoming traffic. When he finally made it down to the front row, there were only crewmen on the stage. He climbed up and followed the performers’ exit path to a long dark corridor that stretched behind the curtains. The darkness crept through his bones with each hesitant step. A thin strip of light peered through the far end of the corridor, beaconing his way and encouraging him to pick up speed. When he crossed the light line, he found himself in an old stuffy lounge with antiquated furniture and a strong smell of cigarettes and mold, drawing fearful glances from six men. No one said a word, but Andy could sense the horror hanging in the thick air. He recognized the cellist and the second violinist. The other two are missing. His heart skipped a beat.
“Where are they?” Andy asked in German. One of the men gave him a chilling stare then slowly raised his arm and pointed at the window. Andy could sense the recent presence of the Gestapo from the terror in the men’s eyes and did not wish to impose any further threat. He pulled the window open and a cool gust of wind swept through the room. Behind the window was a fire escape leading three stories down to a back street in the rear of the theatre. He glanced back at the man who tipped him off and received a slow nod in response, then hopped over the windowsill.
The city landscape lay across the horizon and over the rooftops, reminding Andy of the somewhat peaceful sightseeing venture from last night. He wanted to close his eyes and breathe in that beauty, just for a moment, but that moment shattered with a chilling howl from the street below. Andy heard a flop against the wind and thought he saw the tail of a dark leather overcoat vanish down a side alley. Without giving the matter another thought, he rushed down the metal stairs. A miscalculated step made him trip over the last rung an
d sent him flying face down towards the paved road. He instinctively extended his arms to protect his head from the impact, but the anticipated violent crash felt more like plunging into a soft cushioned bed. He rose to his feet, wiped the dust off the overcoat and closely examined his unharmed palms in disbelief, only to be startled by another horrific shriek. This time, it was harsh German profanity coming from the same alley where the silhouettes vanished. The voice undoubtedly belonged to one of the Gestapo men, and Andy feared the worst was yet to follow.
He ran to the corner where the street met the alley and leaned against the wall of an old building right before the turn. He heard a man’s voice pleading for his life in broken German. His heartbeat surged, knowing he had to act quickly, but the moment he gathered enough courage to step into the alley, a gunshot rocked the walls and shattered his growing confidence. Paralyzed by the bone-chilling metallic echo that followed, he helplessly let his back slide down the brick wall until he hit the ground. The thought that he failed to prevent the worst from happening pulled his anguish to a bottom low, but a soft squeal forced him back to his feet. There’s another! In an instant, he was in full focus and knew exactly what he needed to do. He made the turn into the narrow dead-end alley, surrounded by aging walls from all three sides. The nauseating terror that lay sixty yards ahead under the crisp moonlight wiped out his determination, yet his feet kept on moving in steady strides.