by Rex Baron
“It doesn’t matter. It’s no problem. I realize now that I forgot to put myself on a list that Herr Hessler had given to me about this every issue. You do know who Herr Hessler is, don’t you… the Minister of Propaganda?”
The bank manager nodded solemnly.
“We needn’t worry about this now. I’ll clear it up at the Ministry and come back sometime when it’s more convenient. In the meantime... my friend here and I have some shopping to do,” he said, patting Michael on the shoulder.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Claxton added, as an afterthought. “I will be needing one hundred and fifty Reichmarks in cash. As I said… the other matter can be cleared up later… but buying this young man a new business suit can’t wait.”
Without a response of any kind, Claxton was given a handwritten note that he was to present to a teller in exchange for the cash. As they rose to leave the room, the manager looked up over the top of his pince-nez and informed Claxton reassuringly.
“By the way… usual transactions like this one need not be recorded or reported…so you need not worry.” There was a vague and slightly sinister quality in the patronizing grin that made Claxton even more uneasy than before.
With Michael in tow, the retired actor retrieved his money and left the bank. As soon as they were out of earshot on the street, he let out a huff of annoyance.
“I really don’t trust that little weasel,” he said.
“Am I really going to get a new suit?” Michael asked with enthusiasm.
“Afraid not,” Claxton answered, shattering the boy’s exuberance.
They walked in silence for long moments, while Claxton tried to reshape his plan of escape in his mind. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a deserted building. It was the old hospital that was slated to be renovated to house a training center for Hitler Youth.
“Ten years ago, I used to go to a nifty little nightclub in the old hospital in Bayreuth that looked just like this. It was called Hot Kitty or Hot Baby, or something like that,” he explained. “It had chorus girls, bathtub gin and the most wonderfully decadent people you could imagine.”
“That’s the problem… I can’t imagine,” Michael replied sadly. “Uncle Jacob would never let me do anything. I never got out and all I could do was read. And besides, I was only eight years old then. Everything has changed now, and places like that are against the law.”
“The law… the law,” Claxton muttered in annoyance. “This country has far too many laws and too many ideas about how things are supposed to be, without asking anyone else if they want it that way.”
Claxton turned to look at his young companion, appraising his appearance and studying his features.
“You know, I keep thinking of you as a kid… but you’re really quite grown-up. In fact, if we weren’t hiding you out in the Ministry, working for me, you’d be old enough to be recruited into the Heer or the Luftwaffe, and be off somewhere training for Germany’s glorious military future,” he added cynically. He patted the young man on the back as a nervous prelude to his next comment. “I don’t suppose your religious uncle ever told you much about women?” he added rhetorically.
Michael shook his head.
“No… other than to say that they are all a pain in the tuchus… except for my aunt, his wife, who he always said would have been a saint, if she had been Catholic.”
“You never went to school dances or out on dates with a girl?” Claxton inquired, with a degree of alarm in his question. “And you’ve never had sex with anyone?”
Again, his young companion shook his head, his face now reddening with embarrassment. Claxton sighed and organized his thoughts, bringing a new priority to the forefront.
“As you know, I’m hardly the fatherly type. But I would be remiss if I did not point out that there has been a serious omission in you upbringing and experience,” he informed the boy. “I think that our afternoon would be well spent if we remedy at least part of that situation.”
Michael responded to his comment with an expression that was a mixture of guarded excitement and suspicion.
Claxton laughed a hearty laugh.
“Oh dear boy… NO. I’m hardly suggesting that you have your first sexual experience with me. But I do know a place, not far from here, where a suitable young woman might be found who would be happy to tutor you in the art of sex. You will note that I refer to such a person as a woman and not a lady. I am the last to disparage the charming women who toil in the sex trade, but you must remember that they are not ladies… merely because they rarely hold what might be called a rank in society, and not because they are of no value as human beings. In fact, I have had the honor of making the acquaintance of several women of this type, who I would gladly elevate in society to the status of Lady, based on their skills and the elegance of their presentation alone.”
Michael listened intently as Claxton prattled on. He could see that his only friend was nervous in taking on the role of mentor to him, but he so appreciated the chance to be seen as something other than a child, and Claxton was the only older man who had ever taken any interest in talking to him or teaching him how to act outside the narrow parameters of the scholarly world of Judaism.
Without resistance, he followed his teacher down an alleyway, into an area of mews-like dwellings with peeling painted fronts that still retained a veneer of Bourgeois respectability, established by their inhabitants only a half century before. Claxton rapped on the door of one such building with his silver-handled cane and a middle-aged woman with unnaturally red hair opened the door to greet them. Michael clutched his woolen cap in his hand and sighed with disappointment as he contemplated his first sexual experience with this stout creature.
Claxton explained the situation in hushed tones as he and the mistress of the house agreed on a price. His young charge dragged his feet hesitantly across the entrance carpet, as if he were having second thoughts, but when they were ushered into the drawing room... to Michael’s surprise, there sat a selection of three young women, each one prettier than the next. In response to Michael’s audible sigh of relief, Claxton reassured him.
“I promised you an agreeable time, and I’m glad to say that on this one occasion, I am a man of my word and more than happy to deliver.”
The red-faced young man whispered his choice into Claxton’s ear and was led off down the hallway by a dark-haired beauty with alabaster skin and a full, rouged mouth.
The proprietress of the house tried in vain to convince Claxton to sample the charms of one of the remaining girls, but he begged off, pleading the nuisance of a head cold coming on. The truth was that he did not want to be engaged “in the act,” as he chose to think of it, when Michael reappeared from his first foray into the world of carnal flesh. He feared that, owing to the young man’s strict religious upbringing and his general naiveté, he might come away distressed or guilt-ridden. He wanted to be on hand to gauge the reaction of his assistant as he made his sexual debut, and be ready to supply whatever reassurance or damage control that might be necessary. He simply sat in a straight-backed chair with his hands resting atop the silver handle of his walking stick and waited.
Within half an hour, Michael reappeared, coming toward him down the hallway. Claxton studied the image of the approaching young man, his posture relaxed and his mouth drawn-up in a goofy smile, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Michael’s introduction into the world of adult self-awareness had ostensibly been a success.
When they were outside in the narrow street, Claxton prompted the boy to recount his experience.
“Did you have a good time?’ he asked, making the question sound as general as possible, so as not to embarrass the young man by alluding to any specific details.
“She was so nice,” the boy answered.
“Nice…” Claxton repeated his word of evaluation. “All you can say is that she was nice?”
“We talked about all kinds of things…”
“But did you have sex?” Claxton interrupted his ac
count. “The point of this whole excursion was for you to have intercourse with a woman… to broaden your experience.”
“I know… thank you for that,” the boy answered sincerely.
“Well, did you?” Claxton persisted. “You know your little dalliance was not exactly free, so, I do hope you made the most of it.”
“I did,” the young man replied. “But to be perfectly honest, I didn’t actually do IT. I just didn’t think I could with someone I didn’t know at all. She was very nice and I told her how I felt… then I asked her if she would go out with me sometime. She laughed and said she couldn’t, but then she stroked my face and told me that I was sweet.”
“So you didn’t have sex?” Claxton asked with noticeable disappointment.
“Oh yes we did,” Michael hastened to add. “I didn’t put it all the way in exactly, but she did some things to me that were wonderful, and she did show me how everything worked, so that when I’m ready I’ll know exactly what to do. I don’t mind saying she was the most wonderful girl I have ever met, and today was the most thrilling day of my entire life.”
Claxton roared with laughter, pleased to hear what he wanted from the boy.
“If I never have a son of my own,” he said, “at least I can go out knowing that I helped one young lad take his place in the world of men.”
Chapter Six
Munich and the woods outside Fussen
Helen stood in her studio sipping her morning coffee.
“I have something I want you to assist me with,” Helen told Lexi with studied casualness.
The sculptress chipped away at the huge statue of The Mother of Germany without looking up from her work.
“I need you to come with me to the country one afternoon. We'll probably need to stay in the village overnight, so a change of clothes is probably a good idea.”
Lexi lifted the goggles from her eyes and laid down her chisel.
“This statue is supposed to be delivered in one month. I'm not sure there is time for me to leave the work,” she said flatly.
Helen answered her resistance with a laugh.
“The date for the opening ceremony of the Ministry of Education will change five times before the petty officials are finished with it. You will have more than enough time. Don't worry about that.”
“I'd still rather not go, if you don't mind,” Lexi answered coldly, stifling Helen's lightheartedness.
Helen's expression grew dark.
“Let me put it another way. I want you there and you have no choice in the matter.”
Lexi let the hammer drop from the scaffolding to the stone floor, creating a resounding racket, a subtle little display of her passive hostility toward her captor.
“Why does it have to be me? Why won't someone else do?” she asked defiantly.
“I need someone to drive me somewhere, and I need someone who can keep their mouth shut about it. Your situation here has proven to me that our arrangement is a good one... me keeping your secrets, and you keeping mine. We're almost like two old girlfriends. Just think of this as one more simple request, easily fulfilled.”
Helen poured another cup of coffee and handed it up to Lexi.
“You never know,” Helen smiled without warmth, “the air will do you good. After all, you look pale and you haven't been getting out nearly enough.”
• • •
Lexi drove in sullen silence. She had not received sufficient explanation for the sojourn into the country and she found the secrecy and Helen's superiority irritating. She was more than certain that when the time came for the statue to be finished, she would have to work day and night to complete it, regardless of what Helen said now. She glanced at her captor from the corner of her eye.
Helen stared out the window, uncommunicative, her mind absorbed in ambitious hatchings. On the surface, Lexi found her to be intensely beautiful, and had it not been for the inequity of their association, she might even have liked her. She was, after all, a success as well as a beauty, even though her methods were more than questionable. But Lexi could not like her. She was dangerously ambitious and used her charm to work her way up in the hierarchy of the New Order.
Lexi sighed to herself as she drove. She supposed that the ambition and deceit that she accused Helen of displaying could be said of her as well. After all, hadn't she lied and deceived to get out of the Jewish quarter and to promote herself to where she was today? An unconscious smirk of self-contempt crossed her lips.
“I can hear your little mind churning all the way over here,” Helen said without turning her attention from the passing landscape. “If you were a prisoner on a chain gang, I'd swear you were planning your escape.”
“No, I wasn't planning my escape,” Lexi said, “but you aren't altogether wrong with your analogy.” She gripped the wheel and drove, staring intensely at the road ahead.
“You know it matters very little to me whether you like me or not,” Helen stated coldly. “I have you, and now your brother, more or less where I need you to be. It would be wise to make that association as pleasant as possible. That is my advice to you.”
Lexi continued to drive, unmoved, as Helen continued.
“Your brother, young as he is, seems to know what side his bread is buttered on. Claxton says that he is working out very well and that he may, after a bit of seasoning, prove to be one of us in the end.”
Helen smiled at the look of quiet alarm her remark evoked in Lexi.
“My brother is very young and easily impressed by the illusion of important people and things. He'll soon come to realize what you're offering is of very little value.”
Helen laughed. “My, aren't we sanctimonious. For all of your disdain, I don't see either one of you refusing what's offered to you.”
“Your husband has been very kind to my brother, although I'm not entirely sure why.”
“To get to you,” Helen answered flatly, enjoying the shocked look on her companion's face. “Surely that must come as no surprise to you. He told me how you nearly smashed his hand when it wandered into, how shall I say, forbidden territory. Now he's trying a gentler way.”
“You're not serious,” Lexi answered. “Claxton is your husband. How can you be so casual about something like this?”
Once again, Helen was in control. She had succeeded in whipping Lexi up into an emotional state.
“Because it doesn't matter to me,” she said with indifference. “I'd prefer it if Claxton pursued his interest in you and your family and left me to my own affairs.”
“Like Kurt Von Kragen,” Lexi replied, venturing her eyes away from the road, leveling them on her tormentor.
Helen hesitated a moment before answering.
“Yes, Kurt Von Kragen could be called a serious interest of mine at the moment. He is truly important, not the illusion of importance that you say is true of others.”
“And Claxton?”
“Oh, he is of very little importance to me or anyone else,” Helen smiled knowingly. “If he were gone tomorrow, I would feel only the mildest sense of loss, like surrendering to the dustman that pair of shoes that served so well.”
Lexi drove on, avoiding the intimacy of further conversation. The car made its way through the steep and twisting village of Fussen, lost in the gentleness of medieval simplicity. The snow-capped mountains in the distance, covered in pine forest, were a charming backdrop for the cluster of plaster and clapboard houses, the steepled church and the quaint little tavern with its turrets and shingled towers.
Helen pointed in the direction of the Biergarten and instructed Lexi to pull over. She surveyed the landscape in the failing brightness of approaching twilight, inspecting the wall of darkening forest in the distance for the narrow opening where she had wandered in and been swallowed up.
To the north of that entrance, about a mile up the road, hidden from view, was the pathway that she had followed out. It was the overgrown access road by which the local coven found their way to the ceremonial clearing in
the wood. It would lead them to that same gathering tonight, as the witches were about to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox.
There was no question that they would be there. It was one of the singularly most potent nights of the year, along with the Equinox, the Wesak moon and All Soul's Eve. Even in the times of persecution and the Inquisition, those faithful to the Kraft would, without fail, observe the sacred feast days of the ancient rites.
Helen and Lexi rested for an hour or so before night had fully enveloped the dusky landscape in its shroud of mysterious blackness. The comforting song of birds in the trees gave way to the shrill cries of night predators, the shriek of the owl and the howling of hungry wolves in the distance.
Lexi sipped a cup of chocolate, warming herself near a large outdoor stove in the Biergarten, while Helen lay sleeping in a rented room over the tavern. Lexi could not sleep. The very idea of lying helpless in a death-like state in the presence of Helen was more than she could bear. She had watched Helen as she left the room for the tavern. An unnatural beauty radiated from her, as if in the suspended state she regenerated, reaffirming her beauty and fortifying her vitality in a way that surpassed mortal ability.
Lexi had been overcome with a paralyzing fear, a feeling that Helen was more than asleep. Her presence was all around, permeating everything, her consciousness seeping into the hidden places of Lexi's mind as easily as the night fog of this region seemed to penetrate through her skin to her soul. The room was stifling with the presence of Helen. Lexi threw on her sweater and left, as if escaping a horrible dream.
The night air was cold, but it felt clean and seemed to clear her head of the terrifying notion that Helen had somehow gotten under her skin.
“Let the bitch sleep,” she muttered aloud. “We'll get this nonsense over with and then it's back to reality and good hard work for me.”
An hour later, Helen appeared, surprisingly rejuvenated, looking like a woman much younger than her years. She was dressed all in black, in a sweater and an uncustomary pair of slacks. She instructed Lexi that it was time to go.