by Rex Baron
Lexi walked the streets all afternoon, carrying her bag, feeling conspicuous under the suspicious eyes of the locals. They mindfully watched her, a stranger without the purposeful strides of one intent on a destination. She was vague and aimless in her wandering, a luxury condemned by the New Order as suspect and decadent.
She had sought refuge from the cold in the lobby of a large, impersonal, middle class hotel. Grateful for the comfort of a chair, even if only for a short time, she found herself under the steady, unsettling gaze of a uniformed officer. It became increasingly apparent that he was not looking for her as a fugitive, but had mistaken her for one of the local prostitutes who frequented the hotel dressed in their finest. He watched her for a quarter of an hour before crossing the wide Persian carpet to introduce himself. He invited her to his rooms for tea, an offer that her groaning stomach and nerves, crying out for the steadying influence of caffeine, urged her to accept. She pointed to her bag, explaining that she had a train to catch within the hour and graciously refused his offer.
“An hour is a long time,” the officer replied. “A lot can happen in an hour.”
Lexi studied his face. She judged him to be past forty, but he was trim and had a fleshiness to his face that made him appear far younger. He removed his peaked military hat to reveal a shock of dark blonde hair that was thick and meticulously groomed, giving the impression that he was someone of some importance with money to spend on such luxuries.
“I don’t know what you are suggesting,” Lexi replied coldly. “You stating the obvious about time gives me little indication of what you are implying.”
“Only that it might be pleasant to spend some of that time together… and have a chat,” he answered with a little smirk of a smile.
“I’m not a prostitute,” Lexi informed him in a seething whisper of contempt that made him laugh and clap his hands together in an odd reaction of delight.
“Oh, dearest lady… I have much loftier ambitions than that. Why, I can tell from your clothes alone that you are not a woman who must ply her trade in the lobby of a modest hotel, such as this. Judging by the brilliant color of your coat and hat, I would imagine you to be an actress… hardly one of the drab little sparrows that one would find on the street.”
Lexi decided that in spite of his directness and overbearing attentions, it might be better that she be seen speaking with a military man of some prominence rather than appear to be a solitary woman, waiting suspiciously in the lobby, as if she were killing time or passing herself off as a guest in order to not be turned out into the cold. He seemed pleasant enough, as he invited her for a drink or a coffee in the hotel bar. Surely, there could be no harm in that, she told herself. She would more than welcome a warm drink to take the chill off her afternoon of wandering aimlessly, pretending to window shop and blend in with the people on the street. He carried her small valise for her as they entered the hotel bar, and made a joke suggesting that she was traveling light for a woman of her class and style.
“I’m only going into Switzerland for a couple of days… to see my sister there,” she lied.
“I have not been into Der Schweiz since I was a young boy,” he answered, as he drew back one of the bar stools to offer her a seat.
“It is so crowded in here… there are no tables, so, this will have to do,” he said apologetically. “So, are you an actress?” he asked again, as he lit a cigarette and offered one to her. She carefully picked one from the narrow pack and waited while he struck a match and offered her a light. She took a drag and blew the luxurious grey smoke into the air around her, enjoying the relaxing benefit to her shattered nervous system.
“No, I’m not an actress,” she answered, “I’m an artist… a painter.”
She did not want him to know that she was actually a sculptress and was employed by Helen Claxton as an apprentice of the great works for the Kammer of Kultur. For an instant, she had considered not identifying as either an actress or an artist in response to his insistent questions, but then the idea occurred to her that if she had a subject such as art to talk about, she might evade any more personal questions about who she was and what she was doing crossing the border alone, late at night.
To her delight, the officer, who introduced himself as Georg, ordered an array of appetizers, including hot pea soup and a strudel for desert. Lexi had not eaten all day for fear of incurring questions from shopkeepers, and had spent the entire afternoon on foot and on the move. She was hungry and more than exhausted.
“So, what do you paint?” he asked with real interest, as the bartender approached with a cocktail for him and a cup of coffee for Lexi.
“Portraits mostly,” she replied. “The odd matron from Koblenz and a minor official here and there… anyone who has the extra money to spend… and these days that’s not so many.”
The soldier looked at her with an expression of sympathy at the dearth of commissions for portraits in these lean new times.
“I read a fascinating article about a portrait of Elisabeth the Empress of Austria,” he said, intending to make good on his promise of conversation. “It seems that one of the many portraits of the Emperor’s wife was a source of great scandal, because, even though it was publicly presented at court as a painting of the Empress and regarded as a good likeness, it was in actuality a painting of a woman named Katharina Schratt, who was one of Franz Joseph’s mistresses and a great favorite. She bore a striking resemblance to the Empress, but anyone who knew them both could see the truth of who it was and made a laughingstock of Elisabeth.”
Georg laughed at his own story, expecting Lexi to join him in this mirth, but she did not.
“What a despicable thing for the Emperor to do to his wife,” she replied instead. “It is probably one of the most unkind things I have ever heard.”
“Yes… but we have no way of knowing what state their relationship was in. Perhaps the Emperor was just getting revenge for the way he was treated by his wife.”
“Maybe so,” Lexi sighed, taking a sip of her hot coffee.
“It is so noisy and hot in here,” the officer stated with a new impatience in his manner. He waved for the barman and requested that the food be sent to his room instead of served at the bar. He took Lexi by the arm, as if to escort her from the restaurant.
“I’d much rather stay here,” she protested. “I like all the people and the gayness of the atmosphere.”
“Nonsense, it is maddening to try to talk above the din,” Georg reasoned with her. “I have a lovely suite with a living room just one floor up. We will be able to hear ourselves think and eat our food in peace there.”
Lexi hesitantly took a last sip of her coffee and allowed him to take her arm and lead her up the mezzanine stairs to his room, number 214. Inside, it was just as he had said, a lavish drawing room with brocade upholstery on the sofa and chairs, and an ornately carved gaming table that could be opened out for dining. She was relieved that he had not tricked her into a dingy hotel bedroom with a soiled coverlet on the bed and a bureau littered with personal odds and ends. This was a fine room, a place to eat and make conversation, just as he had promised. Georg’s face brightened when he saw her reaction of relief.
“You didn’t think I would insult you by asking you up to the room where I sleep, would you?” he asked with a smile. “Make yourself comfortable while I call down and make sure that our food is on the way.”
Lexi watched as he disappeared into the bedroom of the suite. She could see from where she sat that he picked up the telephone and asked for the bar, as he said he would, then muttered inaudibly into the mouthpiece before hanging up. Next, he unfastened the revolver at his side and placed the holster carefully in a drawer next to the bed. She laughed to herself as she caught a glimpse of him soothing his perfectly coiffed hair with the palm of his hand as he peered at himself in the mirror for a moment before making his entrance back into the room.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, rubbing his palms together, “the
food will be here any moment.”
He sat down next to her and asked her where she had been trained as an artist and what type of art she personally preferred. She easily answered without hesitation, and found herself in an enjoyable conversation that stretched on for some time. But after a while, she realized that the food he had ordered had still not arrived and she questioned him as to why it was taking so long. He responded by looking down at his watch.
“Ach du meine gute… goodness goodness. It would appear that your train, the last train out tonight to Switzerland, will be leaving in fifteen minutes. I’m afraid you are not in time to make it,” he stated with a mocking sympathy in his voice.
Lexi jumped to her feet and grabbed her cobalt blue coat.
“I’d better go,” she said, knowing full well that she had no intention of taking the night train to Switzerland because she had no identification papers. She thought for an instant of confiding her problem to the officer who had been so helpful, until he stopped her from leaving by putting his hands on her shoulders, arresting her movement in any direction.
“Since you surely won’t make the train tonight, perhaps it would be better if you stay here until morning,” he suggested in a low, insinuating voice.
“No, I need to go,” she replied.
“But we were having such a nice little chat. Besides, I’m sure the food will be along any time now. You did say you were hungry, didn’t you?”
Lexi realized, at once, that when he had telephoned down to the bar from the bedroom, he had in fact canceled the request for the food, so that he could detain her without interruption. His grip on her shoulders grew tighter and he drew his face toward hers for a kiss. Lexi tried to break free but she could not. She turned her face away from his mouth and twisted her body under the weight of his embrace.
“Don’t be foolish,” the blonde officer scolded her. “I’m not going to harm you… But I know the sort of women who sit downstairs in the lobby and wait… sometimes for hours, until someone like me comes along to buy them a meal. I know many such women.”
Lexi pushed hard against his chest, opening up a space between them.
“I told you, I’m not a whore,” she shouted into the face that was only inches from hers.
“I didn’t say you were. But you are an artist and that’s the next best thing. I’m just trying to be nice and offer you lodging for the night. I’d wager you have nowhere to go, and you might just as well stay here. I’d say that I might sleep on the sofa and give you the bed, but I’m afraid I’m not that much of a gentleman… and you’re far too pretty for me to pass up an opportunity to make love to you. If you’re nice to me, perhaps we can have that intimate little supper after we get together.”
At that moment, Lexi rallied her physical strength, and before he had finished his last arrogant comment, found that she had marshaled enough to break free of his grasp and shoved him as hard as she could, away from her and across the room. She watched as he stumbled under the weight of her effort, falling backwards, with his mouth open in surprise, as he struck his head on the gaming table and fell heavily to the carpet. The sound of his skull hitting the carved edge of the ornate table seemed to resonate around the room, as if someone had dropped a book from a great height, or slammed a drawer closed with great force. She crept over to where he had fallen to see him lying there, his colorless blue eyes wide open, as if staring up at her in questioning wonderment. There was no blood, no telltale signs to betray what had happened, but she knew that he was dead, that she had killed him.
Her mind raced in panic. What could she do? Instinctively, she grabbed her coat and her small suitcase and crept out into the hallway. She was glad that his room had been on the mezzanine floor and she would not have to use the elevator to reach the street level. When she entered the lobby, she slowed her pace so as not to attract attention in her haste. Everyone there had seen her talking to the predatory soldier… a least a dozen people who still populated the crowded room, as well as the barman, and a restaurant full of people. She had to get as far away, as quickly as she could, she told herself. But where could she possibly go this time of night?
• • •
The address on the paper that the young man on the bridge had given her led her to an elegant brownstone from the last century, immaculately maintained. An elaborate wrought iron railing led to the front door that was flanked on either side by bow windows, each supporting an empty flower box. For a moment, Lexi pictured in her mind how charming the boxes would be, filled with the geraniums of spring. But spring was a lifetime, a world of warmth and memories away, light-years from where she stood.
She rang the bell and waited.
“There you are,” Raphael's voice came from below her. He was at the head of the stairs leading to a basement door.
“Yes, I decided to take you up on your offer,” she said.
“I'm afraid we're located down here,” he answered, indicating the basement door. “It is the same address, but not as posh as the upper flats,” he explained without embarrassment. “Come along… It’s probably not a good idea to wake the other tenants at this time of night.”
He took her bag from her frozen grip and led the way down through the dark passage into a world smelling of cabbage and damp laundry. The dingy rooms were mean in their furnishings, a temporary dwelling for the half dozen people who looked up in mild disinterest as she passed among them. Four men glanced up from a game of cards, under the light from a single overhead bulb, and a young woman, nursing an infant on a cot in a far corner, nodded a cursory greeting.
Lexi surveyed the dark space with bewilderment.
“You said you had a solution to my problem,” she reminded him doubtfully.
“I made you an offer because you need it,” Raphael answered, “but first there is someone you must meet before my word is given.”
He led her to a cloth curtain covering a doorway at the back of the flat. Pushing aside the fabric, he drew her inside. There, in the dark, sat a burly, bearded man who appeared to be lost in contemplation, until Lexi realized, as a wandering sliver of light crossed his face, that he was blind. She stumbled against a chair in the blackness and steadied herself on the edge of the table at which he sat.
“I have learned the topography of the darkness,” he said, “but I should not expect my guests to navigate the uncharted confusion of my realm. My apologies,” the man said graciously.
Raphael stepped nearer the blind man, clearing the offending chair between him and his guest.
“This is the woman I told you about,” Raphael explained. “I told her that we might help her get across to Switzerland or France... but the decision is yours, as always.”
Lexi did not speak, but the audible increase in her anxious breathing did not go unnoticed by the blind man.
“Do not be alarmed,” he said, his smiling face never turning from the blank wall. “I am the leader of this shoddy little troupe of players. We are what you would disapprovingly call Gypsies. We act. We entertain and we steal. Such is the custom of our people. It is how we make our living since time out of mind.”
Lexi breathed a sigh of fear and exhaustion, to which the blind man responded.
“Raphael, offer our guest a chair and some food… if she will eat with us.”
“I don't understand how you can help me,” Lexi said, remaining on her feet.
“You fail to grasp the significance of our offer,” he said, tapping his fingers musically on the oilcloth tabletop. “As I told you, we are entertainers. The officers of the new Reich, it seems, have a taste for bizarre amusements. Carnival sideshows excite them. They relish aberrations and freaks of nature. On one hand, they would likely exterminate us all because we offend the purity of their bloodlines, but all the same, they are fascinated by our sleights of hand, and how shall I say, the diversity of our young women and men, in bed.”
Lexi listened as he theorized, explaining how slowly, one by one, their numbers had diminished. Some of t
heir people had gone out promoting their entertainments of folk dancing, song and fortune-telling, and had never returned. The trinkets and good luck charms that they had been given to sell were found cast into the street, and they had vanished without a trace, swept up by the soldiers or the secret police, never to be seen again.
It was the blind man's intention to escape across the border into France with the small group of followers still remaining in his charge.
“I suspect that if Raphael brought you here, you are very pretty... Is this not so Raphael?” the bearded man asked with a hearty laugh. Raphael nodded an embarrassed agreement, which the blind man could read in the darkness.
“Raphael has a weakness for beauty,” he said. “That was my weakness too. I was blinded as a result of my own lust, by a woman who did not share my interest in sex.”
He waved his hand to dismiss the haunting memory of a night of searing agony, wandering in the forest near a tavern in Fussen, after being blinded by the dark-haired beauty he had entrapped. “It is no matter. It has left me with an inner vision.”
Lexi was now weary with confusion.
“What has this to do with me?” she asked.
“Raphael tells me that you are dark-haired and olive-skinned. I suspect there is something in your blood that the New Order finds undesirable. That is of no consequence to us, but perhaps you might pass for one of us and join us in our escape, that is, if you can pay.”
Raphael stepped forward to protest, but the blind man held up his hand for silence.
“I realize that our amorous friend here has made you this offer without terms, but it is better to strike a bargain with a price on its head. That way you are under no obligation to him or anyone else.”
Lexi nodded until she found the words to agree. Money would not be the problem, but rather how she might carry out such a deception.
The blind man chuckled his approval, turning his face toward her. In the gloomy light she could see two colorless porcelain discs where his eyes should be, like the sightless eyes of a marble bust.