Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

They continued along the lake with the Pfaueninsel always in view until, suddenly, in the middle of the forest, a church appeared on their left. Soon they were outside a Russian log cabin, which stood in solitary splendour on a little hill above the lake.

‘Nikolskoe,’ Charly said.

‘I’d never have thought we were quite so far east,’ Paul said.

Inside the log cabin was a restaurant. The terrace viewed the lake, and the landlord had optimistically placed the first tables and parasols outside. They had difficulty finding a seat until a waiter led them purposefully to a wobbly little table.

‘Do they speak German here?’ Paul asked.

‘You can dig out your Russian if you want to,’ Rath said.

‘The first landlord was actually a Russian,’ Charly said. ‘Ivan Bockov, the King’s coachman. When the cabin was finished, in 1820, he became the custodian. In those first few years it was mostly the King who came for tea but, little by little, the cabin became a popular destination. Bockov provided his guests with hearty food and entertainment, even music for dancing. He was a pretty decent piano player. The King forbade it when he found out, but Bockov continued in secret. Nikolskoe was simply too popular. That’s how it all started. It’s not exactly your average tourist café.’

The waiter who appeared shortly afterwards at their table didn’t give a particularly Russian impression. He seemed more like a sullen Berliner. ‘Solyanka’s finished,’ he said, when Rath tried to order something to match their surroundings. He recommended the Wiener Schnitzel and, given the lack of alternatives, that’s what all three chose.

‘Is it still illegal to serve food here?’ Paul whispered. ‘The waiter looks like he just got out of jail.’

‘Welcome to Berlin,’ Rath said.

‘Careful,’ said Charly. ‘You’re here with a Berliner!’

‘The exception proves the rule.’

The waiter came with their drinks and a bowl of water for the dog. He was fond of animals at any rate. Paul chose the wine, and it was very good.

‘So, you’re a travelling wine salesman?’ Charly asked.

‘I have a wine store which we’re hoping to expand, to bring a more high-quality Rhine wine to the capital.’ Paul raised his glass. ‘Now that we’re armed at last, don’t you think it’s time we dispensed with the formalities? If not, I’ll get confused and start calling Gereon “Herr Rath”, which is something I’ve never done. So, I’m Paul.’

‘Charlotte.’

They clinked glasses, and Paul gave Charly a kiss on each cheek.

‘Can I join in?’ asked Rath. ‘Even if we already call each other by our first names.’

‘Why? You haven’t said I should address you formally .’

Rath felt himself growing jealous, as if Paul had stolen Charly’s laughter from him. They had once clashed over a woman, and it had nearly destroyed their friendship. Since then they had sworn not to let anything like that happen again. Friendship had to take precedence over any love affair.

But Charly wasn’t just any love affair. He heard his name and realised that Paul and Charly were talking about him. ‘How did you two meet?’ she asked.

‘In school. I was new to the class, my parents had moved from Neuwied. I didn’t know anyone and the first thing Gereon did was throw a wet sponge at my head when the teacher wasn’t looking.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘The only free seat was next to me, and I didn’t want the new boy to sit there,’ Rath said. ‘But the others also wanted him to get the sponge. They passed it back from the front row until it reached me. The thing was soaking wet. I think we’d actually been planning for the teacher to sit on it, old Bremser, but then the new boy came in.’

‘And?’

Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘Paul didn’t react at all. His face was dripping with chalk-soaked water, but he took his seat calm as you like. The one next to me.’

‘Then we had a little chat in second recess, quite an intense one actually. And we’ve been friends ever since.’

‘Me with my swollen lip and you with your black eye, or was it the other way around?’

‘No idea,’ Paul said. ‘We were both marked for a long time at any rate. Something like that creates a bond.’

‘Really!’ Charly laughed. ‘I just hope you don’t have to beat each other up every half-year to renew your friendship.’

‘We don’t see each other that often.’

‘What made you throw a sponge at the new boy?’

‘Gereon has always been a little headstrong,’ Paul said. ‘Has he told you about the time he stirred things up at Sunday mass in St Bruno’s? In Holy Cologne at that!’

This wasn’t a harmless anecdote anymore. This was a test. Paul wanted to know how serious it was between him and Charly. Very serious, my friend, very serious. You’ll see!

‘What happened?’ Charly asked.

‘Not much really.’ Rath lit a cigarette before telling the story. ‘My brother and I filled the incense globes with hashish.’

‘Hashish?’

‘From the police inventory. They confiscated it from some poor artist, and Father brought it home and showed it to us at table. To warn us or something like that.’

‘And you swiped it?’

‘Not me, my brother.’

‘You’ve never told me about your brother.’

‘Severin is four years older than me and has been living in the States for a long time. It was more his idea than mine, but I helped him. Back then I was a server and I opened the sacristy for him, just before mass.’

‘And?’

‘We waved the incense during the consecration, and by the end Pastor Lippe was saying increasingly strange things. Which didn’t strike anyone as unusual, because he was a little strange anyway.’

‘But giggling during mass; he never used to do that,’ Paul said.

‘No one would’ve noticed, not until Naujoks collapsed.’

‘Who?’

‘The other server waving the incense. We bore the brunt of it. I wasn’t feeling too good either. I felt sick, but I didn’t collapse.’

‘Was it because of this Naujoks that you were caught?’

‘Father figured it out when he discovered the hashish was missing. Apparently, Severin was seen coming out of the back of the sacristy.’

‘And you?’

‘To this day my father doesn’t know I was involved, and he never will. Severin didn’t say anything. They knew somebody must’ve helped him, but he held firm.’ Rath remembered the pressure they put on his brother over that stupid prank. He was packed off to boarding school, where things happened that were so terrible he never spoke of them. No sooner had he finished school than he cleared off, as far away as possible from Cologne, his family, his past, everything.

‘They really tore a strip off him,’ Rath continued. ‘In the spring of 1914, just before war broke out, he hightailed it to America. He had only just turned nineteen.’

‘My God. I thought it was a funny story. That’s what drove your brother to America?’

Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘It wasn’t the only thing, but if it wasn’t for that stupid prank, things would’ve probably turned out differently.’

‘For you too?’

‘It pretty much knocked the stuffing out of me, what they did to Severin, and, if they had caught me, it would have been worse.’ He stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Paul is the only person who knows the truth,’ he said finally. ‘Now you do too.’

‘Welcome to the club,’ Paul said, but Charly couldn’t bring herself to laugh.

The waiter came with their schnitzels and they ate in silence. For the time being the easy atmosphere between them had been destroyed. Rath looked across at Paul. Why had he brought up the hash story now, of all times? Of course, he had wanted to know how far Rath would go in Charly’s presence, what she meant to him. But why now? He could have just asked him. Not that they ever spoke about their women. Yesterday evening Rath had simply told him he had a date, and that he was heading out to the country with a girl.