Peter Rabe - A Shroud for Jesso

The car circled a square with a cafe on the island in the middle. Renette could see the string orchestra behind the potted trees. A cherry Torte or perhaps some mocha ice would be a wonderful thing now. There was a large clock at one end of the traffic island and it said twelve noon. Johannes must be back. She bit her lip, decided against the cafe. If Johannes was home, she did not want him to wait. No, that’s not the way it was. If Johannes was home, waiting, she would be afraid of offending him.

Now the square was gone. Renette looked into her purse for a cigarette but didn’t find one. She tapped on the glass behind the chauffeur and when he looked she made a sign as if she were smoking. The chauffeur opened the glass, gave her his pack, closed the partition again.

Renette smoked. He has a nice neck, she thought, a nice strong neck coming out of the stiff uniform collar. With a strong neck like that, and the way he sat at the wheel, it was strange how such a man can act like a-She couldn’t think of the word. Act scared, she decided. Or fluttery. It made her think of her husband, which made her laugh.

The car pulled up under the porte-cochere of the villa and Renette hoped that her brother would not be there.

She couldn’t tell by the way Hofer opened the door, but by the time she had asked him Kator came across the hall.

“Where have you been?” he said.

He wouldn’t care where she had been, but she saw he was in a foul mood.

“Are you all right?” he said, and this time she was surprised. It hadn’t been casual and yet it didn’t sound sharp.

“Thank you, Johannes, I’m fine. And how are you?”

He wasn’t listening. He led her into the library, took her gloves, and put them on a small table.

“Sit down, my dear.” He followed her to a couch. They sat, looked at each other, and then Kator smiled.

“In a way, it was good that you weren’t here,” he said. “However, it might have been just the opposite.”

“I haven’t understood a single word you’ve said so far.”

“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, changed his tone. “Renette, you are naturally free to come and go as you please. However, you must leave word where you are. In your absence a situation developed that might have been dangerous. A business associate of mine, a highly unpredictable-“

Renette interrupted. “But in the meantime you’ve caught him, haven’t you, Johannes?”

Kator got up and stood by the fireplace. The way she took it for granted, the way she never questioned, but always admired him-it wasn’t too easy to take now.

He looked down at his shoes.

“Actually, Renette, it was the other way around,” and when his head came up he was smiling.

Renette smiled back, because that smile was only for her. And the confession. Only her brother could say this and not lose face.

“And so,” he went on, “nothing is solved.”

Renette turned to the table next to the couch and took a cigarette from a small box. She let Kator light it for her, inhaled deeply, blew out smoke with a long sound. Then she leaned back and looked at her brother.

“Are you worried?”

“No. Not for the moment.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure, Renette. He’s in this house.”

“Here? Since when?”

“Sometime this morning.”

“I remember now. The beggar. He looked like a beggar.” Kator laughed, but when he sat down next to his sister she saw he was cold again, as he was most of the time. “The way you saw him, Renette, in America they would call him a bum. But in America they would also call him an operator. It means he will use anything in his favor. He has no scruples when it comes to getting what he wants or keeping what he has.” Kator paused. “He has something I want.”

“And why are you telling me, Johannes?”

“For a number of reasons, my dear. To warn you, and perhaps to prepare you.”

“For what, Johannes?”

He got up, turned back to her. “I need your help.”

When she looked back at him, she had the same look as her brother had. But she didn’t talk.

“It may involve your comfort as well as mine,” he said. “Or would you prefer that glorified farm, back to the empty room with a view of weeds through the window?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Johannes.”

“Are you forgetting that your status depends on mine?”

“You mean being the wife of a baron?”

“I don’t notice that his presence is any hardship.”

“Just awkward,” she said. “Just one of those ridiculous situations.”

“I don’t notice-” he began again, but she didn’t let him finish.

“What makes you think your beggar is going to give you whatever you want because I go to bed with him?”

“I’m not interested in your methods, Renette.”

“Of course not,” she said. Of course not. Only results. Then she had to smile. She wasn’t much different from him. When he had sent for her, kept her with him and given her the things her family had long been without, she hadn’t cared what the cost of the luxury was. And she hadn’t cared when Kator found it expedient that she should marry the Baron von Lohe; and she hadn’t cared that she and the Baron were just a showpiece together. There were other men. One would have done, she knew, but she hadn’t found him. So there would be others.

“His name is Jesso,” Kator said. “Jack Jesso.” Then he explained what made Jesso important, that Renette had to get it out of him, whether Jesso was bluffing or whether he really knew what Snell had known.

“When do you want me to start?”

“Tonight.”

“Shall I tell Helmut?”

“Suit yourself,” Kator said, and left the room.

They sat in the dining room with the high ceiling lost in the dark because there were only the yellow wall lights over the buffet and the two candelabra on the table. They all sat in their seats being formal with knife and fork and a sip of wine now and then. Kator sat looking at von Lohe and Jesso sat looking at Renette. He had a good view

Renette might have been alone at the table or she might have been in the middle of a cluster of men, all looking at her. She sat unconcerned, just there, the way a magnet is unconcerned.

She wore a dress like a second skin, long-sleeved and naked on top. There was a very fine chain around her neck with a pearl that rolled a little each time she breathed. It lay off center on her bare skin and kept rolling there.

Hofer wasn’t serving. Hofer carved and poured wine. Two stripe-vested servants did the work and Hofer just hovered.

They sat around as phony as people in an ad. Like a whisky ad showing how only the very best people drink only the very best whisky. Jesso sipped wine the way they all did and thought of whisky, even the very worst whisky. He wasn’t nervous. He never drank whisky when he was nervous, but a raw drink right then would have helped.

Kator was talking to the Baron. “Any progress this afternoon?”

Von Lohe swallowed and answered as if he had just waked up. “Yes, Johannes. Oh, yes. We must discuss it. After dinner.”

“Not business, Johannes.” Renette gave him a smile with a question in it. “We must think of our guest.” She nodded at Jesso, moving her head at him in a gesture that was beautifully done. Jesso wished she would do it again.

“By all means,” said Kator, and he moved his head too. It was more like a muscled python making another slow loop before the kill. “Even though Mr. Jesso might be too polite to object,” Kator was saying, “we should perhaps discuss business at some other time.”

Nobody waited for Jesso to say anything, because Kator was dabbing at his mouth, which meant he wasn’t through yet.