John Brady: Poachers Road

The manager was waiting for them by the restaurant door of the gasthaus.

“Gruss Gott, Inspektor.”

Felix returned the greeting, and shook hands. He was sure he’d hidden his irritation at the title.

He and Oma Nagl turned, waiting for the stragglers. Aunt Gusti hobbled in last. Berger Willi Hartmann was almost licking his chops in anticipation of a meal. A true pro, Felix had heard before, attending many funerals and memorials, praying devoutly whether Catholic or Protestant. It was as though those indiscriminate prayers along with his energetic stumping along at such an epic age were a way to firmly declare that he had many more years of his own to complete.

Felix began to believe that some soup and sausage would be manageable now. Then he’d have a grossen braunen to perk him up, its milder mixture of espresso coffee and cream firing up at least some part of his brain. He might make it after all.

Felix realized his mother was eyeing him. Of course he was supposed to lead, he was the man now.

“Mutti,” he said to her. She nodded and smiled again.

“Geh’ ma jetzt? Will we go in?”

Giuliana went back to sleep, of course.

Felix, the new and improved Felix Kimmel, who had manfully made it through the purgatory of yesterday’s hangover and service and afternoon shift was back on the planet Normal. As such.

He wondered if it was the prospect of a week away that had lifted him, or more the relief at getting through yesterday. Did it matter which?

Gendarme Felix Kimmel’s optimism crested at the same time that a man on a remote farm in the hills outside Graz finally decided to make a phone call. Though he was sure in some way that it was necessary to get help, he felt like a clown. He did not know who to phone. So he sat in his kitchen, all the while watching his son fiddling with wooden blocks as he had for days now, refusing to leave the house. Should he phone the gemeinde, to ask if they knew about anything going on around here, up in the woods? But how or why would the local authority know anything about this? They were busy enough now with the spring, fixing the roads.

He had considered the support group where he drove his son every week for two afternoons with others like him. They did shopping, and some games, and even some cooking. His son liked it well enough, especially if one of the minders was the girl he liked. But even this he didn’t want to do now. The man worried that this was a sign of something he hadn’t been told about. It might be a change, that that no one really knew about yet, even the doctors, a deterioration or some kind. After all, didn’t kids like his age faster?

His son began murmuring, but he couldn’t make out the words. He was talking to the blocks. He wouldn’t play with any of the stuffed animals or the toys he had made for him. Could it be dreams the boy was getting? Maybe something had turned itself over in his mind until it became frightening. It didn’t take much.

Worse, it was never predictable. Lieber Gott, he almost muttered aloud, it could even be that Petzi the bear from the children’s television show: wasn’t that bear always playing in the woods? That might explain it all right. His son looked over at him, and he saw again the dark patches under his eyes, the stubble. The electric razor frightened him now.

“Make me a tractor,” he said to him. “A nice big one, Hansi.”

He went back to trying to figure out who to phone, how to do something about this. How many days had it been? Something had to give.

Felix had coffee first. He took it to the bathroom, and finished it as he shaved. Then he picked at buns over a second coffee, at the table.

At ten to the hour, he put on his tie and his belt. He lifted his uniform off the hanger by the door to the apartment without making a sound.

“Don’t forget,” she said from the bedroom doorway.

“Did I wake you?”

“I’m always awake.”

She yawned and pulled the housecoat tighter. The lust ran up his body in a wave and settled in his groin.

“Two more,” she murmured. “Then to a beach.”

It was that bedwarmth smell, he believed. Or her perfume, even yesterday’s worn-out scent hanging in the apartment, or the morning breath on her lips, even. She leaned her head against the doorjamb and finished her yawn with that cat-stretch movement of her arms straight out, in fists, not paws.

“What,” she said, suddenly still and wide-eyed. “What’s that look?”

He slipped his hand in the fold.

“There’s time,” he said. She let him work on the knot there and then glanced down.

“Well, I can see what’s on your mind.”

“Mind?”

Her stillness made him pause.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll wait right here, right here until you get home. I won’t move. I’ll be your little hausfrau. Okay?”

“Come on,” he said. “It’s evolution. Why argue?”

“Do you think five minutes is too long?”

“Well, you got out of the wrong side of the bed.”

“Lose the belt at least when you get home, okay? Sorry, it’s just, you know.”

“‘It’s different for women.’ Did I say it right?”

Giuli had the best range of pout. He offered a smile.

“The uniform still gives me the creeps,” she murmured. “I hate to say it.”

“I like it when you’re so frank,” he said.

“You should change at the station.”

Felix took two apples from the bowl and rubbed them. The apartment was all her, really. He would have had a bookshelf, a stereo, something to keep his laptop off the floor and near a phone jack, and some hooks. Oh, a place to stack empty bottles, of course.

And yes, since he’d gotten kicked out of the place he’d shared with Viktor and a rotating series of friends overnighters, hazy friends of friends it still struck him sometimes that he was living in a sort of art gallery. Or perhaps an artist studio. The afternoon light in from the platz reminded him of something from a Dutch Master. How could he possibly complain, living in an apartment in the centre of town, which for years now, Giuliana had added and decorated and transformed?

“You had a busy evening yesterday too,” she said. “And night.”

“What? I crashed out the minute I hit the pillow. What was it, one? Is that what you mean ‘busy’?”

“I meant dreams. You dreamed, didn’t you?”

“I think I must have,” he said. “I dreamed that one where you and I were like we used to be when we started out. Not this hausfrau and mann routine.”

“Get lost,” she said. “I’m not the one who puts on a uniform to go to work.”

“Maybe it’s time to try teaching your students how to make them?”

“Art,” she said in a monotone. “Uniforms don’t come into it.”

His thumb had found a soft spot on an apple. He looked down at it.

“Nine hours,” he said. “And we’re free. Movie tonight, right?”

She pushed her hair behind her ear to one side. It was the Berlin art student cut, he’d joked at first. When would the severe glasses show up?

“You talked,” she said. “All night, it felt like.”

“I don’t remember,” he said.

Her eyes had lost that glaze now.

“What,” he said. “A lot went on yesterday. So, sorry.”

“Your father. You were talking to him.”

“More than I did in the past, I suppose,” he said.

He gave her a chaste buss, a kiss, on the forehead. She grabbed him.

“Oh, it’s okay if you do it, is it,” he said.

“Be quiet,” she said.

She brought his head down and kissed his eyes, one by one, slowly. Then she stepped back, her arms at full length on his shoulders.

“You Italians,” he said. “I don’t stand much of a chance with you, do I? Tease, lecture. Tease, nag, fly off the handle. Hey, instead of a movie, do you want to-”