Peter Beagle - The Line Between

«Yes," Sigerson said. «I thought perhaps it might be you.» For a moment Andrichev stood there, breathing harshly, his blue eyes gone almost black in his pale, desperate face. Then with dramatic abruptness he thrust his hands towards Sigerson, crossing them at the wrists and whispering, «Arrest me. You must arrest me now.»

«Alas, all my manacles are old and rusted shut," Sigerson replied mildly. «However, there is some drink here which should certainly serve the same purpose. Sit down with us, Herr Andrichev.»

A commanding person, as I have said, but one who did not seem to command. Andrichev fell into a kitchen chair as limply as he had rolled out of the wagon, only an hour or two before. He was sweating in great, thick drops, and he looked like a madman, but his eyes were clear. He said, «They should not be in prison. I am the one. You must arrest me. I have done a terrible, terrible thing.»

I said firmly, «Andrichev, calm yourself this instant. I have known you for a long time. I do not believe you capable of any evil. Drunkenness, yes, and occasional vulgarity of attack when we play Schubert. Spite, vindictiveness, cruelty — never.»

«No, no one ever believes that of me," he cried out distractedly. «I know how I am seen: good old Volodya — a bit brusque, perhaps, a bit rough, but a fine fellow when you really get to know him. A heart of gold, and a devil of a cellist, but all he ever thinks of is music, music and vodka. The man couldn't plan a picnic — let alone a revenge.»

Sigerson had the presence of mind to press a drink into his hand, while I sat just as slack–jawed as Lyudmilla Plaschka and Dr. Nastase themselves at the sight of the money they were accused of swindling from Lyudmilla's besotted husband. Andrichev peered around the glass at us in an odd, coy way, his eyes now glinting with a sly pride that I had never seen there before.

«Yes, revenge," he said again, clearly savoring the taste and smell and texture of the word. «Revenge, not for all the men, all the deceptions, all the silly little ruses, the childish lies — they are simply what she is. As well condemn a butterfly to live on yogurt as her to share the same bed forever. Her doctor will learn that soon enough.» And he smiled, tasting the thought.

The words, the reasoning, the sound — they were all so vastly removed from the Volodya Andrichev I was sure I knew that I still could not close my mouth. Sigerson appeared much cooler, nodding eagerly as Andrichev spoke, as though he were receiving confirmation of the success of some great gamble, instead of receiving proof positive that he and I had been thoroughly hoodwinked. He said, «The doctor made it different.»

Andrichev's face changed strikingly then, all the strong features seeming to crowd closer together, even the forehead drawing down. He repeated the word different as he had the word revenge, but the taste puckered his mouth. «That fool, that wicked fool! For that one, she would have left me, gone away forever. I had to stop her.»

But he sounded now as though he were reassuring himself that he had had no choice.

«The money," Sigerson prompted him gently. «That was indeed your money that I found in the steamer trunk?»

The furtively smug look returned to Andrichev's face, and he took a swig of his drink. «Oh, yes, every bit of it. Everything I could raise, no matter what I had to sell, or pawn, or beg, no matter how I had to live. The cello — that was hard for me, but not as hard as all of you thought. One can get another cello, but another Lyudmilla…» He fell silent for a moment, looking at the floor, then raised his eyes to us defiantly. «Not in this life. Not in my life. It had to be done.»

Nor will we find another such cellist, I thought bitterly and selfishly. Sigerson said, «It was you alone who spread the story of Frau Andrichev's chronic mortal illness. She and Dr. Nastase knew nothing.»

«Progorny was a great help there," Andrichev said proudly. «It was easy to circulate the tale, but difficult to keep it from reaching Lyudmilla's ears. Progorny is a real friend — " he looked directly at me for the first time " — though he will never be a real cellist. But I am happy that he has the Fabregas.»

I realized that I had been constantly shaking my head since he began speaking, unable truly to see this new Volodya Andrichev; trying to bring my mind into focus, if you will. I asked, lamely and foolishly, «Progorny put the money into the trunk lid, then?»

Andrichev snorted derisively. «No — when would he have the opportunity for that? The tickets under the woodpile, that was Progorny, but all the rest was my idea. The police were prepared to stop them on the road — " here his voice hesitated, and his mouth suddenly rumpled, as though he were about to cry " — just when they were thinking themselves safe and … and free.» He took another deep swallow. «But you two made that unnecessary. I had not counted on your interference, but it was the last touch to my plan. Having two such reputable, distinguished witnesses to their crime and their flight — even having one of them find the money— that closed the door behind them. That closed and locked the door.»

«Yes," Sigerson said softly. «And then, with your plan successful, your revenge accomplished, your faithless wife and her lover in prison, you attempted to kill yourself.» There was no question in his voice, and no accusation. He might have been reading a newspaper aloud.

«Oh," Andrichev said. «That.» He said nothing more for some while, nor did Sigerson. The kitchen remained so quiet that I could hear the tiny rasping sound of a mouse chewing on the pantry door. Andrichev finally stood up, swaying cautiously, like someone trying to decide whether or not he is actually drunk. He was no longer sweating so dreadfully, but his face was as white and taut as a sail trying to contain a storm. He said, «I do not want to live without her. I can, but I do not want to. The

revenge … it was not on her, but on myself. For loving her so. For loving her more than the music. That was the revenge.» Once again he held his hands out to Sigerson for invisible manacles. «Get her out of that place," he said. " Him, too. Get them out, and put me in. Now. Now.»

Lyudmilla Plaschka and Dr. Nastase were released from prison as soon as the magistrate who sentenced them could be located. This is a remarkable story in itself … but I can see that you wouldn't be interested. Lyudmilla Plaschka threatened to sue her husband, the court, the town, and the Duchy of Bornitz for a truly fascinating sum of money. Dr. Nastase must have prevailed, however, for she hired no lawyer, filed no claims, and shortly afterward disappeared with him in the general direction of New South Wales. I believe that a cousin of hers in Gradja received a postal card.

Volodya Andrichev was formally charged with any amount of undeniable transgressions and violations, none of which our two St. Radomir lawyers knew how to prosecute — or defend, either, if it came to that — so there was a good deal of general relief when he likewise vanished from sight, leaving neither a forwarding address nor any instructions as to what to do with his worldly goods. One of the lawyers attempted to take possession of his house, in payment for unpaid legal fees; but since no one could even guess what these might have been, the house eventually became the property of the Greater Bornitz Municipal Orchestra. It is specifically intended to accommodate visiting artists, but so far, to be quite candid … no, you aren't interested in that, either, are you? You only want information about Herr Sigerson.

Well, I grieve to disappoint you, but he too is gone. Oh, some while now — perhaps two months after Volodya Andrichev's disappearance. As it happens, I walked with him to catch the mail coach on which he had arrived in St. Radomir. I even carried his violin case, as I recall. Never friends, colleagues by circumstance, we had little to say to one another, but little need as well. What we understood of each other, we understood; the rest would remain as much a mystery as on that very first evening, and we were content to leave it so.