Jake Arnott - The House of Rumour

‘How can he be there when he drowned in a river in Asia Minor on his way to the Third Crusade?’ Kurt retorted. ‘But it’s said that it was not just a crusade that took him east. He was looking for the land of Prester John.’

‘Prester John?’

‘Yes, you know, the mythical Christian ruler of a lost kingdom beyond the infidels. There had long been rumours of him, but then Emperor Barbarossa actually received a letter from this Prester John, telling of his enchanted land with many wonders and strange creatures in it. Dog-headed men, boar-tusked women, giants and griffins. A wondrous fantasy world, beyond known space and time!’

Kurt was becoming quite animated, waving his hands around as if conjuring up a vision.

‘It was like a report from another planet. Full of monsters and miraculous devices. Most wonderful of all was the promise that beyond the realm of Prester John lay an earthly paradise. That Eden yet exists as a Garden of Earthly Delights. One legend of Barbarossa has it that Emperor Frederick did not die but found his lost paradise and lived on for many years in a luxurious palace surrounded by beautiful gardens. As in Kleist’s essay, he went around the world and found a way back to Eden.’

‘To utopia.’

‘Yes!’ His eyes were wide and bright. ‘Wouldn’t that be precious? Oh! What could be better than imagining strange new lands, to forget the dreadful one we live in?’

‘Oh Kurt, you’re such a dreamer.’

‘So? Isn’t this Circle of yours supposed to be fighting for a dream?’

‘Yes, but not a fantasy.’

‘Why not?’

I took the card from him.

‘I’d better be getting back.’

‘You think I’m silly, don’t you, Hans?’

‘No. Why do you say that?’

‘Oh, everybody does. And I can see it in your face, too. I’m sorry if you think that I’m silly. I want to be serious. I want to get involved.’

‘That’s good. But, you know, we mustn’t draw attention to ourselves.’

‘I know. I wish it was just our secret, Hans.’

‘That wouldn’t be much good.’

‘Our own private conspiracy. We could become blood brothers. We could do it now. I’ll get a knife and we can swear an oath to each other.’

‘That’s enough, Kurt!’

I snapped my violin case shut and stood up.

‘Please don’t be angry with me, Hans.’

‘I’m not,’ I protested, even though I was. ‘It’s just that what we are doing is so dangerous. If any of us get caught it means the People’s Court. The guillotine.’

I noted the look of fear in Kurt’s eyes at this, and at that moment I was glad. I felt then he needed to be shocked into reality. I wish I hadn’t done that now.

I left his apartment and made my way back home. As I crept upstairs the radio howled in the living room. A broadcast of a party rally, waves of applause like the drone of a swarm. I felt that I really didn’t understand people at all. I felt a lonely desire to get away, to be on my own on some wide and desolate plain.

The following day I looked for Kurt at the university but I couldn’t find him. I wanted to talk with him, to apologise for losing my temper. Elsa Mühlberger was right: it was essential to find a way of making contact with more students willing to be part of a resistance network. I was thinking of the future, though I had grim forebodings about it.

When I arrived at the Mühlbergers’ to deliver the message, I knew something was wrong. Their front door was open and I could hear strange voices coming from their apartment. I turned on my heel and headed back to the staircase but a man in a leather coat blocked my path.

‘Not so fast, son,’ he told me as he grabbed me by the arm. ‘I think you’d better come with me.’

He pulled me along into the Mühlbergers’. Their flat was being ransacked, books pulled off the shelves, papers scattered everywhere. A tall, sad-eyed man stood in the corner watching. I was dragged over to him.

‘What do we have here, Krebs?’ the man asked in a soft voice.

‘Found him outside, sir.’

‘Inspector Glockner, Geheime Staatspolizei ,’ he announced, showing his identity badge with a flourish. ‘Let me see your papers, young man.’

I handed them to him.

‘And what is your relationship to Heinz and Elsa Mühlberger?’

I explained about the violin lessons, holding up my case for him to see.

‘Open it. Ah, yes! What a beautiful instrument. Frau Mühlberger taught you, yes? You know that the Mühlbergers have been taken into protective custody? Hmm, why not play us something?’

‘What?’

‘A little demonstration. Something you’ve been learning.’

I took the violin out and put it under my chin. I tightened the bow, tuned the strings. I felt sick.

‘Please,’ Inspector Glockner entreated with a smile.

I played ‘Song of the Morning Star’ from Tannhaüser , an appropriate piece that I had up my sleeve for such an eventuality. I scraped the first notes badly. Then I tried to relax, remembering what Elsa Mühlberger had told me about not exerting too much control, of letting go of the bow action. As if any of it mattered. But fear had this strange effect, giving me just the right balance between concentration and surrender. I was in a trance, as the words of the aria whispered in my ear: like a portent of death, twilight shrouds the earth. The soul, which yearns for those heights, dreads to take its dark and awful flight. A star points the way out from the valley.

‘Wonderful,’ said Glockner, when I finished. ‘Don’t you think that was wonderful, Krebs?’

His henchman grunted. Glockner had gone to stand in the corner where the Mühlbergers had made the model farm for little Melchior. He beckoned me over.

‘Rather pretty, isn’t it?’ he said, picking up a model cow and holding it up to a mournful eye.

The Gestapo had by now turned the Mühlbergers’ place upside down. Order remained only in the toyland they had lovingly constructed for their son. Perhaps they had made it for themselves, too. Knowing that they were doomed, they had regained a moment’s paradise, a tiny world hidden in the vast and cruel universe.

‘Did you know that the Mühlbergers were communists?’ Inspector Glockner demanded, his voice at once harsh and official.

‘No.’

‘Traitors, subversives, enemy spies. And are you one of them?’

‘No. No, sir.’

‘What do you think, Krebs?’ He shot a glance at his man.

Krebs shrugged. Glockner smiled.

‘I think we should let him go,’ the inspector went on. ‘For now. On your way, young man.’

He handed me back my papers. I went down to the street, breathless, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird in my ribcage. Thoughts came quickly, stacking up in my mind. The Mühlbergers interrogated, tortured. Names named. How long before mine came up? Did they already know? I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling the shadow of something behind me. Now I was imagining that I was being followed. I was going mad. I looked back again. But yes, there really was somebody after me. That was the game. Cat and mouse. The Gestapo would let me go and have me tailed to see who I’d lead them to. I’d already thought of Kurt, that I should warn him. Poor Kurt, caught up in all this, scarcely knowing what he was getting into. Yet I was the only one who could implicate him. How much could I bear before I betrayed him? I tried to clear my head, to stop thinking these horrible thoughts. I would go home. Home, yes. A moment of calm. Home. But what then? What would happen when they came for me there? What would my parents think? Their own son a traitor. It would kill my mother.

Footsteps were close behind. I picked up my pace.

‘Wait,’ came a voice and a hand clawed at my elbow.