Christopher Kloeble - Almost Everything Very Fast

Soon they were crossing one of the bleak fields on the outskirts of the village where stands of winter rye grew. Four dark-green cars were parked in a half circle. Their motors were idling and sounded impatient, and all of their headlights were on, throwing bright light onto a bus in the middle of the field. Shadows flitted between the vehicles.

“Where is Julius Habom!” Mina wanted to know, stopping short. Fred grabbed her arm — she couldn’t break loose, and fell to the ground.

“Don’t be so rough!” shouted Markus, coming closer and offering her his left hand. In the other, he held his pistol.

Men in surgical masks loomed behind him. The wintry ground crunched beneath their feet. As Mina screamed that she was here for her wedding, and began to thrash around, they gathered her up and carried her onto the bus.

“Are they going to hurt her?” asked Fred.

“No,” said Markus, checking his makeup compact to ensure that his toupee was properly situated, and thanked Fred, saying he’d done well.

From within the bus there was a rumbling, followed by a high, mechanical buzzing. Mina’s screams were smothered.

Fred covered his ears. “Where is Julius?”

“Probably afraid to get married.” Markus grinned. “Looks like we’ll have to postpone it.”

One of the masked men came back, passing Markus the bridal gown, which he in turn handed to Fred.

“That’s all of them,” said Markus.

The man in the mask gestured to Fred.

Markus shook his head.

Two more masked men stepped out of the bus, and advanced on Fred. One of them wore white rubber gloves, their fingertips red.

Fred flinched away.

“No,” said Markus, and lifted his pistol an inch or two.

Now it was the other men who flinched. The one with the red fingertips spread his arms as if to call for calm.

From the bus there came a dull thud, and the other two men vanished once more. Markus lowered his pistol. A rattling ran through the bus, it shook slightly. From within, a boy hollered — and went silent.

Markus rolled his eyes and nudged Fred: “Typical Klöble!”

Someone turned on the engine, and the bus shook. Then the two masked men stepped out again, opened a hatch in the vehicle’s side, pulled a lever, and the door shut. They inspected a hose that ran from the rear of the bus to its roof. One of the two gave a thumbs-up, at which the man with the red fingertips positioned himself at a distance from the bus, walking slowly backward with his eyes fixed on the windows.

Markus noticed that Fred was trembling. “Come,” he said, and they climbed into one of the cars. Fred sat in the passenger seat, and Markus tucked the bridal gown around him.

“Better?”

Fred nodded.

Markus put his pistol away, laid his hands on the steering wheel, and stretched out his arms. “A BMW 321.” He took a deep breath. “It’s a real speedster! Tomorrow I’ll give you a driving lesson.”

“Where is the bus going?” Fred asked.

“Far, far away.” Markus leaned back. In the rearview mirror he inspected his toupee, and nudged it a bit to the left.

They fell silent. The car vibrated.

“I want to go home.”

“You know what? I’m going to give you this speedster. It’s yours, it belongs to you. What do you think about that?”

“I want my mama!”

“Fred,” said Markus, laying his hand on the gearshift, “don’t be afraid. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m here. Just be quiet and close your eyes.”

But he didn’t do that, he couldn’t look away, he didn’t even blink. Fred stared and stared.

Hours later, after Markus had driven up and down Reichsstrasse 11 for so long that Fred had finally been able to nod off, the dark-green BMW rolled into Anni’s garden and stopped with a soft wheeze. Markus shut off the headlights and glanced over at Fred, sleeping heavily beside him, wrapped in the wedding gown.

Anni knocked at Markus’s window. Her greasy hair gleamed, her eyes were bloodshot.

He took his pistol and got out. “Were you over at the Moorsee again? It doesn’t agree with you.”

She asked him where he’d been and what he’d done with her son and where the car had come from.

Markus bent forward and whispered it in her ear.

Anni exhaled, met his glance for a moment, then looked away again. With a single lunge she grabbed his toupee and tore it from his head.

“I’m exhausted.” Markus sighed, scratching his bald spot with the barrel of the Walther. “It was a long day. Really, all I wanted was to bring Fred home. Best to leave him here as he is. I can fetch the car tomorrow.”

Anni looked warily at his pistol.

“Oh, I see.” He laid it down before her in the grass. “Can I have my hair back now?”

She held the toupee out to him, and as he went to take it, she snatched the pistol and aimed it at him.

Markus arranged his toupee with the help of the mirror. “You have to pull back the hammer.”

Anni looked for it.

“It’s inside. There,” Markus said impassively, pointing it out with his index finger, and Anni cocked it.

“Onto the moor,” she ordered, and Markus didn’t protest, but tucked the makeup compact away and marched off. She followed at a distance. For a while they went in lockstep, silent. Whenever the pistol grew too heavy for Anni, she switched hands.

“You seem exhausted,” said Markus, as they reached the wooden planks that led across the moor. “Fred’s worried about you. I worry about you myself. I’m sure it’s tough. Your pain must be unimaginable. First your parents, then your husband. But if you pull that trigger, neither of us will be able to take care of your son anymore. They’ll come to get him. And don’t claim he doesn’t mean anything to you. He’s all that remains of your Arkadiusz. He’s your Most Beloved Possession.”

Anni was holding the pistol with both hands now.

“I think that in some strange way I like you because you don’t like me. Your head-shaking is more generous than most people’s love. Don’t lose the habit. I see so much potential in you. When you consider who Fred’s father was, it’s amazing how he’s turned out. He has you to thank for that. You’re a good, a healthy influence. That’s why you won’t shoot. Because it isn’t in you. You’re innocent, you dance, you sing, and you could never—”

Anni shook me awake as dawn was breaking. I was sleeping, tied to Ludwig with a rope, beside the main street. She asked me what she should do. Markus’s pistol in her hand, and the splatter of blood on her face, answered my first question. Anni said she’d believed Markus was going to kill them, going to kill them all, but then, when he was lying facedown on the moor, she hadn’t been so sure anymore, and she’d gotten scared, scared of herself, because she hadn’t thought she’d be able to do it, and now, she said, now that it was over, she was surprised by how easy it had been.

I hugged her without speaking. I held her as tightly as I could, for all the hugs I’d never be able to give her from then on, and when we let go of each other and Anni stood there looking as beautiful to me as only a Most Beloved Possession can, I didn’t kiss her little mouth, round as a fish’s — even though I sensed that she would have allowed me — because I didn’t want to have to miss her kisses, too. Then I took the pistol from her, stuck it in the pocket of my coat, in which the gold was also hidden, and told my sister what had to be done.