John Wray - The Right Hand of Sleep

It rained that night, hard and even, and in the morning every puddle in the road hid a palm-sized toad floating as still as a leaf in its muddy shallows. Voxlauer knew them well from boyhood summers and knew too that when caught in the hand they showed their bright yellow undersides and bled a dark, poisonous-looking ink from tiny vents along their ribs. — India bottle, he said aloud. He caught one and wrapped it in a kerchief and took it with him in his shirt pocket to the villa.

As he came into the garden voices carried to him from an open window and he stopped a moment. Else’s voice, Resi’s, and another he didn’t recognize. The dampness of the kerchief in his pocket formed a cool dull crescent against his chest and he could feel the toad gasping and scrabbling through the cloth. He breathed in and went the last few steps up to the screen door and pushed it open.

— Oh! said Else, looking up and smiling.

— Good morning, said Voxlauer.

— Oskar, this is Kurti, Else said, rising.

The man had been sitting at the table but now he rose as well and turned to Voxlauer, his face in an easy grin.

— Kurti: Oskar, said Else.

— A very great pleasure, said the man. He made a little pantomime of clicking his heels together and saluting. Resi laughed.

His hair was reddish and very thick but his eyes were the same as Else’s, dark and heavy-lidded, and his skin was smooth and brown. He was slight and clean-shaven and looked barely over twenty. — Kurt Freiherr von Bauer, he said, extending a hand.

— Ach, stop it, Kurti! laughed Else. Her voice sounded brittle. — Please pay him no mind at all, Oskar.

— Oskar Baron von Voxlauer, said Voxlauer. He took the hand Kurt held out to him and shook it.

— Pleased to meet Your Grace, said Kurt, his hand firm in Voxlauer’s. — Ouch, Herr Voxlauer! A perfect logger’s handshake. The genuine article.

— And yet I’ve never logged, said Voxlauer.

— Show him your teeth, Oskar! Resi whispered.

— I have something better to show, said Voxlauer, going to the table. He took the kerchief out of his pocket and set it down. The toad struggled under the wetted cloth. Voxlauer undid the kerchief with a flourish.

— What is it? said Resi, taking a quick step backward. — What is it?

— An inkpot, said Voxlauer. He flipped the toad over onto its back and stroked its quivering belly with his thumb. Beads of black sprang up up and down its ribs.

— Nasty, said Resi, sucking in her breath.

— I wrote messages with these, in my spying days, said Voxlauer. — The ink dries invisible. You run over its belly with a spoon. He glanced over at Kurt and Else. — Didn’t you ever use them? How did you write down your secrets, the two of you?

Else laughed. — I’m sure we didn’t have any secrets, Oskar.

— Of course we did, Kurt said. — We don’t remember them anymore, cousin, that’s all.

Resi had taken the spoon from Voxlauer’s hand and was holding it cautiously under her nose. — Is it poison?

— The tears of an enchanted prince, more likely, said Else, puckering her lips.

— Just the smallest kiss will do, said Voxlauer, holding the scrabbling toad down to her.

— I’ll never! Resi squealed, ducking behind the table.

— Very well, then, said Voxlauer. He bowed and stepped to the door. — He’ll have to wait for some more willing maiden, I suppose. Such a pity.

— We have no sympathy for you, Baron! Kurt called out through the screen.

— None expected, Voxlauer answered, stepping down the steps, the toad cool and slippery and beginning to struggle again in his hands.

— Good-bye, inkpot! Resi yelled.

A few days later Kurt brought Resi on his motorcycle and the four of them walked meanderingly through the pines, stooping low along piles of brush, hunting chanterelles. Here and there on the damp ground a cluster would glimmer through the needles, cool and luminous as a vein of ore, and Resi would run ahead and pull them up and arrange them carefully on the ground in rows. A thin film of oil shimmered along their rims and in the grooves of their undersides and caught the weak light under the trees. Else found the most, letting out a low quick cry and pointing them out to Resi, or stooping down in a patched summer dress wet from the damp ground and the dew. She unscrewed them with a small soft pop and threw them one by one into the sack Voxlauer carried with him, flicking dirt at him solemnly after each toss. Kurt kept far ahead of them, hunched over like an ape, hands wandering down and around the tree trunks as he went. Resi followed close behind, shrieking with happiness. After a time he snatched her up and settled her onto his shoulders and the two of them disappeared into the brush.

The sound of laughter carried back through the pines and the latticed sun as Voxlauer stood with the half-filled sack, damp and heavy and smelling of moss, waiting for Else to come with another armful from a stand of younger trees. She came out a minute or so later, bent over almost double to pass under the branches, rolling down a fold of her dress to show him the bright heap of chanterelles. Seeing her coming down to him proudly and happily he felt a tightness in his throat that ached and tightened even further as another peal of laughter carried back to them.

— They do get on, the two of them, don’t they, Else said, raising the fold of her dress up over the sack and dropping the chanterelles in all at once. — Feel abandoned?

Voxlauer shrugged. — Ties of blood, Fräulein. There’s just no getting around them.

— You should talk to him, Oskar. I’d like for you to talk to him.

Voxlauer fished a mushroom out of the sack and sniffed at it.

— Should I not let him come up? she said. — Is that what you think?

— He’d come up just the same. Whether or not you asked him.

— He’s not after you, if that’s your worry. He’s told me.

Voxlauer hung back a moment. — He said that?

She nodded.

— When?

— This morning.

— So he’s only just decided, said Voxlauer, starting to walk again.

He felt her coming up behind him. — He’s still just a boy, really. You have to understand that. Prideful and stubborn as a boy.

— A boy? said Voxlauer, stopping short.

Else looked away immediately. — I know what you’re thinking now, she said, setting her features defiantly, even scornfully. — I know what you’ll say next.

— That’s a lie you just told, Else. That’s a lie. You know it is.

— Oskar—

— Don’t start lying to me now, because of him.

Else brought a hand slowly to her mouth and bit it. Voxlauer watched her as if from a great distance and she, for her part, seemed to have forgotten him entirely. Eventually she roused herself and said — Yes, Oskar. It was a lie. She slid her arm under his and curled her hand around his shoulder. — Please don’t let’s talk about him again. Will you promise me? I don’t think I can stand it.

Sometime later they came to the creek and found Kurt and Resi sprawled out against each other in the shade. Resi lay on her side with her head in Kurt’s lap and her legs scissored into his. Kurt’s eyes opened as they came down and he raised a finger conspiratorially to his lips. — Can you take over, Liesi? he whispered. — I’d like to go for a walk with Oskar.

Else nodded, avoiding Voxlauer’s look. Kurt slid out carefully from under Resi’s legs and climbed to where Voxlauer was standing. — Come along, Oskar! he said, striking Voxlauer playfully on the shoulder.

— Why here? said Voxlauer, looking down into the muddy water.

Kurt stood with his hands in his pockets, surveying the cottage with the woods behind it. His thick hair stirred lightly in the wind. He shrugged. — One place is as good as another. I had fine times here as a boy.