John Wray - The Right Hand of Sleep

Else sighed. — Well. I can’t imagine what we’d be doing in one, anyhow. I’m safeguarding my virtue for the Heavenly Host.

— Is that so?

— It is. Or the Lamb of God, possibly.

— Ah. The Lamb.

— Or the Red Army. Whichever happens to come first.

— The Red Army has arrived, Fräulein, said Voxlauer, catching her by the waist.

— Saints protect us! The times we live in.

— Sweet times, said Voxlauer. — Glorious times.

— We have our own town, don’t we, Oskar.

Voxlauer nodded. — Our own city-state. Our own republic.

They walked on, keeping alongside each other in the dark. — I’m still afraid, she said, running her hand up and down his arm as if to comfort him. — I’ve just decided not to pay attention anymore.

— That’s very wise, said Voxlauer, drawing her closer.

I ran back upstairs as fast as my legs would carry me. I found Spengler in the conference room with fifteen of the boys, swaying boorishly to the radio. Through the crackle and hiss a light polka was audible. “They announced it!” he said grandly. “Then we sang the Horst Wessel.” He looked around him from one to another of the boys, making as if to wipe away a tear. Gradually his eyes drifted back to me. “Where have you been hiding yourself, Biddlebauer?”

I stood looking at him, speechless. “Are you drunk?” I got out finally.

Spengler’s huge head bobbed busily to the polka. “What’s that?”

“There’s bulls and Home Front everywhere,” I said slowly, stressing every word. “There are four tanks on the front steps, Gruppenleiter.” I spread my arms wide. “Tanks, Heinrich—”

“We’ve phoned in our demands,” Spengler said tranquilly. “Sit down already, Bauer, for heaven’s sake. You’re making everybody antsy.”

With that he turned back to the radio. The boys stood around the room in various attitudes of uneasiness, looking from him to me and back again. “Could I have a word, Gruppenleiter?” I said.

Spengler straightened, his back still turned to me. “I thought you wanted to be left alone.”

“I’m done pissing now, Gruppenleiter. Come and see.”

“Would you like that?” he said, winking at the boys. “All right then, Obersturmführer. Let’s go have a look.” He stood up, cracked his back and switched off the radio, to the loud objections of all present. We went into the little anteroom where the sour reek had very much intensified.

Spengler leaned back comfortably against a desktop, arms folded. “Now then. What is it you want, exactly, Bauer? A hall pass? A pardon? A change of drawers?”

“Where’s the army, Heinrich?” I said, very quietly.

Spengler raised his eyebrows. “The army?”

“They were supposed to be here by now, if you remember. The army. And the Brown Shirts, Heinrich. Where are they? Weren’t they supposed to put in an appearance?” I could feel my voice rising to a squeak. “Have they decided to stay at home, Heinrich? Is it the ninety-six of us now, versus the Republic?”

Spengler looked at me for a time, half smiling, then shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re surrounded by the Home Guard, you idiot! There’s not enough blessed room on the Ballhausplatz for all of them. Where for Christ’s sake is the goddamned shit-eating army? Where is it?” I jumped up and down on the heaps of loose files, gasping and stuttering like a baby; the entire scene played itself out like a cabaret routine. “Where are they?” I shouted, slipping on the folders, scattering documents of every variety across the carpet. “Where, Heinrich? Where?”

Spengler regarded me coldly for a long moment. “Last I heard, they were setting up sniper’s posts, Bauer. On the roof of the Home Ministry.”

I stared at him, nauseous again and dizzy with disbelief. A knock came on the cabinet-room door and a crony of Spengler’s ducked his head into the room. “The Home Guard minister insists that he speak to you, Gruppenleiter.”

Spengler’s grin returned at once. “That’s fine. Come along then, Bauer, if you’re finished. Let’s go hear the news.”

Ley sat just as we’d left him, straight-backed, staring at the wall unblinkingly, hands arranged elegantly in his lap. As we entered the room Dollfuss roused himself briefly, mumbled something, then fell slack again. Spengler tapped Ley on the collar.

Ley turned slowly to face us. He looked us over dutifully and intently, but at the same time with marked indifference, as though neither of our faces need especially be remembered. Spengler shifted from foot to foot, unwilling to be the first to speak. “What was it you wanted, Herr Minister?” he said. “A glass of water, perhaps?”

Ley let out a sigh. “That a revolution should be run by two such perfect half-wits,” he said very clearly, as if for his colleagues’ benefit. The secretary of security said nothing; Dollfuss moaned loudly in his corner, to all appearances utterly lost to the world. I squatted down before Ley’s bench. “Has nobody told you yet? Adolf Hitler leads this revolution. We poor half-wits only carry out his orders.”

“The worse for him.”

“The worse for you, I’d say, Herr Minister.”

“Yes,” said Ley. “That’s all very fine. I’d like to speak with you in private now, Herr Gruppenleiter,” he said, turning abruptly to Spengler.

The security secretary sat forward, trying to speak, but was seized by a violent fit of coughing. “What’s the meaning of this, Emil?” he managed to wheeze. Ley simply leaned over and put a finger to the old man’s mouth. “You have problems with my Home Guard, I understand,” he said, keeping his eyes on Spengler.

“Figured that out all on our own, did we?” Spengler said, glancing at me.

Ley waved a hand. “A guess, Herr Spengler. Nothing more. I thought I’d heard the sound of trucks.” He paused a moment, smiling politely. “Not the best position to be in, I’d imagine—”

“Get to the point,” I interrupted.

Ley paused a moment. The security secretary was still hacking and shuddering next to him. “A word with you in private, if I might, Herr Spengler,” Ley repeated.

I kept quiet, watching them both. The vaudeville quality was building minute by minute. The Home Guard were, as far as I’d understood anything, supposed to be fighting shoulder to shoulder alongside the Brown Shirts at key points across the city; instead they were mustered in full force of arms just outside the window, sharpening their bayonets. Their commander-in-chief, who by rights should have been tearing his hair out by the roots at that very moment, railing at the faithlessness of his troops, was in fact sitting before us with his legs comfortably crossed, smiling at Spengler with a look of profound personal satisfaction. Whatever Glass’s deal had been it had obviously crumbled, and we were powerless. To this day I have no idea why Ley chose not to warn Dollfuss earlier, but of this I’m certain: everything that happened that day did so according to his whim.

The idea took hold of me briefly to get through to Glass on the telephone, but I decided to wait a little longer before I took that risk. Spengler looked at Ley another moment, then shrugged his shoulders. Two boys helped Ley to his feet. I sat down on the bench he’d just risen from, next to the secretary of security, and watched the boys lead him out of the room. The paneled door swung smoothly shut behind them.

— Arise, therefore, and walk! said Ryslavy, throwing back the bedsheets. — Ah! Excuse me, Fräulein.