John Wray - The Right Hand of Sleep

— Sieg Heil, Oskar! said Kurt, giving Voxlauer a mock salute. — Is Her Ladyship receiving visitors? I have no appointment.

— I wouldn’t presume to say.

— Here I am, said Else, coming to the door.

The three of them stood silently for a few moments, Voxlauer and Kurt at the edge of the drive, Else on the steps. — Might I come inside? Kurt said finally.

Else reached for the door handle, then stopped. — Where are you going, Oskar?

— I thought I might take a walk.

— I’d rather you stayed. Or let us come with you.

— Let the man go, for heaven’s sake, said Kurt.

— I’d like to come, Else said. — Would you mind very much?

Kurt kept his eyes on the ground.

— No, said Voxlauer, slowly. — I suppose I wouldn’t mind.

Else came down the steps, much relieved, and took them both by the arm, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. — Where shall we go?

— The ponds? Kurt offered.

— I’d thought possibly the Kugel-tree, said Voxlauer.

Else clapped her hands together. — Yes! The Kugel-tree, Kurti. We’ve never been there yet, the three of us.

— I’ve never been at all, that I can remember.

Else began walking. Kurt waved Voxlauer past him. — After you, Voxlauer. I have the cavalry in my saddlebags. A little malted hops.

— Courtesy of the Niessener Hof?

— Now, Oskar! Kurt said, waggling a finger. — I was dedicating a football green in Treibach on the evening in question. No court of my peers would convict me.

— I’m sure of that.

— Don’t be angry with me, Oskar. Please. I brought Ischinger’s this time, still cold from Rindt’s greasy icebox. Kurt brought out the bottles. — What’s more, I didn’t pay him for it.

— Well, in that case, said Voxlauer. — I’ll go find a place for them inside, away from the beasts of the field.

The light was just leaving the top of the ridge when they reached the tree, a perfect globe of evergreen suspended above the yellow rock and the slope of woods falling away to the south and west. Voxlauer had caught up with them halfway to the ridge and Else had noticed the smell of beer on his breath but had said nothing. Now they stood looking down into the valley, the three of them side by side, catching their breath. Peach-colored bands of sunlight drew softly down into the pines. — What a funny old shrub, Kurt said, squinting up at it.

— Don’t make light of the Kugel-tree, Kurti.

— I’m only saying, Liesi. It looks like a jelly bean.

— Or a Reichs-German, in profile, murmured Voxlauer.

Kurt let out a deep sigh. — For all our sakes, cousin-in-law, I prefer to leave my ideology in town.

— Is that where you’ve left it?

A silence followed. — Papa did bring us here once, said Else after a time. — Do you really not remember?

Kurt let out a snort. — He never. He’d have burst half his blood vessels.

— This was before, Kurti. He took us with him everywhere.

— The only place he ever took me was the Niessener Hof. But he took me there very regularly.

— Don’t be an ass. You’re trying not to remember.

— Stowed me away, first thing, in some piss-smelling corner. Sat and guzzled and messed himself for days on end.

— Well, Kurti. That’s family, said Else, leaning back against the tree. — Our family, at least.

— Yes. Our family, said Kurt, looking at her.

— You forgot Resi, said Voxlauer.

— What?

— To bring her.

— Oskar, Kurt said patiently. — I see Resi nearly every day.

— I don’t, said Else.

— Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Liesi.

She looked away. — That’s all right. Just bring her along next time.

— Of course, said Kurt. He shaded his eyes.

— That is, if you’re not too busy preserving law and order, said Voxlauer.

— Oskar! said Else.

— I’m only saying. That would keep a person busy, I’d think. What with accidents and fires and so on. He paused a moment. — Does it?

Kurt let out a sigh. — Does it what, Oskar?

— Does it keep you very busy?

Else was looking at him now with a mixture of sadness and alarm. Kurt took a very long time to answer. Up between the trees, falteringly at first but then steadily louder, came the low clattering rumble of a truck. — I have no need of starting any fires, Voxlauer, Kurt said.

— Or of putting any out, either, I suppose, said Voxlauer, feeling his hands balling in spite of themselves into fists, his arms stiffening at his sides. He kept still, waiting for the feeling to pass, feeling the alcohol in his arms and shoulders, waiting as he always did for nothing to begin happening again. Then, as always, the feeling faded as quickly as it came. His arms relaxed.

The noise of another truck carried up to them, and another. — Where could all those trucks be going? said Else.

— God knows, said Voxlauer. He tilted his head back to look at the sky, then let his eyes move down slowly to take in the two of them, leaning shoulder to shoulder against the mottled trunk. In the failing light, with their deep-set dark eyes and soft, childlike faces, they looked as alike as two cameos in a locket. Kurt was smiling at him oddly. — You mean you haven’t heard the news? Neither of you?

— What news? said Voxlauer.

— Ryslavy’s sold his trees.

Voxlauer looked at Kurt a long moment in silence. — Say that again, he said.

— I think you heard me, Oskar, Kurt said, turning to Else. — Ryslavy — he began, and was about to go on when Voxlauer stepped forward and shoved him hard into the tree so the back of his head made a sharp, percussive crack like the popping of a firecracker against the wood and he let out a groan and toppled over.

— Oskar! Else shrieked. Voxlauer gripped Kurt’s head by the hair and tilted his ashen face back and screamed into it. He himself could not make out what he was screaming but he saw the face receding further into its ashenness and that was enough. It was enough that the noise was coming from him and that he, Kurt, was suffering under it. The world all around them both had grown pale and dull and slowly he himself became detached from the noise and dull and colorless like everything else and then suddenly very calm. After a time he became aware of Else’s hand on his shoulder.

— Let it be, Oskar, she was saying, almost tenderly. She took hold of him firmly by his shirtsleeves and he allowed himself to be pulled back from Kurt, who was now lying against the base of the tree. He let her sit him down and watched as she stood and looked down at him an instant longer, holding her breath and knitting her face together as though he were something entirely new to her now and strange. — Kurt, he heard her saying a moment later, crouching not before him any longer but alongside Kurt’s legs, shaking them carefully and calling out a name — Kurt.

— Let’s lay him out on the grass, said Voxlauer. Else looked up at him again with that same look, not disgusted so much as curious, as though he’d transformed before her eyes into a rare species of tropical bird. — All right, she said after a moment. Voxlauer knelt beside her. They spread Kurt out with his jacket folded under his head and wiped the blood from his nose with a kerchief. He sputtered and coughed. — Voxlauer, he said effortfully after a time.

Voxlauer leaned over. — Yes.

— I forgive you, Voxlauer, Kurt said slowly, licking the corners of his mouth.

— I haven’t asked you to.

Kurt nodded, looking past Voxlauer into the grass. — You’re forgiven.

— I’m not sure that lies within your powers, Obersturmführer.

— Yes, said Kurt, sitting up slowly. — Now I want to go.