John Wray - The Right Hand of Sleep

“This man. . he’s an Austrian?”

Himmler nodded with an air of deep regret. We regarded one another for the briefest possible interval in silence. His squint was more severe than usual, his eyes almost completely hidden, and I had the distinct impression he’d lost sight of me altogether. Sensing that our appointment was at an end, I rose.

“Thank you for your time, Reichsführer. I’ll report back with the result of the conference.”

Himmler waved a hand. “Quite unnecessary, Obersturmführer. Quite unnecessary.” He smiled one last time, then took up a glossy brown folder and began leafing through it. “Weidemann, just outside, will explain things to you further. Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.” I pulled the door closed as quietly as possible behind me.

The next time I saw Himmler he was riding down the Ring in an open sedan at the Führer’s side, waving to the adoring crowd, smiling myopically out at them and nodding his small pale unassuming head, blinking uncomfortably in the noonday light. I was three cars ahead of him, looking back along the bright black motorcade with a mixture of exultation and remorse and pride, sensing on all sides of me the noises and the colors and the smells of the city I’d always known I would return to and claim.

Two days later Ryslavy’s sedan rumbled up the drive. It was loaded high with parcels and crates and dust rose in the noontime sun where its back axle scudded against the gravel. Voxlauer was in the garden. By the time he came round the side of the house Else was already at the door.

Ryslavy tapped the horn once, stepped out of the car and saluted. — Sturmführer Apfelschnapps reporting for assignment!

Else laughed. — We’ve been worried about you, Herr Ryslavy.

— What’s the meaning of all this? said Voxlauer, pointing at the crates and boxes.

Ryslavy shrugged. — Call it tax evasion.

— That’s not what I call it.

Else came partway down the steps. — Come inside, both of you. I’ll make a pot of coffee.

— That’s not necessary, Fräulein, thank you, said Ryslavy. He paused. — I thought Oskar might like to come up to the ponds.

— We’ll have the coffee afterward. On our way down, said Voxlauer.

— Oh, said Else, more quietly. She went back inside.

— Is she offended? Ryslavy whispered.

— Not half as much as I am, said Voxlauer. — Get in the car.

Going back around the hood Ryslavy took out a steel hoop of keys and began sorting through them. The overloaded rear of the sedan was covered in a creased canvas tarpaulin tied down with looped-together leather belts. It bulged and billowed frighteningly.

— Like a circus tent, said Voxlauer, tugging doubtfully on the canvas.

— What’s that?

— Are you figuring to join the circus, Pauli?

Ryslavy didn’t seem to hear. He was flushed and his hands moved restlessly along the door of the sedan. — I thought I’d have a look at them one last time, he said cheerily. — Not enough time to fish, of course. But I’d like to have a look at them just the same, the little ingrates. His eyes as he fumbled with the door handle seemed vague and unfocused.

— Are you in any state, Pauli? said Voxlauer, his hand on the half-opened passenger door. — I hope you are aware I am entrusting you with my life.

— Cold sober, Oskar, Ryslavy said, bringing a finger slowly up to the tip of his nose. Voxlauer climbed into the car and slid over to unlock the other door.

— Voilà! Ryslavy said triumphantly as the door opened, holding a small copper-colored key aloft. — Now we’re off, boy. Now we’re rolling.

The engine bucked to life and the sedan lurched violently forward with a noise like the firing of artillery, nearly shearing off the end post of the garden fence before coming to rest at a steepening of the lawn. Ryslavy cursed and spun the sedan around and suddenly they were rolling down the dappled drive, gathering speed, Ryslavy rocking back and forth impatiently behind the wheel. In another moment they were out onto the road and catapulting up the valley, tires stuttering furiously over the slanting ruts. — Not so fast, Pauli, for Jesus’ sake! Voxlauer shouted.

— What’s that? said Ryslavy.

— Mother of Christ, Pauli!

Ryslavy grinned. — Hold tight, Oskar. Here comes a tricky piece, if I remember. The car lurched left and shuddered into a sliding curve. — Mind those boxes, Ryslavy yelled. He shifted down with all his weight and leaned fiercely into the wheel.

— Dear precious Christ! Voxlauer gasped over and over, half covering his eyes. The curve seemed to ribbon ahead of them into infinity. He clutched wildly at the seat back and at the handle of the door, an identical ribbon of nausea uncoiling in his bowels. But then they were out of it suddenly, out of the pines and rolling gently along the pond bank, the blur of white along the right side coming smoothly into focus and resolving itself into a line of birches. Ryslavy killed the motor and they floated effortlessly alongside the flat, green water.

— Yes, that was fast, said Ryslavy, beaming.

Voxlauer said nothing, filling his lungs with air.

— Don’t be angry with me, Oskar. Indulge me my little excesses.

— Stop the car, said Voxlauer, thowing his door open and leaning out over the road. Ryslavy slowed the car and he jumped onto the sunlit grass, stumbling a little.

— Hold on! Ryslavy shouted. — Hold on a minute! He leaned down and pulled the hand brake and scrambled out of the car. Voxlauer was walking away from him up the road.

— Oskar! Stop! I want you to come with me! Oskar!

Voxlauer stopped walking. — To hell with you, Pauli. I’m not getting back into that death barge.

— You can’t stay here. Ryslavy looked meaningfully about him at the water and the trees. — None of this is mine anymore.

— Yes, that’s right, Pauli. You’ve given it to them.

— Sold it to them, Oskar. Sold it to them. For a nice fat cube of butter, too, I don’t mind telling you.

— Don’t lie to me, Pauli. They robbed you blind.

Ryslavy didn’t answer. — Has anybody been up yet? he said finally, looking over at the cottage.

Voxlauer shrugged. — A few logging trucks.

— Have you talked to anybody?

Voxlauer nodded.

— Who?

— A fairly high-ranking officer of the police, said Voxlauer. — He’s promised me a thorough investigation.

Ryslavy shook his head. — Why you had to pick that girl, out of all of the attractive and well-cultivated women of this valley, I’ll never know. He smiled sourly. — She hasn’t brought us very much luck, you must admit.

Voxlauer looked at him. — You’re not honestly going to put any of this on her head, are you?

— No, no. Of course not. Ignore me.

— I’d better, while I still have the chance, said Voxlauer. He was quiet a moment, looking at the car. — The truth is, I’m not so sure you’ll make it.

Ryslavy nodded and looked back at the car almost penitently. — Still. You’ll let me go, won’t you?

— Yes, said Voxlauer. — It looks as though I will.

— You won’t come? That’s your final word?

— Tell the truth for once, Pauli. You don’t want us both along. Three of us, with Else’s girl.

— Of course I do, said Ryslavy, looking flustered.

They stood a moment looking at each other.

— What’s to become of you? said Voxlauer.

— We have family in Budapest. We have family in Nuremberg. I was thinking Budapest, maybe, said Ryslavy. He cleared his throat. — By the by: I’ve been forbidden to leave town. Ever heard anything so jackassed?

— Parting is such sweet sorrow for them. They’re probably missing you already.