John Wray - The Right Hand of Sleep

— I follow, said Voxlauer, very quietly.

— And?

— I’ve told you already. I want to live.

The officer shrugged his shoulders. A moment later the doctor and Else came upstairs.

— They can’t move him, Else said, taking Voxlauer’s hand and gripping it.

— I’ve been invited to give a statement at the Polizeihaus, said Voxlauer. — I explained to the officer here that we’re much too busy.

— Yes, that’s right, said Else, turning to the officer. — He doesn’t have to go with you just now, does he?

— Well. If he’s needed here, with the Obersturmführer, said the officer, still looking at Voxlauer.

They stood without speaking, the four of them, for the briefest of instants in the narrow room. Then the doctor heaved a deep professional sigh and ran a kerchief over his damp flushed jowls. — The Obersturmführer needs time to recover his air, he said. He glanced at Voxlauer. — Don’t move him any more than necessary. He’s at an extremely delicate stage in his recovery.

— I’ve just come to that conclusion myself, said Voxlauer.

— Can you leave him something for the pain, at least? said Else.

The doctor looked at her in surprise. — Herr Bauer is a soldier of the Schutzstaffel, Fräulein, he said flatly. He glanced over at the officer and coughed. The officer put out his cigarette hurriedly and went to the door.

— Good day to you, Fräulein, said the doctor. He and the SS man bowed once more and went down the steps to the Horch and herded the two privates into it and drove away, leaving the stretcher half assembled on the drive.

Voxlauer shuttered the room against the midday heat and took the pan of blood-spattered urine from beside the bed and arranged the pillows and the sheets. Kurt stared dazedly up at him. With eyes half closed and the lamplight behind him the resemblance to Else was full and utter: the round, smooth face, solemn and androgynous, the wide dark pupils, the heavy lids. His eyes followed Voxlauer as he moved around the bed. — Else? he murmured. He let his eyes fall closed completely, then opened them all at once, frowning. — Else, he repeated.

— She’s here, said Voxlauer.

Else came barefooted from the kitchen, smoothing the hair back from her face. Kurt’s eyes saw her, focused briefly, then fell closed again. — He asked for you, said Voxlauer, moving away.

— Kurti? Else said. Kurt’s eyes opened and closed.

— They didn’t even change the poultices, she said, looking over her shoulder at Voxlauer.

Kurt smiled at this and made a low sound, midway between a croak and a laugh, lifting a hand and waving it in the air. — Let it be, he said hoarsely. — Let it.

— Else, he said a moment later, opening his eyes very wide.

Else sat down by the bed and leaned over. Kurt said something too quietly for Voxlauer to hear. Else took Kurt’s hand in hers and held it, whispering. As she whispered to him his body arched suddenly and he began groaning and sputtering, kicking angrily at the sheets and twisting his head from side to side. — Oskar! Else cried. Voxlauer came quickly and together they lifted Kurt and turned him over. The blood had already begun to pool in his mouth and he leaned his head down slackly and let it dribble out through his teeth. — I’ll get the pan, said Voxlauer, running to the kitchen.

In the kitchen he cast about a moment for the pan before finding it. When he came back down into the bedroom Kurt had quieted and was breathing in even, steady gasps. His face glowed sallowly in the light coming through the shutters. Else sat motionless at the foot of the bed, staring dumbly ahead of her. Her hand lay on Kurt’s forearm. Kurt was looking at Voxlauer. He took his arm from Else’s and beckoned to him. — Voxlauer, he mouthed silently.

Voxlauer came and crouched by the bed.

— There you are, Voxlauer. The whites of Kurt’s eyes shone against his yellow face. His left eye socket was running and bruised and the ball had begun to darken around its edges. He let out a sigh.

— What is it? Else said, taking hold of his arm again.

Kurt’s eyes wandered up to hers. — Go away a minute, Liesi.

Else hesitated, opening her mouth to speak, then stood without a word and left. Kurt’s eyes were wide and luminous as he watched her. He turned them back slowly, unwillingly, to rest on Voxlauer.

— The time’s come for me to tell you my regrets, cousin-in-law. Kurt motioned to the stool.

The sound of Else taking dishes from the cupboard carried from the kitchen. — I’m not interested in your regrets, Kurt, he said.

Kurt attempted another laugh, a raw, hacking croak that collapsed on itself immediately. — I don’t believe you, he wheezed.

— That’s your privilege, said Voxlauer, getting to his feet.

— Two of your friends from the colony are dead.

Voxlauer stopped short, staring at the shutters.

— That’s better. Kurt took a breath. — Now sit quietly a minute.

— Else! Voxlauer called.

— No! Don’t call her! Listen to me, Voxlauer! I don’t want her. Voxlauer!

— Else! Voxlauer called again. He saw her silhouette now through the slats of the shutters, bending over something in the garden.

— Keep her away from me, Voxlauer, Kurt gasped. Voxlauer looked down at him straining desperately to meet his eyes, baring his teeth from the pain and effort of holding himself up. Just like one of my fits, Voxlauer thought, watching the blood rushing to Kurt’s face. He felt no pity or concern, only a remote, sterile curiosity at the tenacity of the life still animating the body propped tremblingly before him. Something in the abjectness of Kurt’s features or in his own faraway state of mind made him think of the soldier he’d killed long ago in the Isonzo. Decades later, near the end of his own life, he would think of those two moments, standing over the deserter in the snow with the military police on all sides, and crouching at the foot of the bed as Kurt suffered through his last few conscious breaths, as connected by a wire that ran through all the moments in between, fixing them in precise order, like glass beads on a string. He waited another drawn-out, deliberate moment before speaking.

— All right, Kurt. Lie back now. I’ll listen.

— I’m dying, Kurt said feebly, falling back onto the sheets like a wooden effigy.

Voxlauer said nothing. The screen door banged as Else came back inside.

— Go now, Kurt murmured, his eyes losing focus.

Voxlauer stepped away. Kurt’s eyes had closed and his forehead was beaded over with sweat. — Voxlauer! he said loudly as Voxlauer was halfway across the room.

— Yes, Kurt? said Voxlauer, coming back to the bed. But Kurt turned his head and waved him impatiently away.

Two days later they woke to find his body crumpled like a sheet of paper, thighs drawn in against the wound in his chest, head turned into the bed, one arm drawn in and one flung wide over the sweat-and blood-soaked bedcovers. Voxlauer reached out a hand and passed it over the blanched, ungiving skin, cool and mottled over with tiny blots. He bent down and with a great effort straightened the tucked and stiffened legs and pulled the sheets over them. Else hung back by the kitchen steps. A warm breeze carried through the open windows, moving the hair on the back of Kurt’s head lightly, ruffling it and smoothing it down again exactly as it would the hair on a living body. Voxlauer bent over the bed and took in a breath but smelled only the faint scent of sweat and the morning damp. Then he stepped away from the body and went past Else up the kitchen steps and out of the house.

Thin wisps of cloud were massing into a palisade above the cliffs and he stood just outside the doorway, watching them. In Pergau the green copper steeple caught the first tentative rays of light and held them fast. A high bending file of rooks rose from it like a standard, thinning as he watched into a fine, dark thread. After a while Else came out and sat next to him on the steps. They sat wordlessly, looking across the valley. Nothing in her face or in her way of sitting beside him would have led anyone to believe that she was suffering. A short time later she stood and went back inside.