Into the Lion's Den (42 page)

“You don't know where he is?” he asked, fixing his gaze upon me.

“No. My lawyer tried to contact him through the French Embassy in Buenos Aires, but they never
answered any of his calls. He tried with the police, but no luck at all. I know nothing about him. Was he married?”

“I think so.”

“I have an Aunt too.”

“Don't count on it. Why would she be interested in you if her husband didn't care?”

“Yes, you must be right,” I admitted, feeling very bad. I thought for a second that I could get a family
too. Idiot!

“The resemblance is remarkable indeed.”

“Pardon me?”

“Between you and your uncle. You almost look like twins, but you're shorter; your hair is a lighter shade
of brown and your temper is very different from his.”

“I don't know. My father used to say that I looked like my mother.”

“No, the bone structure is his. The hair and eyes colour not,” he said, taking my chin with some force to
inspect me once more. “You truly remind me of someone I met years ago.”

In the evening I had to dine with Lintorff and he informed me that he had already spoken with the sadist
doctor and I should remain in the house for the week till I was feeling better. I tried to convince him to allow me to
speak with Constantin but he refused.

“Next Saturday if you behave.”

February 23rd, 2004

This morning Friederich took me to Zurich and Antonov drove us there. I was expecting him to put me in
the tailor's shop or to another doctor. Since I visited Van Horn, I've stayed in the Castle only walking in the afternoon
over the forest or the garden. I'm “officially resting” from the flight and the stress. Luckily, Lintorff disappears early
in the morning for work and returns in the evening when he has important people over.

On Monday I was able to escape the dinner because I had a horrible headache due to high blood
pressure (Antonov's dixit) and needed to rest, but on Wednesday the Duke had enough and ordered me to be at eight,
dressed with a dark suit, tie and the whole regalia in the living room as he had guests (six; two bankers and wives and
two industrials from USA visiting his bank) for dinner. “Staying in your room will not solve your sociability
problems.” Friederich chose the outfit and checked that I was doing nothing crazy like not combing the hair or
putting on a Metallica T-shirt… after all I'm a mobster's former lover crazy artist. I was introduced as “my ward for
this year, Guntram plans to continue to study Art History at the UZC next spring,” (???) and sent to the end of the
table with one of his “preventive warning looks” to be quiet. “Ostermann has accepted to be his teacher.”

“That's incredible. He never takes anybody. Markus and I have been trying for years to convince him to
accept our nephew who was among the first places in the Ècole de Beaux Arts,” one of the ladies spoke.

“Perhaps that's because he has no talent at all, my dear.” Markus, the banker, retorted sweetly.

“Ostermann knows what he does. I pity you young man, your lazy days are over with him. His temper is legendary.

Do you know that he had a public fight with Sotheby's Modern Art Director over a Damien Hirst two months ago? He
said that it wasn't even an original! The piece was unsold when it was one of the hottest items.”

“Markus, I wouldn't have paid for it regardless of what he tells. It was hideous. One of these days, this
man will spread some chicken livers over a canvas, call it “Brueghel Symphony,” and we will be expected to pay
millions for it.”

“Konrad you can be so naughty some times!” The other lady laughed. “He's one of the most successful
artists nowadays. It's absolute madness every time he has an exhibition!”

“It's also collective madness when the sales season starts but I don't participate, my dear.”

“You're incorrigible!” she scolded him, partly laughing.

“That's why I leave my shopping list to Ostermann. I don't understand Modern Art nor like it.”

“Clever man, you're not dragged to these places like the rest of us,” the American tycoon said. “Claire
wants me to accompany her to some vernissage in New York…or was it a museum party?”

“You have my sympathy, Alan.”

Lintorff knows how to move and by hearing speaking with these people, you would never guess who he is
or what he does.

I was very surprised to find Pater Bruno at the entrance of an old building outside Zurich. He warmly
greeted me and told me that as I had experience with such things, I could help with the packing. “It's an easy job
Guntram. You only have to help to classify the products in the boxes. We had the food drive on the Supermarkets a few
days ago and the worst part is to organize everything. We will distribute them over the immigrants and send the rest to
Caritas. Marie Claire is in charge of everything and she will tell you what to do.”

Inside a big room were several dozens of big wired boxes full of different packages and about twenty-four women and two young boys sorting them out by product and brand. My heart started to beat very fast and I took
several breaths, but the Pater Bruno took me by the elbow and told me to be at ease. “Don't worry, we are not forcing
you to count them,” he joked. “It could be much worse; sorting out the old clothes container, that's hard. I did a
supreme effort to calm myself down and the bloody pills against panic attacks must be working because I could
control myself. Marie Claire was a tall woman in her sixties, with white hairs and striking blue eyes. She greeted me
in German but immediately switched to English per the priest's orders. “Guntram will be helping you till the
afternoon. Mr. Elssäser will pick him up later. Can you explain him what to do, Claire?”

“Yes, of course Pater. He can help Peter and Jürgen.”

“No carrying heavy weights. He has a heart condition. Classifying will do.”

“As you wish Pater. Come Guntram, I'll show you what to do.”

She explained to me that the idea was that I should take over one of the big baskets; get the products out,
separate them in noodles, cans, rice, milk powder, cookies and
etc.
and take them to the tables where they had the big
piles. Later we will pack them, organizing them by brand and expiration date. I worked in the sorting out station with
four or five girls more, very nice and polite all of them, but more busy with their fast talking in German than really
doing something. I think they were glad that I was there working fast and understanding nothing about their dealings.

Against my impression, three hours later and four big baskets emptied, Marie Claire returned and
shouted them something in German. “Come Guntram, this is impossible! They do nothing and let you do their work.

Pater Bruno will speak with them later. I'll put you in the boxing section. Are you from Argentina?”

“Not really, madam. I'm French but I lived most of my life there, in Buenos Aires.”

“That's nice. My husband and I were planning to visit the country at some point. He just retired and we
have a lot of free time on our hands. Well young man, keep up with what you were doing and don't imitate those lazy
girls. Separate them first by brand, type, hypoallergenic, non hypoallergenic, age and then, put them in the box and
write brand, consumption age, type and earliest expiration date. Milk is the most urgent thing to have ready to send.”

I was left in front of a huge pile of milk powder cans from every kind. Around 1 p.m. a woman came to
me and told me that they were having lunch and I could join them. Very nervous I sat in a corner and kept myself
eating the sausage (I guess Friederich will shout with me when he finds out what I was eating) and bread. I left the
mustard alone. For once, I was having a good day and I didn't want to ruin it with a heart attack. I was very busy the
whole morning and afternoon feeling that for once I'm not being a useless bump only drawing and keeping a man
satisfied. Around 4 p.m., I got a cup of tea and some cookies and praise from Marie Claire because most of my pile
was done.

“If you continue with that pace, you're going to empty the place all by yourself,” she said and I blushed
not truly knowing what to answer her. I drank my tea and returned to work, engulfing myself in it.

“Pater Bruno will have to explain to me why you're still working,” the deep voice of Lintorff made me
jump to the ceiling and I looked at him, shocked that he was there, standing like a king. “You started at nine
according to Friederich and it is seven and you're still there. Are you planning to implement Stajanovism in this
country?”

“I didn't realise the time, sir. I mean, Konrad,” I said, asking myself what the hell he was doing there.

“Friederich told me you were here and I decided to pick you up before going home. Claire tells me you
have been working non stop and she is very pleased with you. Get your coat and we go home.”

“Thank you.”

Outside was the monster he has for a limo, a Mercedes with one bodyguard standing by its side. He
opened the door for him and Lintorff motioned me to go in first.

“Did you like the work, Guntram?”

“Yes indeed, Konrad.”

“You can come here on Tuesdays and Thursdays when you have no painting lessons then. Ostermann
will have you from Monday onwards from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. You can drive with me or with Antonov. The other days you
can come here and help. There's always something to do and it's good that you don't loaf around the house.”

“Thank you, sir.” I was very happy because I don't want to be trapped in there too.

“You can have lunch in the bank or with Antonov. At five you come to the bank and stay there till it's
time to return home. There's a library too. Ostermann thinks that you can study your subjects pending since 2003 and
take the tests in June.” He informed me how he had rearranged the rest of my life just like that. When did I agree with
it? I don't remember it at all.

“I don't want to return to the university,” I said as firmly as I could.

“If you can work like you did today, with more than twenty people around, then you can sit in a
classroom and finish your schooling. Repin will agree with my view on the subject. After all, it was his idea to send
you there and according to your files you were doing it very well till that incident. Do you plan to live miserably for
the rest of your life, Guntram?”

I was shocked that he could be so cold and insensitive to my disgrace. I was terrified of people most of
the time and it was beyond my control. “I don't want to come back.”

“All right, you have expressed yourself. On Monday you start with Ostermann and with Arts and
Architecture and Current Methodologies. Those two, according to him, are mostly reading and studying, not much
practice involved. He also thinks that you should come with him to his valuations trips. You will learn more in a week
with him than in a full month at the university. Speak about it with Repin this Sunday, if you feel so miserable about
my decisions.”

“You can't order me around like one of your employees.”

“Yes, I can or do you prefer that I treat you like one of my enemies? Ask Repin about that too. Guntram,
hear me well. I will not tolerate you depressed and depressing people around you. It's too much for my taste. This is a
second chance you get; take it and rebuild your life and stop whining like a little girl. Repin has spoilt you too much.