Tempting Fate (31 page)

Herr Kegel was not pleased with what Schildwache told him, but when he was informed of the destination of the note, he shrugged and took the terrified secretary out into Kriegskönigstrasse to show him how to drive a motorcycle. About the time Schildwache began his first shaky turn on the vehicle, the doors of the theatre opened and Roger put his book away.

Amalie Schnaubel emerged from the theatre with her own children and Laisha in tow. She looked about, then seeing Roger, raised her hand, and watched for a clearing in the traffic so that she could lead them across the street.

Bruno darted ahead, narrowly avoiding an Opel omnibus. The driver honked his horn in fury, and Bruno waved merrily, and dashed up to the side of the Benz. “It was wonderful,” he declared, grinning up at Roger. “You should have come.”

“I had other errands to do,” Roger said with a smile, thinking fleetingly of his own son, who had died so very many years ago. “Perhaps, when you have another outing like this one, I will come with you.”

“Sehr gut. We will like that.” He motioned to the others, who were crossing the street, to hurry. “I
told
you he’d be on time,” he said with haughty emphasis. “You would not be late would you, Roger?”

“I would certainly try not to be,” Roger replied. “There are times when such things are unavoidable.” There was an odd expression in his eyes, and seeing it, Amalie felt a tremor run through her.

“Well,” she said with forced brightness, “it was a fine afternoon, and we must thank you for making it possible. Come, all of you, into the automobile,” she added, opening the doors to the passenger compartment.

“Can we keep the top down?” Emmerich asked. “It’s not cold,”

“That’s for Roger to decide,” Amalie informed him as she tried to fit both Olympie and Hedda into the same seat. “You must share, girls, because we’re short of room. Laisha will ride with Roger, but there’s only room for one other person up in front.”

Both Olympie and Hedda objected to this, in part because they enjoyed the attention their objections got them, but they were generally well-mannered children, and settled down before too much time had gone by. Amalie got into one of the rear seats beside Bruno. “I think we’re ready,” she said.

Roger nodded, and fiddled with the ignition. He admitted he preferred this to using a crank, but also recognized that it was a very tricky business to get the engine to start the first time.

“Roger,” Laisha began as she climbed in next to him.

“In a moment, Laisha,” he answered in a low, preoccupied tone. On the second try the engine turned over and Roger leaned back, satisfied. “Now, what is it?”

In the seats behind them, the Schnaubel family was chattering enthusiastically, Hedda pleading to be driven by Mariensäule.

She spoke in Russian now. “It was an interesting moving picture. It’s called
Half-Caste,
you know, and it bothered me to watch it. It was … not easy to think about. It bothered Frau Schnaubel, too, I could tell.”

“There are times that theatre is supposed to bother you, Laisha,” Roger said, also in Russian. “There are fine plays that have been bothering people for centuries.”

Laisha nodded, giving a tight smile. “Yes, this was probably one of those. I don’t know. I haven’t been to many motion pictures.” This was, in fact, the second time she had seen one, and both she and Roger knew it.

“You will see more of them, Laisha. They’re making more of them every day.” He had to give his attention to the road, for the traffic was growing more congested. Ahead, a small horse-drawn cart was attempting to get across the line of oncoming vehicles, and as a result, everyone had slowed to a walking pace. Behind them, a man driving the huge draft horses of a brewery wagon was cursing loudly and comprehensively. Roger turned for a quick moment to say to Amalie Schnaubel, “Don’t mind him, Madame. The children will not be harmed for a few words.”

Amalie smiled in uneasy agreement. “Of course. They hear as much from the workmen repairing the roads, but still…” She did not go on. Roger had returned his attention to the road and was not listening to her comments. With a gesture of resignation, she looked over at her daughters, thinking how many worse things she had heard as a child.

Four minutes later, the worst of the snarl had passed, and Roger was starting over the Istar on the Maximillianbrücke. There was a fair number of automobiles jostling for their place in the line, and occasionally there was an impatient bleat of a horn. It was impossible to go at any speed, but this did not cause him much annoyance. He kept up a steady progress and listened to Laisha talk to him, enjoying her conversation.

“When will my guardian go to Paris?” Laisha asked rather suddenly as they rounded the bend that would put them on the road to Miesbach and Hausham.

“Next month, Laisha. He told you that himself.” He changed gears and the automobile picked up speed.

“Yes,” she agreed dubiously. “And he said he would be gone no more than three weeks.” Her chin was up and her brown eyes accused him.

“Then he will not be gone more than three weeks,” Roger said easily. He did not want to lose patience with this child; he liked her tremendously. But it had been years since he had had to deal with any children, and he had somewhat forgotten the knack of it. Aside from Sabrina’s two children, Cesily and Herbert, he had not been with youngsters on a daily basis since Niklos Aulirios had entertained Ragoczy on Crete.

“Why does he have to go?” she asked in a small, distressed voice.

“He has holdings there, Laisha. He told you that long since.” The Benz tourer was rattling along at a good pace, and Roger had trouble hearing her over the sound of the motor and the noise of the tires on the road. “He looks after his property.”

“But Paris is a long way,” Laisha said. “He might not come back.”

“He will come back,” Roger promised her. “He has gone much farther than that and he has always come back. You traveled a great distance with him yourself.”

The day was quite warm and the road left plumes of dust behind the automobile. Around them, the countryside was basking in the heat. Open fields bordered by deep forests spread around them, backed by the rising majesty of Bayern’s great masterpieces, her mountains. Mantled in green, they were splendidly tall, their ruggedness in no way detracting from their beauty. By the time they reached Bayern, the road had grown steeper and their speed had diminished. Shadows of the peaks to the west of them had already begun to cast their twilight on the lower ground.

“I’m hungry,” Laisha murmured when she had been quiet for more than ten minutes.

“We’ll be home shortly. We have to take the Schnaubels home, and then we will go back to Schloss Saint-Germain.” He saw that the girl was tired, and he put a hand out briefly to touch her shoulder.

In the back, Bruno and Hedda were squabbling about what church they had seen through the trees. It had had a tall conical spire which was typical of the place. Bruno had insisted that it was Saint Gregorius and Hedda was adamant that it was Saint Hyacinthe. Their voices rose until Amalie ordered them both to be quiet, when they lapsed into sullen silence. Emmerich was half-asleep and Olympie was staring dreamily down at the sash of her skirt, her eyes incalculably distant.

“Will it be much longer?” Laisha asked. She had been to München only three times and was not familiar with the landmarks.

“Fifteen minutes to Hausham, and then ten more home. Half an hour, probably,” Roger answered.

“Will Professor Riemen still be there?” Her tone was slightly more nervous.

“For a few more days. He and my master have certain matters under discussion.”

“I don’t like him,” Laisha said, and waited for the rebuke she was certain would follow this announcement.

Roger guided the Benz along a badly-rutted part of the road, thinking that it should be graded before the rains began. “He is a strange man, Laisha. He has a brilliant mind, but his life has been very hard.” It was difficult to say this to the girl, for he knew that in her nine years, she had been through a great deal more than Isidore Riemen had in more than thirty.

“Well, I
still
don’t like him. He looks at me … messily.” She ran her hands down the front of her dress as if wiping something unpleasant away.

“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” he said gently. Ragoczy, he knew, had noticed as well, and was very much on guard.

The road made a bend and they came into Hausham. The children in the back of the automobile cheered and Laisha showed Roger a wan smile. As they went past the Hirsch Furt, four men seated at one of the benches in the front of the tavern looked up. One of them, a handsome blond man in his middle twenties, pointed at the automobile and rose, his flushed face contorted with anger.

“Jews! Traitorous Jews! Ungeziefer!” He shook his stein at them, while the other men at the bench nodded their support.

One of the four, an older man, quite stout, with a bald head and bright little eyes, studied the retreating automobile carefully, as if memorizing it.

“Mama,” Olympie said plaintively once the tavern was out of sight, “why did he call us that?”

Amalie could not hide her distress. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “They are foolish men, Olympie. They call many people such things.” There was a line between her brows, and the smile had left her face.

“So Jews are vermin, are we?” Bruno growled. “They’ll learn otherwise. They’ll change their minds.”

“Bruno,” Amalie cautioned him, “no. It is best to ignore such things. They are just words. You know what a nice woman Frau Ostneige is, don’t you?” She saw her oldest son nod reluctantly. “That ill-mannered young man is her brother. Anything you say to him will not change him and will only cause her pain. Let it alone, Bruno. If we draw too much attention to the ravings of such men, then others may start to listen to them, and that would not be wise.” Ahead she saw the entrance to their home and her eyes grew wet with gratitude. That familiar house was her haven now, a place where she and her family could shut out all the vile shouts of the world.

Roger brought the Benz up to the door and set the brake, though the motor was still running. He came out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for the Schnaubel family. As he held up his hand to Amalie, he said, “Don’t allow yourself to be frightened by those men, Madame. They are idle and filled with senseless rage. There have been others like them before, and all they have done, for the most part, is behave in a manner to embarrass sensible men and women.”

“Thank you,” Amalie said as she came down out of the automobile. “We Jews have had to face such creatures before. My grandfather…” She did not go on.

“Yes,” Roger said quietly. “If there is any difficulty, Herr Ragoczy would be pleased if you would count him your friend.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but…” Amalie was halfway to the door, motioning her children to hurry.

“It is on his authority, Madame. He has already told your husband so.” His manner changed to a slightly more formal attitude. “It was good of you to allow Laisha to accompany you and your family today.”

“Nonsense. Without the Benz, we could not have gone at all.” She had the door open, but was able to bring the semblance of a smile to her lips. “Danke vielmals.”

“Sie sind sehr liebenswürdig, Madame. It was my pleasure.” He touched his hand to his peaked cap and got back into the Benz.

“What is the matter with Frau Schnaubel?” Laisha asked as she waved good-bye to the faces beyond the closing door.

“She is worried,” Roger said as he put the Benz into reverse. “I can’t blame her.”

“But they were only rude men who were drinking,” Laisha said, seeking reassurance, for there was a haunted expression in her face.

“Perhaps,” Roger said as he drove back onto the dusty road and turned the Benz toward the Schliersee and Schloss Saint-Germain.

A letter from James Emmerson Tree to his cousin Audrey.

Hotel Louis XV

Avignon

Dear Audrey:

Well, Crandell has given me the go-ahead for the next eighteen months, and if I show him the kind of material he says he wants, then I’ve got the chance to stay over as long as I want to be here. I’m just like a kid out of school, I’m so pleased. I
know
I’ll do it right, I know I will.

As you might be able to tell, I’m traveling right now. I haven’t had a letter from you since May, and this is September, so I guess there’s something waiting back in Paris for me. I don’t know if I’ll be back there much before December. I’m going from here to Italy; then I’ll come around through Austria and Switzerland and back into France again. I’m going to do something more than just talk about traveling. I want the readers to get a feel for the places I go, not just what kind of beds there are in the hotels, what trinkets cost, and if it’s safe to drink the water. It often isn’t, by the way. A lot of people over here buy bottled water if they can afford it, even though the price is going up. Some of the big estates have their own wells and filter them with a great deal of care. I might do a piece on these places, about how isolated some of them are. I know a couple of people who might let me look around their lands. That sounds “quite the snob,” doesn’t it? But it is true, nonetheless. Who would have thought that a kid from Denver with a Cheyenne grandmother would be palling around with European aristocrats? Not as an equal, exactly, but they don’t call me a peasant, at least not where I can hear them.

A lot of people here are talking about the League of Nations. I know that Wilson’s all for it, but it’s a bit shaky because of all the hard feelings after the war. There’s other politicking going on too, of course. The thing that gets me is Europe isn’t really all that big. Half the time, it seems to me to make as much sense as Wisconsin squabbling with Ohio about Kentucky, but they’ve been doing it for centuries, so they’re used to it. I think I’ll do something about the League of Nations, too. Nothing political, just a bit about it so that the folks back in Kansas will have a sense of what is going on over here.