The Right Hand of Sleep (33 page)

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.

They led him down with many pauses through the pines, holding him at his wrists and shoulders. At the road he shrugged them off and began to move more surely, still wavering every few steps. Now and again he stopped and shook his head bemusedly. —Who’d have thought it. Oskar Voxlauer, he said, smiling down at the ground as though at some private joke.

At the villa Kurt stopped again and pressed a finger to the back of his skull. He winced. —Who would ever have thought of it. Eh, Else?

Else neither answered him nor looked at him as he spoke. She was not looking at Voxlauer, either, but away from both of them, staring back up at the line of trees as if trying to recollect where they’d been. Voxlauer watched her a moment helplessly before turning slowly to the steps.

As he made to go into the house Kurt put out a hand and stopped him. —I’d not try that again, Oskar. I’d not try that again, boy.

Voxlauer said nothing, looking him in the eyes.

—Let it be, Kurti, Else said. —Oskar’s sorry.

—Yes, yes. He’s forgiven already, Liesi. Still—Kurt said, closing his eyes a moment and taking a half step backward. —Still. I’d not try that again. He opened his eyes and stared at Voxlauer. —What do
you
say, Oskar?

—You go on back to town, said Voxlauer.

—No! said Else, furious now. —You come inside, Kurti. Let’s get you straightened up. Kurt nodded weakly.

—He’s coming along inside, Oskar, Else said.

Voxlauer didn’t say anything for a moment. —I’ll get some water, he said, going around the house.

—You’re forgiven, Oskar! Kurt called after him.

As I stood leaning over the sideboard two shots pealed out one
after the other and quivered for a moment in the empty room,
darkening and condensing along the ceiling. I stood perfectly still
for a long time, cradling the cut-glass decanter. Then I let it fall and
ran around the table to the paneled door and forced it open. Ley
was the first to turn toward me, blood down his shirtfront in
bright, gaudy streaks. Spengler looked up at me for the space of a
few seconds with that puzzled expression I knew so well. He
clucked to himself and put away his pistol. “Oh, it’s you, Bauer,”
he said, getting to his feet.

I looked down to where Dollfuss lay on the floor, twin jets
spurting from his neck in bright pulsed arcs, his child’s mouth
opening and closing. Light from the window caught the blood and
lit it an impossible, garish shade of purple. I closed the door behind
me. We stood a few moments longer watching Dollfuss struggling
like a fish at the bottom of a boat before I could think clearly
enough to form a sentence.

“Where’s the security secretary?”

Spengler jerked his thumb behind him.

The secretary sat huddled against the wall, tapping at it with
his fingers. “They were trying to break out,” said Spengler, pointing to an iron shutter.

“Through there?” I said. The shutter was thick and rust-covered and riveted shut. It looked like the door of a pharaoh’s
tomb.

Spengler nodded. The secretary was looking about him now,
his eyes traveling up and down the walls. He let out a whimper. Ley
crossed over and knelt down beside him. “Be quiet now, Josef,” he
said gently, taking him by the shoulder. Spengler was looking at
me, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if to ask me whether I was
game.

“I’m game,” I said quietly.

Spengler grunted. “How loud were the shots?”

“Loud. The boys in the corridor heard something definitely.”

He frowned. “Go and explain things to them. Nicely. They
were going for the shutter,” he repeated, still watching me closely.

“I heard you the first time, Heinrich,” I said, going to the door.

Ernst and three other boys were on the other side. “He’s dead
all right, fellows,” I said, leading them to the table.

“Dollfuss?” asked Ernst.

I nodded, watching the fact of it sink in to them. “Going for
the shutter. Two shots. One wide, one through the neck.”

“Who was it?”

I made my face as blank as possible. “Who do you think?”

“We’ll never make it out now, will we?” said one of the boys,
letting out a short clipped laugh.

Ernst turned on him violently. “You didn’t come here to get
out, Willi. Or did you?”

“No, Unterscharfführer!” the boy said hurriedly, snapping to
attention. Ernst waved him off with a disgusted look. “How is it in
there?” he said, trying to look past me.

“Messy.”

“And with you, Obersturmführer? Does the sun still shine on
your behind?”

“Little Ernst! I’m deeply moved by your concern. Only you
mustn’t fret on my account. We have other worries. Run along
now and break the news to the boys downstairs. Don’t go shouting
it out any windows.”

He hesitated for an instant. “Is Ley still inside?”

“Do your duty, Scharfführer,” I said. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler!” said Ernst loudly, saluting. The boys filed after
him in a state of complete bewilderment, saluting me hurriedly as
they went. I spent the next few minutes at the conference table, staring at the somber-toned row of chancellors, trying not to think
about anything specific. After a time, I rose and went to a window
and looked out. More Home Guards were assembled on the curb,
pushing the gendarmerie back against the cast-iron fence of the
Volksgarten. I watched them for a minute or so, ordered neatly into
eight-by-twenty-man standing units, the look on their faces identical, I was sure, to the look mine had worn at ten o’clock that morning in Glass’s office. From time to time a closed brown car would
round the corner from the Ring and pull up at the curb. The car
always pulled away a moment later and this or that wedge of
troops pressed back to accommodate another officer. The columns
extended side by side the full length of the block and farther around
the corners, blocking the entire Löwelstrasse and God knows how
many side streets afterward. Looking down from the quiet of the
cabinet room, I felt as though I were watching the newsreel playing
before the feature in a lavish, cavernous, empty theater. A moment
later as I reached for the curtain a piece of molding above the window ledge exploded with a crack and fell away in a cloud of white-blue powder. I dropped flat onto the floor as though I’d been hit and
crept back across the parquet to the carpet.

When I came back into the little room Dollfuss was under a
yellow sheet taken from God knows where, his stockinged feet
peeking out at one of its ends. The security secretary had quieted
and sat slumped over his bench, staring down at the floor between
his shoe heels. Ley and Spengler sat on stools in the opposite corner. No one looked up as I entered.

I let my eyes rest awhile on Dollfuss, saying nothing to disturb
the quiet. His feet pointed directly at me as I stood in the door. I
was gripped all at once by a superstitious feeling and took a tiny,
discreet step to the left.

After Kurt had gone Else and Voxlauer sat at the kitchen table looking out through the screen door at the dark. —If I’d thought that would happen, Else said. —If I’d ever thought something like that would happen.

Voxlauer sat forward with one leg pulled up under the chair, his arms lying heavily on the table. —So they’ve finally managed it, those sons of whores and bitches, he said.

—Yes, said Else tiredly. —Yes, Oskar, they have. There wasn’t a thing we could have done about it.

—There was, said Voxlauer, nodding. —There was.

—What could we have done?

—Anything, he said after a time.

—The things you’ve seen fit to do haven’t helped at all. Are you listening to me? Not in any way. She let her breath out heavily and leaned back in her chair.

Voxlauer didn’t answer.

—Today, she went on. —Do you think you helped anybody today? Me? Pauli? Any one of us?

—I could have.

—How the hell could you have helped us?

—I could have pushed harder, said Voxlauer.

She cursed at him and sat forward. —Don’t you understand a thing? Haven’t you realized yet that Kurt’s the only reason we’ve been allowed to have a life up here at all? Who in hell would it have helped if you’d pushed harder? The Polizeihaus?

—Me, Else. It would have helped me.

—Where did you learn to help yourself that way? She waited. —In the war?

—I told you what I learned in the war.

Her expression changed slightly. They were both of them quiet. —I’m sorry, Oskar, she said a moment later, taking hold of his arm.

—You go to hell, said Voxlauer.

She flinched as if he had hit her. Somewhere outside the door the tops of two trees were sawing together in the wind. —Why would you say something like that to me, Oskar? she said.

Voxlauer let out a slow, steady breath.

—Oskar?

—You were there with me. At the Niessener Hof. Weren’t you there?

She closed her eyes. —What happened there, that was everybody, the whole town. Not just Kurt. Everybody. What could we have done to stop it? She paused a long moment, frowning to herself, then sat forward suddenly and took hold of his hand again. —What we can do is try to live. Outlast it. It can’t go on and on this way forever. I’m sure it can’t.

—Of course it can. Why couldn’t it?

She sighed. —That’s all that I can do, anyway. All I can do is wait. Or go away. I can’t do anything else.

—They’re forcing him to sell. He paused. —Else—

—I know it.

—And that doesn’t trouble you at all, in a cousin? He was forcing the words out now, almost spitting them. —Doesn’t that upset you? No? He gripped the edges of the table. —Don’t you have any right and wrong in you? What more can you possibly want?

She stood up from the table. —I want to see Resi. I want to see my little girl. I’m not sure he’ll let me anymore, after what you did. Is that all right to want, Oskar? You’ll allow me that? The both of you? She quivered there a moment between the table and the door, vacant and unreal-seeming in spite of her grief, hands opening and closing on empty air. —That’s all I’ve wanted now for seven years. She swallowed and took a breath. —For all this time I’ve barely had it. She stopped again, then said:—He didn’t bring her today. You saw.

—No, said Voxlauer. —He didn’t bring her.

Else turned and pressed her face against the screen. —She was supposed to come to stay. Did you know that? The rest of the summer, until school. And now she won’t.

—Why is that?

Else shook her head. —Go to him, she said pleadingly. —Make friends with him again, Oskar. Please.

He sat perfectly still. —Not till you answer me.

She turned back to the screen and was quiet. Finally she said: —She won’t come because he can keep her from coming. She won’t come because of who he is.

—Obersturmführer, you mean?

—Her father. He’s her father, she said, bringing a hand up to her mouth.

—Why could you not tell me this? Voxlauer said softly. —I’d already guessed.

—Because I knew you. Because I knew what you would think of me. Because if I had had a child—she was talking quickly now, on the verge again of anger, looking not at him but at the floor, the chairs, the screen door, all about her—Because I knew what you would think of
me,
having a child by such a man. Because I knew what kind of man he was. Because—

—What kind of man? said Voxlauer.

She stopped short. —What?

—You told me before, when I asked, that you didn’t know.

That you didn’t know what kind of man he was. That you didn’t know what it was he did. He paused to take a breath. —Was that a lie?

—Oskar, she said, crouching down beside his chair and taking hold of his arm. It was very dark in the room but he could see that her eyes were wet and she was trembling. Her hand on his arm was trembling too, moving up and down slowly from his wrist to his elbow. —Please, she said, breathing stutteringly. —Say you’ll go to him—

—You go to hell, said Voxlauer, getting up from the chair. He stepped past her where she crouched with her hand still trailing toward him and took up his coat. She made a low sound as he stepped past her and reached for the back of the chair to steady herself. Voxlauer pulled open the screen of the door and a stirring of warm air came into the room, rousing him as if out of a heavy sleep.

One hour later he was kneeling by the bank of the lower pond, pressing his fingers into the warm mud and breathing in the smell of the grass and the floating pollen. The water lapped shyly against the reeds. He moved further along the bank to a low bluff of gravel and washed his hands. A trout broke the surface close by, to his left. When his hands felt clean he stood and walked over the wet ground to the cottage.