Pink Snow

by Edna Dawes

  Thoughts of the “trout dance” led her footsteps along by the river that afternoon. A storm was threatening, so she decided to walk while she could before rain drove her indoors for the rest of the day. Frau Petz had told her at lunchtime that a path ran through the meadows beside the river and, if she was interested, it would be possible to see the trout farm which was not far from the centre of the village. Kathryn had been very interested, and set off with instructions to tell Herr Zoller that she was staying with Frau Petz.

  “He will show you all you wish to see,” said that lady, “but he does not much of English speak. Also he does not hear well. He is old, you understand, but has been with the fish so many years no other man can work so well there.”

  The fact that she had worn a dark green raincoat this afternoon was purely because she had no desire to be caught in a downpour in her scarlet coat, Kathryn told herself. It had nothing to do with not wanting to be seen from anyone’s window! It was just as well she did, because the grey clouds were filling the valley in a threatening manner, beheading the mountains and drastically changing the whole aspect of the place. This morning the sun had gilded the onion-domes on the churches and highlighted the green meadows dotted, with autumn crocuses; now, the buildings stood out with stark coldness against the dark lower slopes of the mountains, and the clanking cowbells across the stillness held a desolate note.

  She turned up the collar of her raincoat against the October chill and hurried along the deserted path. The river, deep and dark with reflected cloud slid alongside her with scarcely a splash. If she looked carefully it was possible to see the long body of a fish undulating in the water, but only if the creature happened to be in the shallows by the bank. As usual, her fertile imagination set to work on underwater kingdoms, fresh-water mermaids and frog princes, so that the trout farm came into sight sooner than she had expected.

  It consisted of a large wooden hut standing in the center of a series of large oblong ponds at different levels on the slightly sloping ground. The whole place was bounded by a high wire-mesh fence, but the double gates stood open. Herr Zoller, if the old man she could see was indeed he, was working at the highest of the ponds busily removing leaves and other debris from the surface of the water with an enormous square net on a long handle. From the way he used it, it was obvious that years of practice had gone into the easy flick the wrist as he manipulated the heavy tool. For a while, Kathryn stood watching the way he worked, then he abandoned the net and took an earthenware jar from the grass and proceeded to scatter handfuls of the contents on to the water. It must have been food of some kind because the surface of the pond was suddenly broken in dozens of places where trout leapt up to snatch the particles floating there.

  There was a window in the wall of the hut, so Kathryn peeped into the dark interior before moving up to meet the old Austrian. By cupping her hands around her eyes she was able to see several long stone troughs at different heights, tanks of water lining the opposite side of the hut, and wooden trays piled on each other. This must be the place where the eggs were hatched or the fish spawned. It would be worth asking Herr Zoller if she might look inside, to get at the hub of-things, so to speak. He had seen her approaching and paused in his food-scattering as she reached him.

  “Grüss Gott!” he greeted with a smile on his lined face. “Der Sturm kommt bald!”

  “Good afternoon, Herr Zoller. I’m afraid I only speak English. Frau Petz said you might show me round your trout farm.”

  His face creased into a wider smile, and he touched his battered old hat with a brown mottled hand. “English . . . gut!” he said. “You like fish?”

  “Very much,” she assured him, not knowing whether he was asking about her preference in food or her interest in catching them. “Why have you so many ponds?”

  A nod signified that he understood her question and in halting, abbreviated sentences he explained that the fish were sorted into sizes, qualities and ages in these large clear pools. The water ran from the top one into the next, and so on through small gridded outlets until it poured into the river.

  “Many men come fish in the summer. Good sport in Mosskirch,” he concluded.

  “I’m sure there is,” said Kathryn, charmed by this old character. “Tell me about the giant trout which was caught here once. Tomorrow night they have a dance to celebrate the occasion.”

  He chuckled, and she was amazed at how white his teeth were. “Ha! Der Forellenabend. You go?”

  She nodded. “I hope to.”

  “You will like.” His broad wink made her giggle. “The fish, it very large. Sechs kilogramme,” he held up six fingers. “Take two days to come from the river. All men try to catch one like it — it good for business.” His brown leather face was perfectly straight, but the twinkle in his eyes told her the giant trout had probably grown out of all proportion over the years. Still, it was a good story, and who didn’t use a little business guile these days?

  For fifteen minutes or so Kathryn stayed with Herr Zoller while he cleaned the top of the next pond, and she was. allowed to scatter the food and watch the fish come up for it. Despite his limited English, they managed to communicate quite well and each pleased the other with his company, until the old man pointed to the sky and said something which Kathryn took to mean that rain was not far off. It had grown a lot darker as the storm gathered between the mountains. If she wanted to avoid a drenching it would be advisable to start back, but before she left she pointed to the hut and asked if she might go in. “Ja, Ja,” nodded Herr Zoller as he waved his hand towards the wooden building. “You go see.”

  After promising to visit him again, she made her way down to the hut and searched for the door. It was on the opposite side where the concrete square which served as a loading yard gave easy access to it. As soon as she entered, the noise of running water filled her ears and she made her way to the far end where the highest trough was fed with water from the river and started the whole series of hatching tanks. Shelves around the sides were filled with earthenware pots, nets, wooden trays, lengths of rope and assorted equipment which she could only guess at. Unfortunately, the windows were small and the darkness of the afternoon afforded very little assistance to the dim interior, Knowing little about the procedure, Kathryn had no idea whether any hatching would be taking place at the moment. Surely she had read somewhere that there was a special time when fish spawned, but the details escaped her.

  Bending over the top trough she tried to make out any signs of activity in the pewter-colored water, but it wasn’t easy. Heavens! It really was dark now. She glanced up to see if the rain had started and found the reason for the added gloom. The door had blown to in the wind. It was plainly useless trying to explore this place now. Herr Zoller’s invitation to revisit the farm could be taken up on a bright, sunny day.

  She trod her way carefully past the troughs, noticing how the sound of rushing water echoed in the shed now that the door was closed. Next minute she stepped into a wet pool where water had spilled, and it covered her shoes, unpleasantly cold. The small exclamation she gave turned into a loud gasp of fright as, out of the darkness, two hands seized her neck and started pushing her forward with immense strength.

  Her cries of alarm were drowned by the water pouring from trough to trough and the suddenness of the attack took her reflexes by surprise. It was not until her head was halfway down towards the stone trough that she instinctively stiffened with resistance and her arms went up to free the tight grip on her head and neck. It was too late! Doubled forward as she was, her body was in the wrong position to counteract the forward thrust of her assailant, and her arms merely waved wildly in the air. With the water barely inches away from her face, it became obvious that she would drown within the next few minutes unless she could struggle free.

  Chapter Three

  Fright lent her strength and she lunged back against the man behind her, unsteadying him for a second, but he regained his balance and jabbed her head downward with suc
h a sharp movement her nose actually touched the water. Her life would probably have ended then and there if it had not been for that small pool of spilt water which had made the stone beneath the trough wet and slippery. Kathryn’s left shoe failed to grip and her foot slithered across the ground. She slipped sideways and the person pushing her fell across the trough under his own forward thrust which no longer met any resistance. He gave a grunt as his body hit the stone tank, and his hands released their hold.

  Sobbing with fear Kathryn crawled blindly away, not caring about the rough edges which cut into her knees, or the pots and jars she scattered and broke as she went. All sane thought left her for a moment in the panic to escape. Which way was the door? Her legs were like rubber as she pulled herself up, but she nearly collapsed again when some tins fell from a nearby shelf. He was not far away! Somehow she had to reach the door before he caught her again. Crying for help was useless; the noise inside the hatchery drowned any other sound, and Herr Zoller was hard of hearing.

  She edged along the wall as fast as she dared, straining her eyes in the dim light for any sign of movement. Suddenly she came up against a man’s jacket and a small cry escaped her. It was only hanging from a peg; an empty garment which dangled harmlessly against the wall! It was probably Herr Zoller’s spare coat, but she had betrayed her position by that cry. For a second, a dark shape was silhouetted by the window opposite her as the man moved swiftly across between two troughs. Fast thinking told her he had made the wrong move. He should have moved down towards the door. By coming straight at her he had left it unguarded, and she had reorientated herself by now. Breathless, stumbling, and cold with fright she dashed to the end of the hut offering up a prayer that the door would open immediately. As her fingers fumbled with the catch daylight poured in through an ever-widening gap. Thank God!

  Herr Zoller was back up at the top pond, and it took all her strength to run up to hint. An old man would not be able to do much against a killer, but he was the only other human in sight. Of course, he didn’t understand a word of her garbled sentences, but one look at her torn tights, bleeding knees and wet dirty hands and face persuaded him she had fallen down inside the hatchery and needed assistance.

  He tutted and sighed until tears glistening on her cheeks told him she was in dire straits, and he allowed her to pull him down the slope to the hatchery. It was empty, naturally! Now, nothing would persuade her to return along that meadow path alone. Her attacker might be lying in wait somewhere and the nightmare would begin again.

  The old man regarded her shrewdly while he scratched his head for a while, then he went to an ancient telephone in the hatchery and spoke for several minutes into the trumpet-like receiver.

  “You wait,” he told her kindly. “Soon . . . here.” He pointed to the right where a narrow road ran past no more than a hundred yards away.

  It could not have been many minutes before a blue Volkswagen raced towards them and pulled up with a squeal of brakes, but in that time Kathryn had suffered severe reaction from her experience and was sobbing quietly as she hugged her coat to her body. Anton Reiter trotted through the double gates and, after a very fast exchange with Herr Zoller, squatted before the shivering girl and looked at her anxiously.

  “Hello. What has happened to you? Have you had a fall?” he asked, reverting to English.

  She shook her head numbly, and Anton fired another question at the old man. He shrugged his shoulders and looked bewildered.

  “Will you wait just a moment while I fetch a rug from my car,” Anton asked her, and patted her hand before setting off at a run once more. When he returned with it, he wrapped it round her and brought her to her feet with his arm round her shoulders. In that manner they walked to the car where he settled her in the passenger seat before sliding in beside her and starting the engine.

  Kathryn was not aware of the journey through the village, nor of being helped from the car and being taken indoors to a comfortable chair, but the cup of hot sweet tea which was put into her hands was real enough and she drank it gratefully. The warmth penetrated every part of her until she emerged from her shocked state enough to take in what she was being asked.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She took in the weather-tanned features, the fair smooth hair and the clear, light eyes. “You are the man from next door, aren’t you?”

  He smiled at that. “No. I am the man from here. You are in my house.”

  She looked around her at the long, low-ceilinged room equipped with modern furniture and said, “It’s very nice — and beautifully warm. Is there any more tea, please?”

  “Of course.” He poured from a stainless-steel pot. “I am flattered that an English girl should like it enough to ask for more.” The cup was handed over to her. “Do you feel able to tell me what has occurred?”

  The second cup was as hot as the first and she sipped it eagerly while she thought over what had happened in the trout hatchery. Sitting here in this normal room drinking tea made the tale sound preposterous, yet the recollection of those strong hands on her neck was real enough. All the same, would this man think her slightly mad if she told him the truth? Why had he brought her here instead of returning her to the Gasthaus? There seemed no explanation for his turning up except that Herr Zoller had made a phone call. Had she escaped from the hut only to walk straight into the spider’s web? She gazed at him with worried eyes, but there was nothing about him to make her suspicious. He was simply a rather attractive man relaxing in his own home, waiting for an explanation for why he had been called out to rescue her. She decided to plunge straight in.

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  There was only the barest hesitation before he asked, “How?”

  “In the trout hatchery — a man tried to hold my head under the water in one of the troughs. I nearly drowned.”

  “I see . . . Did you see who it was?”

  “No. He pulled the door shut and there was hardly any light from the window.”

  “Had you better tell me the details?” he invited calmly.

  How melodramatic it sounded when put into words, yet Anton heard her out calmly without interruption and merely said, “Is that the entire story?” when she had finished.

  “Yes, that’s all. I don’t expect you to believe me for one minute.”

  “Why not?” The question sharpened his voice coldly. “For what reason would a person invent such a frightening experience?”

  She handed back her cup. “You didn’t appear to be listening to half of it.”

  “I was thinking of the best thing to do, that is all.” He stood. “Will you excuse me for a moment while I make a telephone call? Just relax and keep warm.”

  The telephone was in the corner of the room by the long stretch of windows which extended from floor to ceiling giving the view across the valley to Glasspitze prominence over all else. With her senses back to normal Kathryn realized just how insulting she had been when she had referred to him as a shopkeeper. The room reflected expensive good taste and gave away a little of the character of its owner. Two large bookcases were crammed with volumes, some of it heavy stuff judging by the bindings, a lightwood desk with files and a typewriter was obviously where he worked, and the expensive hi-fi equipment near her chair seemed to be used mainly for the classics, if the records in the neighboring rack were anything to go by.

  “So, Frank will be here at any minute.” He returned and looked down at her. “If you are warm enough, would you like to take off the rug and your coat before he comes?”

  She struggled to her feet and he helped her off with the dark green raincoat. “Who is Franz?”

  “My sister’s husband. He will know what to do in this case.”

  She watched as he folded the rug, feeling her face grow warm with embarrassment at her former treatment of him. His present kindness put her in his debt in a way she would rather have avoided.

  “I really don’t want to put you to a lot of trouble
. There’s really no need for you to do this. Why didn’t you take me back to the Gasthaus?”

  He flicked a glance over her. “I thought you would prefer to recover in private. This village is no different from any other. I think enough is known about you already without adding to their gossip.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, but I still don’t understand why Herr Zoller sent for you to collect me.”

  He laid the rug on the long settee and sat on its arm. “He didn’t. Frau Petz received his message and sent Maria into the shop for me. Firstly, I have a car, and secondly, I am a member of the Mosskirch rescue team. Usually, we trace people who get lost in the mountains, but as there was some doubt about the nature of your misfortune she felt I should do what I could to help.”

  “I see.” It was a relief to know he was only acting in his official capacity. It meant she would be under no personal debt to him.

  “So if you hear of climbers in difficulty you simply close the shop and go?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Ah, there is Franz arriving. Excuse me, please.”

  What an attractive accent he has, she thought as she went on. Why is it that foreigners speaking English sound so very fascinating, yet English people stumbling through foreign sentences are a subject for mirth? Perhaps our language lends itself rather better to being mispronounced than any other.

  Franz proved to be a surprise – a not altogether pleasant one. The blue-grey uniform struck a grave note immediately, and when she recognized him as the young Gendarme who had accompanied Inspector Schultz the previous day, she turned in quick suspicion to Anton Reiter for an explanation.

  “May I present Franz Mitterbauer, my brother-in-law,” he said quietly. “I think you will agree it is best to consult him about what has happened. It is a very serious matter.”