by Paula Wynne
Now Cami grimaced as she marched along the pine-scented corridor leading to her father’s room. Not from the smell of disinfectant, which dismally failed to disguise the stink of urine-soaked bedsheets, but for what she was about to face.
Although she visited Papi every month, sometimes twice, she hated looking at him. Ever since that day Uncle Aron had brought him home from his last trip abroad, she had struggled to look at his deformed face.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs and holding it there for a long moment, while building up the patience and strength she would need to endure the next hour.
Then she widened her lips into a huge smile and stepped into the room.
‘Papi!’ She skipped over to a skeletal frame hunched in a wheelchair by the window. Loose, opaque skin hung off her father’s body. His back couldn’t and wouldn’t ever touch the canvas of the wheelchair. It was permanently bent forward, like a gnarled tree turning in on itself.
For a brief moment, Cami wanted to burst out crying. Such a young, innocent boy having to endure the horrors of a concentration camp. She didn’t blame him for going after Nazi treasures the way he had done. In fact, she applauded him.
Kissing the top of his head, Cami threw her arms around his hunched body. ‘It’s me, Papi. It’s Sweet-Pea.’
John’s right eye swivelled in its hollow socket, possibly trying to look at her.
Cami pulled up a chair and sat beside him. Trying not to glance at his face, she stroked his arm and asked, ‘How are you, Papi?’ She fingered the pilot’s badge pinned to his chest.
Luftwaffe wings.
Although he had dreamed of it, her father had never sat in a pilot’s cockpit. She had found the old pilot’s badge stuck in his journal with the story of how he’d found it. Poor old Papi never did find out why the dead guard had the winged emblem.
‘You’re looking bright and cheerful today. You must have slept well last night.’
He couldn’t answer, so she chatted mechanically, asking questions and giving what she imagined to be the answer. Keeping that up for the next hour exhausted her, mentally and physically, but she kept her back ramrod straight. The minute she allowed herself to slump back into the chair, her resolve would dissolve and she would burst into tears and cry for hours. That wasn’t about to happen. Not now, nor ever.
Leaning forward and close to his ear, she whispered, ‘Papi, please, please try to tell me. Just once. You just need to whisper to me once and I will take revenge.’
She watched his face. His jaw moved. Even his mouth had been swollen and deformed into a big lipped fish. Yet no words came out.
‘Where’s the hidden vault, Papi?’ She stroked his head, smoothing down the few fine strands of hair that stuck out of his pasty scalp. It resembled the caps hairdressers used to use to pull hair out and bleach it, leaving his head looking like it was encased in albino plastic.
‘You left the map there in your pack, you see. When you got ill. I need to know the location so I can get that last treasure you promised to bring home to your family.’
Papi flinched. Not the way people flinch. The way monsters flinch. His eyelids wavered. One side of his nose twitched, and his bottom lip curled inwards.
Cami craned her neck to stare into his face. ‘I have read your diaries Papi. Where is the vault located? I know its somewhere at Lake Toplitz, but I looked on the map, that place is huge. Where exactly do I go? I want to find this place and see why this happened to you.’
Johan’s eye widened. It’s companion had gone, removed a few years ago when it started to rot. She preferred the stitched together lid to what had been there before. His mouth opened and hung there.
‘Aron was already badly ill when he got back with you. By the time I knew what to ask him his mind had gone and he died not long afterwards, so he can’t tell. And as for Rick, he never even made it out. It was sensible of you to make no notes, to never copy the map. I understand now that these were just sensible precautions against your enemies, but what it means is that you’re the only person who knows where the vault is. Please try to tell me. I want to take revenge on Sommer and The Wolf for you.’
Again, he flinched.
Cami waited. Her patience wearing thin. ‘I’m waiting, Papi. You can tell me. Just spit the words out. I can see the words there in your…eye.’ Her red, manicured nail traced around the thing.
A hollow sack only just managed to hold his one, festering eyeball. Thin, translucent skin showed veins snaking into the empty space behind it.
Unable to look at him any longer, Cami dropped her head. Although glowing with anger at the atrocity that the Nazis had left for her father to discover in the forbidden vault, she too, would find the place. Not only to revenge her father, but also for what secrets lay within that hidden vault.
All her father’s journals kept referring to the ultimate Nazi blueprint. The one treasure that would rock the world. One small piece of knowledge that revealed every hideout the Nazis had ever built. And reading between the lines of his notes, she had sensed a new excitement appear after his trip to the abandoned mine in Poland, and had come to realise that he had found some or all of this blueprint there. He had never copied it, though, rightly paranoid about not only thieving rivals but also about leaving a trail of evidence for the authorities: the treasure was to be for him and his family, no one else. The one, original map he had taken with him to the secret vault somewhere near Lake Toplitz, but when Aron had staggered from that dreadful place, lugging her father’s unconscious body, he had not thought to retrieve it. That was just one way in which the brothers differed.
Aron had told her mother a garbled version of the story, but by the time, months later, that Cami had found her voice enough to ask her own questions, Aron’s mind had almost gone, and his end was approaching fast. The vault had taken its toll on him, too. That was another death to be added to the list for vengeance.
Now she only knew of two places where the location of the Toplitz bunker might be. The first was in whatever remained of her father’s mind, trapped inside its crumbling shell. The second was in the head or documents of Steffan Sommer, the man her father’s notes, built painstakingly over thirty years of investigation spawned by a single, overheard conversation, clearly identified as having originally scouted the location.
As Cami glanced down, she noticed her father’s thumb trembling. She placed her head gently in his up-turned palms lying motionless in his lap. She kept her head there for a long time, hoping a miracle would occur and that her father would utter a few words to give her what she wanted.
When he’d returned home from that ill-fated trip with his deformed body, it had frightened her. For a long time, she could not go near him, let alone touch him. But slowly, over time, she had crept closer while he slept. She had forced herself to sit by his side and stare at the grotesque man who had taken over her father’s body.
His hands had knuckled and looked like the gnarled roots of a tree. His palms looked like knitted bones with hardly any flesh or muscle. Those hands would frighten anyone, especially a child.
But she wasn’t just any child. She had been Papi’s special Sweet-Pea before he left. And the secret vault of Steffan Sommer had changed that. In the minutes her father had swum in that chamber, the Nazi had stolen their special father-daughter relationship.
After a while, Cami lifted her head and chatted to him in her most cheerful tone, like the automated speaking voice on the end of the telephone giving you the time of day.
John’s eye blinked and stared straight ahead.
In her monotone voice, Cami said, ‘Papi, I am going to the Little Hollow Air Fest this weekend. From your notes, I, too, believe that he may have been hiding there. I hope Sommer has not died, Papi, because I will find him. And I’ll destroy him and his family. Whatever it takes, Papi, I will get revenge for what he’s done to you.’
Suddenly she gasped. ‘Papi, I almost forgot.’
She dug into her handbag and lifted ou
t the little toy aeroplane and placed it into her father’s hands. As he tried to stroke the toy, Papi’s index finger and thumb trembled simultaneously.
Cami gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind that he hadn’t attempted to stroke her hair. A long time ago she had gotten over that. And she preferred it that way. If those knotty hands had tried to touch her, she would probably have pulled away, and she didn’t want Papi to see that. Especially not now when she needed to find the location of the vault.
Her teeth ground against each other as she watched him try in vain to stroke the replica of his own treasure. She had picked up that habit from Papi when he was angry or stressed.
As she looked deeply into his hollow eye, a tear slipped out, slid down his distorted face, and melted between his fish-like, permanently swollen lips. Even before it disappeared between the drizzles of spittle that formed white threads at the corners of his mouth, another had squeezed out and ran to join it.
Cami’s heart ached. Tears welled up in her own eyes and flowed down her cheeks, smearing the carefully prepared foundation and powder. She didn’t wipe them away and let it ruin her make up.
The lump in her throat made her want to curl herself up, but she remained ramrod. Any other softened body position and she would crumble. ‘It’s not your little toy plane, Papi, it’s just a replica. But I got it for you anyway.’
After a moment, she noticed her father’s index finger stroking the aeroplane’s wheel. Then she leaned closer and saw his finger tremble and twitch under the wheel. It looked as though he was trying to tip it over.
Slowly, yet deliberately, she drew the plane out of his hands. ‘Papi, you will get this little aeroplane, as soon as you tell me where the vault is located.’ She placed a map, a detailed, topographic chart of Lake Toplitz, under his palms and wedged a pen between his thumb and index finger. ‘Here, all you need to do is push the pen into the map. You don’t even have to make a circle, just jab the pen where I can find the vault.’
Drool ran down his chin. More continued to ooze from his mouth.
‘Papi, just push the pen into the map at the right place. Then I can take revenge. Do it now, Papi.’
His eye rolled into the back of his head.
She grabbed his hand and shook it. ‘Papi, stop this nonsense! You’re not a child. Just jab the map.’ Holding his twisted hand in hers, she hovered his hand over the map hoping to feel even the slightest twitch of recognition as she traced the pen tip around the line of the shore.
The care home room was silent. Except for the occasional bubbling sounds as spit ballooned and gurgled at the corners of Papi’s mouth.
‘Papi! Jab the goddamned map!’
His empty gaze unnerved her. She lifted the toy plane and pushed it into his view. ‘This can be yours again, just jab the map. Come on, Papi, you can do it.’
Silence. Then bubbling.
‘Do it for me, Papi. Or do it for the toy aeroplane. Just do it.’
Bubbling. Gurgling. Popping.
Cami leapt out of her chair so abruptly it fell backwards and clattered to the floor. She dropped the toy aeroplane back into the large handbag she had brought it in and marched out of her father’s old age home.
Her emotions were running high. She needed a restaurant. Not for a drink, but to get high on making a man want her so badly that she could tease him till he rode the barstool in anticipation of having her. Even then, she wouldn’t give herself to him.
Not just any man.
No, she kept herself virginal for that special man, whenever he came along. Someone who would measure up to her father, and no one ever had, so far! In the meantime, she enjoyed the game. Punished men with her games. From their eyes and the lump in their trousers it was obvious how successfully her games were played. She didn’t need the actual act, she got off on playing strangers into a frenzy and then walking away without turning back. That did if for her.
As the taxi drove into the town centre, Cami glanced at the central church tower rising into the bruised sky with its ornate bell tower, as though to poke through the clouds.
She felt calmer as she looked at the pretty town with its cobbled streets where the river ran through the town. Despite it being a tranquil tourist spot, some picture box houses looked like they still leaned over from the strain of the town’s turbulent history.
Her favourite spot for recovering from this monthly visit was at one of the riverside restaurants, Alte Mainmuehle. She normally ate on the large, wide veranda hanging over the water, but tonight the buzz seemed to be on the cobbled bridge, where people stood in groups looking over the river.
On most of her visits she stayed at the Schlosshotel Steinburg, a former medieval castle, set amongst 16th-century vineyards. She always ended up drinking a bottle of wine, looking over Würzburg’s twinkling lights and thinking of her father’s life as a child.
Soon she must dash back to execute her plans and start her painstaking revenge. Her planned flights were always only a day apart. Visiting Papi for any longer would drive her insane.
Having put Papi in the care home was a relief. He didn’t deserve the horrors of an English home for the elderly infirm. Even if she could be close by and visit almost every day, he wouldn’t notice.
For his sake, she took the pleasure of knowing he was in his hometown. The place he grew up and knew.
Sadly, he hardly even knew her these days, never mind his hometown. And of course, it was impossible for the care home to take him on excursions into town, because he frightened everyone. Especially old people and children, who screamed when his deformed face came into view.
Strangely enough, boys were worse than girls. They hated seeing her father and either gawked in disgust or poked fun at Papi. Boys, who became teens and then men. The gender she loved to hate and hated to love.
With renewed determination, Cami breathed heavily.
Her mind focused back on her plan. More importantly, her next step. Get the cripple.
46
As Matt stepped carefully out of the shower, he thought about Cami for the hundredth time. Highly disappointed because he hadn’t seen her again, he towelled himself vigorously, almost peeling off his warm skin.
He longed to touch Cami’s flowing mane, which she called a freak show. He couldn’t believe she thought of herself that way. She had no idea of the hold she had on him.
At least she had set up a time for them to meet at the Air Fest. He wrinkled his nose, he hoped he wouldn’t be too busy with his work at the airfield.
Things were really heating up with the Air Fest on tomorrow. And Allan hadn’t come for dinner last night, nor for a breakfast muffin, although Mum had said his office had called and he’d probably gone back to London.
As he towelled his hair, Matt heard the doorbell chime. He stood on the landing at the top of the stairs while Mum opened the door. She let off a little gasp of surprise.
Curious, Matt leaned down and spied under the balustrade. He could just see the tip of a pair of boots.
Eventually, Mum said, ‘Come in.’
She ushered someone into the hallway.
Matt inhaled sharply.
Bomber.
In a flash, Matt remembered the last time he had seen Bomber at their house. A sharp pain shot through him as he recalled that horrible day.
Matt hears the door knocker clang. He races downstairs expecting to see Dad is home. Mum opens and Bomber is in his RAF uniform on the doorstep. For a moment, Bomber stands there, leaning on crutches, staring at Mum, his jaw locked, his solemn features engraved in stone.
Mum’s face drops, she collapses against him as a deep inhuman cry erupts inside her.
Matt drove away the memory with a vicious shake of his head. Using the back of his hand, he wiped away the tears.
The bastard!
The bastard who had wanted to be the one to tell Mum how the terrible accident had happened. The bastard who had crawled out of the plane wreck when Dad hadn’t. Without knowing it he had admitt
ed his guilt. The bastard was to blame. Mum seemed to be the only one who didn’t understand it.
Matt suddenly felt guilt and shame for talking, even getting friendly with the bastard again.
Downstairs, Mum stood awkwardly beside the pilot, who glanced around.
‘You’ve made it very homely, Bunny.’
Bunny! What on earth?!
‘Gosh, Steven, no one has called me that for years. It was you and John who started that. Please don’t call me that now,’ Mum muttered. ‘There’ve been lots of horrible rumours.’
Matt grimaced as Bomber took his mother’s hands in his large paws.
‘Don’t torture yourself with it all. You know what a small village can be like.’
‘But, is―’
‘No, it’s not. And you know it. That’s not why I’m here.’
Mum pulled her hands out of Bomber’s grip and dropped them at her sides.
‘It’s Luke, and Matt.’
Mum’s fingers clutched her mouth. ‘What’s wrong? What’ve they done?’
‘Nothing. Everything’s okay. Do you remember what John always told you?’
‘No, I don’t!’ she snapped.
‘He kept telling you to chill out.’
‘I can’t. It came with the RAF territory and it hasn’t left. My sons…I…they’re all I’ve got now.’
‘Listen, I haven’t come to distress you. I know my being here does that. I just wanted to ask your permission.’
‘Permission for what?’
‘To teach the lads to fly.’
Mum clutched her mouth again. ‘Why? I don’t want them flying!’
‘You can’t stop them. They are bound to follow their father. You owe them that. And he would’ve wanted it.’
Mum stayed silent.
‘Luke’s been working at the airfield for a few months now.’
This time it was Matt’s turn to gasp, but he sucked it in so they didn’t hear him at the top of the stairs.
