The Dark Arena

by Mario Puzo

  Mosca picked up the dice. He bad stopped thinking or caring. He was just waiting for the adjutant to pass him.

  “Where did you get that information?” The adjutant asked. His bland face was serious, had its familiar look of youthful sternness. “Where did you get that information?” he repeated.

  Mosca rattled the dice and threw them out carelessly. He said to the adjutant, “You stupid prick, go scare some krauts.”

  Eddie Cassin broke in, “I told him and if die colonel wants to know, I'll tell him the story. That you let the papers lay for two weeks before you sent them to Frankfort.“ He turned to Mosca, “Come on, Walter, let's get out of here.”

  The adjutant was on that side of the table hemmed by the wall and window. Mosca wanted him to come out, to squeeze by the corner. He thought for a moment, then said, “You think this fuck gets away with it tonight?”

  There was a split second before the adjutant recognized the threat. Then he shouted angrily, ‘Let's see what you'll do about it,” and started to come around the table. Mosca waited until the corner would pin his arms. Then he swung as hard as he could at the profiled face. The blow glanced off the adjutant's cheekbone and skull not hutting him, but making him fall. Mosca kicked viciously underneath the table. He felt the heel meet with a solid shock against bone. Then an officer and Eddie were pulling him away. The adjutant, really hurt now, was put on his feet Submissively Mosca let the officer and Eddie push him toward the wood. Suddenly Mosca whirled and ran across the room. The adjutant was standing straight up. Running he swung as hard as he could into the adjutant's side and they both fell on the floor. The adjutant screamed with pain. The look on Mosca's face and his attack on the defenseless man so horrified the other men that for one second they were frozen motionless. Then three of the officers swarmed over Mosca as he put his fingers inside the adjutant's ear and tried to tear the side of his face off. One of them hit Mosca a stunning blow on the temple and then they were hustling him down the stairs and out of the club. There was no thought of retaliation in this, Eddie was helping them. The cold night air cleared Mosca's brain.

  He and Eddie were alone. “That last shot queered everything,” Eddie said. “Why the hell couldn't you be satisfied?”

  Mosca said, “I wanted to kill the bastard, that's why.” But the reaction had set in. He couldn't keep his hands from shaking when he lit his cigarette and he felt a chilly sweat over his body. Christ, he thought, over a lousy fist fight, trying to keep his hands still.

  They stood together in the dark street. ‘TU try to fix it,”

  Eddie said, “but you're washed up with the Army. You know that? Don't wait, shoot down to Frankfort tomorrow and try to get those marriage papers. Ill cover you here. Don't worry about anything but the papers.”

  Mosca thought for a moment. “I guess that's it. Thanks, Eddie.” For some reason he shook hands with Cassin, awkwardly, knowing that Eddie would do everything he could to help.

  “You going home now?” Eddie asked.

  “No,” Mosca said. “I have to see Yergen.” He turned and walked away from Eddie, then called back over his shoulder, “TU phone you from Frankfort.”

  A cold, autumn moon lit his way to the church. He ran up the steps and before he could knock Yergen had opened the door.

  “Be very still,” Yergen said, “my daughter has just fallen asleep after much trouble.” They went into the room. Behind the wooden partition came the sound of the child's heavy breathing. Mosca could hear a curiously halting stitch in it., He saw that Yergen was angry and almost belligerent.

  “Were you here earlier this evening?” Yergen asked.

  “No,” Mosca lied. But he had hesitated a fraction of a second and Yergen knew.

  “I have the drugs for you,” Yergen said. He was glad that Mosca had frightened his child and given him the angry courage to do what he must do. “I have the penicillin vials and the codeine tablets, but they cost a great deal.” He took out of his pocket a small cardboard box, uncovered it to show Mosca the four dark-brown vials and the square box of large, red-shelled codeine tablets. Even now his instinct was to tell Mosca that the penicillin had only cost a fraction of the usual black-market price and therefore might be useless; to charge him a reasonable price for the drugs. But in that wavering moment there was a great stitching gasp in his daughter's breathing, the room was completely still. He could see Mosca looking at the wooden partition, then before either of them could move, the breathing started again, regularly, in the heavy rhythm of sleep. Yergen relaxed. “The cost will be fifty cartons of cigarettes.” He saw the tiny black lights in Mosca's eyes focusing on him with a sudden cruel insight and understanding.

  “All right,” Mosca said. “I don't care what I pay. You sure it's good stuff?”

  In time Yergen paused only for a moment but many thoughts flashed through his mind.

  He needed as many cigarettes as possible, then he could swing a big deal he had planned and be out of Germany in a month. Hella probably did not really need penicillin, the Bremen doctors when they knew a girl had an American friend always asked for penicillin so that they could keep some for themselves. And he thought of his daughter again, she came before everything.

  “You can be certain. I guarantee it,” Yergen said. “This source has never betrayed me.” He touched his breast with his hand. “I take the responsibility.”

  “All right,” Mosca said. “Now listen. I have twenty cartons, maybe I can get some more. If I can't I'll pay you at the rate of five dollars a carton in scrip or American Express checks. Is that okay?” He knew that he was being fair and that Yergen was making a real steal, but the reaction of his encounter with the adjutant still affected him. He felt an immense weariness, hopelessness, and isolation. In his mind he bowed before the little German, asked for pity, for mercy. And Yergen, sensing this, became cautiously arrogant

  “I have to pay in cigarettes,” Yergen said. “I think you will have to give me cigarettes.”

  Behind the wooden partition the little girl moaned in her sleep. Mosca remembered Hella whimpering with pain; she had expected him home long ago. He made a last try. “I need this stuff tonight.” Yergen said, “I must have the cigarettes tonight.” This time there was a malicious note of triumph in his voice, unconsciously, not knowing that he had spoken so, that he had always hated this American.

  Mosca made himself not feel anything, not do anything. He was ashamed now and fearful of what would happen because of the fight in the club. He had to be careful not to make any mistakes. Gravely, without anger or menace, he picked up the cardboard box and slipped it into his jacket. He said politely, reasonably, “Come to the house with me and I'll give you the twenty cartons tonight and the money. I'll try to get you the rest of the cigarettes in the next few days and then you give the money back.”

  Yergen saw that nothing could keep Mosca from leaving with the drugs. He felt a moment of fear, a weakness of blood He was no coward but jvas always afraid that his daughter would be left alone in the ruined land. He went behind the partition to arrange the blankets over his sleeping child and then went through the doorway of the other partition for his hat and coat. They walked to Mosca's house without exchanging a word.

  Mosca let Yergen wait for his pay until he had given Hella a codeine tablet. She was still awake and he could see in the dark the white outline of the swollen jaw.

  “How is it?” he asked softly, speaking almost in a whisper so as not to awaken the baby in the carriage.

  She whispered to him, “It hurts very much.”

  “Here's something for the pain.” He gave her one of the large, red-shelled codeine tablets and he could see her pushing it down her throat with her finger and then drinking the water from the glass he held to her lips. “I'll be right back,” he said.

  He made a package, bulky and untidy, of the cigarette cartons. He brought it to the door and gave it to Yergen, then took from his wallet the American Express checks, signed them, and put the blue thin pape
r in Yergen's pocket. Out of politeness and some remorse, he asked, “Will you have trouble because of curfew? Shall I take you back?”

  “No, I have a curfew pass,” Yergen said, and then with a soft laugh, the bulky cigarettes under his arm cheering him up, “an essential businessman.”

  Mosca let him out, locked the door, and returned to the bedroom. Helia was still awake. He lay down beside her, not undressing. He told her what had happened at the club and that he had to go to Frankfort the next day.

  “T'll get those papers and in a month well be out of here, on a plane to the States,” he whispered to her. He told her stories about his mother and Alf and how glad they would both be to see her. He made it all sound sure and easy, inevitable. He could feel her getting warm and sleepy and then suddenly she asked, “C, an I have another tablet?” He got up to give it to her and held the water to her lips again. Then before she fell asleep he told her about the penicillin and to go to a doctor the next day to get some shots. “I'll call up every night from Frankfort,” he said. “I won't be away three days even.” When she fell into a sleep in which she did not even breathe he smoked a few cigarettes in a chair by the window, watching the ruins of the city fresh and clear in the autumn moonlight. Then he put on the light in the kitchen and packed his blue gym bag with a few things he would need for the trip. He made himself some eggs and tea, hoping the food would help him sleep. He lay beside Hella again and waited for dawn.

  twenty-one

  Through the curtain of heavy, exhausted slumber and codeine Hella heard the short angry wails of hunger. Fully awake it gave her a feeling of pleasant anxiety, knowing how easily she could still the infant; she listened, then left her bed to prepare the bottle.

  She felt weak though she had slept well the last two nights. The constant use of codeine had taken effect and the pain in her head and mouth was numbed. She reached up and felt surprised and shocked that her fingers and cheek met so quickly. Her face had swollen even more during the night but die had felt no pain. Waiting for the baby's milk to heat she took another codeine tablet, shoving it down her throat with her finger. It was hard now to swallow saliva. Then she brought the child his bottle and absolute quiet descended on the room.

  She was very tired and she stretched out on the bed again. In the other rooms she could hear Frau Saunders moving about, cleaning her own two rooms and the living-room they shared. They had been lucky with Frau Saundears, Hella thought And Walter liked her. She hoped he would bring the marriage papers so they could leave Germany. Now she was always afraid, more about the chad than anything. That if the child became ill they could not get any American medicines. They couldn't take chances on the black market where the baby was concerned.

  When she felt a little stronger Hella rose from the bed and cleaned her own rooms. Then she went into the living-room. Frau Saunders was already sitting by the iron stove and drinking coffee. There was a filled cup waiting for Hella.

  “When is your man coming back?” Frau Saunders asked. “Wasn't he supposed to have come this morning?”

  “He has to stay a few days longer,” Hella said. “He will have definite news when he calls tonight on the telephone. You know what documents are.”

  “Have you told him about the penicillin?” Frau Saunders asked.

  Hella shook her head.

  “I thought this Yergen was really a friend of yours,” Frau Saunders said. “How could he possibly do such a thing?”

  “I don't think it was his fault,” Hella said. ‘The doctor t&ld me it was impossible to use because it hadn't been properly cared for. It was really penicillin. Yergen would have no way of knowing.”

  “He must have known,” Frau Saunders said. Then dryly, “He will find his profit small when Herr Mosca goes to visit him.”

  In the other room the baby began to 07 and Hella went to bring him out Frau Saunders said, “Let me hold him.” Hella gave her the baby and went for some clean diapers.

  When she brought the fresh linen into the room Frau Saunders said, “Here, let me change him.” It was a ritual they went through in the morning.

  Hella took the empty iron pail beside the stove and said, “I'll go down for some briquets.”

  “You're not strong enough yet for that,” Frau Saunders said. But she was tickling the baby and spoke automatically.

  The morning air was iced with autumn, dying summer sunlit trees and fallen leaves with dark-brown and reddish fire. From somewhere Hella could smell a deep, cidery tang of fallen apples; beyond the rising, gardened hills she could smell the freshness of the Weser River newly washed by autumn rains. On the other side of the Kurfursten A1-lee she saw a young, pretty girl with four small children playing underneath the trees, kicking dead brown leaves piled high as snowdrifts. Then she felt very cold and went inside.

  She went down the cellar stairs and unlocked the wire-mesh door which enclosed her portion of the basement She filled the pail with oblong coal briquets. She tried to pick up the pail and to her surprise found that she could not. She made a great effort. The strength drained out of her body and she felt faint. For one moment she was frightened. She held onto the wire screen and the faintness faded away. She took three of the briquets and put them in her apron, holding the ends of it to form a basket. She snapped the lock of the wire door with her one free hand and then began to climb the stairs.

  Halfway up the last flight her legs refused to move. She stood for a moment in surprise, unaware. A terrible chill struck her body. A great vessel burst and pain stabbed through her brain like an iron pike so that she did not hear the coal slip out of her apron and crash down the stairs. As in terror she began to fall, she saw Frau Saunders's veiled face leaning over the banister, the baby in her arms, seeing them hazily but very close. She raised her arms to them and began to scream and then began to fall away from Frau Saunders's horrified face and the white swaddled baby, and still screaming, fell away from her own screams so that she never heard them.

  twenty-two

  Eddie Cassia paced op mid down the Civilian Personnel Office. Inge was patiently explaining to someone at the other end that she must have the information. Then die would be switched to someone else and begin the same explanation over again.

  She motioned to Eddie to come to the phone. “Yes,” Eddie said into the phone,

  The voice of a man, speaking almost perfect English, heavy with authority, said, “I am sorry, we cannot give information over the phone.”

  Eddie knew it would be hopeless to argue with that voice. He recognized the tone. The confidence of a man complying strictly with laws and regulations which governed his own little but complete world. He said, “Let me ask one thing. The woman you have in your hospital, her husband or her lover, what you wiU, is in Frankfort. Now. Is it serious enough that I should tell him to return immediately to see her?”

  The heavy voice said, “I would advise that you do so ”

  Eddie Cassin said, “He is there on important business. He would not wish to return, unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  There was a short silence. Then the heavy voice with a surprising gentleness, said, “I think you should tell him that he must come.”

  Eddie hung up. He saw Inge was watching him, wide-eyed. He said, “Get me a clean glass.” When she went out he picked up the phone and asked the Army operator to get him the line to Frankfort. He was still waiting when Inge came back with the glass. He let her hold the phone and made himself a strong drink from the bottle of gin and tin of grapefruit juice in his desk. Then he took back the phone.

  When he got through to Frankfort, he asked for the Adjutant Section of the headquarters. He talked to three officers before he learned that Mosca had been there the day before and was now probably in the Legal Section. When he got through to the Legal Section they told him that Mosca had left an hour before. They didn't have any idea where he would be now. Eddie hung up the phone and finished his drink. He made another and picked up the phone again. He thought a moment, then when h
e got the Frankfort line, he asked for the message crater in the I. G. Farben Building. A sergeant answered and he explained briefly why he had to locate Mosca and asked him if he would broadcast a message over the loud-speaker for Mosca to come to the phone. The sergeant told him to wait Then he came back to say that the announcement would go on and that he should hold on.

  Eddie waited for a long time. He had finished the second drink. Suddenly Mosca's voice came over the phone, saying, “Hello, who is this?” There was only surprise in the voice, no anxiety.

  Eddie couldn't speak for a moment. TTien he said, “Waiter, it's Eddie. How are you making out?”

  Mosca said, “I don't know yet, they just chase me from one office to another. Is anything wrong up there?”

  Eddie cleared his throat. He spoke casually. “I guess you'll have to let that deal go, Walter. Your landlady sent a message to Meyer that Hella was taken to the hospital. Meyer sent the messenger out to the base and I called the hospital. They wouldn't give any information over the phone but it sounds serious.”

  There was a pause and then Mosca's voice came ovei the wire, haltingly, as if he were searching for the words. “You really don't know anything else?”

  “I swear to Christ,” Eddie said. “But you better come back.”

  There was a still longer pause. Then Mosca said, “I'll catch the night train at six o'clock. Meet me at the station, Eddie. I think we get in about four in the morning.”

  “Sure,” Eddie said. “I'm going down to the hospital as soon as I hang up. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Eddie.” There was a click on the othei end and Eddie Cassin hung up.

  He made himself another quick drink. He said to Inge. “I won't be back today.” He put the bottle and juice in his briefcase and left the air base.

  The city of Bremen was dark when Mosca got off the train from Frankfort. It was not quite four in the morning. In the square outside the station an olive-drab Army bus waited, barely visible. The square was illuminated onfy by a few weak lampposts which scattered tiny scars of ligh through its corners and down the streets away from the station.