Corridor of Darkness

by Patrick W O'Bryon

“Yes, Mutti. May I drive?”

  “Better Herr Lemmon does the driving, but I’ll ride with you in the little sidecar, all right?”

  Goggles and leather caps hung on the handlebars and the key was in the ignition—after all, who steals a military motorcycle? With a last glance to the door of the inn, he rolled the machine underneath the massive tree and unfolded a wool blanket to spread over the seat and onto the floor of the sidecar. Erika positioned herself with Leo sitting between her legs on the floor. She buttoned up her coat and put on goggles, wrapping the blanket over her head and around Leo. Ryan heard him giggle and marveled at the resiliency of the child. He donned the leather cap, turned up his collar and buttoned his overcoat to the neck, and positioned the goggles for minimal pressure on his damaged nose. Once his passengers were seated, he rolled the cycle down the slope of the parking area to gain distance from the inn. The engine rumbled to life on the first try and they left the lot.

  Although the sidecar’s added weight made it less agile than his Indian, the Zündapp was a pleasure to handle. He had scanned the map before leaving the truck and memorized the route to reach Kehl as quickly as possible. Much of the way took them through hilly, forested areas, then down across farmland. He was in his element at last, steering the solitary headlamp into the fog and darkness, sure of his destination, confident the worst was well behind them.

  “My turn to wear the goggles, Mutti.” Leo, barely heard from the belly of the sidecar.

  Ryan lifted one hand from the handlebars and felt for the tobacco pouch buried deep within his jacket pocket. Success would be theirs within the hour.

  The landward approach to the Kehl boat basin led through dark woods, but dense fog obscured the forest stretches and Ryan was forced to concentrate on the road ahead. He stopped frequently to consult the map and René’s drawings. Finally his navigating expertise and sheer luck brought them to the orange-black-white flags standing sentry at the high gates of Gesslinger Shipping. They were a welcoming sight in the shifting mists off the Rhine.

  No one manned the guard shack at this dark hour. As arranged by René, the smaller gate off to the side was shut, but a bulky padlock hung open on the latch. They roused the sleepy Leo, lifted him from his nest in the sidecar, and he and Erika waited just inside the grounds while Ryan hid the motorcycle in the wood fronting the access road. He came back carrying the teddy bear and handed it to Leo. “Can’t leave Mr. Bear behind, can we?”

  “It’s Bruno, Herr Lemmon.”

  Following René’s sketch they headed left along the loading docks, passing two barges and a company river boat rocking gently at their moorings. The estuary formed a protected arm of water reaching inland from the Rhine and lined by wharves. The fog carried the rank smell of backwater and diesel oil, and dock pilings spread the heady odor of creosote. Massive coils of rope were spaced evenly along the dock and metal cranes towered overhead. Industrial fixtures alongside each of the warehouses cast diffused circles of light onto the graveled surface below.

  The machinist’s shop and adjoining office shack were easy to find on the water side of the railroad tracks. A solitary lamp burned above the door, and a warm glow shone through the small mullioned windows. The aged building was supported by pilings and surrounded by heavy wooden planking that creaked underfoot as they climbed the entry ramp. A small motor launch bobbed gently alongside the wharf just south of the structure. Their transport would seem even smaller once out on the dark river.

  Ryan knocked tentatively on the door of the shack. Getting no response, he eased it open and called out to Hugo Gerson in a quiet voice. No reply. They exchanged a quick glance of concern before letting themselves in. Happily, the interior of the office was invitingly warm. A coal stove in the corner worked overtime, its pot belly glowing in the darkness. It had been recently stoked. Erika suggested leaving the overhead bulb unlit, just in case someone—a night guard perhaps?—got suspicious. Instead Ryan cracked the door to the stove, sending a gentle flickering light into the room. They unbuttoned their overcoats almost immediately, finally removing them altogether.

  Two rolling office chairs stood to either side of a well-worn table serving as a desk. Above it hung a wall rack with shipping invoices and river charts. A tray held soft cheese under a linen napkin, a loaf of black bread with butter and a knife, and chilled bottles of Gerolsteiner mineral water and local beer. A bottle opener and five glasses sat nearby. Hugo had anticipated hungry and thirsty guests upon arrival, a gracious nod to hospitality despite the hurried circumstances.

  The sudden jangle of the phone on the desk startled them. Ryan suggested that perhaps they should answer—Hugo, or even René?—but Erika urged caution. She’s right, he thought; better not bring attention to ourselves. The telephone rang itself to silence.

  They used the sink in the small adjoining latrine to wash up, then ate open-faced sandwiches and quenched their thirst after so many hours on the run. Ryan placed chair cushions against the wall, creating a small, makeshift couch, and invited Leo and his bear to join them while they awaited the return of Hugo. Before long the exhausted boy was fast asleep again, head cradled in his mother’s lap, his feet stretched over Ryan’s legs. Ryan thought of the bench in the Tiergarten, the ducks, that moment when everything had changed for him less than two days before.

  “He’s been through so much,” she said as she stroked Leo’s forehead, damp with perspiration.

  “You both have, but now it’s almost done.”

  “He deserves none of this. I’m paying for my own bad decisions, but Leo only wants to please.” Erika pushed his forelock to the side. “He’s spent all his short life with adults, never had children his age to play with, so he’s learned to keep still and do as told, especially around Horst. Such a good boy, who’s now seen more than any grown person should.” She sighed, her focus shifting to an uncertain future. “Oh, Ryan, what will we do with ourselves in France?”

  No answer came to him. Europe stood on the brink of war. He carried proof that Hitler would never rest until Europe was under his thumb and the Jews annihilated. Refuge in France was an expedient first step, but no lasting solution. He only saw a future where barbarity lurked at every turn, biding its time until the next assault.

  “Let’s just take it as it comes, Erika, one step at a time, just as we managed to get through today.” He was disappointed in his own banality, his lack of answers. She sighed once again but made no reply. He hoped René was safe in the aftermath of the violence on the train. How quickly the unforeseen laid waste to the best of plans. An unexpected wave of melancholy washed over him, a sense of foreboding, even now on the verge of their successful escape. “René was prepared with maps to get us this far without him…” Ryan hesitated, “I’m sure we’ll be in France together by morning, but I need to know the two of you will be safe in Paris should we be separated along the way.”

  “But Ryan, we must get there together!” Leo shifted in his sleep.

  “Of course we will, but ‘just in case,’ as you constantly say.” Ryan smiled.

  “I do?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I say ‘just in case?’”

  “All the time.”

  “Then I’ll stop using it immediately.” She looked down at the sleeping boy. “Just in case you start to tire of me.”

  He laughed. “Okay, ‘just in case,’ remember the cabaret La Chatte bottée in the Montmartre and speak only to Marita Lesney. She’s well connected to look after you and get you settled in.”

  “A ‘special’ friend?” Erika gave the hint of a grin.

  “Just an old friend, but one who’s prepared to help should the Nazis take France.”

  Erika’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “They will, won’t they? Will any place in Europe be safe from them?”

  “I suspect not. I’ll do what I can to get you and Leo to America, or at least South America.”

  She reached over to take his hand. “I should never have let you go, y
ou know, back then in Marburg. How different things might have been.”

  A question had tugged incessantly at his mind, but the words and right moment had not come in the last frantic hours. Ryan regarded the sleeping boy and decided it was time. “I must ask, Erika, was…is Leo mine?”

  Her wry smile returned briefly in the warm glow of the stove. “I prefer to believe he’s ours.” She squeezed Ryan’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder. “But we’ll never know, really. Things were so different then. His nature, his inquisitiveness and warmth of feeling—those are yours, certainly not Horst’s. And he does resemble you in the eyes, don’t you think?”

  Ryan examined the resting child’s face—the high forehead, the long eyelashes, the rosy cheeks. He recalled his own childhood photographs, so carefully kept in a baby album by his mother in Lawrence. He slowly shook his head in bemusement. “Those Dreadnoughts we used, they were the new latex version, as I recall.”

  “Those things do fail sometimes, you know, and perhaps we simply weren’t careful enough.” For a moment she seemed lost in past memories. “But I wouldn’t wish it any other way.” She bent down and kissed the sleeping boy’s forehead. “Was it his name that told you, or just his age?”

  Ryan paused a second in consideration. Leo’s name? “But of course—Ryan Leonard Lemmon. Leonhardt.” He chuckled at the one clue of hers he had missed.

  Erika smiled once again. “Horst never questioned my choice of names; it does mean ‘strong as a lion,’ after all.” The smile faded. “But then, Horst thinks only of himself.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Leo from the start? Didn’t you think I would want to know, should know?”

  “I didn’t want to snare you with a sense of obligation. But in my heart I knew you would come, would help, because that’s just who you are.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “Thank you, my Ryan Leonhardt Lemmon.” Ryan rested his head on hers. He chose to believe he had a son.

  They ignored the ringing phone once again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It began with the low, steady thrum of an engine, a vessel approaching from the mouth of the estuary. The rumbling grew increasingly louder until it was unmistakable, and they heard the boat make a broad sweeping turn to dock just south of their shack.

  “Hugo, at last,” Ryan said. “Wake Leo and get him ready; it’s best we leave right away. A shame René didn’t make it in time to see us off.”

  “Ryan, the largest boat Leo and I have ever been on is a paddleboat on the Wannsee. Is this safe?” Erika helped the drowsy Leo into his overcoat and buttoned it up to his neck. “It’s so foggy out, and there’s bound to be river traffic.”

  “René said no worries; they do all the time.” Ryan looked for his hat, only to remember abandoning it on the train. His suit was rumpled, his shirt held the rank odor of exertion, and he badly needed a shave. They would all put up in a nice hotel in Strasbourg, a room with private bath, ironed sheets, and no concern for bedbugs.

  The wooden dock trembled as the arriving boat made mooring. Muffled voices confirmed lines tossed and vessel secured. Soon the decking creaked as footsteps approached the door, and there was a gentle knock. Ryan glanced at Erika in surprise, then stepped to the threshold and opened the door a hand’s width.

  The muzzle of a Walther P38 invited itself in.

  “My, what a pleasant surprise.” Horst’s voice carried neither pleasure nor surprise, only menace. “Do step away from the door—no one is going anywhere…for the moment.”

  “Horst!” Erika aghast, bending down reflexively to pull Leo toward her.

  The open door also revealed Klaus Pabst, flashing his pistol as he entered and expressing delight in the moment with a supercilious grin. Behind them two uniformed SS soldiers stood with machine pistols at the ready. Klaus flicked on the overhead bulb.

  “Father,” Leo called out in surprise, then quickly sensed the tension and pulled back to hide behind his mother’s legs. “Are you here to take us home?” his nervous question muted by his mother’s coat.

  Horst ignored the boy, turning his pistol instead toward Lemmon’s belly. “And here we have the Jew-loving wife-fucker from America. The years have treated you well, I presume?” Ryan said nothing. “Search him.” Klaus patted down Ryan and secured the Sauer from his topcoat pocket. “No need to guess where you stumbled upon this, is there?”

  Ryan saw no possibility of escape. “Horst von Kredow. You haven’t changed a bit, I see,” he managed to say. The pallid scar raking Horst’s cheek seemed to hold all other features in place.

  “Nor you, except perhaps for that ruined nose and those swollen cheeks. I remember your looking better in our university days. But enough pleasantries for now. We’ve been tracking your recent escapades, and you haven’t changed in other regards, as well. You still lack respect for another man’s property and you’re still intent on saving the world’s worthless Jews.” He gestured with the pistol toward Erika, who had backed against the wall with the boy in her arms. “And you still stick your cock in this Jew-whore here.”

  “Be reasonable, Horst.” Despite the strength in her voice, she trembled. “Let us go—we can’t hurt you, and you don’t need us.”

  “You dare talk about ‘reasonable’ actions, my treacherous little Jew-bitch?” Horst moved to the center of the room as Ryan joined Erika under the menace of the guns. Horst spoke nearly without emotion, and Ryan was struck by the unyielding mask of his face. “Was it ‘reasonable’ for you to hide your polluted bloodline from me, knowing I’m charged with purifying our race? Did you think I’d never find out? Was it ‘reasonable’ for you to use my seed to father that pathetic Mischling there?”

  “Leo’s no Mischling, he’s your son!”

  “You’re mistaken, I have no son—” he shot a faint look of disgust at the cowering child, “and no wife.” He glanced around the room. “We anticipated another guest here this evening, but it appears your Frenchman ran into further delays. A shame, but don’t give it a thought, we’ll catch up with him. After all, we can’t have foreigners—French or American, for that matter—disrupting train schedules and stealing vehicles with impunity, now can we? Who knows? My men at the front gate may be welcoming him as we speak.”

  Despite their dire circumstances Ryan was relieved to hear that René was not yet in their clutches.

  “Horst, just let Ryan take the boy and leave,” Erika pleaded, “I’ll stay with you, and you can save your career. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “You think my career depends on your pitiful ass? No one will ever hear of this unpleasant episode, not a soul.” He chuckled. “In fact, I will be offered the most heartfelt sympathies for the loss of my family in a tragic boating accident on the Rhine.”

  “Horst, no!” Erika looked to Ryan, who could only stare back in helpless fury.

  “But we’ll get to the two of you later, some fitting punishment before you suffer your unfortunate accident. In fact, I might have the boy witness his mother’s penance. Obviously, you learned nothing from that little foretaste in Berlin.” He turned to Klaus. “Have the bitch and her brat taken to the boat and kept comfortable. Tell the others to watch for the Frenchman. Meanwhile, we’ve work to do here. Let’s see if our American truly appreciates what it means to be Gestapo.”

  Klaus opened the door and signaled to one of the soldiers. “Take these two and wait in the patrol boat.” He pointed with his pistol to the woman and boy. “The guards remain at their stations.” The youthful sergeant gestured to Erika with his machine pistol. She lifted Leo, his bear clutched to his chest, and gave Ryan a frantic look as she moved toward the door.

  “Yes, do say good-bye to your lover; you may not recognize him later.” Horst’s lips tightened to a controlled sneer.

  Erika looked back as she stepped onto the fog-bound deck, and Ryan could only respond with a desperate shake of his head. His mind raced for any solution and came up short. The soldier prodded her with the barrel of his gun, and Erik
a pulled Leo more tightly to her chest and looked away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Leo was sobbing, and then they were gone. Ryan scanned the room, searching for a potential weapon. No logic would persuade here, and no charade was possible this time around. The situation was truly hopeless.

  “Make Herr Lemmon comfortable, won’t you, Klaus? Oh, how could I have forgotten, it is Herr Doktor Lemmon now, isn’t it?”

  Klaus Pabst called in the sentry from outside and shut the door behind him. “Lose the clothing, Herr Doktor Lemmon.” Klaus grinned at Ryan’s surprise. “Lose it now, or we’ll have to help you.”

  Ryan began to unbutton his topcoat. “That’s a good American,” Horst nodded, “Let’s see what the Jewess found so attractive in you.”

  Ryan took off his topcoat and jacket and turned to place them on the table. “The floor will do nicely,” suggested Klaus. Ryan removed his mud-encrusted shoes and socks and shoved them aside with his foot before dropping his pants to the floor.

  “He’s a bit less dashing in shirttails, don’t you think?” Horst gazed around the room and gestured, as if addressing a party of onlookers.

  Ryan unbuttoned his vest, removed his stale shirt and undershirt, and reluctantly dropped his shorts. He stood stock still and awaited the next command.

  “Well, you certainly appear fit enough; except for that circumcised cock, you’d make a decent SS recruit,” Horst observed. “Do you suppose we have ourselves an American Jew here?” He turned for Klaus’s reaction—a smug grin—and then returned his attention to Ryan. “But you really ought to do something about that face.”

  As if choreographed, Klaus grabbed Ryan’s arms from behind and Horst swung his P38 in one fluid motion. Blood sprayed from the already-shattered nose, rivulets coursing down Ryan’s face and across his shoulder. The assault was so fast, the pain so intense that Ryan nearly collapsed. “There now,” Horst said, “you’ll look more symmetrical with both cheeks equally swollen.”