“Huh,” Fulmar grunted.
“And what has motivated you, my dear Eric,” the Countess said, “to do what you’re doing?”
It was a moment before he replied. “Sometimes I really wonder,” he said.
The Countess nodded, then turned to Gisella Dyer.
“Would you help me, please?” she said. “I made a gulyás, and if you would help serve it, I’ll heat some water to ‘pickle’ Eric’s feet.”
The sting of the warm salt water on his feet was not as painful as Eric Fulmar had expected, and he wondered if this was because he was partially anesthetized by the Countess’s brandy, or whether his feet were beyond hurting.
The gulyás was delicious, and he decided that was because it was delicious and not because of the cognac—or because they’d had little to eat save lard and dark bread sandwiches since leaving Marburg an der Lahn.
Von Heurten-Mitnitz waited until they were finished and Fulmar was pouring a little brandy to improve his small, strong cup of coffee, and then he said:
“I think it would be best if I knew precisely what has happened since you entered Germany, Eric.”
“A synopsis would be that everything that could go wrong, did,” Fulmar said.
“What about the Gestapo agent? Did you have to kill him?”
“I killed him when he opened the luggage that had been left on the train for me,” Fulmar said matter-of-factly, "and found the Obersturmführer’s uniform. And then the boots didn’t fit.”
Von Heurten-Mitnitz nodded. “And in Marburg, was what happened there necessary?”
“Yes, of course it was,” Fulmar said impatiently. “I don’t like scrambling people’s brains.”
“You could learn some delicacy,” the Countess said.
“We are not in a delicate business, cousin,” Fulmar said.
“But that’s it? There’s nothing else I don’t know about?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.
Fulmar’s hesitation was obvious.
"What else?” von Heurten-Mitnitz persisted.
“I was recognized on the train,” he said. “Before I got to Frankfurt. On the way to Marburg.”
“By whom?”
There was another perceptible hesitation.
"Christ, I really hate to tell you,” he said. “I don’t want you playing games with her.”
“I think I have to know,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
"Fuck you,” Fulmar said. “You have to know what I goddamn well decide to tell you.”
Von Heurten-Mitnitz stiffened. He was not used to being talked to like that. But he kept control of himself.
“Someone you knew when you were at Marburg?” he asked reasonably. And then, when Fulmar remained silent, he added, “I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but I will be here when you are safe in England.”
“Tell him, Eric,” the Countess said. “As you pointed out, we are not in a delicate business.”
“I don’t want you trying to use her, you understand me? Her, or her father. ”
"Who recognized you? ” von Heurten-Mitnitz persisted, gently.
“Elizabeth von Handleman-Bitburg,” Fulmar said.
Von Heurten-Mitnitz’s eyebrows went up. The Countess looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“Generaloberst von Handleman-Bitburg’s daughter?”von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.
Fulmar nodded.
“Possibly it’s meaningless,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “She met a young Obersturmführer whom she had once known. Was there any reason you think she was suspicious?”
“Her father had told her that I was seen in Morocco in an American uniform, ” Fulmar said. “She knew.”
“And what do you think she will tell her father?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.
“Nothing,” Fulmar said. “She won’t tell him a thing.”
“I wish I shared your confidence,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said
“The only reason I’m telling you this,” Fulmar said, “is that I don’t want you to protect your ass by taking her out.”
“Telling me what?”
“We spent the night together,” Fulmar said. “Okay? Get the picture?”
“Yes, I think I do,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“If anything happens to her,” Fulmar said,“I will—”
“Don’t be childish,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“I was about to say something childish,” Fulmar said. “Like I will come back here and kill you myself. But I won’t have to do that. All I’ll have to do is make sure the Sicherheitsdienst finds out about you.”
"My God!” von Heurten-Mitnitz said.
“I made a mistake in telling you,” Fulmar said.
“No, you didn’t, Eric,” the Countess said. She walked to von Heurten-Mitnitz and put her arm in his, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Helmut understands that even in the midst of this insanity, people fall in love.”
Fulmar looked through them, then chuckled.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he said. “The Merry Widow in the flesh.”
1
In January 1943, a 200,000-man Hungarian force had been routed by the Russians at Voronezh. There had been relatively few casualties, and a successful withdrawal had been made, but the Hungarians had lost essentially all of the tanks, artillery, and other weapons.
«——THE END——»
The Soldier Spies Page 42
