Three and a Half Minutes

by Caroline Fyffe

  Within moments, the intercom buzzed again. Trying not to feel irritated, he pressed the button. “Ja?”

  “Herr Pfarrer, Frau Kleimer wants to know what you would like for your supper this evening?”

  Dinner? That was the last thing he had on his mind right now. Frau Kleimer had a talent for cooking and baking. Everything she made was delicious. “Whatever is convenient.”

  Sitting back in his chair, he stretched his legs and closed his eyes for just one moment of rest. He’d passed the night in the hospital, praying with a longtime parishioner as she’d died. He’d anointed her and given her Viaticum. A cancer patient, she’d lingered in and out of consciousness for the last three months.

  Opening his eyes, the picture of his younger brother, Günther, with their little friend, Johann, came into view. It was taken on the boy’s First Holy Communion and Johann beamed with happiness. The parentless child had flourished this past year with Günther’s aid. The boy even assisted them with the class that he and Günther gave every Saturday morning in the rectory hall, teaching underprivileged children English. They had started the class three years ago, and Florian couldn’t imagine a weekend without it. From there, he glanced to another favorite photo taken when he was only twenty-one and served in the Austrian Army.

  Enough. He gave himself a mental shake and turned back to his computer. But before he was able to type a single word, his phone rang again. This time it was his private line.

  “Herr Pfarrer Christove,” he said into the receiver.

  “Herr Pfarrer Christove!” The excited young voice screeched through a clamor of people on the other end, making it difficult to hear. A whistle blew somewhere in the background and then a whooshing noise he couldn’t identify.

  “Yes, this is Pfarrer Christove. Who is speaking?”

  The childlike voice hastily began rattling off details, but Florian could only grab bits and pieces because another announcement blared out, obscuring the caller’s words.

  He tried again. “Who is speaking?”

  “It is Johann. Johann,” the boy repeated.

  He straightened. “Yes, Johann. What is wrong?”

  “Come get me. My uncle, he is high again and—”

  An announcement giving times and destinations drowned out what Johann was saying. “What? I didn’t get that last part.”

  “We are leaving Vienna right now. He is taking me away. Please, I don’t want to go with him.”

  “Just tell me where you are.”

  “We are at the subway station on Kagraner Platz. We will be boarding soon.”

  “Do you know how soon, Johann? Or where he is planning on taking you?”

  “I don’t know where we are going but we will be boarding in fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes.”

  Johann’s voice cracked and Florian could hear him crying.

  “No crying. You must be strong. Go into the bathroom and stay in there as long as possible. Say you are sick. Try to miss your train. I will get there. Don’t worry. I will get there.”

  “Hurry. I am afraid that—” An inbound train shot through the tunnel making it impossible for Florian to hear the rest of what Johann was trying to tell him, and then the line went dead.

  Florian bolted from his chair and grabbed his motorcycle helmet. He ran through the rectory office, drawing shocked stares from Frau Blutel, his secretary, and Frau Kleimer, his housekeeper and cook.

  In the garage, he lifted the old wooden door and hopped on his motorcycle, then pulled on his helmet in one fluid motion and fastened it. Lifting the kickstand with the toe of his shoe and turning the key, with a blasting roar he was out the door and down the street. He swerved between cars like a madman and prayed that there were not any policemen in the vicinity.

  He slowed for a red light but punched the accelerator when it turned green. He rode fast, but carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone on his way. When he passed on a double line, he silently asked God to forgive him this trespass, but the driver of the vehicle wasn’t as charitable and stuck his arm out the window and shook his fist, cursing.

  Five minutes had passed and he still had several miles to go to reach the subway station. Ahead, vehicles crammed the intersection. He had two choices. Ride the sidewalk. Or take the alley.

  A quick glance at the sidewalk revealed it was as overcrowded with bystanders as the intersection was with cars, so without a second thought, he downshifted two gears and with a belligerent shriek from his engine, leaned left and swerved into the alleyway, punching the gas. A black cat scrambled to get out of his way.

  The pavement was slick, sending the bike skidding dangerously close to a brick wall. Straining, he muscled it back securely under him and continued through the dark passage. Slowing as he approached the end of the alley, he looked right and then left, then shot across the sidewalk. The subway station was directly ahead.

  Driving right up onto the sidewalk, he beeped his horn at a woman to let her know he was driving into the no-parking zone where she was walking. Her head jerked up. When she saw the big bike careening directly at her, she stumbled forward and dropped the cup of coffee she was carrying.

  Florian jerked the bike to a stop several feet from the subway entry. He hopped off and unbuckled his helmet as he ran. For a brief moment he turned and called out to the woman, “So sorry.” That was all he had time for before running into the station.

  The station was dark and it was several seconds before Florian’s eyes adjusted. There were two trains parked on the far side of three sets of tracks. One set of tracks was empty.

  He glanced at his watch. Sixteen minutes had passed. Johann must be on one of the two remaining trains in the station, getting ready to pull out.

  The first train’s doors swished closed, startling Florian into action. He looked quickly around the area. No Johann. Running over the grease-covered rails, he began looking into the windows of the train. He banged on the Plexiglas to get the passengers’ attention.

  No Johann.

  For some unexplained reason, he didn’t feel that Johann was on this train. He would have to follow his instincts, because there was no way to get the automatic doors to open up now, anyway.

  His only chance of retrieving Johann was if he was on the second train. He ran to the entrance and boarded just as the doors closed.

  This train was almost empty. With only a handful of passengers, it was easy to spot Johann’s scraggly head above a seat at the end of the car. The other train pulled out, gently rocking the one he was in. An automated voice came through the speakers announcing they were ready to depart.

  He walked up the aisle slowly toward Johann, whose eyes were red and puffy. The boy didn’t budge from his seat.

  The train surged forward and Bernhard opened his bloodshot eyes and swiped his hand across his face. Florian took the seat opposite the boy and his uncle.

  “Let me take the boy to school, Bernhard. It will go a lot easier for you if you do.”

  “So, Herr Pfarrer Christove,” he slurred, as he tried to sit up. “You are after my Johann again. You know he is the only reminder I have of my dearly departed brother.”

  “Look at you. Can’t you see that you need help? I will help you get straight, my friend. You shouldn’t keep endangering your nephew in this fashion. He is only a frightened little boy.”

  Bernhard pulled Johann close with the grip he still had on his coat. Johann’s pleading eyes tore at Florian’s gut.

  “At the next stop, we are all getting off,” Florian said. “I’ll take you to rehab and get you checked in. Where were you going?”

  Bernhard jumped up. “I’m not getting off,” he bellowed.

  The few passengers turned around and stared. Some got out of their seats and moved as far away as possible. Bernhard saw their reaction and, with a belligerent expression and a few colorful expletives under his voice, slumped back into his seat.

  The train began to slow, and the voice on the speaker announced its arrival at the next statio
n.

  “Come here, Johann. Get your things and come over to me,” Florian said in a steady and commanding voice. Johann’s uncertainty clouded his face. “Come, now,” he repeated.

  The train stopped. Bernhard just stared forward as Johann got up and did as the priest asked. “Go out and wait for me on the walkway.”

  When Johann was safely out the door, Florian took Bernhard by the arm and pulled him up. “We don’t have much time to get off. Come on, now. I will help you.” He pulled the bulky man along the aisle and barely made it off the train before the doors closed.

  Johann waited for them, looking like a little ragamuffin much younger than his seven years. Fear and uncertainty replaced the child’s normal smile and dancing eyes.

  An attendant had seen the odd threesome getting off the train and came over to see what the problem was.

  Florian explained that he had boarded at the last station without a ticket, and asked how much he owed. The attendant assessed the situation of the slouched man, the frightened boy, and the white collar around Florian’s neck, and shook his head.

  Bernhard was hardly able to stumble along on his own. When they reached the street, Florian sat Bernhard on a bench and took Johann aside.

  He hunkered to eye level. “Are you all right?”

  “Ja.” As the barely audible word tumbled out of Johann’s mouth, his resolve crumbled and he broke into tears. He vaulted into Florian’s embrace and the priest wrapped his strong arms around him. Johann sobbed, his fear real, and clung to him like a vine.

  “Shhh. Don’t cry, my brave little Johann. God loves you. You are His bravest soldier. He depends on you very much.” That statement usually brought a smile to the boy’s face but now it was as if he hadn’t heard a word.

  Florian tried a different tack. “I left my motorbike at the other station. Illegally parked on the sidewalk, no less. We should go back and retrieve it—before I get a ticket.” Johann loved his motorcycle.

  Johann pulled his head back and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. “Let us go.”

  “Okay. Let’s.”

  When they turned around to the bench, Bernhard was gone. Scared little eyes looked up into Florian’s. “I will find him, Johann, and get him back into the rehabilitation program. We must pray for your uncle and do our very best to love him and help him. Do you understand?”

  Johann nodded. They walked along in relieved silence, Johann’s hand tightly gripping his.

  Camille’s hand shook violently as she inserted the key into the front door lock. That motorcycle had almost run her down in cold blood. Its driver didn’t even seem to care. He’d jumped from the bike and ran like a wild man for the station. He’d turned back for an instant, long enough for her to see the depth of passion in his eyes.

  Günther had warned her, and he was right. Motorbikes didn’t stop for anything. And too bad too. That cup of coffee, before she’d dropped it, had been the best she’d ever tasted. Now it was splattered down the front of her tights. From now on, she would be much more watchful as she walked. This was not the United States.

  The house was warm and quiet, and smelled of something delicious cooking. The soothing aroma calmed her rattled nerves. She laughed at herself, remembering her funny scream when she’d seen the motorcycle bearing down on her. Tomorrow she’d buy a journal. She’d call it “My Disastrous Adventures Abroad.”

  Unhurriedly, she made her way into the kitchen and up the back spiral staircase to her bedroom, feeling a bit like an intruder. Above the threshold to her room, she noticed a little sign she’d missed before, carved in knotty pine, and done in sweetly scripted writing. Little etched flowers decorated the border.

  “EDELWEISS ZIMMER,” she read, feeling as if she’d stepped into a dream.

  The sunshine-yellow room, with white crown molding and baseboards, filled her with joy. It had been tidied and a vase of fresh flowers had been added to the table next to her bed. A note saying she’d received a phone call from her mother leaned on the vase. Since her mom was a very early riser, she picked up the phone and dialed but the line was busy. She removed her skirt and sweater, hung them in her closet, and pulled on her sweats. She filled the bathroom basin to soak her tights.

  Digging through her backpack, she pulled out her address book. Flipping to the entry for Dr. Williamson, she dialed the number.

  “Guten Tag. Dr. Williamson’s Büro.”

  “Hello. I was referred to your office by Dr. Ashland, my physician in the United States.”

  “Your name?”

  “Camille Ashland.”

  “One moment, please.”

  The line clicked, followed by classical music playing softly on the line. She swung her feet up onto the bed and reclined onto the fluffy pillows.

  The woman came back on the line. “Your information is already in our system. Would you like to make an appointment?”

  “Yes.”

  Camille heard another phone ringing in the office.

  “One moment.”

  The music was back so Camille closed her eyes. A relaxing moment passed, then Günther Christove popped into her mind. Günther and his all too charming smile. His charming smile and his expressive blue eyes. His expressive eyes and his soothing voice…

  She sat up, surprised. She hadn’t thought about a man, any man, like this, not since Bret’s passing. On reflection of her late husband, a powerful band of bitterness gripped her chest and threatened to come up into her throat.

  The line clicked again. “My next available appointment is this Wednesday at ten a.m.”

  “That soon?”

  “There was a special notation in your file that you were to be seen right away.”

  “I see.”

  “Will Wednesday work for you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she responded. With the appointment made, they said their good-byes. She returned the phone and lay back into the pillows.

  It was quiet. She loved this cheery little room. Her gaze meandered around slowly until it landed on a book on the nightstand that she’d seen before, but hadn’t looked at yet.

  She picked it up and was surprised and happy to find it written in English. The Eberstarks were so thoughtful. She let the book fall open.

  “If a soul is seeking God, its Beloved is seeking it much more… He attracts the soul and causes it to run after Him.” (J.C. LF, 3,28)

  She thought about the words she’d just read for several seconds, letting them seep into her mind. “Lord, are you looking for me now?” she whispered. “Were you looking for me all those years ago? No, I’m sure you weren’t because I wasn’t looking for you. I was too busy. Caught up in my life. Caught up in my work.”

  An especially hurtful memory popped into her head. Bret, angry because she’d gotten pregnant. A time of joy had gone so bad. “Thought we agreed we’d wait,” he’d said, angrily bumping past. “Now you’ll be ready to deliver at the exact time of the Indy 500. Nice going, Camille.”

  So much heartache at what was meant to be the happiest time in their life. They should have talked about important things before getting engaged. Things like beliefs and expectations. Instead, they’d partied and went about as if it were no big deal.

  Time slowed. Somewhere outside a bird trilled, and Camille felt a semblance of peace descend into her heart about her past marriage, and the turbulent years that followed. Her eyes grew heavy after her emotionally charged day. She yawned and settled back into her pillow.

  Chapter Seven

  With several turns of his wrist and a quick tug, the wine cork slid easily from the expensive bottle of cabernet. Günther filled his glass, deriving pleasure from the little splashing sounds the dark burgundy created.

  He appreciated a nice glass of wine now and then, and this fine bottle, of a very good year, was a gift from a former student.

  “Hello, Flocki,” he said to the small black and white cat that wound through his legs in an affectionate greeting. “I’ve been saving this bottle for a speci
al occasion, but since that time has not yet arrived and I don’t see it arriving anytime in the near future, we’ll enjoy it together tonight. What do you say?”

  He swirled the wine around the glass several times with finesse then took a sip, holding the liquid for a few moments in his mouth to savor its exquisite flavor. Swallowing, he welcomed the warmth spreading through his body.

  The cat’s insistent purring was loud. “I’m happy to see you too, my furry little friend.” He picked her up and stroked her velvety coat. “Now, where are my glasses?”

  The purring cat in one arm and his glass of wine in the other hand, he went in search of his reading glasses. The one-room flat didn’t have many places to lose something, and he soon found them under the newspaper haphazardly draped on the divan.

  Exchanging the cat for his mail, he sank into his recliner, clicked on the freestanding lamp, and flipped through the stack of envelopes. The cat hopped onto his lap at her first opportunity and in the process of getting comfortable, tickled his nose with her tail.

  He waited for her to get completely settled. “Are you quite finished?” She seemed to be, so Günther took a drink and continued with his mail.

  Bills. Three solicitations. A postcard from the electric company announcing an interruption in service next Monday. Ah, an envelope of interest. Small, handwritten, heavy. Return address from Spain. He opened it and was surprised to find a key enclosed.

  Lieber Herr Christove,

  Thank you for your dedication and creative teaching style that so delighted and inspired Falicia. She enjoyed her term with you at the Institute and still talks about it all the time. She has blossomed from a shy girl into a beautiful young woman. We are very pleased and cannot thank you enough.

  As a small token of our appreciation, please accept the offer of our second home in Switzerland. It is located in the tiny alpine village of Champery. It’s cozy and within walking distance to the main street.

  We have enclosed the key for your convenience. Our vacation plans this year don’t include Champery and we don’t let it out to others, so it is readily available to you. You can plan an extended stay or just drop in for a day or two. It will please us greatly if you find time to use it.