The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  Street signs printed in German lined the highway that ran into the heart of the city’s old quarter. The driver exited onto the main thoroughfare that paralleled the slow-moving Limmat River. The city got older the farther he drove. Centuries-old church spires rose toward the heavens in front of us. Each narrow cobblestone side street opened for a split second then closed off its secrets as we rushed by. We crossed the river over an old stone bridge and turned down a twisting one-way side street only wide enough for one car. “Augustiner Strasse”16 was painted in a rectangle on the wall of a building at the end of the block. The serpentine trail of wet cobblestones ended in front of a white-stone hotel, the Hotel St. Germain. We pulled into the circular driveway and stopped in front of the large black front door. I looked over at Poppy for some indication of what was going on. My heart was hammering.

  “This is home. This is the Cognomina,” she said, waiting for the driver to open her door.

  I followed her. She pulled on a white rope that hung next to the door, ringing a bell inside. I set down my things, put my nervous hands in my pockets to keep them from moving, and rocked back and forth. I looked at Poppy, then looked at the door. Two deadbolts cleared their latches before the door creaked open.

  A tall, thin, tuxedo-clad man appeared behind the door. He stood just over six feet tall. The tuxedo jacket hung loosely on his lanky frame. His narrow, chiseled face betrayed little about his age, but with the gray intermingled in his black hair and his tired posture, I would have guessed him to be about fifty. He didn’t have the tattoo on his hand. He smiled when he saw Poppy. “Hello, Madame, so nice to see you again,” he said in English with a thick German accent.

  “Thank you, and how are you doing?”

  “Very well, Madame. Thank you for asking.” He turned to me and tilted his head back. “And you must be Herr Michaels.” I nodded. “My name is Leopold Diltz. It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m the caretaker here. Welcome to the Hotel St. Germain. Please come this way, I’ve already had a suite prepared for you.” He bowed slightly and turned back to Poppy. “Your usual suite is ready, Madame.” He closed and locked the door, then walked ahead of us into the lobby. A large silver-and-crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling of the lobby and filled every inch of the room with light. Several oil paintings and sketches hung on the white walls above red velvet armchairs and couches.

  “Can you show me this town tonight?” I asked Poppy in a whisper as we walked behind Diltz.

  “Oh, sorry, love. I can’t. I’ve got an appointment later to­night,” she said, taking two quick steps ahead of me. “Have any others arrived yet?” she asked Diltz.

  “Yes, about half, Madame,” he said as he turned right down a short hallway with two doors on each side. He opened the first door on the right. “This is your room, sir. Dinner will be served in the dining room at eight o’clock.”

  Poppy stood behind him. I looked at her as I hovered in the open doorway. “Get some rest, Evan. I’ll see you before I go out,” she said and walked away.

  “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need any attention for your injury, sir,” Diltz said as he closed the door.

  Alone again. The room’s furnishings were old but pleasant. Dark wood paneling covered the lower part of the walls and was color matched to the parquet hardwood floor. I perused the books on the recessed bookshelf before I walked into the bathroom, filled the large bathtub, and climbed in.

  the knock on the door woke me at seven forty-five. It was a young woman dressed in the black-and-white dress of the staff’s uniform. “Your dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she said, struggling with the English.

  I donned the dark suit along with a black shoe and sock and walked down the hall toward the lobby.

  “Right this way, sir,” Mr. Diltz said, sliding two dark wooden doors open, revealing a large dining room. The long, narrow table had twenty high-backed, carved wooden chairs around it. Each one richly inlaid with red-leather padding. A single white plate and table setting lay in front of the end chair. “Please be seated. I’ll have your meal brought out promptly.”

  “Where’s everybody else? Isn’t Poppy going to eat?”

  “The Madame has decided to eat with the others after you’ve finished.” He exited out a side door and quickly reappeared with three staff women trailing behind him, each carrying a silver-domed tray. They sat the trays in front of me as two more women appeared carrying wine, water, and glasses. The flavorful aromas hit me one by one as they pulled the domes off. “Chicken Kiev, rare roast beef, and poached salmon with fresh dill, all with accompanying vegetables,” Diltz said, taking a serving spoon from one of the girls.

  “I’ll start with the fish,” I said.

  He placed a fillet on my plate along with rice and steamed brussels sprouts. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Well . . .” I hesitated.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It’s just that I feel sort of uncomfortable eating alone in this large room.”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you join me?”

  Mr. Diltz looked surprised and took a few seconds to answer. “Yes, of course.” He sat two chairs down from the end. “Bring some rye rolls and seltzer please,” he said to the girl standing next to the side door.

  “Have you ever been to Zurich before?” he asked.

  “No. This is my first trip to Europe since . . . Well, it’s been a while,” I stammered. The girl reappeared and sat the rolls between us.

  “I’m sorry you have to eat alone like this. There’s little I can do about it, but I’m embarrassed that I didn’t think about it when I prepared for your arrival. Please excuse the oversight.”

  “It’s all right. It was explained to me,” I said. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” he answered.

  “But you’re not one of them, are you?”

  “No, my position as the caretaker here is something different. You could say I’m an organizer, a secretary of sorts,” he said, buttering a roll.

  “How did you start here? I mean, why you?”

  “I inherited the position. My family has a unique relationship with the Cognomina. The men in my family have been caretakers here for five generations. We are the only people in the world, besides each other, they can completely trust.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I took over after my father’s death.”

  I thought about his answer as I ate. “Poppy said the last newcomer, the last neophyte, to enter was in the 1920s, so you’ve never received someone like me.”

  “That is correct, sir. It’s a first for both of us, you might say,” he said, reaching for his drink. “Please, let me know if there are any inadequacies in the accommodations.”

  “Everything is great so far, but I might need you to make a map for me, something that points out places of interest nearby if it’s no trouble. I want to explore a little, and Poppy said she had an appointment, so it looks like I’m solo tonight.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. There are plenty of sights within a few blocks. This is the oldest part of the city. I’ll make a map for you so you don’t get lost—there are numerous unmarked side streets and blind alleys that can easily lead you off course.”

  I finished the meal and placed my napkin on the plate.

  “Dessert?” Diltz asked.

  “Later tonight, perhaps after I go out.”

  “As you wish, sir,” he said, getting up to open the doors.

  the suit was ridiculous. I had dressed up to eat alone. I closed the door to my room, took one of Poppy’s painkillers, and laid down to rest. I drifted in and out of a light slumber, unable to keep my eyes closed because of the boisterous noises now coming from the dining room. Putting on a dress shirt and jeans, I grabbed the cane and walked into the lobby. Diltz stood in front of the dining room doors
like a sentry. The shouting, laughing, and clanging of china behind him was distracting.

  “Ah, Herr Michaels. I prepared the map you requested,” he said, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “It shows several points of interest in the area including a tavern or two. Would you like a car?”

  “No, I’m going to walk tonight,” I said, taking the map from him. The sounds of laughter and conversation became much louder as one of the doors slid open behind him. I caught a glimpse of two women and one man laughing on the far side of the platter-strewn table when Poppy came through the door.

  “Did you send for the driver as I requested?” Poppy asked Mr. Diltz in an impatient voice.

  “Yes, Madame. Your driver should be here momentarily,” he said, reaching behind her to slide the door closed.

  “Let me know the minute he arrives.” She turned to me. “How are you? I’m sorry I have to leave you tonight, but it’s very important that I see someone. Maybe we can get together later tonight.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, smiling.

  “I’ll see you later then,” she said, slipping back into the dining room between the sliding doors.

  “Thanks for the map,” I said to Diltz. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “I’ll see you out, sir.”

  I heard both locks latch closed as I walked down the driveway. The rain had stopped, and the night air smelled fresh and new. A small sliver of moon hung low over the dark outline of the nearby rooftops. I realized as I wandered aimlessly through those ancient streets that I was walking toward the future. But try as I might to look forward, part of my mind still echoed back to Henry’s warning. Bad medicine, he’d said. He was right about that. I knew that was where she was off to. But right as he was about that, he was wrong about the rest. He didn’t know, he could never know. As much as I cared for him, he could never know about the mental strain of carrying around the hopes, disappointments, and loves of souls who should have been long dead, their voices infecting your thoughts like a virus. He could never know the disappointment when you realize you’ve been lied to on the grandest scale, and he could never know the hopelessness you feel when it starts to come together and you begin to see that there is no reward for being good and no punishment for being bad, when you see that there is only the loneliness of being. He could never know, but Poppy knew. And in time, I would know, whether I liked it or not. He was right about her indulgences, and they bothered me, but try as I might, I could not bring myself to begrudge her responses to the same hazards I could see on my own horizon.

  I pulled out the map, found my bearings, and walked the four blocks to one of the taverns Mr. Diltz had marked.

  The Fraumunster Inn was exactly what I had expected to find.17 It sat on the corner of two narrow streets. Accordion music echoed down the cramped canyons of the neighborhood like a siren’s song, beckoning all within earshot. I sat at the short wooden bar and drank alone with my thoughts.

  the walk back to the hotel saint germain took an hour. My thoughts returned to the task at hand when the white two-story building came into view. I was less than a block away when the familiar gray stretch Mercedes sped past me and turned into the driveway. I picked up my limping pace so that I would arrive at the front door at the same time as the passenger.

  The driver got out and opened the back door just as I walked up. The passenger stepped out into the light and looked right at me. He was slightly taller than me when he straightened up, and he wore a pullover tunic. It made his barrel chest and stomach look larger than they probably were. His brown, curly hair was thinning on top and ran down the sides of his head, meeting in a sparse beard that barely covered his full jaw and chin. His pale brown eyes stayed locked with mine as he stretched.

  “Hello there,” he bellowed in a jovial voice. I stood dumbfounded, unable to speak. The tattoo showed prominently when he lowered his hands to his sides. “Are you sure you’re in the right place, young man?”

  I nodded quickly.

  “I see.” His baritone voice carried out into the anonymous night. He walked over and rang the bell. “Did you arrive today?”

  “Yes,” I said in a state of silent panic.

  “Is this your first time here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s a slow town all in all but it serves our needs nicely. Ah, here we go,” he said hearing the locks slide free.

  “You made it.” Mr. Diltz said to him. “How nice to see you, sir. I was beginning to worry.”

  “I had a bit of trouble in Tangiers, but I made it, and look at what I found,” he said, pointing to me.

  “Yes,” said Diltz. “That would be Herr Michaels.”

  “Ah, Nice to meet you,” the stranger said, shaking my clammy hand. I nodded. “Here, let’s go in.” He motioned for me to enter first.

  “Everything is prepared in your suite, sir,” Diltz said to him.

  “Good. What time are we eating tomorrow morning?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll see you then,” he said, turning up the stairs that led to the second floor. “And good night to you, Mr. Michaels.”

  Diltz continued down the hall to my room.

  I watched until he had climbed out of sight. “Is Poppy back yet?” I asked the caretaker.

  “No, sir.”

  “Did she call?”

  “No, sir.”

  My spirit sank slightly. “Would you leave a message for her for when she gets back?”

  “Yes, of course. What would you like me to relay to her?”

  “Tell her to wake me when she gets in. I would like to see her.”

  “Very good, sir. Your breakfast will be ready at nine o’clock. Is that satisfactory?”

  I nodded, went inside, and picked up a book on the nightstand as I lay down. The fictional words were little solace for the genuine pangs I was feeling. Love is an indifferent affectation. It knows no right or wrong and doesn’t care if you like it or not when it comes. If you feel it, you feel it. And I felt it there, alone on that bed in this strange new world. I read the same paragraph three or four times, unable to focus and control my own thoughts. I owed everything to her: my foot, my not being in jail, this trip, this family, even this new life itself. I closed my eyes and set the book aside.

  sharp knocking woke me out of a dead sleep. Sunshine highlighted half the bed. The knocking began again as I walked over to the door.

  “Your breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes, sir,” Diltz said, standing in the open doorway.

  “What time is it?” I asked, half asleep.

  “Eight thirty sir, in the a.m.”

  “I told you to have Poppy wake me up.”

  “Yes, sir, you did. Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver your message, as she has not yet returned.”

  I scratched my head. “She isn’t back yet?” I asked, concerned.

  “No, but not to worry, sir. It’s not unusual. Come down to the dining room when you’re ready,” he said, and walked away.

  I hopped to the bathroom and started at the stitches with a pair of small scissors and tweezers. The wound remained closed and itched less with the stitches out. I wrapped it tightly before making my way down to the dining room.

  I ate alone, reading that day’s London edition of the New York Times that Diltz had left for me. He came in as I finished.

  “What time will it start tonight?” I asked.

  “It will begin after dinner. We’ll be dining at eight thirty sharp.”

  I nodded. I knew there was no way I could just sit there all day and wait for Poppy to return. “I thought I’d step out for a while. It looks nice outside.”

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea, sir.”

  “Would you tell Poppy to meet me here before supper tonight?”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll see you out.” />
  The sun warmed my bones as I tested my foot. I ambled around for most of the afternoon, taking in several of the points Diltz had marked on the map; three museums, two churches, and an old battlement, anything to occupy time and take my mind off of Poppy and what awaited me tonight.

  i was walking down a café-lined boulevard next to the river when I saw it. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be here now in large numbers, and I was taken by surprise when I spotted a female hand with the now-familiar Embe tattoo on it. I noticed it twenty-five feet away. The skin color was too light to be Poppy. She sat in the courtyard of the Café Grossmunster reading a newspaper. I went in the front door, paid for a cup of coffee, and stepped out into the courtyard bordering the sidewalk. She sat alone. The newspaper obscured her face. Luckily, there were no vacant tables when I came out, and I limped over to her’s.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “No, not at all,” she said in a Slavic accent that sounded a little like Bulgarian. She didn’t lower the German-language newspaper.

  Hanging my cane on the edge of the table, I took a seat. I sipped my coffee and watched the river traffic as I thought about what to say. “Your accent, is it Bulgarian?”

  She ruffled the paper slightly and shifted in her seat. “I am from Poland.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “What is interesting? Being from Poland? Not very,” she said sardonically behind her white paper.

  “No, I find the accent interesting,” I said defensively. “I’m usually very accurate about them and I wouldn’t have thought Polish.”

  She turned a page and continued reading. “Do you speak Bulgarian?” she asked in a mocking tone in Bulgarian.