by P. G. Glynn
In any event, with her time in Schloss Berger drawing to an end and, given that future visits here would be more or less as a guest, it had seemed somehow imperative to familiarise herself fully with Otto’s home. So she had been exploring with her daughter and currently their explorations had brought them right up into the loft.
Mama had mentioned that interesting things were stored in the castle’s vast roof-space and had also told her that when Otto was Carla’s age he had liked nothing better than to be taken into the clock tower, where wheels turned and whirred and where he could listen to the loud tick-tock of the works. The tower was at the far end from their point of ascent and, supporting Carla on her hip, Marie was slowly progressing in that direction. Her progress was slowed by the sheepskins hanging from the rafters to dry and by the cobwebs she was trying to avoid for fear of alarming Carla. She felt so protective toward her daughter that she was forever thinking ahead in order to keep her from all possible harm. How hard it was going to be, later on, to watch her go off independently into the world, with all its attendant dangers! But that was years away yet and certainly no cause for current concern.
Despite a long row of circular windows being open, it was oppressively hot and stuffy in the loft and as well as a leathery smell there was a strong musky odour. Marie had no intention of dallying there although she was keen to rummage through the contents of some of the huge, dusty trunks strewn haphazardly beneath the skins.
Crossing to a window so that Carla and she could breathe more freely and also see whatever there was to see, Marie took some much-needed gulps of fresh air before gazing out across Herrlichbach. The Giant Mountains formed a backcloth to a landscape dominated by the mile-distant linen factory and bleach works belonging to the Bergers. These massive buildings with their soaring chimneys dwarfed the village and rather marred the view but they were essential to the local economy, given that most villagers were factory-workers. Marie had learned from Anna that some inhabitants were so poor they could afford meat just once a month, while many could afford it only once a week. It seemed that the Czechs were often poorer than the Germans, though the reasons eluded her. Easy to tell who lived where, since Czech-speakers built their homes close together while German-speakers tended to build as far as possible from their neighbours. Otto seemed to think that this separatism had more to do with the enmity that had always existed between the factions than with matters of finance. Sighing at the inequality and bad feeling in existence, Marie turned her attention to the village church where the family often worshipped. Its rectangular tower was crowned with a distinctive conical dome which today, in the sunlight, shone like pure gold. There, at the heart of the village, the church seemed suddenly like a beacon beckoning sinners.
Marie felt a pang then amounting almost to nostalgia for the life she had lived here and that she would not be living for much longer. She had never thought to experience a sense of regret upon leaving and yet there were things to be said in Schloss Berger’s favour. Mama and Anna had been so kind to her and this was, after all, Carla’s birthplace. Could it possibly be a mistake to be going to Beulah for the birth of her next baby? Shivering, as if caught unwillingly in the wind of change, Marie hugged Carla to her saying: “What a silly Mama I am! I move heaven and earth to get my own way and then, when I’ve got it, I start wondering whether it’s what I want. Of course it is! Just think – we’ll soon be in London and you’ll be meeting Uncle John.”
Carla gurgled appreciatively and they moved on, Marie feeling her way between sheepskins to a little cluster of trunks. Blowing off a cloud of dust, she lifted the lid of one and saw a gown lying on top of the other contents. As she touched its dark green taffeta, fingering it with awe, she thought of its wearer and wondered about her. Had the dress been Mama’s, back in her youth, or could it have belonged to Otto’s grandmother? It might even have been worn by dead Tante Elsa, who lived on in Onkel Emil’s head. All three had been young once. How fleeting youth must be … how very temporary! Marie felt a sudden sadness descend as she sensed that she would be old before she was ready.
As she straightened up after rummaging further her face brushed against something soft and furry. Startled, Marie peered at it through the gloom and the ‘something’ – having been hanging upside-down from a rafter – moved, spreading its sizable wings and flying silently past her and Carla to a new roost in a dark corner. She had seen a bat before, but never at such close quarters … and now she saw that there were numerous immobile bodies with furry grey faces hanging above her, which explained the musky odour.
As the creature flew close by Carla started crying so, to soothe her, Marie said: “This is the bats’ bedroom, so they’ve more right to be here than we have. Shall I tell you about Abou Ben Adhem?”
Carla, her tears instantly forgotten, clapped her hands together. She liked it when Mama talked to her. She liked listening to the sounds Mama made and was waiting for the day when she could make those same sounds. So she listened right through Leigh Hunt’s poem to the last verse: “‘Abou spoke more low, but cheerily still and said ‘I pray thee, then, write me as one that loves his fellow men’. The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night it came again with a great wakening light and showed the names whom love of God had blessed; and lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.’”
Carla clapped her hands again. Then, concentrating and forcing her mouth to form the word, she said: “Abou, boo! Abou, boo!”
“There’s clever you are!” Marie marvelled. “You must be the cleverest girl in the whole, wide world.”
“Avast!”
Shocked beyond words, Marie almost dropped Carla as a bizarre figure jumped up from an open trunk shouting that at her. Her heart thumped erratically as she absorbed the sight she was seeing. The would-be Dragoon was wearing a uniform several sizes too large for him. The royal blue jacket with its brass buttons was almost long enough to be a coat and the red trousers sagged at the crotch, flapping over his feet like flippers as he stepped from the trunk waving a sabre and crying “Avast!” again. But it was his head that demanded most attention, being concealed within a brass helmet upon a sort of stalk from which sat a flat appendage, the overall effect somewhat reminiscent of a mortarboard.
Now that Marie had rumbled the wearer’s identity she was able to say crossly: “Put that sabre down, Onkel Emil! It’s dangerous – and you’ve no business leaping out like that on people. You nearly frightened the life out of Carla and me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, obediently dropping the sabre as Marie started to calm her crying baby. “I never meant to frighten you. I was just getting ready for the enemy.”
“There’s no need. The war is over.”
“One is … but another isn’t.” He looked furtively over his shoulder before informing her: “The Germans are coming.”
“Then it’s just as well that they’re on Bohemia’s side.”
“Not next time!”
“There won’t be a ‘next time’.”
“A common misconception. Why won’t anyone listen to me when I warn that Germany is our enemy? The Germans will have a lunatic for a leader and nothing will be as it has been. I keep … dreaming of him and he is … to be feared, here in Czechoslovakia. Tell them for me, Marie. Tell them,” he pleaded earnestly, in a trembly falsetto, “that history will show old Emil knows things nobody else seems to know.”
There was such sincerity in his tone that for one extraordinary moment Marie believed he had seen the future in his dreams. In that moment she felt fear for Carla and for her unborn son and for all today’s children. But belief turned almost immediately to disbelief and she humoured the pseudo-Dragoon, promising: “I’ll tell them, when the time comes and I have proof, that Onkel Emil knew a thing or two.”
+++++
As they started out with Josef Patzak, the Herr Gaertner, and the hounds Otto was still wondering why he had agreed to go hunting with Ludwig. There was no hunting on horseback in the Giant Mountains so they were
on foot, carrying their rifles while Josef and the shotguns followed on behind. Thinking about it, Otto concluded that he had agreed because he wanted his brother to know he was fooling nobody.
Last night Ludwig had returned alone from Berlin pretending that Lenka was having too much fun in the big city to accompany him. Did he seriously believe that Anna had kept Lenka’s secret from Rudolf … and that in turn Rudolf had kept it from Otto? If he did he was an even bigger idiot than he seemed … and it was time to strip him of his belief.
Had he been anyone but Ludwig, Otto would have felt sorry for him. There was something pitiable about the man putting on an act for the family and imagining that they didn’t see through it. Ludwig, though, was too pompous to be pitied. He was still such an arrogant swine, despite everything, that it would be amusing to prick his balloon.
“You’ve heard I’m to be a father again?” Otto said as they emerged from dense woods on to grassland, the hounds barking at their heels. “I’m hoping for a son this time. We Bergers need an heir, don’t we?”
“What an insensitive bastard you are!” Ludwig snarled. “Life hasn’t touched you yet, has it, brother? But it will, some day. Nobody, not even you, escapes. And when it does, I trust I’ll be there to spit in your face.”
“So you had heard!” Otto said drily. “I knew you’d be happy for Marie and me.”
“I understand that the birth is to take place in Britain. Lenka was right in describing you as Marie’s Prinzgemahl. The consort can’t even stand up to his queen sufficiently to insist on her giving birth in Schloss Berger.” As he spoke the hounds flushed out a hare upon which he vented his anger, annihilating the poor creature with his rifle rather than accepting a double-barrelled shotgun from the head gardener. “How pathetic you are!”
Sickened by the sight he had just witnessed, Otto was reminded of a ‘gypsy gathering’ his brother had once organised. Otto was little more than a child at the time, while Ludwig was practically a man – and already sadistic. Hidden from prying eyes by a thicket of orange blossom bushes in the castle grounds, Ludwig and his guests – all dressed as gypsies – had cooked food over an open fire and eaten it, washed down with forbidden drink. Then a cat had strayed into their midst. Before anyone could stop him Ludwig had grabbed it, suspending the petrified thing by its tail over the cauldron before dropping it in and boiling it alive in the bubbling water.
The memory of this horror fresh in his head Otto said: “If I were pathetic, I’d sooner be that than a sadist. But I’m not. To be honest, I’m so happy at the knowledge that my seed is growing in Marie that I’d go anywhere with her for the birth. And don’t forget that birth in Britain, or indeed in Timbuktu, makes no difference to the fact that if Lenka remains barren – which is perhaps a desirable state for her – Schloss Berger and these lands will be my son’s heirdom. Incidentally, how is Lenka?”
Ludwig eyed him warily. “Enjoying life, as I’ve said.”
“She likes it there, then?”
“We both like Berlin.”
“You never used to like it – or the Germans.”
“A man can change his mind … and I’ve changed mine.”
“Fancy that! You’ll be championing Jewry next.”
“Never!” Ludwig spat contemptuously. “Jews are filthy pigs.”
“So can one conclude that the woman who has given so much to so many is feeling better than she felt when the men in white coats came to cart her off?”
“There were no such men,” Ludwig said, his fists clenched, “but you’re as good as dead.” Gesturing to Josef and swapping his rifle for a shotgun, Ludwig pointed it at Otto. “I should have killed you long ago.”
“What stopped you?” Otto asked him, looking at the twin barrels and trying not to think about the consequences should Ludwig squeeze the trigger. “The thought of Mama?” It had been thoughts of her that had stopped Otto murdering Ludwig on a pre-war hunting expedition when, instead of killing him, he had emptied some shot into his brother’s buttocks. “If you kill me she’ll disown you, won’t she?”
Knowing the truth of this and knowing he could not live with Mama’s rejection of him, Ludwig told Otto: “Watch what I’m about to do. When you’ve watched, remember my promise: if you and your precious family ever return to Herrlichbach in an attempt to claim what’s rightfully mine, then nothing – no, not even the hurt in Mama’s eyes – will stop me doing this to you.”
So saying, he swung round and aimed his gun at a nearby hound, firing one barrel into the dog, which in a nauseating explosion of blood and guts, was blown to bits.
31
Marie and Otto were leaving Bohemia tomorrow and, with the help of her brother Franz, Marta had devised a plan to bring the little family back. Here, not Britain, was where they belonged – especially if the new baby was a boy. Otto’s son must grow up in Schloss Berger, surrounded by the lands that would be his some day. There could be no question of his growing up in London, far from home and from the environment that should mould him as he grew to be a man. Marie was quite wrong in putting her theatrical ambitions ahead of her husband’s and children’s welfare, so it was Marta’s motherly duty to step in and see to it that when they returned they would be returning for more than a visit.
Marriage involved sacrifice on the part of a wife, as Marie would see in time just as Marta had seen when she sacrificed her Czech heritage and all that went with it by marrying the man who had later so betrayed her. But Antonin’s betrayal was still in the future when she became his bride … and, looking back, Marta just remembered the good times. It was no use dwelling on past hurts. To do so only kept these alive and, with Antonin long dead, it was best to forget. Not that she could, altogether, but it was surprising how much could be submerged and more or less forgotten if the wish to forget was present. The family was the important thing. In fact the family was everything, as Marie would learn.
If Marta had to be her teacher, so be it. She was more than willing to teach from her own experience. It might well be that Marie had acting ability but when she married she had effectively turned her back on being an actress. Women were meant to be wives and mothers, not to cavort on a stage in front of an audience … not, at least, if it interfered with their children’s upbringing. Babies did not ask to be born. They were innocents brought into this wicked world by the fusion of flesh and by man’s need to reproduce himself. Having been brought here they needed their mother’s protection and her full attention until such time as they could fend for themselves. Mothers owed that to their children and, when all was said and done, it was the woman who held a family together. Her role was a pivotal one allowing no room for self-interest. Civilisation could not progress unless mothers fulfilled their rightful role at the heart of the household. So Marta was perfectly justified in devising her plan and had no hesitation in implementing it.
She had enlisted Franz’s assistance because he was a wizard with figures. It was his expertise that had turned Kadlecove Kobercove Tovary into the largest carpet works in the old Empire and that had brought the Kadlec family a fortune, too, through its breweries. Thanks to him Marta was a wealthy woman in her own right, quite apart from the wealth accruing to her from the Berger linen empire. She could well afford to be generous with her income – generous enough to influence Otto’s judgment.
Marta had waited until the eve of his departure, knowing her son well enough to know that that would be the optimum time for him to sign the papers Franz had reluctantly drawn up. Otto would be beginning to feel the wrench that he always felt when leaving her and Schloss Berger for foreign shores. He felt this but still went because, as he said, there was a world out there waiting to be explored. Now, of course, there was more: now Otto had a wife at his side who was far from her own country and who was exerting pressure on him to desert his homeland for hers. Men – especially when in love! – could be so easily pressured.
A man was putty in the hands of a determined woman and there could be no doubting Marie’s
determination to settle in London. Given her youth and nationality that was understandable, but surely not even she would choose to live over there in comparative poverty when she could live here in the lap of luxury. She had said recently that her childhood home in Wales was smaller than the cabin on the Schneekoppe and that she didn’t know how she would adapt to the restrictions of being back there after being utterly unrestricted here. So she was not wholly convinced she was doing the right thing … and simply needed convincing that living anywhere other than here was wrong.
First Marta needed to concentrate on Otto, though … and on his patriotism. So the cloth covering the table in the grand salon had been especially made in white, red and blue to remind him of the flag that flew from the Hradschin and all the relatives had been invited over to dine and say ‘goodbye’. Hans Berger – Antonin’s brother – was here from nearby Mohren with his wife Gretl and sons Roland, Hugi, Josef and Georg (Claus and Heinrich having been killed in action), while another brother – Alfred – had brought his wife Petra and family from Oberaltstadt. They were tolerated rather than liked by the surviving Kadlecs from Koenigenhof who, having come much farther, would be staying awhile and seeing something of Emil, whose mind was as muddled as his half-brother Franz’s was methodical. Strange, how genes determined characteristics and how the same father and different mothers could produce sons with as little in common as Emil and Franz … and …
But now was no time for thinking back. Tonight was a time for thinking ahead and for securing her grandchildren’s future, which Marta would secure if it killed her. She must tread gently, though, showing no undue emotion. Everything depended on her approach and on Otto’s receptiveness. He should be receptive, after listening to this! As the family and guests assembled for dinner Marta could hear Rudolf playing Dvorak folk tunes on his violin, just as she had instructed him. And at the end of the meal, when the last Tlascenka had been eaten, the last glass of Slivovitz drunk, he would stand and play the Austrian National Anthem and then the Czech ‘Kde Domov Muj’. If all that didn’t stir Otto nothing would and, so stirred, perhaps with tears in his eyes, he would surely see sense and sign …
