"What is wrong, Herr Kaldy?" Louisa asked.
After a few moments he shook his head. "Nothing... something... I don’t know, I don’t know. For an instant there was something...something...after you said...after you said...there was something..."
"A memory?" Weyrauch asked. "Did you remember something, Herr Kaldy?"
"A memory..." he said quietly. "No, not a memory, not an incident, not an event...a feeling...a very old feeling..."
"What was the feeling," he asked, excitement growing in him. "What was the feeling?"
Kaldy’s eyes seemed to glaze over. "I feeling of hot wind and sweat...a feeling of fear...of desire...a fear of death...a desire for life..." His lips moved with a slight tremble. When he spoke, his voice was a strained and muddled whisper, and each syllable of the strange words which came haltingly from his mouth seemed attended by pain. "Haitaumash... kakoshenkar..." he whispered, grimacing and beginning to tremble. "...mashkamash... kakosheshkar..."
"What, Kaldy?" Weyrauch asked, grabbing the pen and paper from Louisa’s hands. "What did you say?"
"Haitaumash...kakoshenkar..." he repeated in a strained, breaking voice, "....kakosheshkar...mashkamash…"
"What does that mean, Kaldy?" Weyrauch asked as he did his best to copy down the alien sounds which had come from Kaldy’s lips. "What are you saying?"
"I... I don’t know..." Kaldy began to weep. "I don’t know, I don’t know!" He grabbed his head with his hands and shook it roughly. "I don’t know, I don’t know. Please, leave me in peace for a little time, please." Weyrauch looked over at his wife. She did not return his look. And then he summoned the guard and had Kaldy returned to his cell.
When they were alone, Louisa turned to her husband and asked, "What was he saying, Gottfried?"
"Hmmm?" He was frowning intently at the sounds he had transcribed.
"I asked you what he was saying," she repeated.
"I haven’t the faintest idea," he replied distractedly. "I didn’t understand the language. I didn’t even recognize the sound of the language, though some of the elements seem similar to Attic Greek."
"That was Greek?" she asked. "It didn’t sound like Greek, at least not like the Greek you studied in the seminary."
"I didn’t say it was Greek," he snapped, continuing to look at his own writing. Only when sunk in intellectual reverie would he have spoken to her in so brusque a tone, and she understood and did not get angry. "I said that some of the elements seem similar to Greek." He frowned and began to mutter to himself. "Haitaumash...heitaumai, possibly? Mashkamash...maxei? Could be...could be... It’s Indo-European, at least. I’d wager my life that it’s Indo-European..."
"Gottfried," she asked impatiently, "will you please tell me what you’re mumbling about!"
He shook his head. "Nothing worth sharing with you, my dear. I have to send this to a philologist. All I can say is that these words seem similar to certain Greek words, but that might be coincidental. It might mean nothing at all. It might just be gibberish." He returned his attention to the four cryptic words, and she left him to his musings. With Kaldy now back in his cell, she had no further reason to stay, and she certainly had no particular desire to keep her husband company.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
This, Petra Loewenstein thought glumly as she tossed the pencil down upon the lab table, has not been a very satisfying day. First the battle with Colonel Schlacht just to get permission to absent herself from the Palace on the nights of the full moon, then the failure of the experiment with the test subject, and now these autopsy results. She allowed herself a wry smile. Dr. Weyrauch has been a busy fellow himself, performing an autopsy and then subjecting Kaldy to further hypnotic regression. I wonder if he’s learning anything useful? I wonder how far back he has taken Kaldy in his buried memories?
Whatever he is finding out, she thought with a sigh, it cannot be of less value to me than the results of the autopsy. The test subject...what was his name? Rubenstein? Rabinberg? Some Jewish name...had died of poisoning, pure and simple. Other conditions were present and may have contributed to the test subject’s demise, malnutrition for example, but the basic factor here was the intrusion into the subject’s system of a toxic substance.
One of the S.S. soldiers assigned to the Palace had brought her a cup of ersatz coffee an hour before, and, not wishing to risk spilling it on the report, she pushed the now cold drink away from her untouched. She frowned. I wonder if Weyrauch is competent to perform an autopsy? she wondered. He has a degree in medicine, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he is able accurately to determine the cause of death. She considered this for a few moments and then rejected it. No rare tropical disease killed the test subject, she thought. No criminal conspiracy exists to attempt to mislead the researcher. We injected the subject with an untested chemical enzyme and it killed him. Any medical school graduate could make an accurate determination.
"But then how can we discover the nature of the process?" she wondered aloud. The skin cannot be pierced, no blood or tissue samples can be taken...how can we determine what causes the change? How can we control it?
How can such creatures be killed?
A soft knock on the door broke into her thoughts and she turned to the see Festhaller amble cheerfully into the room. The smile on his face had a confident and somehow malevolent quality which disturbed her, and she did not return his smile as she asked, "Yes, Herr Professor? What do you want?"
"Oh, I just thought that we might take a little time away from our work to get to know each other better, Petra," he replied, grinning piggishly. "We seemed to be getting along so well when we met in Auschwitz, but we’ve both been so busy that we haven’t had the chance to spend much time together, alone, that is."
"Meaning no disrespect, Herr Professor," she said, meaning as much disrespect as possible, "but I find that I spend just about as much time in your company as I can stand."
His smile shifted to an angry glower and his face grew red. "We had something of an understanding, as I recall, Petra," he said, coming closer to her. "You may remember that Dr. Mengele had many chemists whom he could have transferred to this project. It was only my support for your request which..."
"I was transferred here by Dr. Mengele, not by you," she interrupted.
"I could easily have countermanded that transfer." As he came to stand beside her, she could smell him, could smell the unbathed body and the unwashed clothes. "And I think you will find yourself in dire need of an ally very soon."
She lifted her head haughtily as she replied, "I doubt very much that I shall ever find myself in need of anything from you. Were I a cannibal, I suppose that I might avail myself of your abundant fat, but..."
He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing them tightly and shouting, "I do not appreciate being insulted, Petra, and I do not enjoy being used!"
He was pressing her back against the lab table, and she reached behind her and grabbed a scalpel. She whipped it around and held it in front of his face as she spat, "Get your filthy hands off me, you stinking cow! And get out of here before I slice you up and feed you to Kaldy."
He stepped back and released her. They stared at each other for a few moments and then he muttered darkly, "You’ll regret this, Petra, very much and very soon!" Then he stormed out of the laboratory.
She tossed the scalpel back down onto the table and, shaking her head and cursing Festhaller under her breath, returned to her musings. A half hour passed, and then the door of the laboratory swung open and Corporal Vogel entered. "Fräulein Loewenstein, Colonel Schlacht wishes to see you immediately."
Petra disliked having her thoughts interrupted, and she shot Schlacht’s underling an irritated look. "Tell Colonel Schlacht that I am in the middle of... "
"Fräulein, Colonel Schlacht is not making a request," Vogel snapped. "You will accompany me."
Petra contemplated pointing out to Vogel that she was a civilian and thus not subject to anyone’s orders, but then thought t
he better of it. As Schlacht had pointed out earlier that day, there are no civilians in a nation at war; and in any event, the S.S. were accustomed to being obeyed. Petra repressed her annoyance and followed Vogel out of the laboratory.
She entered Schlacht’s office to find the S.S. officer sitting behind his desk, his hands folded pensively in his lap. Something about the expression on Schlacht’s face made Petra slightly apprehensive. Looking around the room she saw Festhaller sitting near the window, appraising her coldly. On the other side of the room Weyrauch and Louisa were standing in tense silence, he with his customary look of nervousness on his face, she with an expression of unusual sympathy and concern. Petra sat down in the chair in front of the desk and waited, dreading whatever the Colonel’s summons portended. Schlacht watched her enter, watched her take her seat, and then stared at her for a few long, tense moments.
And then he asked, "Do you think that I am a fool, Fräulein Loewenstein?"
Petra’s heart sank.
Schlacht pounded his fist down upon a sheaf of papers which rested on the surface of his desk. "Did you think that your background would never come to my attention? Did you think I would never learn of the personal motives behind your interest in this project?"
"I...I don’t... I really don’t know what...what you’re referring to, Herr Colonel," Petra mumbled.
"Oh, well, I really should not allow you to wallow in this incomprehension," Schlacht spat. "Let me share this report with you. Professor Festhaller ordered a full check on you as soon as Mengele sent you here. Perhaps I should have asked to see this material earlier instead of waiting for him to give it to me, but..." He waved away his own self-criticism. "Imagine my surprise at learning that you grew up in an orphanage."
"What of it?" she asked, attempting to sound unconcerned. "Many people lose their parents at an early age. It isn’t a crime."
"Of course not, Fräulein," he said. "But the report on your background contains a copy of the police report on the death of your parents." He glanced down at the pages in front of him. "Both parents, mother and father, torn to shreds and partially devoured by a wolf?"
Her face grew red. "Whatever personal tragedy I and my family may have suffered is certainly no business..."
"A wolf, Fräulein?" Schlacht interrupted. "A wolf? A wolf that, according to your childhood testimony, stood on its hind legs? A wolf that your parents’ neighbors shot, not once, but dozens of times without apparent effect?"
"Yes," she shouted, "that’s right, that’s right, a werewolf! Does it give you some perverse satisfaction to hear me say it?"
"It would give me a perfectly logical sense of satisfaction. Fräulein Loewenstein," he said darkly, "if my underlings would not attempt to keep things from me!"
"My private motives are my own affair, Herr Colonel," she snapped back. "I am doing exactly what you want me to do, am I not? I am seeking to discover why this process occurs and how it can be controlled, and if I also wish to discover how these creatures can be killed, what of it? Do you intend to keep Kaldy alive forever? Is he not earmarked for the crematorium like all of the others?" She paused slightly as if awaiting the reply which did not need to be spoken, and then went on. "You know as well as I that if he is locked in a gas chamber, it will not kill him, and if he is thrown alive into the furnace, he will not burn."
"That is not the point, Fräulein," Schlacht said.
"It is precisely the point," she contradicted him. "Does it matter that your reasons for wanting to understand and then kill him are not the same as my reasons for wanting to understand and then kill him?"
"Couldn’t have been..." Weyrauch muttered from the side of the room.
"Damnation, Gottfried, either speak up or be quiet!" Schlacht shouted.
Weyrauch cleared his throat. "It couldn’t have been Kaldy. I mean, he couldn’t possibly have killed Fräulein Loewenstein’s parents. He had been in Blasko’s keeping ever since the end of the War."
"Of course it wasn’t Kaldy," Petra said angrily, "but I had no way of knowing that when I first heard about this project. I just assumed that it was he. How many werewolves can there be, after all?"
"Well, two, at least," Weyrauch replied.
"Yes, Claudia," Petra nodded, "and it must have been Claudia who killed my parents, unless there is yet another of these creatures somewhere." She turned back to Schlacht and, struggling to master her emotions, she said, "Herr Colonel, I am heartily sorry that I never mentioned my personal interest in this project. But please keep in mind that I never lied to you and never attempted to deceive you. All I did was keep my private affairs private. I have been doing my job and doing it well, and we have essentially the same goals, you and I."
"Your excuses are not acceptable, Fräulein," Festhaller said imperiously, his small eyes glowing with vengeful anger. "Herr Colonel, I think it appropriate under the circumstances that Fräulein Loewenstein be punished severely for her deceit and disobedience." He paused as if thinking about this for the first time. "At the very least she must be transferred away from this project, and I also believe that a term of imprisonment is called for."
Petra stared at him with undisguised hatred and then she turned to Schlacht and asked. "Herr Colonel, I wish to know if my duties here include allowing this fat pig to fondle my body whenever he wishes."
Schlacht had not been expecting this question, and it took him a few moments to respond. "What’s that?"
"My question was clear enough, I think," she said, her voice biting and furious through its steady and moderate tone. "The only reason that Festhaller has brought any of this to your attention is that I have rejected his uninvited and thoroughly disgusting advances."
Schlacht turned his gaze slowly to Festhaller. "Indeed!" he said softly.
"Herr Colonel," the professor said quickly, nervously, his chubby hands twitching and his voice an octave higher than normal, "surely you do not believe this slanderous accusation!"
Schlacht looked from the professor to the chemist, and the calm confidence of the latter contrasted strongly with the nervous embarrassment of the former. Schlacht had no difficulty deciding who was lying and who was telling the truth. His hard face grew angry as he said to Festhaller, "Are there too few prostitutes in Budapest to keep you busy, Herr Professor? Is that the problem?"
"Herr Colonel, I assure you..." Festhaller began.
"Enough!" Schlacht shouted. "This is an S.S. headquarters and a research station, not a brothel! And Fräulein Loewenstein is a scientist and a respectable Aryan woman, not a field whore! You will keep yourself restrained, Herr Professor, or I shall see to your restraint personally." Festhaller lapsed into a disgruntled, humiliated silence as Schlacht turned back to Petra and said, "This is, of course, unrelated to the point under discussion. I do not feel that you have been open with me, Fräulein."
"Please, Herr Colonel," Petra implored, "it really was not I who withheld information from you, it was the Professor, and he did so from the most base of motives. Please do not assist him in taking revenge upon me when it is in your own interests to assist me in taking revenge upon these monsters."
Despite his anger at not having been told about Petra’s background, Schlacht felt himself softening toward her. "I am not personally interested in revenge," he objected. "I have no more an emotional antipathy to this werewolf than I have to any other Gypsy, or to a Jew or a Slav or a Negro, for that matter. I regard my primary function at this point in my career as involving waste disposal, and Kaldy is to me but another piece of rotten fruit in the garbage pile... aside from his temporary value to us, of course."
"But your goal is not only to help expand the power of the Reich, Herr Colonel," Petra said. "You and I and Mengele and the whole S.S. organization are dedicated to racial purification and a program of carefully controlled eugenic breeding. Part of this process is the extermination of racial inferiors, and anyone who is part man and part beast is obviously a racial inferior."
"Fräulein..."
"
So Kaldy must die. And, when we catch her," and Petra’s face grew suddenly hard and hateful, "his friend Claudia must die. And for them to die, we must learn how to kill them!" She paused and took a deep breath. "So our goals are the same, Herr Colonel. Do not begrudge me my pleasure at the prospect of playing a part in killing the creature who murdered my parents."
Schlacht nodded tentatively. "There are times, to be sure, when the desire for vengeance and the need for justice coincide."
"Yes," she replied. "And this is such a time."
"Very well, Fräulein Loewenstein," Schlacht said. "I shall, on this one occasion, choose to overlook this entire matter. But I expect that you will not in the future make the assumption that there is anything, anything, involving my command which is not my affair. Is that understood?"
"Jawohl, Herr Colonel," Petra said with a smile of relief.
"Good." He turned to Festhaller. "The test subjects have arrived?" His voice was very cold, very correct. Like most of the S.S., Schlacht mingled his fanatical perversity with an oddly puritanical attitude toward the German woman, and as he spoke he was thinking how annoying it was that having Festhaller taken out and shot would be politically unwise.
"Yes," the Professor nodded, coughing nervously, still angry at the failure of his scheme, his face sill flushed with embarrassment. "Dr. Mengele is being very helpful, and so is the Luftwaffe. I sent a telegram to Auschwitz this morning, soon after the first subject died, and a dozen more subjects were flown into Budapest just after noon," he said, attempting to sound friendly and familiar and at ease with Schlacht, as if they were the closet of comrades, as if the recent unpleasantness had never occurred. "I got the impression from the pilot, by the way, that Reichsführer Himmler has made it quite clear that this project of ours is of special interest to him."
"Excellent," Schlacht responded, making a point of not reciprocating Festhaller’s tone, and then turned to Petra. "Fräulein, we can assume, can we not, that the only difficulty facing us is the determination of the proper amounts of the various chemicals, correct?"
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