Any Survivors (2008)

by Freud, Martin

  ‘You are not allowed to make that move! Take it back!’ my opponent threatened me, his brow furrowed.

  ‘I wouldn't dream of it. I won't take it back! Do you think I didn't witness the planning of your treacherous attack?’ He went very pale and did not move. ‘You must continue.’ He shook his head.

  Now the audience grew unruly: ‘You must play on. We won't put up with it!’

  It was getting so noisy that the commissioner, who was dealing with the last two sailors and trying to persuade them to accept cinema tickets to save time, looked over and gave us a disapproving look. The master conceded but changed his tactic. He placed piece after piece so that I could easily capture it and, after each gain, booming applause was heard. Words of encouragement and acclaim were raining down on me: ‘Hey mate, give it to him! Blitzkrieg it is indeed, ho, ho, torpedo him down to the ground!’

  When I finally took his king, he was only protected by a few solitary pawns. The other pieces had already fallen in battle. I was preparing to capture the final pawns when he stopped me from doing so by getting up and wiping all the remaining pieces off the board. He bowed.

  I remembered and understood: this was not out of malice. Once the king is dead, the game is lost. Although the master had his arms behind his back, I managed to grab his hand and shake it vigorously. I hoped that this action would not be interpreted as a sign of my philo-Semitism. What a funny little man; that he had been degraded and ostracised by a perceived fault in his grandmother's ancestry was something he had resigned himself to, but to play a game of chess with special rules was something he was unable to bear. I was not able to reap the benefit of my mates’ applause after my clear victory.

  This episode paled into insignificance next to the occurrences that were about to take place. Doors were opened wide, commands shouted. Everyone began to run around aimlessly. We were given the instructions to board the trains to Berchtesgaden.

  13

  HEALTH RESORT, HEADQUARTERS

  This was meant to be a health resort? Normally you would find a good number of benches, a spa, a picturesque promenade and a benign attitude towards visitors. We were guests here, esteemed guests, invited by our Führer and yet we were treated with military brevity. If I had to honestly write down my impressions of the atmosphere I would have likened it to General Headquarters. Even the reception was typically military in its courtesy.

  The nice man from the Leibstandarte was somewhere between Ehrenkavalier and Grand Inquisitor. ‘Where would you like to be put up?’ he asked me, but spoke so quickly that I didn't understand him straight away. ‘A single room? I can offer a small room on the fourth floor. Or with your comrades? In that case, I would be able to offer you a bedroom with a view of the mountains.’ Without thinking I went for the single room because I wanted to collect my thoughts and reconsider my situation. I quickly regretted it as I feared being on my own and the inevitable descent into negative thoughts. But it was too late to change my mind. He had already crossed my name off the list and allocated a room on the fourth floor with a small window facing the courtyard.

  It was already late afternoon, damp and grey outside and rain threatened at any moment. There was no view of the mountains. Despite the hotel's grandness I found my tiny room depressing. It was nicely furnished with a chest, wash cabinets made of pale wood and a comfortable spring mattress. There were two paintings: a hunting scene on one wall and a stag resting in a clearing on the other. The bedside rug was made of goatskin. The air was a little clammy. It seemed that the room hadn't been used for a while. Dead flies had gathered on the windowsill and the light pull. Although I was a little cold from lack of heating, I pulled back the floral curtains and opened the window. All I could see was the dreary grey brick wall opposite. There was a bit of daylight left enabling me to see a little more. There was also a rain gutter painted dark green. I lay down on the bed, half-clothed, regarding the gutter and began my negative musings …

  I had set out on an adventure, in the worst of seasons, hoping to help all mankind and bring peace back to earth. But this was not to be! Maybe if I had been a true genius such as da Vinci or Copernicus. As an ordinary person I must lack the deep and heartfelt connection to humanity. I was unable to see the whole picture, seeing instead a mass of individual beings, similar to meal worms, each occupied with their own little worm interests. These do not form a collective mass. On the contrary, one might desire the sunshine, the other yearn for rain. Even if I brought peace to all, I would not be able to help each and every one of them. Let us consider, for example, a Herr van der Stixt in Nether-Neutralia, who has just purchased 100 boxes of tinned sardines with his friends. If the war ends the price of these will plummet and he will lose all his money. Signorina Nina Baldi from South-Neutralia, near the coast, is not so keen for the war to end either. That would mean she would see her husband again, an officer in the Bersaglieri unit at the border, and could not see her Carlo every day. Humankind does not form a coherent unit or family, but rather is a concept in natural history and as such does not benefit from such sacrifices.

  In only a few days from today I would be required to help solve the great historical problems we were facing and I was unable to concentrate because I was stuck in this room without a view. The only highlight was the constant sight of the gutter. But then my heart skipped a beat. The gutter, the only noteworthy object in my otherwise bleak outlook, suddenly made a noticeable movement downwards. I stared aghast as it jerked again, moved further down and disappeared slowly out of my view, like a snake creeping into a hole. I was reminded of the terrible story of King Belshazzar, who experienced the writing on the wall of his palace by a disembodied hand. What terrible warning I was receiving! Here I was thinking, ‘I have nothing to rest my eyes upon but this rain gutter’ and, at that moment, the gutter disappeared. I didn't want to delve further into the potential symbolic meaning of this. All I knew was that I no longer wanted to be alone. I needed company, laughter, friends with whom I could discuss trivial things, otherwise I would go mad. I was at least half-dressed, albeit without shoes and with my shirt unbuttoned. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, which was looking a bit wild by now, and ran down the stairs all the way from the fourth floor to the lobby, hoping to find my comrades and their reassuring words.

  The lobby was an elegant room with a wood-panelled ceiling, bucolic scenes on the walls and comfortable seating arrangements. Disappointingly, it was almost completely empty and quite dark. In the corner, however, I could see a solitary hotel guest writing with great concentration and speed at one of the desks, surrounded by a soft green glow and obscured by his cigarette smoke. He was wearing a navy officer's uniform and next to him the ashtray was overflowing. He turned his head and I recognised the captain. I was ready to disappear quickly so as not to bother him, but he beckoned me. I stopped in front of him, stood to attention and saluted, but unfortunately, being without shoes, my heels didn't click.

  ‘How are you, Griesemann?’ he enquired in a friendly manner, but didn't wait for my response. He had just finished writing the letter and was doing the address in large letters. ‘Griesemann, you couldn't do me a favour, could you? Next to reception you will find my overcoat on top of my two suitcases. If you reach into my right-hand inside pocket you should find my wallet. In my wallet you should find some stamps. Get me one that will be enough for a letter within Germany, will you? I do not feel like going myself because the people from the hotel management will probably be up and about and want to discuss things with me. Nice as they are, they have no understanding that I am not in the mood to get involved in any kind of discussion. Or even better, if anyone is around, you may as well bring my coat, else you might be suspected of pick-pocketing if they see you with your hands on my wallet.’

  I turned around and made my way to the entrance. I could see the two suitcases with the initials of the captain on them and a navy overcoat spread across them. Absolutely no one was around. All was quiet and almost completely dark. I f
ound the wallet straight away and opened it. There was nothing inside apart from business cards, membership cards, a note for a furniture depot and a single stamp. I didn't know why, but without thinking I grabbed inside my trouser pockets, took out the cash I was carrying, smoothed the notes and deposited them deep inside the wallet before returning it to the silk lining of the officer's overcoat. Each of us had taken 1,000 marks spending money out of the funds. I knew I had not spent very much and although I did not bother to count, I was sure that there were at least 950 marks there. Then I turned around carefully to check if anyone had seen me. I lightly stuck the stamp onto the thumb of my right hand and sauntered back to the captain.

  ‘The envelope please!’ I said. I did not think it right that he should lick a stamp that had been stuck on my thumb so I did the necessary. The envelope was already sealed and addressed to a lady called Katherine. She had the same surname as our captain.

  ‘Thank you, Griesemann,’ the captain said. ‘You are a kind and obliging young man.’ Then he spied my bare chest. ‘Good gracious, where on earth is your fine mermaid; she has disappeared! That's what you get when you do not put a preservation order on such works of art!’

  ‘The tattooist was a swindler, captain,’ I said, without hesitating. ‘He must have used temporary colours; the image faded more and more every time I washed and now there is hardly anything left.’

  ‘How strange, that's the first time I have heard such a thing,’ the captain said, shaking his head. I could sense that his thoughts were already elsewhere in the meantime. As he had started to speak of personal matters (I was sure that a tattoo of a mermaid on one's breast constituted as something personal), I thought it would not be impertinent to ask the captain something personal in return. ‘I could not help but notice that your suitcase was packed. Does that mean you are leaving us?’

  ‘Yes, dear boy,’ he said in a friendly manner. ‘I will be taking the evening train. A driver is coming for me shortly. You are wondering about my audience with the Führer? Do not worry; that has been arranged differently. But you will not be left out. Your turn will come tomorrow or the day after. I am not happy about leaving you, so please behave and do not get up to any mischief. Here you go,’ he reached deep inside his pocket and gave me a 10-mark note. ‘Have a drink on me, but take care – don't get too drunk. The Gestapo is watching you, Griesemann! You have always been my problem child, so do watch yourself and God bless!’ He gave me his hand. I had to avert my eyes in a squint, as my eyes had filled with tears. It was very rare for the captain to offer his hand and it could only mean something very serious. I did not hesitate to pocket the 10 marks, even though he was obviously not rich, but I had just given him ninety-five times the amount, although he would not know who the generous donator had been.

  The captain was already on his feet, letter in hand, and was taking large strides towards his luggage on the other side of the lobby. I was left alone in front of the now empty desk, trying in vain to contain my emotion, the wrinkled 10-mark note in my hand. One of the cigarette butts had escaped from the overflowing ashtray and was burning a hole in the priceless material of the desk. I played voluntary fire marshal and extinguished the fire. On the blotting paper underlay I could clearly see the imprint of the captain's bold handwriting. I thought it was a bit of a waste that the paper was otherwise pristine and was sure to be thrown away when the Gestapo did its nightly rounds after the lobby had been cleaned. Fine, I thought, I would do them a favour and remove it for them. Then I slowly walked up the stairs, my earlier warning of a potential nemesis half-forgotten.

  ***

  My friends in their lovely balcony room must still be awake, I thought. Without doubt they would be delighted to see me, especially as I had been a little isolated in recent days. All the while, these two always seemed to be huddled together, whispering. I entered and retracted in panic. It seemed as if the terrible prophecies were being fulfilled. We are definitely cursed, was my initial thought.

  The Baron appeared to have hanged himself from the window frame, while the Student was kneeling on the floor amongst nails and screws, and in his inimitable manner was playing with the tools seemingly oblivious to the Baron's plight. Why was he not cutting him down and helping him? What was going on? A double catastrophe, I thought, suicide and madness.

  I ran towards the window, ‘Stop!’

  The Baron warned, ‘I’ll kill anyone with my bare hands who dares to interrupt me!’ He was alive but obviously insane. The light inside the room had not yet been switched on, but it was not completely dark either so I was able to make out more and more details. The Baron was not hanging by his neck – his arms were lifted over his head grabbing a thick wire-rope hanging from the ceiling; his back was facing the room. Now I could also tell that his feet were resting firmly on the ground.

  ‘Come here, Gotthold,’ the Student said. ‘Since you’re here we will let you in on our secret. Our beloved is back!’ Our beloved – wasn't that the name of a symphony?

  ‘And who is the “beloved” and what does she have to do with the fact that you have both lost your minds?’

  ‘Don't be so stupid,’ he said. ‘The girl we gave the brooch to obviously.’

  I sat myself down quickly. ‘She is here? But where?’

  ‘In the room above us,’ the Student replied.

  At the same time the Baron turned around and said, ‘She has turned out the lights. I can't see anything anymore.’ He pulled the item that I had taken to be a wire-rope towards him into the room. It was a dark green pipe that seemed to be breaking up into small fragments as little round mirrors were spilling on to the precious rug. My ability to show surprise was already used up; even if Easter bunnies had started to come out of the pipes I would not have batted an eyelid. Gradually, however, my feelings were evolving into a powerful rage. I recognised the rain gutter from outside my window and the terror I had felt when it disappeared.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ I said angrily.

  The Baron answered, ready for an argument, ‘Calm down! Although we purchased the mirrors to make the periscope out of communal funds, we will account for every single pfennig of what we spent.’

  Only now did the penny drop. They had fashioned a periscope out of the rain gutter and mirrors so they could spy on the fair Christine in her room. I was outraged. Not only for her dignity but also because I now knew that they had removed the gutter, and as a result I felt silly about my overreaction to the symbolism of its loss.

  I offered: ‘It is not about the money. You have my full authorisation, but it is unfair and immoral to spy into a lady's bedroom. She was probably getting undressed and ready for bed. No self-respecting person should be spying on a woman doing something she would not be prepared to do on a stage.’

  ‘What do you know about the things you can see on a stage these days?’ the Baron sneered. ‘If you don't stop moralising, I won't tell you what I was able to see.’

  I had leant over to pick up one of the mirrors when the blotting paper fell out of my sleeve.

  ‘What have you got there?’ the Student pried.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I replied. ‘I wanted to write a few letters later so I went to get some blotting paper from the lobby.’

  ‘Can you give me half of it?’ the Student asked me. ‘I was thinking of writing a letter too and don't have any blotting paper either.’

  ‘If we cut it in half it is no use to either of us. Besides, you normally write with an ink pencil. You just can't bear the thought of anyone having something you don't have.’

  ‘And you are the stingiest person I have ever met,’ was his answer. ‘We thought that you might have changed after your decoration, but no. You are as mean as ever and can't even share a piece of blotting paper!’

  The atmosphere was becoming increasingly icy and fraught. The Baron had been annoyed with me for a while because Christine had taken a shine to me, and now he assumed I was angry because he had been spying on the girl through a pe
riscope. The Student had a bad conscience as he was spending our money without consulting me first. And I was angry mainly for one reason: they had removed my rain gutter which had terrified me into thinking my end was nigh. We gave each other hostile looks. ‘Is there a reason for your visit?’ the Baron enquired. ‘Or are you just here to say unpleasant things and curry favour with us?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘You’re right with the latter. Although I always relish your company I have quite simply spent all my money and need more cash.’

  ‘Help yourself.’ The Baron and I opened the drawer containing a cigar box with the cash. I took out ten 100-mark notes. The bundle was dwindling rapidly. When we first got the cash we had trouble closing the box.

  I pointed out, ‘One should not give one's money to people who have the habit of ripping down rain gutters. If it starts to rain, and it's looking likely if you ask me, there will be no drainage and the house could be severely damaged. It may even collapse as a result. I am not an expert but I doubt very much that it is possible to rebuild the hotel for 30,000 marks, or whatever is left of the money we have. How did you remove the gutter anyway? Did you unscrew it or cut it down?’

  I leaned over again to inspect it and for the second time the blotting paper escaped. The Baron put his big foot on it and said, ‘This blotting paper obviously does not want to end its days as a pristine piece of blotting paper in the services of a small-minded and resentful individual. The paper stays here and you were on your way out anyway. You may as well take the detour via the lobby and get another sheet!’