The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  “Why do you want to know? You said I won the match, and you would fulfil my request. Or do you want to retract your word?”

  John clenched his teeth. “Your initiation isn’t finished yet.”

  Kurt was surprised.

  “Your dedication is on the other side…” John nodded toward it. “…of the river.”

  “What?” Kurt asked and turned. Only now, his attention was drawn to a wooden pole, standing on the shore. Two ropes were hung from it, one above the other. They stretched over the river to the opposite shore, where another pole was located. “I have to swim?”

  “Well, I’d look at it.” John smiled. “And if you have a desire—please. But you can also use this crossing,” John said and nodded at the pole.

  Kurt walked over to the pole and grabbed the ropes. They were tensioned fairly firmly, but Kurt noticed that the cuts on the wood were fresh.

  If they had held the initiation here, wouldn’t the tree have been dampened from the water, thought Kurt, glancing at the tent where the people in disguise were sitting, and he was touched by a vague suspicion. John looked at him with a smile in his eyes. Kurt put his foot on the bottom rope and gripped the upper one. Now he felt like a tightrope walker in a circus. But it was easier than walking on the glass and embers. The river’s flow was quite fast, and the sun sparkled on the scallops of the waves that were running over. Kurt was already in the middle, when he felt something was wrong. He looked around, and saw that John was cutting the top rope.

  “What are you doing?” Kurt shouted.

  “You do it too easily.”

  “John, stop it!”

  “Well, you didn’t mind swimming across the river! Why do you boil over now?” He laughed and cut the rope. For some moments, Kurt was trying to balance on the bottom rope. “Go ahead, Kurt!” John shouted at him, but Kurt had already lost his balance and fallen into the water. He tried to grab the rope, but the current picked him up.

  At first John was watching Kurt with a smile, but when Kurt’s head disappeared under the water, an unpleasant chill ran down John’s body. He jumped into the water with a running start. Kurt appeared above the water for a moment and disappeared again. John ducked under the water. He saw Kurt sinking to the bottom. John rushed after him.

  When he surfaced, holding Kurt, he coughed and began to gasp desperately. Once out on the shore, John listened for Kurt’s breathing, but heard nothing. He took several deep breaths, covered Kurt’s mouth with his own, and exhaled. Then he crossed Kurt over his knee and heard Kurt coughing, spitting water. Kurt looked around with wild eyes, and John sat back.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?” John asked, and Kurt caught unexpressed anger in his voice.

  “Would it have changed anything?” Kurt said.

  “Let me ask you, Mr. Fenririr, who gave you the permission to arrange this initiation into the order? I don’t remember you having received the rank of a dignitary, or am I wrong?”

  The voice was hard, with a German accent. And Kurt saw a group of people not far away from them. There were about a dozen people, none of them wearing masks. The voice belonged to a tall man in uniform. He was grey-haired, with a wrinkled face and a wide chin.

  He looked at John intently and demandingly, while he waited for an answer. And Kurt realized John wouldn’t get away with jokes this time.

  “No one gave me permission, Baron Witzleben,” John said lazily.

  “Do you find our rituals ridiculous? Funny? Entertaining?” He enunciated every word, approaching Kurt and John.

  Kurt looked around at the new arrivals. On the road, another coach stopped, and a woman came out of it. As she approached the others, they seemed to shrink down. Kurt stood up and straightened; John stood up in front of him, but with a relaxed calm. The woman’s look was heavy, and her movements decisive, but at the same time full of dignity.

  It seemed to Kurt he was no longer on the river bank; he was standing in the vast hall of an imperial palace, where even the columns were stretched as a string, and everything breathed with regal grandeur.

  Kurt recognized her. She was from the Queen’s entourage and had the repute of being a very tough person who never spoke without purpose. There were many rumors that by her word, hundreds of people had gone to the gallows for acts of treason. Her presence didn’t bode well for John; that was for sure.

  When she appeared, Baron Witzleben stepped back, as if giving her predominance.

  “Mr. Fenririr,” she said. “You know how I have grown tired of your disrespect for boundaries, rules and laws. It should have been stopped long ago. You won’t get away with it this time.”

  She struck him with a gaze, as if she had already signed his death sentence. The day grew dark, and even the cloudless sky and bright sun could not lighten the moment.

  “Excuse me,” Kurt spoke up from behind John. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but still I ask you to give me a word. My name is Kurt Rhein and I’m a psychologist, but I think you know that.”

  John turned for a second, looked sternly at Kurt and mouthed, Shut up.

  Kurt continued. “Everybody knows about Mr. Fenririr’s temper, but he saved my life just now. He arranged it all and could offend your esteemed members of the order by his actions. However, I’m sure he didn’t wish to do so. Mr. Fenririr rarely thinks about what the consequences his thoughtless actions might entail. I have been watching Mr. Fenririr for quite a long time at the request of his stepmother, Mrs. Catherine Danee, and I can assure you that the actions of Mr. Fenririr contain no malice; they are simply the actions of a person who has no understanding of the consequences. And before charges and cruel punishment descend on his head, I would like to ask you to show clemency in respect of the fact he saved my life just now, and considering my words about his inability to be responsible for his own actions, I ask you to deprive him of the support of the Order so he would not continue to feel unpunished, to feel secure, and the responsibility for his misdeeds would fall on his shoulders with a grave burden. I hope you will find this offer wise and worthy of consideration.”

  The lady gazed at Kurt, and then she looked at John.

  “What do you say, Baron Witzleben?” She turned and walked up to him. They started talking in an inaudible tone. Kurt prayed that John would remain silent, and he was silent, but frowned grimly.

  “Well, Mr. Rhein,” the lady said as she turned to him again. “Your offer certainly seems wise enough.” She looked at John. “You’re a disgrace to the name of Sullivan Fenririr, but I have great respect for his memory. However, it doesn’t justify your behavior. From today forward, you are excluded from the membership of the Order. You will also be subjected to certain sanctions; you will be notified separately about them.”

  Suddenly John spoke up. “Baron Witzleben…”

  Baron Witzleben looked at John.

  “I need you to return the girl to me.”

  “What girl?” The lady raised her voice and looked at the Baron.

  “A pretty mulatto. She was my gift, but since I take leave, you may give her back to me.”

  John sneered slightly. The Baron and John stared at each other, then the Baron said through gritted teeth, “Bring her.”

  After a few moments of tense silence, the audience was approached by a girl that someone brought from the coach. She was slim, with almond eyes and olive skin. She wasn’t like Edna at all, and yet there was something elusive in her eyes that made them akin.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Rhein,” said the lady and went to her coach; after her departure, everyone else went away. And along with her the palace vanished, falling to invisible pieces. Kurt exhaled with relief. But it seemed the day had lost its bright colors and become grey and bleak.

  The girl stared incredulously at the procession, and then she looked at John and Kurt.

  “Miss Hoggart.” Kurt turned to her. “Your mother is waiting for you; go home. You can take our coach,” Kurt said and waved his hand toward the road.

 
; Rebecca looked at Kurt with wondering eyes and went away.

  “Who asked you to open your mouth?” John asked suddenly, turning to Kurt. The irritation sounded in his voice. “Who asked you to protect me?”

  “You might thank me that you weren’t sent to the gallows,” Kurt said calmly. “Although I knew that to expect gratitude from you is a lost cause. You’re not a madman, John; you’re stupid and reckless.”

  “I can do without your notations, Kurt,” John roughly threw out. Kurt looked him in the eye—without reproach and without anger, but there was something in his eyes that hurt John. Kurt was cool and calm, and his eyes were serious, even wise. He looked at John, as if he were a foolish child, but Kurt didn’t pity him.

  Kurt saw shadows of the anger, irritation and annoyance on John’s face, and he understood that soon those shadows would become real, and John’s face would lose its aloof expression. It was like John understood this too, and, without saying a word, he went away.

  Kurt returned home with mixed feelings. Strangely enough, the pain in his feet didn’t distract him from his oppressive thoughts.

  Edna met him at the front door. On her alarmed face Kurt read what he had begun to suspect on the riverbank. “Your daughter is waiting for you in the coach,” he said and pointed on the coach at the gates. She put her hands to her cheeks in amazement.

  “It isn’t a joke?” she asked, unable to believe him.

  “I would not dare to joke about this,” said Kurt.

  Edna’s face lit up with a smile, which for some reason she wanted to hide.

  “You’re free of John,” he told her.

  She looked at him with a knowing look and nodded curtly. “Thank you, Mr. Rhein.”

  “I mean, absolutely. If you don’t want to work for me anymore, I won’t hold a grudge against you.” Kurt walked into the living room and sank wearily into a chair.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Rhein?” Edna asked.

  “Yes, yes, you can go, Mrs. Hoggart,” Giving him one more worried look, she left.

  Kurt was in no hurry to get up. The fire warmed his shivering body, and the wounds on his feet ached. But Kurt was sitting still and looking at the fire. It was like he wanted the fire to burn all his memories about this day away.

  * * * *

  Almost a week passed. Kurt’s wounds were healing. Edna had left his house, but Kurt wasn’t alone. He was pursued by his disappointment. John didn’t appear, and Kurt noticed there was no reception this week. There were no coaches, no music or lights, but for some reason, it didn’t matter anymore.

  Kurt was sitting in a chair, but it wasn’t in his room; it was in a place within himself. Before him there was a wall where—sometimes quickly, sometimes carefully—Kurt attached his notes, portraits, images—everything about John. Now looking at this motley wall, Kurt felt a sharp pain in his chest. He struggled to break off those threads he wove in his imagination. But in reality, he was confronted with the banal recklessness that had so long pretended to be exquisite intricacy.

  Kurt took a folder from an infinite shelf and opened it. It was a folder with files on John. Slowly, Kurt was putting in his own notes, sketches and portraits, as if he was burying his thoughts in a cardboard box. Closing the folder, he put it on the shelf and pushed it far back. He wanted to leave this part of his life behind as soon as possible.

  However, the gold ring was still nestled in the breast pocket of his jacket.

  * * * *

  There was a knock on the door. Kurt opened it to find Edna on the porch.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Rhein,” she greeted him. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Kurt stepped aside. “Please.”

  When they had settled down in the living room, Edna spoke a little nervously. “I haven’t thanked you enough, Mr. Rhein, for what you have done.”

  “But you have,” Kurt calmly objected.

  “Let me make you a cup of tea,” she replied quickly. Kurt didn’t stop her.

  When she returned with a tray on which a hot kettle, two cups and fresh pastries sat, Kurt helped her pour the tea and inhaled its fragrance with pleasure.

  “If you allow me, I want to tell you that story, in which you involuntarily became a witness and a participant.”

  Kurt nodded.

  “You know, Mr. Rhein, what fate awaits the daughter of a poor maid? The fate of a poor maid,” Edna pursed her lips. “No matter how clever and charming, educated and finessed my girl was, until the end she would have to carry drinks, wash and iron clothes and darn stockings without any hope for happiness. Just because we don’t have a noble name and state, our hearts and souls are clothed in an apron from birth. But my girl deserved better. And I had the imprudence and folly to believe that my faithful service in the house of Fenririr had given me the opportunity to provide my daughter a better future.”

  “In my opinion, it wasn’t folly on your part. Your folly was to entrust it to John, which you did, am I right?”

  Edna nodded.

  “I knew about the Order, because Mr. Sullivan was also a member, and not just once our home received high-ranking guests. Girls, entering into this society, at least as chaperones for the rich ladies, have a chance to achieve in life more than I’ve ever dreamed. I had the imprudence to ask Mr. Fenririr to arrange such a service for my daughter. To my delight, he agreed, but after he said he would put my daughter in the service of some baron, and I would never see her. Moreover, he said that in response to his kindness, I had to fulfil all his requirements, otherwise we both, I and my daughter, would be on the street, and no one would offer us a helping hand. What could I do? I had to watch you and report everything to Mr. Fenririr. Excuse me, Mr. Rhein,” she said and lowered her head apologetically. “I learned he was going to hold a dedication, or rather play a cruel joke on you, and decided to inform the governance of the Order. Perhaps I should have consulted with you first. I’ve heard rumors that the lady—”

  “It’s all in the past now, Mrs. Hoggart. Now your daughter is with you?”

  “Yes! Now I serve in the home of Mrs. Danee. She has a good heart, as does Mr. Philip.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that you’re well.” Kurt smiled, though the smile came out a little distant, as he was still immersed in his own thoughts.

  “Mr. Rhein, I’m not saying that I don’t fear Mr. Fenririr anymore, but as I understand it, you’re playing some game with him. I believe your intentions are noble, and I would like to give you something that will be of use to you. Maybe it will help you understand Mr. Fenririr, his character and his actions, so maybe you can get through to him.”

  She put a notebook with a shabby cover on the table in front of Kurt, but he was in no hurry to look at what was there.

  In the steady silence, Edna felt awkward. “That’s all I wanted, Mr. Rhein, to ask forgiveness, to thank you and to give you this.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hoggart.” Kurt stood up to walk his guest out. “I was very happy to see you.”

  Edna left in a state of some confusion, and Kurt went back into the living room, where he continued to drink the flavored tea alone. Finally, he opened the notebook Edna had left him. It contained writings about John’s childhood, about his parents. Maybe earlier it could’ve changed something, but now…

  This book took its place in the folder, being exiled to the farthest and darkest corner of the shelf. And Kurt didn’t want to think about it.

  * * * *

  Kurt’s things stood inside the front door—a few boxes and a bag. Before leaving, he decided to have lunch, as packing had rather tired him. However, his meal was interrupted by a knock at the door. He wasn’t waiting for anyone, but maybe the coach had come a little early. When he opened the door, John stood there. Something quivered in Kurt’s chest and immediately calmed down. John’s appearance had always been a provocation, but now the effect of it had almost faded. For a while they were silent. Kurt spoke first. “Want to come in?”

  “I don’t mind.” John
’s voice was confident as always. With narrowed eyes he took notice of the boxes and the bag. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” Kurt answered indifferently. “I’m having lunch first.”

  “Can I keep you company?”

  “As you wish.”

  At the table, they sat in silence. Kurt didn’t know why John had come, but he wasn’t particularly interested. So, he didn’t try to make the atmosphere relaxed, or to the contrary, tense. He didn’t play; he was just having lunch.

  “You have probably already realized that I don’t like to lose,” John said suddenly, turning to Kurt.

  “The ability to lose is one of the outstanding qualities of the person. I personally haven’t met people who have such a rare gift.”

  John laughed. “It’s not a gift, my friend. The ability to be a loser is the cross of a dolt that he’s forced to carry his entire life. The strong personality wins; there are no great losers. Greatness is determined by victories.”

  Kurt shrugged indifferently. However, he noted John behaved like a week-old event hadn’t occurred at all.

  “However, you can’t deny that all the greats lose sometimes.”

  “But who remembers it except bookworms?” John didn’t wait for an answer from Kurt. “Each next step should be firmer than the previous. If you back down, then you risk finishing covered not with glory but with shame, if not in obscurity.”

  “I would have never thought you cared about fame, John.”

  “I don’t care. I only care about winning.”

  “And how do you define your victory then, if public opinion isn’t of interest to you?”

  “I define them myself.”

  “And don’t make any concessions?”

  John seemed offended.

  “Why?” he snorted. “You know I’m not stupid.” He chuckled. “I like to win, especially if the opponent is good.”

  “So, you define a victory through the enemy?”

  “You could say that.”