Pale Horse Riding

by Chris Petit

  Morgen said, ‘I am talking about an accident in which a woman was left to die, and the woman travelling with you has also since been killed.’

  Fegelein looked unruffled. ‘Come on, man, there’s a war on. Isn’t this all a bit old hat? Admit you’re a sore loser.’

  He touched Morgen lightly in a gesture of commiseration.

  Morgen removed his arm, noticed the man’s irritation at the withdrawal, and said, ‘As you are here perhaps you could find time to answer our questions.’

  ‘With that drunken idiot I spoke to on the phone?’ Fegelein paused, smooth again. ‘Why not? Always a pleasure to run rings round you. Shall we say here, tomorrow morning at ten? Come now. Let’s get you fitted up.’

  Morgen wondered why the man was keeping him so close. Perhaps to distract, the way conmen and pickpockets did, with feints and diversions to deceive the eye.

  ‘How long are you here?’ asked Morgen as they walked out.

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘For horses?’

  Fegelein leaned in. ‘Confidential.’

  One thing about Fegelein was he wanted you to know.

  ‘Medical,’ he eventually said.

  ‘You look fit enough,’ said Morgen insincerely. The man was liverish, with the beginnings of a jowl.

  ‘Not my health,’ said Fegelein.

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Can’t say.’

  Morgen knew Fegelein was the type to share secrets to make himself appear more important and his indiscretion was that of one blessed with the ability to talk his way out of anything.

  Morgen continued to engage him in the hope he might give something away. Fegelein talked about the disappointment of the stamp sale.

  ‘Jews have been putting out a load of fakes.’

  He produced a jade cigarette holder and took his time fixing a cigarette, waiting for Morgen to admire. This duly done, Morgen asked where he had got it.

  ‘Some girl gave it to me.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be Tanner?’

  Fegelein laughed. ‘No, it wouldn’t be, as a matter of fact. God, you are so predictable.’

  They carried on. Fegelein was due to stay a couple of days and made sure Morgen knew he wasn’t taking anything so vulgar as the train but flying in Immelmann II. Morgen had no idea what he was talking about.

  Fegelein walked with the air of a man expecting to be noticed. When he thought he wasn’t being observed, he assumed a spoiled, sulky expression. If he found the tables turned, Morgen was sure the man would squeal like a baby.

  ‘Immelmann II?’ Morgen prompted.

  Part of the Führer’s private fleet, said Fegelein, smug.

  As Schlegel turned in bed to try and settle he was aware of Frau Hoess standing like Schulze, with her hand up to knock on an invisible door, the difference being the gesture was charming when performed by Schulze.

  ‘Angel of mercy,’ she cooed. ‘Can I come in?’

  What struck him immediately was the woman’s glazed eyes, high on something that made her skittish. He hadn’t seen her since her sexual transport and knew she was aware of that.

  Beyond any superficial concern for his welfare, he was sure she was there to nullify any advantage he held concerning her compromise.

  She didn’t know he had the letter from Pohl.

  She drew up a chair by the bed, held a perfunctory discussion about his health, then asked, ‘How do we sort out this mess?’

  ‘What mess?’

  ‘Be frank. Tell me what you know.’

  He saw no point in prevarication. ‘There is an illicit trade in jade that starts here and ends up Berlin. It involves senior figures.’

  The woman appeared quite unbothered.

  ‘Does this have anything to do with Ingeborg Tanner?’

  ‘She had a piece of jade given her by a senior Berlin official.’

  ‘You mean Hermann Fegelein. Where does my husband stand? Are you protecting him along the lines discussed?’

  Again Schlegel saw no reason for evasion. ‘There is a persecution campaign against him. I have been told you are behind it.’

  It wasn’t so much of a wild guess. The woman was obviously a terrific schemer and admitted she was terrified her husband was about to lose his job. But if diagnosed as sick with nervous exhaustion everything would be suspended. She had already told Schlegel as much. It was really all about her not leaving. She had her own little empire, the likes of which she was unlikely to have again.

  She appeared quite unperturbed by the accusation. ‘Only to protect him, you must understand that. Is that all?’

  ‘And the seamstress you dismissed is back working for you.’

  Again the remark met with no surprise. She said lightly, ‘Staff these days. She by comparison is exceptional and the problem has been worked through. I told you my husband did not have her shot.’

  ‘Does your husband know she is back?’

  ‘Of course not. His judgement is not of the best at the moment. Now, come on, I need your help.’

  She surprised him by taking his hand, in an apparently conciliatory gesture, held it for a moment, said it was cold, rubbed it to get the circulation flowing and guided it under her skirt, saying that would warm it up. He felt flesh above the garter and suspected she wasn’t wearing underwear. Her thighs gripped, making it impossible to retract. Her eyes went vacant and her mouth slack as she recited in an automatic voice, ‘I wonder sometimes if I am not a split personality. On the public side the woman of the world, the prudent, reserved hostess, and on the other, a hitherto unexpected side.’ She repositioned his hand higher. ‘A woman of insane passion, a wild romantic, hysterical in body, nymphomaniac in soul; it’s all highly improbable.’

  Schlegel watched detached, thinking of the garrison’s subterranean riverine sexuality, and crossing the Styx into Hades and the female sexual spirits of folklore that came and possessed the male.

  She gently extracted his hand but continued to hold it.

  ‘You are wrong about the jade. But the matter is delicate.’

  ‘It involves both your husband’s boss, Pohl, and Fegelein.’

  ‘It involves Fegelein only in that he is keen to buy his way in, on behalf of his boss.’

  ‘Himmler?’

  ‘No, in the Chancellery. Bormann.’

  ‘Is that why Bormann is keen to protect your husband? Fegelein warned us not to touch him.’

  ‘Bormann and my husband go back to the very beginning.’

  ‘Then why can’t he be part of what you are talking about?’

  ‘Politics, what else?’

  ‘Is this your special project?’

  Frau Hoess sighed. ‘Not so special if everyone is talking about it.’

  ‘Is the project the mine?’

  It seemed worth the hunch.

  She took a long time to answer. ‘Here in the garrison, three of us knew about the Jordansmuhl operation. I did. My husband, though not the details. And Erich Groenke, who had to organise the workforce and transportation, but I doubt very much that he blabbed to Fegelein because Erich knows on which side his bread is buttered.’

  ‘On both sides, from what I have seen.’

  Frau Hoess trilled her rehearsed laugh.

  ‘Why can’t Bormann be part of it?’

  ‘If Heinrich even suspected Bormann knew he would probably close down the whole operation. You can see the trouble Fegelein, as much as I love him, has got us into.’

  ‘How did Fegelein find out? Through Tanner?’

  ‘She was just some bit of fluff.’ Frau Hoess considered. ‘Unless she heard something. Except it was all highly confidential.’

  ‘Why would she hear something?’

  Frau Hoess considered. ‘You may be right. Tanner worked in transportation. She might have known about the lorries and told Fegelein.’

  ‘Enough to get her killed?’

  As with all narratives to do with the secret life of the garrison, there were gaps, omissions, a sense of stori
es deliberately badly told. The questions Schlegel meant to ask slithered away. He sensed Frau Hoess was proud of her authorship, whatever it was, and the best approach was to be direct.

  ‘What is Jordansmuhl?’

  ‘A jade mine.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Near Breslau, a few hours away.’

  He presumed it was true, however bizarre and farfetched. Jade he associated with the Far East. Frau Hoess remained in her semi-trancelike state and Schlegel wondered what made her pupils dilate so.

  ‘How did you learn about it?’

  ‘At a dinner party, from an otherwise dull mineralogist, who said it was one of two or three in Europe, certainly the only one in these parts and fallen into disrepair.’

  Intrigued, she had asked Groenke to find someone among the prisoners to submit a paper on jade. The Reichsführer’s general inspection was pending. At first she’d had in mind no more than a diverting anecdote until she started to think, what if.

  ‘A probably impossible dream but if something came of it my husband’s position would be strengthened. I was by no means sure he would survive the inspection. I knew the Reichsführer would see terrible, demoralising things while he was here. The epidemic had just broken out.’ Seeing Schlegel about to interrupt, she held up her hand. ‘A labour deal was going on with Speer, who had taken over armaments, and Berlin decided things here must be presented in the best light, in order not to jeopardise negotiations.’

  So neither the Reichsführer nor Speer was informed of the epidemic. Schlegel recalled both Wirths and the commandant more or less admitting the same.

  Frau Hoess’s concern was if the truth about the epidemic and generally dire conditions got out it might destroy her husband’s career.

  ‘I also wanted to raise with the Reichsführer the matter of violence being done to garrison women because I knew no one else would. But it was one bad thing after another, and the Reichsführer is nothing if not positive. So I thought some good news and an intriguing prospect might distract him from how awful everything else was.’

  The first day of the Reichsführer’s inspection was noteworthy for his foul temper. He showed no interest in anyone’s problems, shouting at her husband, ‘Over the how, you blow your brains out, not I!’

  ‘Imagine that! His mood improved only at a lavish reception when I took charge of showing him plans for his apartment for when the town becomes one of his official sites. He fussed over the fabric samples, courtesy of Erich Groenke, who was allowed to meet him. The Reichsführer insisted I attend the private party to which he was adjourning, where he was at last on excellent form, relaxed with wine and an uncharacteristic cigar.’

  Frau Hoess brought up the subject of the mine and the Reichsführer, intrigued, arranged to continue the conversation the following morning at her home, for which he expressed his unbounded enthusiasm. He talked at length with the children then spoke alone with her.

  ‘I told him of the riches of Jordansmuhl jade, known as the warrior’s stone and stone of heaven.’

  Irresistible but impossible, said the delighted Reichsführer, forbidding her to entice him further with such tantalising tales. Such a venture was impossible, given the times.

  ‘But I could see from the twinkle in his eye he wanted nothing more than to condone such a wild and romantic project. I impressed on him how the ancient Hissarlik nephrite axes, found in the Dardanelles by the archaeologist Schliemann, were in fact from Jordansmuhl rather than from the mountains of Xinjiang, as thought. The white jade of the axes was far rarer than the green stone – which could also be found in Jordansmuhl. This white stone I told him was known as the hardened sperm of the gods.’

  The Reichsführer, seduced, applauded and told her the project had his quiet blessing but he must know nothing officially.

  Before he left he promoted her husband, who never forgave her, thinking her beguilement was responsible for his promotion.

  Frau Hoess composed her features into a mournful expression.

  ‘Poor Rudi. My husband is crushed by his job.’

  ‘Has he spoken to you of his difficulties?’

  ‘Of course not. I wish he would love me as he does his white mare. He fears God, I know that.’

  Schlegel said nothing.

  She switched effortlessly, saying. ‘I have told you what you need to know in exchange for you forgetting anything you may have seen.’ She slipped her hand under the bedclothes onto his leg. Schlegel looked at her, thinking God forbid he should ever feel the slightest attracted.

  ‘You’re tired now. Let’s take this further when you are better.’

  Sybil was waiting in the shop, which stood in an alley at the back of Groenke’s leather factory. Inside resembled a normal tailor’s, with fabrics on display and fitting rooms. Fegelein was unction itself, apologising for their lateness, flattering at every opportunity.

  Sybil made a point of deference, even offering small talk about the weather and whatever, but she barely glanced at Fegelein and didn’t look at Morgen at all, so didn’t recognise him. He supposed this disregard was part of a selective survival process.

  Fegelein enjoyed her working close. He produced the jade cigarette holder for her to admire and, being in the business of showing off, revealed he was there on behalf of the Führer’s doctor whose latest medical prescriptions were being tested by the garrison’s pharmacy. Fegelein said the man was a wizard and his booster shots were available to Chancellery staff. These let one go for days without tiring, with none of the usual debilitating aftereffects.

  Looking down at Sybil, on her knees, attending to his hems, Fegelein said in a soft voice, ‘It also increases sexual performance, in quantity and quality.’

  He made a gesture of almost touching her head, turned and smirked at Morgen, making a circle of his forefinger and thumb and pushing the cigarette holder in and out.

  He looked back at Sybil.

  ‘You’re wasted here. What can we do to get you out? This is Morgen, by the way. An old friend and sparring partner.’

  Being introduced as an old friend left Morgen even more compromised. Sybil glanced up and he saw the tremor of recognition before she ducked back down, terrified of being denounced. He was desperate to indicate otherwise but could see suspicion had become second nature to her.

  Fegelein was too caught up in his seduction to notice, fussing over her as she attended to his alterations.

  Morgen watched as she became more flirtatious with Fegelein. He presumed it was a way of rejecting his presence. He grew admiring and disdainful watching her play, knowing his own motives were clouded by cheap envy of the man’s charm and ability to transcend the law.

  ‘It is a handsome uniform,’ Fegelein said. ‘I couldn’t be more admiring of your skills.’

  Sybil was adjusting the trouser hem, with pins in her mouth.

  ‘Too modest. You can be saucy with me.’

  Morgen cringed.

  Sybil said, ‘It’s hard with a mouthful of pins.’

  ‘Here, let me relieve you.’ Fegelein took the pins from her mouth. ‘I’ll hold them.’

  He handed her them as needed, his fingers brushing hers.

  Morgen thought, what if he insists on fucking her?

  He wanted to leave, but decided to stay to spoil Fegelein’s fun.

  ‘I do prefer being tailored by a woman. Morgen, you must make an appointment.’

  Watching Fegelein’s odious charm and Sybil’s calculated submission started Morgen thinking.

  What he had in mind was probably dangerous and not kind to her at all. She caught his eye and looked away, leaving him shocked by his hardness towards everything.

  Fegelein’s verdict afterwards was, ‘She’s cute.’

  On the whole he found prison girls nervous fucks, he said, and not worth the bother, except in special cases.

  ‘Anyway, it’s not allowed,’ he added insincerely.

  They came to a junction. ‘Parting of the ways. Till ten in the morning then. Y
ou will find I wasn’t driving the car. I was in bed all that weekend.’

  Morgen waited until Fegelein was gone and walked back.

  Sybil was sitting smoking a roll-up, staring in distaste at Fegelein’s uniform on its dummy.

  Seeing him, she said, ‘I thought it was you.’

  Her mistrust was evident.

  He said, ‘I suppose you learn not to see here.’

  She seemed to dismiss the observation as meaningless and asked why he was there.

  ‘To investigate corruption in the camp but we are running out of time.’

  Sybil said nothing, her expression sceptical, as if to say where to start.

  Without knowing why Morgen said, ‘Most of the time I think I know who I am but not really, because there are moments like passing clouds when I believe there is no real or fixed self, beyond an accumulation of random reactions to any given situation.’

  ‘You talk of luxuries. Events unfold around me with the least of my knowledge.’

  Morgen detected the slightest lowering of her guard. He lit up and smoked in silence, trying to get her used to his presence.

  ‘What do you know?’ he eventually asked.

  She looked away with a distracted gaze.

  ‘I work for the commandant’s wife supervising her seamstresses’ evening shift. Some days I spend sorting in Canada for Groenke, and once a week I get dressed up to meet the commandant’s wife to show her jewels, and without fail she reminds me how fortunate I am to have her blessing. Otherwise there are no bearings, no choice and no identity beyond being at the behest of this woman.’

  ‘By jewels you mean jade?’

  ‘Jade in particular.’

  ‘How come you are protected?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Morgen held the end of his cigarette to Fegelein’s jacket until it burned a neat hole.

  ‘Tell him I did this, except he won’t be around much longer to ask.’

  He watched her assess the possible consequences of his action for her and could not tell what she was thinking.

  ‘There may be an end to all this,’ he said.