I couldn’t find a safe enough place in my room to hide the notebooks. I didn’t trust Tony, the hotel detective, and had the impression that he was watching me. I was also increasingly wary of Roberto, the receptionist. At first I carried my notebooks around in my jacket pockets but I was getting to have too many, so I only took the one I was currently using to take notes and left the others in the car under the floor mats, which wasn’t a very good idea, as anyone who got it into his head to inspect the car would find them for sure and, if not, they’d end up in some scrapyard lying among the wreckage of bodywork. It also appalled me to think that they could connect me with Sandra, thus putting her in danger.
The last thing I’d jotted down was that I’d have to go back to Elfe’s. Elfe herself didn’t interest me much. What I did care about was what she might let out, what I could worm out of her now she was so disoriented and in such bad shape. At the cemetery, she didn’t give the impression of being on very good terms with Karin and Alice. They were standing next to her but they didn’t touch her or console her and barely even spoke to her. Maybe they were old enemies or simply hadn’t managed to hit it off. It could be that Elfe wasn’t in the same league of evil as Karin and Alice. Or maybe she’d outshone them. I knew nothing about her. She’d escaped my attention. I’d have to ask for information at the Centre and I didn’t have either the time or the inclination to do that.
I cautiously approached the pretty house of the widow Elfe. In the carport, a solid construction in wood, were the two cars I’d noticed the previous time. One would be for everyday use and the other for going to play golf or to the houses of the other officers, that is, if they were ever invited. The dog threw itself at the car window, barking. I waited for a while to see whether Elfe was going to come out and then tooted the horn. Nothing. Yet the cars were there. The dog went to the door, barked and then ran back. It seemed to be trying to tell me something. OK, I said, I’m getting out now. I got out of the car and the dog barked, but without showing its teeth, making a great fuss jumping all around me. It was quite large but it wasn’t about to set upon me.
I went to the door and rang the bell. I looked in through the kitchen window. There was nobody in sight. The dog wanted me to do more. It was agitated, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t force the door, and what if she wasn’t inside? Then the dog went round to one side of the house and looked at me as if to say, come here. It pointed with its muzzle to the ground, to a large copper flowerpot. Making a huge effort, I moved it, cursing both the dog and Elfe. There was a trapdoor leading down to the cellar. I opened it up and the dog went in like a shot, almost knocking me over. We went down into the cellar and came up again into the vestibule of the house, alongside the stairs. The dog ran upstairs and barked at me from the top, but after all the effort I’d made with the flowerpot I had to take it easy and went up slowly. I always carried a nitroglycerine tablet in my shirt pocket just in case and in the hope I wouldn’t have to use it. I don’t know how, but I knew my time hadn’t come yet.
I rested a little more and looked in where the dog was indicating. You could be making action films, I told it. After Sandra, it was the most admirable creature I’d met in recent times.
The bedroom stank of alcohol and vomit. Elfe was lying on the bed, in all likelihood unconscious. Whatever the case, I decided not to call an ambulance. I sent the dog out so it would stop licking up all the muck, and closed the door. I looked to see whether there was an en-suite bathroom, wet a towel, wrapped her head in it and stuck my fingers down her throat. I didn’t know whether she’d taken pills along with the alcohol. When she finished throwing up everything she had in her, I made her stand up and, with further exertion that was undeserved by Elfe, I got her into the bathroom and turned the shower on. She screeched and I ordered her to shut up. The water fell on her reeking skirt and blouse. Then I wrapped her up in a dressing gown and put her in another bedroom, which was clean. I folded back the bedclothes and told her to get into bed. She mumbled something in German, which sounded like a protest, like repentance, like I-can’t-take-any-more. The dog came in and stayed by her side, wagging its tail. I was certain that if this animal had had hands like mine it would have done everything I had done, or better still. I went down into the kitchen to make some coffee.
Jars and tin containers were tidily set out. The crystal of the wineglasses was tinged slightly purple after so much use. I took a cup and fortunately the coffee jar still had enough in it for the coffee pot. I made coffee. The kitchen emanated sadness, woeful loneliness, drama.
I took a tray up to her room. I didn’t have a coffee, didn’t want it to keep me awake and, most of all, didn’t want to drink Elfe’s coffee or set my lips anywhere they’d set theirs. The dog rubbed its head against my leg and I stroked it.
“What’s the dog’s name?” I asked Elfe.
“Thor, like the god.”
“Quite right too,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t have been able to get in.”
I put a cup in her hands and poured her some coffee.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring any sugar up.”
“It doesn’t matter, thank you. I never thought anyone would come to save me, least of all a stranger.”
I didn’t ask her if she’d tried to kill herself. I didn’t care. It might have been a combination of alcoholism and suicide.
“I came to express my condolences. I knew Anton from the golfing group. Thor wouldn’t let me leave. He showed me where the cellar trapdoor is, which is how I got up here to you.”
She put her hands up to her hair, pushing it back behind her ears. At some time in her life she must have been pretty, but now she was a spine-chilling sight.
“I got into bed soaking wet and now the bed’s wet too,” she said mournfully, apparently not remembering the state in which she’d left the other bed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out when you feel better. Rest now. I’m leaving you the coffee pot. Thor will look after you.”
“No, please don’t go. They don’t want me. They think I’m weak. I’m sure they’ll never come to see me and they’ll leave me completely alone.”
“Do you mean the friends that played golf with Anton?”
“Yes,” she said, sinking her head into the pillow. “Them and their stupid wives. They’ve always left me out of things.”
“You must have been much prettier than they were when you were all young.”
She raised her body, supporting herself on her elbows.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Julián.”
“Well, Julián, what you’re looking at now isn’t me and, if you don’t believe me, ask Anton.”
I didn’t remind her that Anton had died. Hence, in her world right now, Anton could be out playing golf, I could be a friend of hers, and the dog a god.
She got up with the dressing gown over her wet skirt and blouse and, barefoot and clinging to the banister, she went downstairs and into the living room with me following behind and Thor getting there before us. She opened up a box, took out a photo album and there I saw her as a young woman in 1940s clothes, hair blowing in the wind and a gaze in which you could somehow detect that she would one day end up like this. Arms held up. Swastikas, Anton Wolf as an officer. Karin as a nurse in another photo. I asked about her.
“I didn’t know Karin in those days but when we met later she gave me the photo and then we parted ways.”
All of them, now middle-aged, in swimming costumes on a beach. Alice alone in a swimming costume. Them and others in uniform. The album was a real treasure and I wanted it.
“Just out of curiosity, how long have you been living here, Elfe?”
“Since 1963. In 1970 we had to leave for three years but then we returned. The house was still as we’d left it. Nobody had touched anything.”
“And Karin? And Otto and Alice?”
She ignored my question. She wanted to tell me about ev
ery one of her photos but I told her, as I stowed the album in its drawer again, that I’d come back and see her again very soon and then we could have a better look at them.
“Right now you’ve got to get well again. You need to rest and, if you like, as soon as we have a sunny day I’ll take you to the beach. The sun cures all ills.”
Down below, I watched as she wearily climbed the stairs, and when she was out of sight I opened the front door but, before leaving, went back into the living room and took the photo album out of the drawer. I closed the door quietly but didn’t shut the trapdoor to the cellar. The dog could do that.
Although she’d stained my jacket I was happy when I left. I’d clean it up myself or even spend a bit extra and send it to the dry-cleaner’s.
Now I’d have to find a safe place for the photo album.
4
Open Sesame
Sandra
The Gold Cross looked like the proof I needed to confirm that Julián’s suspicions weren’t mere fantasies and that I wasn’t going crazy. I had the idea that there were two places where he might be keeping it: in some box under lock and key in the library-den or in the safe together with Karin’s jewels, in which case it would be impossible for me to get to it. I’d have to work out the combination in order to open it, and that was impossible right now. Yet it was easy, just a matter of saying “Open Sesame!”
That afternoon, the “Open Sesame!” afternoon, we’d been to buy a dress and some shoes for Karin’s birthday party. We’d spent several days preparing for this, working non-stop. All the small frictions or, better said, misgivings and doubts seemed to fade away with the preparations that were keeping us in the four-by-four all day long, running here and there to get a thousand things. The wine from a village in the interior, the salt fish from another, cakes and tarts from a special bakery. The fish and shellfish we ordered at the fish market, and so on and so forth. The most boring thing was having to find a new dress (a rag in comparison with the ones she had in the wardrobe) and some shoes.
The dress was red chiffon. It gave off metallic glints and, when she put it on, Karin looked like a gift, a gift of which the most beautiful thing is the wrapping paper. I convinced her that the shoes shouldn’t be red as well, because then she’d look as if she were going to a wedding, but rather a neutral tone of beige and, then again, she couldn’t wear shoes with much of a heel, as her toes were deformed by the arthritis. Karin listened to me, trying to make sure I’d enjoy being involved in all her stuff. She loved talking about it till she was talked out, even though it was her feet that were half twisted, and it was no hassle for me.
“Some large diamond earrings or a necklace would go well with this dress,” I said distractedly without giving much thought to what I was saying.
“I think I’ve still got some diamonds. If I remember rightly, I’ve still got a diamond necklace.”
I was vaguely shocked by the remark, but not as much as I should have been, because my attention, which Karin was sucking out of me, was fast fading. Fluttering about in the depths of my mind was the comment of somebody who refers to her diamonds as if she’s saying she doesn’t know whether she’s still got a few grapes left in the fridge, somebody who hasn’t had to buy them, or pay for them, or even choose them. Nobody talks like that about her own jewels, even if she’s got money to burn, which wasn’t actually the case with Fred and Karin. They hadn’t got to the point of owning a private aeroplane or a yacht or mansions scattered round the planet, which seem to be the possessions that would go best with so many diamonds.
We finished shopping close to dinner time. When we got to the house we said hello to Fred, who was happy because his wife was so hugely entertained and because he was watching a football match. As the world was gradually rolling over into darkness, Karin made me go upstairs with her to the bedroom. Even though I’d seen it before, I’d never felt enough at ease to take in many details. It was very big and rather childish, with a lot of cushions and what looked like a collection of antique dolls, which Frida would have to clean with enormous care. The cupboards, the chest of drawers, the bedside tables and the writing desk were full of curves, as were their drawers, legs and mirrors. The little lamps on the bedside tables had pink pleated satin shades with bobbles. The bedspread, the curtains and the other lampshades were also in pink satin, while the finishing touches on the furniture were done in gilt. You didn’t have to understand much about rugs to know that these were real Persian rugs. It was all very, very expensive. And this pink bed would be where they made love on those dreadful nights when I’d thought they were dying or something like that.
Karin took what we’d bought out of the bags and laid it all out on the bedspread. She arranged the dress and shoes on top of it as if she was a pink rose inside them. It’s gorgeous, I told her. I sat down on a corner of the bed because I had no desire to intuit what these two had been up to there.
“I think we got it right,” I said.
And then she did something as simple as opening the wardrobe, leaning over the safe and opening it. When she took out a box from inside it, a wooden box, I was looking away so she could see I wasn’t interested in how she opened it. She placed the box on the bed next to the dress. She put her hand inside and took out a diamond necklace from the bottom. There was another necklace with several strands of pearls and a matching bracelet, earrings, the odd tiara and several rings. If I hadn’t known that this was the real thing, I would have taken it for costume jewellery, the stuff they sell for a euro a piece, and her hand was rummaging around in it as if it were junk.
“Once, when I put my arm in the box, the jewels came up to my elbow,” she said.
She placed the necklace on the rosy neck of the satin body offered up by the bedspread. It went marvellously with the red of the dress.
“Can I?” I asked, moving my hand towards the little flashes escaping from the box.
“Go ahead, dear,” she said in that slightly old-fogyish way of hers. “You can try on anything you like. All of it is real.”
I picked up some ruby earrings and dangled them from my fingers in front of my ears, but without going so far as putting them on, because I didn’t want to put on any earrings that had probably been snatched from somebody, maybe even along with her life. I looked at myself in the gilt-framed mirror and saw that she was observing me.
“You’re still not of an age to be wearing these things,” she said, trying to discourage me from taking a fancy to them.
I put them back in the box and kept taking out pieces and holding them up to the light, keeping my eye on a little box right at the bottom.
“Why don’t you try on the necklace with the dress?” I suggested. “I’d love to see the whole outfit.”
While she was getting undressed, I pretended to be distracted by looking at the jewels, and when she’d got everything on and was engaged in ecstatic contemplation of herself in the mirror, ogling the legendary Nurse Karin getting ready for yet another party, I opened up the little velvet box and, inside, saw a cross, the cross I’d seen in films, pinned to the Nazi uniforms. My heart missed a beat, my hands began to sweat and shake, and I put them inside the box to close the little case properly and, when Karin turned around, I took out the pearl necklace and made it click through my fingers. I grabbed at the pearls to calm myself down.
“Beautiful, Karin, really beautiful. Do you want Fred to see you?”
“No!” she said, acting as little-girlish as she could. “Let it be a surprise.”
I covered up the little case as best I could with the jewels and, when Karin had changed and was about to return them to the safe, I told her she should have a good look to make sure we hadn’t dropped anything. I said it because I needed her to trust me. She actually heeded me and ran her hand through the jewels several times, as if she knew what was there by touch alone. Everything was there, so I left her to close the safe.
Before meeting Karin, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to think that evil is always p
retending to be doing good. Karin was always pretending to be doing good and was most likely putting on her act as she was killing, or helping to kill, innocent people.
Julián
At four o’clock, as agreed, I was at the lighthouse. I didn’t go directly to sit on the bench but wandered nervously among the palms with a thousand things on my mind.
Anton Wolf had been living here since 1963. There was no doubt that the members of this community had been coming and going right under the noses of everyone, as if they were invisible. They’d gone from being youngish senior citizens to being very, very old senior citizens. This was total infamy.
Sandra was late, which made me even more apprehensive.
What would I do without Sandra? I had to recognize that nothing would have been the same without her. Sandra was my witness. What I was doing was not going unnoticed, was not wholly useless, because Sandra was watching, even if I hadn’t told her everything. Sandra was the answer that Salva had left behind him. And if Sandra took seriously the idea of leaving, a big part of the edifice we were constructing would come tumbling down. What we’d now accumulated was so much, the burden of what I knew was so great, that I needed more than two hands to sustain it. Thank goodness I heard the sound of the motorbike, the marvellous sound rolling over the pebbles and then stopping. I didn’t want to go to meet her, so sat down as if I’d been there the whole time, feeling her approach me behind my back. Sandra had the long flexible stride of the sportswoman. When she was already standing next to me I turned and then I saw her face of stupefaction. That was the word, out of all the words I knew, that best fitted the face I saw.
“I can’t believe what’s happening,” she said. “It feels like I’m in the middle of a dream, or a nightmare more like it.”
I didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, so I concentrated on tying my cravat more neatly. It was evident that she had some sort of news, because she was staring very hard at me. Since I’d met her, such a short time ago, her gaze had changed to become more mature, the look of someone more in command of herself, less prone to meandering around her surroundings, and more discerning.
The Scent of Lemon Leaves Page 12
