Gavein listened in horror. The vilest scenes imaginable rose before him.
“Kratz, Brown, burn that,” ordered the sergeant, pointing at the station wagon.
The men stepped back several paces, and two fired rounds into the gas tank. Some gas leaked out and ignited, but not enough to burn the car.
“Shit,” said the sergeant. “He was driving on fumes. Must have come a distance.”
“Maybe he really was from the DS. He had that kind of uniform…,” said the fat one with few teeth.
“Cut the jokes, Olsen,” snapped the sergeant and turned Saalstein face up with his boot. “This one’s from prison, not the DS,” he stated. “That Death guy, I’ve seen his photograph. He’s different, older.”
“You’re always stepping in it, ain’t you, dickhead,” said Bobrov, laughing and offering Olsen a cigarette.
“All right, let’s get moving. We should head back to the camp. But keep your eyes peeled, men, even behind you. Thieves like this one come in pairs, like snake eyes. If we get the other one, it’ll be that much more glory for the fatherland.” He shouldered his rifle.
“That Sergeant Kurys, he goes by the book,” muttered the corporal.
“Fall in,” commanded Sergeant Kurys.
61
He forced himself to wait a quarter of an hour in the doorway. It was a beautiful morning, full of spring and sunlight. Flies were gathering now on Saalstein.
Finally Gavein emerged from his hiding place, his fear for Ra Mahleiné overcoming all other thoughts. He passed smashed shop windows, the burnt skeletons of cars.
He walked faster: broken street lamps, scattered newspapers, plastic bags of garbage torn open and stinking. He began to run, clumsily, limping on his sore ankle. Saalstein had brought him closer than fifty streets. Soon Gavein recognized 5665 Avenue. He gasped for air, saw spots before his eyes, had to slow down. He ran again. A few more streets, a few more abandoned cars, and there at last were the wrecks of the military trucks and the gutted flower shop: the intersection of 5665 Avenue and 5454 Street.
He saw her at a distance of two hundred meters. She was in a wheelchair, looking in his direction. He ran to her. Gasping, unable to catch his breath, he knelt and put his arms around her. She pressed his head to her breast.
“Gavein. You made it back.”
She rumpled his hair.
“And nearly broke my glasses,” she said and began to laugh and cry at the same time. And he also. Laughing and crying at the same time—that was a first for him.
62
After a time they wanted to talk, not just hold each other.
“It took longer than you promised,” she reproached him.
“They weren’t honest with me.”
“But you’ve put on so much weight!” She laughed.
“This padding is not me. I’ll tell you in a moment. What’s the matter with her?” He pointed at the small figure hunkered over on the pavement and sobbing. The young woman’s hair was blazing red. Her face was lowered over her knees.
“They shot her mother. She’s been crying all day.”
“They? Who are they?” He could picture the patrol of Sergeant Kurys.
“I don’t know. She took me out for some air. We were far when they came out of the house. Eight, maybe ten guardsmen. They drove a jeep. Then they ran into a street lamp and had to go on foot. Maybe they were drunk.”
“They weren’t drunk.”
“It’s a slaughterhouse in there, blood everywhere. They spared no one. They probably weren’t looking for you, if the army let you go… I don’t know. I walked there, to look. I had to pull Lorraine off the body of her mother. And you know I have hardly the strength to walk. I use the wheelchair a lot now.”
“I’ll go see.”
“Don’t. It’s too dreadful. They broke Edda’s head open. The floor is covered with her brains. Mass was stabbed. They shot Myrna. They tortured Anabel. She’s in our room, went up there to clean. She’s lying naked with a belt around her neck. You know, her body is a girl’s, undeveloped. Such small breasts, and her nostrils so large. You can see them, the way she’s lying. I hated her, but I’m sorry for her now. In her uniform she looked older.”
“They thought she was you. I overheard them. Thompson probably sent them. They killed the man who drove me from the DS. We came upon them by accident. I was able to hide, but they shot him. Do you know that the DS no longer exists?”
“They said that this morning on the TV. I was so afraid for you.”
He leaned back, took her face gently in his hands, and looked at her carefully. Ra Mahleiné was thin, drawn. The skin was tight on her cheekbones, but she had a tan, thanks to her outings with Lorraine. Her eyes seemed larger than before and even bluer. Her gaze was intense, imperious, perhaps because she had taken off her glasses, which made her eyes smaller. There were pale, unhealthy circles around the eyes. But that may have been only from her wearing sunglasses. The spring sun had lightened her hair, making it lovely against her tan.
“You’re beautiful, a goddess of youth.”
Her smile was very pale and very sad.
“When,” she said, “will you see the truth?”
In answer he ran a hand through her hair. It was soft to the touch, silken.
“I love your hair.”
“I’m almost bald, it’s got so thin.”
“Then you’ll be my little Baldie. You’ll tan your head the color of your sweet face.”
“I’m not doing well. I can see what I look like. Below the neck”—with a gesture at her blouse—“I’m a fright. Thin, but my belly is swollen like a balloon. My breasts, they hang; they’ll reach my waist at this rate. They didn’t used to hang like that.”
“I’ll tie you to the wheelchair, so you won’t float away with your balloon.”
He pressed her head lightly with his fingertips. She liked that.
“Now let’s lower the voltage for our manul, so her little head won’t hurt… and so she won’t invent stupid things.”
“It’s the body that invents. The head only observes.”
“Let it stop observing.”
“Impossible. One look in the mirror, and it draws conclusions. And how can I not look?”
“Enough. Don’t borrow trouble. If there’s a problem, we’ll face it together. Don’t go banging yourself against things that aren’t there.” He tried to smile but couldn’t.
“You know that’s not it. If I could only give birth to the clawed thing, then maybe there would be peace. Then maybe I could give birth to someone else, for you. Meanwhile it gnaws inside and turns the world red.”
“What does Nott say?”
“She hasn’t called for three days.”
“She was going to operate.”
“For a while she called, and they brought medicine from her. Now nothing, silence. Everything’s stopped.”
“I’ll see to this.” He got up.
“What do you intend to do?”
“Call Thompson. Interrupt his triumphal march after the battle.”
“Are you crazy? The bastard will learn you’re still alive.”
“And? We have to eat. Someone has to come take away the bodies. And they have to cure you. They’ve turned me into David Death, and for that they owe me.”
“Gavein,” she said, “we managed to live through a terrible danger. Don’t tempt fate. David Death is a figment of Edda’s, which was taken up by that moron Medved and his paranoid investigation. One could just as easily argue that Medved was Death. Or Thompson, or some other character. Only the Names, the Names and nothing else, tell us about death.”