Suddenly, two olive-green eyes appeared silently just above the surface of the water.
“My God, what's that?” cried Rheinhardt.
“Oh, that's only Richard,” said Herr Arnoldt.
“Richard…”
“Yes.”
“You never said anything about Richard.” Herr Arnoldt remained ominously silent. “Is he dangerous?”
“Not if we keep our distance.”
“Herr Arnoldt, I had no intention of getting any closer.”
The zookeeper turned toward Rheinhardt and let his hands fall loosely by his sides.
“I just thought… I just thought you might enjoy seeing them like this. Few people are afforded such a privilege. They are magnificent creatures.”
There was something in the keeper's tone of voice that made Rheinhardt feel he had been mean-spirited. Herr Arnoldt's invitation had been well intended-an eccentric but essentially friendly gesture.
“Yes,” said Rheinhardt. “You are quite right. They are magnificent creatures. Thank you… Most kind.”
The zookeeper nodded, realizing that some subtle misunderstanding had now been resolved. “So,” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together eagerly. “Have you caught him?”
“No,” Rheinhardt replied. “Unfortunately not.” The zookeeper pushed out his lower lip. “However, we are making good progress. Not as much as I would have liked at this stage, but progress nevertheless. I wondered if you would help us again? I have a question pertaining to the statement you gave at the Schottenring station.”
Herr Arnoldt nodded.
“After your memory returned,” continued Rheinhardt, “you were able to remember the approach of the assailant, who marched down the corridor, whistling a… jolly tune?”
“Yes, that's right,” said Herr Arnoldt. “I told your assistant everything. I'm afraid there isn't any more to tell.”
“Indeed. But I understand that you were able to reproduce the melody for my assistant-Haussmann. Could you possibly do so again, for me?”
There was a gentle rippling sound. The previously submerged alligator broke through the pool's surface, revealing its full size.
“God in heaven-it's huge!”
“Just over thirteen feet,” said Herr Arnoldt, calmly. “Among male Mississippiensis, Richard is not exceptionally large.”
The animal's jaws opened. It appeared to be yawning.
“So many teeth…,” said Rheinhardt, feigning a light conversational tone, while suppressing a very strong urge to run.
“Yes, about seventy or eighty. And each one is as sharp as a razor.”
“Have you ever been bitten?”
The zookeeper laughed. “No, Inspector. Few people get bitten by Mississippiensis and live to tell the tale.”
“Just as well, then,” said Rheinhardt. “Now, where was I?”
“The melody-you said you wanted me to sing the melody again.”
“If you can still remember it-yes.”
The zookeeper cleared his throat, and began to sing:
“Pa, pa, pom, pom, ta-ta-ta-ta, pom, pom, pom…” The first few phrases were distinctive and the pitches accurate. Thereafter the melody became loose and improvisatory, eventually degenerating into a piece of pure invention. “That's about it,” Herr Arnoldt added. “I'm not sure about the last bit-but the beginning is correct.”
Rheinhardt opened a large cloth-bound volume that he was holding under his arm. Herr Arnoldt noticed that the pages were covered in musical notation. When Rheinhardt had found the right page, he took a deep breath and began to sing from the score: “ Der Vogelfanger bin ich ja-” I'm the merry bird catcher, A familiar sight to young and old.
Rheinhardt's deliciously resonant baritone filled the enclosure. It rolled out across the water and bounced back from the high ceiling. He had never performed in such a strange arena and to such a strange audience. Indeed, so peculiar was his situation that for a fleeting moment he entertained the possibility that he was, in fact, still lying in his bed and the events of the morning were occurring in a dream.
Giselle and Richard did not respond, but the zookeeper's expression was utterly transformed.
“Yes, that's it,” he cried. “That's it!”
Rheinhardt continued singing: I know how to set a trap And whistle like a bird…
The melody was playful, charming, and composed in the style of a popular song.
“What is it?” asked Herr Arnoldt.
Rheinhardt gently closed the score. “It's from The Magic Flute.”
The sound of displaced water disturbed them. Richard had begun to move forward. He seemed to be traveling quite fast. His snout was producing a high bow wave.
“I think…,” said Herr Arnoldt, looking a little concerned. “I think it's time to go.”
48
OLBRICHT STARED ACROSS THE paint-spattered floorboards and caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror. He relaxed his legs and turned his wrists inward, assuming an attitude reminiscent of that of Michelangelo's David. Then he raised his right hand and imagined his fingers closing around a laurel wreath. He felt a curious thrill, as though his fanciful conceit had been translated into authentic communion with the weltseele-the world soul. He closed his eyes, hoping to prolong the moment, but the strange feeling dissipated, leaving him with only a dull headache.
The artist turned and surveyed the paintings he had prepared for his coming exhibition.
Alberich and the three Rhine maidens; a blind skald in a timbered hall; Siegfried, slaying the dragon…
He circled the studio, admiring his accomplishments, but stopped in front of the canvas of Pipara-the heroine of List's eponymous novel. Square shoulders; yellow braided hair; a strong, almost masculine face. She was standing on a raised stone balcony, looking out over a sea of heavily armored Roman legionaries.
Olbricht took a step closer.
He could remember feeling extremely pleased with his Pipara when the painting was completed; however, having put it aside for a while, he was now somewhat dissatisfied with her appearance. Olbricht picked up his palette and a fine-haired brush, and began reworking the empress's features.
There was something about the bridge of her nose that was not quite right. The height of her cheekbones, too low-the shape of her chin, too broad. Olbricht's movements became more fluid. Something of his communion with the world soul had stayed with him. He felt inspired, guided by a spirit hand toward the realization of an elusive ideal.
Finally, he took a step back.
The empress now bore an uncanny resemblance to Frau Anna, the wife of Guido List. She was so very beautiful, Frau Anna. Such a perfect example of Aryan womanhood.
If only he had seen her in the Wala…
If only he had been there-on that celebrated occasion, sponsored by the German League.
If only…
Something inside him crumpled, like an eggshell trodden underfoot.
Olbricht reached out and traced the curve of the empress's bosom with a trembling finger.
List was not an attractive man, and he was considerably older than the beautiful Anna. Yet she had married him. Her love had been won by the power of his intellect-the nobility of his spirit-the ferocity of his genius.
“I too am a great artist.” Olbricht had unconsciously said the words out loud.
His thoughts returned to the exhibition.
She would be impressed. Of that he was certain. She, and women like her. It was inconceivable that she was the only one-the only one who could recognize a hero. The only one who might want a pure, unsullied union-a union of souls.
Olbricht withdrew his shaking hand from the painting.
“I can make this better… better still,” he muttered. “Much, much better.”
He lifted his palette and inspected the brighter colors.
It must be a bolder work, a more challenging work, a work that reflected not only Pipara's inner strength-but his own.
49
THEY WERE SEATED BESIDE one of the Belvedere Sphinxes. A great wedge of snow had collected between the statue's stone wings, and her expression suggested wounded pride. Beyond the sunken hedge gardens and frozen fountains, the lower palace was shrouded in a nacreous winter mist.