The Children's War (96 page)

27

T
HEIR ARRIVAL AT THE
laboratory headquarters could not have gone better. Major Rattenhuber was a jovial host, well pleased to meet both the adjutant and his charming wife. He showed them to a well-appointed room in what had clearly once been a private mansion and indicated its various comforts to them: the lovely view, the fireplace, the comfortable furniture. As Peter set down the
luggage, the major furrowed his brow in thought and then offered, “I could find separate, er, accommodations for your boy here. We didn’t really expect . . .”

“Oh, heavens no!” Zosia crooned. “We wouldn’t want to put you out, and anyway I want him here to be of help. Could you just locate a cot perhaps?”

“My pleasure!” The major rushed to the door, then stopped to consider something, drumming his fingers on his lips as he did so. He sighed, said, “Forgive me. It just occurred to me. There’s no, er, facilities anywhere on this floor for him. Of course, you wouldn’t want him using your bathroom—which is right through that door, by the way—and I’m afraid the nearest appropriate toilet is in the cellar. Unfortunately, the building isn’t really secure, and he’ll have to get a guard to accompany him on such, er, you know, occasions.”

Zosia smiled her most perfect smile. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Major.”

“Well, then, if you don’t mind . . .”

“We’ll manage just fine.”

“Good. Well, I’ll be off then.” Pausing only long enough to remind them when dinner was, the major then took his leave. Even as the three of them were sighing their relief, he popped his head back in to say, “I’ll be sending an escort to bring you to dinner—you could get lost in this place without help! Isn’t it just gorgeous!” And he disappeared again before they could answer.

Peter unpacked their cases, glad for something to do, while Zosia sat on the sofa and nervously tapped her foot against the coffee table. Tadek paced the room, suspiciously scanning the furniture, pictures, and drapes. When he had finished unpacking, Peter politely inquired if they wanted a drink. They both nodded, so he went to the bar and poured a portion of brandy into a glass. He drank it down in one quick gulp, then filled it and another for Zosia and Tadek.

The cot arrived and was set up, then they were left alone to relax. When Peter had traveled with Karl, he had always been at a loss for what to do at such times. Clearly, he could not relax, not with Karl in the room, yet there was little in the way of work that needed to be done in a hotel room. With Zosia and Tadek, it seemed even worse. He could, of course, sit in one of the chairs and read quietly since that would never be noticed by a possible undetected listener, but he did not want to step that far out of character; so instead, he went and stood by the window, pulling back the curtain to stare out at the countryside, thinking of what lay ahead, thinking of what lay behind.

There had been a particularly unpleasant trip with Karl once. Elspeth had not come along; Karl had made it clear she was not invited. For three days, Peter had spent his time a virtual prisoner of the hotel room. Each day had been tedious, but the nights were much worse. Karl spent each successive night out drinking. The first evening, he had come back sick-drunk and in dire need of help. Peter had greeted him at the door, helped him wriggle out of his clothes, washed Karl’s face after he had puked, and washed himself and his clothes after Karl had vomited on him. He had cleaned the bathroom so it did not smell, and since Karl had insisted on vomiting into the sink, he had removed handfuls of
undigested food from the clogged sink drain and flung them down the toilet in nauseated disgust. He had helped Karl into his pajamas, guided him into his bed, and helped his master in and out of that bed with each succeeding wave of
Korn
-inspired nausea. In the moments of peace in between, Peter had lain on the floor, at the foot of the bed, and had wrapped himself in a bit of sheet that hung over the edge.

On the second night, Karl had returned drunk again, but this time in the company of his conference buddies, who stayed and played cards late into the night. As he stared out the window of the ch‚teau, Peter shied away from remembering exactly how long that night had lasted, exactly how much petty abuse had been meted out to him in the interests of humor and fun.

The third night had been the last. Karl had come back late and drunk again, this time grasping at a prostitute, who was, to judge by appearances, equally drunk. They had stumbled into the room giggling, then the prostitute had caught sight of him. She gasped her surprise and looked him up and down with undisguised curiosity. He took their coats and Karl maneuvered her to the bed and they began undressing. There was nowhere for Peter to retreat to, and he had stood uneasily staring out the window into the night, trying to ignore the sounds of their frenzied, drunken, grotesque attempts at sex.

When the woman got up to leave and was pulling on her clothes, Karl had called him over to the bedside. “Hey, you,
Fräulein.
Do it with him,” Karl ordered, pointing at him.

The woman ceased struggling with her stockings and looked up in alarm. “Him?” she asked, trying to determine if she had misunderstood.

“Yeah. I want to see you two at it. Do it. Don’t worry, I’ll pay his costs.” Then, turning to Peter, Karl had added, laughing, “There, now don’t say I never give you anything! I mean, surely you want it, don’t you?”

Peter felt his cheeks growing hot. Karl knew what would happen, knew he could then gloat at his obvious superiority and masculinity. Peter surveyed his options: blatant refusal and the attendant violent punishment, or a humiliating inability born of shame and the resultant denunciations of impotence and inferiority, which Karl would continually broadcast thereafter, or compliance and success and the knowledge that he had performed sex on command for his master’s amusement.

The quandary had been nicely solved by the prostitute’s appalled response. “I cannot do that! I am a good German,
mein Herr!”
she had declared, “and I will not violate the race laws in this manner!”

Karl had hesitated a moment, as if deciding whether to pursue his little theater, but then he had given in and said, “Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear. I respect and salute your purity.”

Zosia said something to Tadek, which broke Peter’s reverie, and he let the curtain drop back into place. He thought of the prostitute’s kindness. She had given up good money and risked Karl’s wrath to rescue him. Or, he wondered, had she
meant what she had said? Had she viewed sex with him as akin to being asked to copulate with a dog? He would never know, he thought. And maybe it was better that way.

The seconds ticked by, the minutes slowly accumulated. Eventually, it was time for dinner; there was a light tap at the door, and a gangly young private indicated that he would escort them to the dining room. He seemed almost obsequious in his manners, but nevertheless balked at the idea of Peter being left behind in the room.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but this area is not secure.We can’t just leave him here. If he doesn’t accompany you to dinner, then he’ll have to be locked up elsewhere.”

Zosia and Tadek exchanged a look. “He’ll come with us then,” she said while Tadek glanced back at Peter and rolled his eyes. Peter did not know if Tadek was expressing exasperation at him or the rules, nor did he care.

The dinner was held in an ornate dining room with the major and his wife, and the mayor of the local village and his wife. A crystal chandelier sent splinters of light dancing around the room. The table was intricately carved and richly set with candles and china and silver. Heavy draperies muffled the noise of the howling wind and the pounding rain; the thick carpeting gave the room a warm, isolated atmosphere. Peter stood uneasily near a wall listening to the soft strains of music that came from the cleverly hidden speakers. Everything—from the drapes to the warmth to the music—reminded him of the
Kommandant,
and he shuddered with revulsion. He knew Zosia had thought she was defending his interests when she had insisted that he accompany them, but he would really have preferred to be elsewhere, anywhere else. As personal property, he was sure he would have been well treated, and he might have been able to engage his guard or some kitchen help in conversation. Now, he was stuck here, bored beyond belief, tortured by the smells of the food, watching everybody else eat as his own hunger gnawed at him.

The conversation covered the usual range of topics, and Peter forced himself to listen to everything the major had to say in order to learn as much as he could about the man’s knowledge base. Several times during the evening, Zosia or Tadek subtly tried to turn the conversation to security or computers or codes, but the major was determinedly intent on his anecdotes and jokes and did not seem to notice their attempts. He talked at length about his experiences in England and about his musical interests, his family, and his dog. He seemed to have a wonderful time with his attentive guests, and he suggested that they have dinner together the following evening.

“That would be absolutely wonderful,” Zosia replied, then looking at Tadek, asked, “Do you think we’ll be back in time, dear?”

Tadek nodded. “I don’t think my family expects that I’ll be able to visit for very long. They understand that duty comes first. And I would certainly view it as a duty to enjoy another of your wonderful meals, Major!”

“Good, good! We’ll be eating a bit later tomorrow, and there will be more guests as well—I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting them! Oh, it really is a bit hard having such a difficult job!” the major joked, and downed the last of his wine. “And speaking of work—we’ll need to look at that data you brought tomorrow. I’ll send someone around for you in the morning so that we can transfer it to my system.”

“Yes, of course.” Tadek smiled and nodded.

They relocated to the drawing room for after-dinner drinks, but Zosia, mercifully, pleaded fatigue and had Peter accompany her back to the room. Once they got there and had the door shut behind them, she groaned and kicked off her shoes and threw herself down on the couch in a display of exasperation. Peter waited until she looked up and then mimicked eating.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Zosia leapt up and went to the door, but no one was there. She went to the phone and tentatively picked up the receiver.

“Yes?” the operator inquired.

“Yes, this is Frau Móller. Could you send up some food for”—she squinted at Peter’s frantic shaking of his head, nodded her comprehension, and finished, “me. I’ve grown hungry.”

Once she had set the receiver down, she inquired with a look why she should not order food directly for him. Was he supposed to not eat? Peter mimicked his answer: “Yes, but it would be appalling food!” Zosia shrugged almost as if she didn’t believe him, but let the subject drop. In any case, a hearty snack for her arrived a few minutes later, and he ate it gratefully in silence.

The following morning Tadek was called away to work with the major. Zosia was entertained by the major’s wife, who planned to give, at her guest’s request, an impromptu tour of the mansion. Peter and Zosia arrived in the main hallway at the appointed time and were greeted by Frau Rattenhuber. At the dinner the major’s wife had eyed Peter up and down, and now she repeated this maneuver. Suddenly, without preamble, she spoke directly to him. “You speak German, don’t you?”

“Of course,
gnädige Frau.”

She scowled at his rudeness but did not comment. “I know that some of you don’t understand very well—stupid I guess.”

He did not respond.

“Do you understand me?”

“I understand,
gnädige Frau.”

“My brother went out East, to where your people still are.” She emphasized
still
as though this were an indication of some sort of failure.“He settled a farmstead out there.”

Again Peter did not respond.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.”

“Do you know what happened to him?”