Alphabet House (19 page)

As things were, he had to be on his way immediately, but first he needed something to put on his feet. Unfortunately no footwear was to be found.

The stairs leading down to the floor below ended at a door. It may have been locked once, but now only dampness and dirt resisted his shove. The room he entered was devoid of activity. The bombardment sounded different here. The entire pitched roof vibrated. The chaotic imminence of destruction felt grim and disheartening.

The corridor outside the room was narrow and stretched through the entire building, with several doors on either side. Bryan stood in the dim light in the middle of the passageway, feeling his entire body break into a cold sweat. Here was a man in a dressing gown in the women’s quarters. No one could be in any doubt that he was a patient who’d gone astray.

The attic room he hadn’t been able to enter from the roof had to be behind one of the three doors straight in front of him. Sounds coming from inside the door on the right, and the distance between it and the next two doors, told him where the bathroom and lavatories must be. Thus the door in the middle had to be the room above the examination room on the floor below, and the one on the left had to be the door to the attic room.

Behind the lavatory door Bryan heard a chain being pulled and a nose being blown. He disappeared into the attic room just as the woman entered the hallway, taking tiny, weary steps. As she passed the next door she knocked on it and shouted something. Within a second the passage was a confusion of footsteps and scattered talk.

Flashes of light pulsating against the night sky could be seen through the sliver of window space above the massive cupboard. Echoes of lorry motors starting up came from down in the yard.

It was more hectic activity than normal for that time of night.

Bryan looked around. Piles of neatly folded linen appeared in the flashes that accompanied each detonation. No shoes. Only linen. Even a shirt or some underwear would have been enough.

But there was nothing there he could use.

Gradually the activity in the hallway slackened off and gave way to the sound of humming chatter inside the rooms. The unidentifiable shadows he saw through the keyhole disappeared. Bryan’s chances were now greatly reduced. He could run upstairs again onto the roof in his present get-up and try to make it over to the fir trees. It was a long drop. Or he could try to get into one
of the rooms on the other side of the corridor without being noticed. Here he might find some clothes, as well as less risky access to the trees. Both possibilities made him shudder.
If you
were here, James, you’d know what to do!
he thought.

His stomach was churning.

A thundering inferno of simultaneous crashes made the windowpanes vibrate and voices rise inside the rooms. Several doors on the opposite side of the corridor were thrown open and the girls flew across the passage into the rooms facing west, where there was a clear view. Bryan opened the door without pausing to think and rushed across the passage. Several young nurses were running about further down. Another series of booms were flung towards the building. No one noticed him disappear into the nearest attic room.

The room was small and dark, the bed recently evacuated. A dark, almost indigo-coloured blackout curtain covered the window. Bryan found some of what he was looking for in the cupboard beside the door. A faded shirt, long woollen socks and some voluminous long underwear. He opened the window without hesitation and threw all the garments towards the nearest fir tree. It was illuminated in flashes, like from fireworks on New Year’s Eve. The socks immediately rebounded off the branches and disappeared on the wrong side of the fence.

Before Bryan jumped, the thought struck him that the room’s inhabitant might discover the open window behind the closed curtains.

When Bryan flung his arms around the damp branches that whipped against him mercilessly, the sudden impact reopened the wound in his hand. It had been a dreadful jump. Without warning he slid a couple of feet downwards while the needles tore silently across his face. For a moment he hung motionless, half-impaled on a number of branches, until he slid further down in fits and starts and finally fell into thin air.

Despite a blow to the neck, he raised his head from the ground and looked up. Just a foot to one side, and he would
have hit a sharp boulder. The underwear and shirt had landed beside him. Just behind him the fence shimmered greyishly. Only faint streaks of light signified any sign of life in the building beyond the fence.

Not a soul was to be seen, apart from inside a window on the second floor where Bryan thought he could make out a silhouette. It was blurred, but familiar.

It was some time before he recovered sufficient strength to put on the stolen articles of clothing. He regretted losing the socks. His feet already burned with the cold. He would be able to increase his pace and get warm again as soon as he got off the rocky ground onto something softer. Although his ankle still felt swollen and sprained, it didn’t hurt. In this case the cold helped.

There was plenty of activity in the area.

Trucks were streaming back and forth along the narrow roads heading west from the villages in the hinterland, forcing Bryan to run along the edge of the ditches.

The first part of the way he followed a stream, treacherously dark and cold, like an inverted hell. It was the only place Bryan felt sure the dogs wouldn’t be able to track him.

Knowing this made it worth the suffering.

The air above echoed with the continual commands of soldiers, coming from indeterminate directions. The deep growl of guns could be heard from the north-northwest. The night air had a life of its own.

Several rooftops announced the presence of a village and forced Bryan back towards the mountainside. On a night like this everyone was awake. Every single explosion could mean someone’s son, husband or father wouldn’t be coming home.

This was the kind of night on which one learned to pray.

A big town lay on the other side of the village, and behind it vineyards stretching right to the Rhine. The idyllic luxuriance of this Rhineland landscape was marred only by its lifeline, a broad concrete road running through the valley.

This was the terrain he was going to have to deal with.

There were a few buildings scattered along the roads leading out of the town. There were restless cattle in their stalls, washing left on the line, shovels ready to dig rows of potatoes. This all bore witness to the fact that life would continue, undaunted,
tomorrow and the day after. Then came some new buildings, deserted hovels, dilapidated sheds and more ditches.

Behind him the impact of cannon fire echoed softly from Schwarzwald. He had never been so close to ground fighting before. Gun positions entrenched on his side of the Rhine were trying in vain to retaliate. Bryan didn’t see a single shell drop in spite of the fact that the entire area seemed like the gaping jaws of adversity and death.

And he’d only reached the outpost of the inferno.

It was on the other side of the river that unreality, the incarnate confrontation with reason and humanity, was spawned.

Finally Bryan reached the road.

Crossing it unseen seemed practically impossible. The road was wet and reflected the narrow slits of car headlights. He would stand out much too clearly on this long, straight stretch of concrete. The danger of being discovered seemed imminent even though the lights alongside the road were not functioning.

Lorry after lorry was transporting troops and supplies to and from the front. A few hundred feet before him several motorcycle dispatch riders in long coats were trying to slow down the traffic. Behind them an enormous sign had been torn down and lay twisted on the right-hand side of the road. It had indicated the access road from the mountains a few miles further on.

Bryan could see dim lights crossing beneath the main road where the dispatch riders were standing, and he made for the wrecked sign. If vehicles could pass under the motorway, so could he.

Most of the time the viaduct lay in darkness. Only occasionally was it illuminated by overloaded vans and private cars that were evacuating civilians from the villages close to the Rhine. Muffled voices rose from below. Suspecting something might be wrong, he retreated towards the motorway. People in scanty garments were scattered along the smaller road, clutching themselves and shuddering in front of their houses as they watched what was going on.

Confused by the flashes of simultaneous explosions that lit up the sky as if dawn had broken, one of the flatbed-truck drivers overlooked the dispatch riders’ request to slow down. The screech of brakes as he caught sight of the twisted road sign at the very last moment sent the dispatch riders diving for the sides of the motorway, shouting so loudly that Bryan could hear the panic in their voices. Just as the driver was over the viaduct his brakes jammed, forcing the lorry diagonally along the road. Then, propelled by the inertia of its heavy load, it slid sideways, smashed into the sign and finally came to a halt against the crash barrier. The lorries behind it were so close that it was completely impossible for the lorry to reverse. The ensuing traffic jam stopped the traffic for a moment, and with it, the sporadic illumination of the motorway.

Bryan looked towards the south. In a few seconds the temporary halt in the traffic would be over and the entire motorway in front of him would be blocked by moving vehicles. Then he’d be stuck where he was. All was clear to the north at the moment. Elated by his luck, Bryan took advantage of the short traffic jam, hobbled determinedly across the motorway and disappeared on the other side.

In the fraction of a second in which he looked back to make sure that neither the villagers nor the dispatch riders had seen him, he thought he saw other shadows had also crossed the road.

The grapes had long since been harvested. The soil between the vines had been churned up to reveal countless severed branches sticking up treacherously, turning every step into a balancing act if his feet were not to be torn to shreds. Bryan would have given anything for a pair of shoes.

The cold penetrated his body. His toes had ceased to protest. Like his sprained ankle, they had been engulfed in his general state of pain.

On the other side of the river the rattle of small arms could be heard during a brief, unexplainable pause in the bombardment
to the north. When this too ceased for a moment Bryan heard rustling in the bushes behind him. He straightened up quickly and used all his senses to scan the half-naked, withering vines. Less than ten rows away he saw the grey, unfamiliar shadows moving again.

So he quickened his pace.

The fields came to an end further on where the shadow of a waving windbreak rose up, seemingly impenetrable and infinitely thick. Bryan sensed he was approaching the river. The plopping sounds became more and more audible. The ground beneath him was slippery and he had to fling out his arms to keep his balance. A frightened bird flapped up in front of him, making him stop. He heard a faint sucking sound from behind, like a delayed echo of his groping steps. He turned around and crouched down.

He was not alone.

His pursuer stood less than ten paces away, hands on his hips. Bryan couldn’t see the face but recognised the silhouette. His blood ran cold.

It was Lankau.

He had no intention of letting Bryan escape.

The broad-faced man stood silently and made no attempt to approach, although he could have reached Bryan in a few steps. His attitude was respectful, but it was more than that. It was comfortably expectant. Bryan pricked his ears. The undergrowth behind him rustled.

He had never seen anything like it. The vegetation from there to the Rhine was a combination of marsh and jungle. A completely interwoven botanical masterpiece of running water and forest. A perfect place to disappear on a perfect night. This was clearly something his pursuer had counted on.

They sized each other up for some time. It seemed longer than reasonable, considering the seriousness of the situation, until Bryan realised that Lankau had all the time in the world. He glanced over his shoulder once more. Again the undergrowth
rustled. Then it dawned on him. Someone else was about to jump him from inside the thicket. Instead of seeking cover, Bryan made off southward along the boundary of the vineyard. Lankau was taken by surprise and had to leap over several rows of vines before he reached the spot Bryan had just left.

Bryan’s head start was suddenly quite sizable. As soon as there was an opening in the undergrowth he dove into the strange scrub, where he sank to the waist in water. Though slippery, the bottom was firm. The question was whether they could cut him off from the other side, and perhaps even more relevant, whether the bottom would continue to bear him. The thought of a long, drawn-out death in the mire made him take an extra time-consuming moment to feel the ground with his toes every time he took a step.

Behind him came the sound of excited voices. So Lankau was indeed not alone. They had lost track of him for the moment and Bryan tried to propel himself forward in the water without making any sudden sounds. He wouldn’t be able to endure the coldness of the water much longer. His body would soon be cooled down to the point where his organs would cease to function.

One of the men uttered a hollow, piercing yell from the depths of the undergrowth behind him. So they too were now standing in the cold water.

The crack of machine-gun fire that previously had come from in front was no longer clearly audible in the brush. The Germans’ light defence was mobile and the dyke beside the Rhine was not under direct fire just then.

On a summer’s day it would be wonderful there. Birds and flowers and colours everywhere. But right now it was a disaster area.

Bryan dragged himself over a muddy bank where some rotten branches had wedged themselves and set new roots.

Time was beginning to run out. Probably about six or seven hours had passed. It could be three o’clock in the morning, or even four.

Bryan prayed it wasn’t five. Then there would only be two hours of darkness left.

A motor vehicle rumbled past, right in front of him, as though it were flying through the air. He was very close to the dyke now.

The sounds had changed and were far more distinct than before. To reach the dyke, it was 200 or 300 yards at most. Bryan was tense and uneasy about getting over the dyke to the riverbed, and troubled by the thought of the seething cauldron of troops forced up against the wall on the river’s far bank. Summoning all his senses, he cautiously made his way into the last stretch of marsh.

The air around him suddenly darkened in a commotion of flapping wings and shrill bird cries. The stench hit him instantly. It was acrid and rotten. One of the many hundred water birds was unable to fly away and began pecking at him. He stood completely still in the pale moonlight and saw the flock rise and gradually assemble again in the treetops. All the birds sat with their beaks pointing upward as if expecting an enemy from above. The treetops were their fortress and the liana-like growths that swayed exotically from the branches were their shields. It was like being in a primeval forest.

Everyone around must have heard the infernal din, yet Bryan noticed nothing irregular in his vicinity. He stood quietly, listening for some time before proceeding. As he took the first step towards the nearest clump of rushes, Dieter Schmidt attacked him head-on out of nowhere. The wiry man reached instantly for Bryan’s throat as he tried unsuccessfully to kick him in the groin through the water. His body worked mechanically, without hesitation. They tumbled over, sending the birds soaring into the air again. Bryan rolled onto his side, forcing a muddy piece of broken-off branch into his ear. He roared with pain and kicked his feet so violently against the bottom that both men were ejected out of the water at the same time. Furious at having lost his grip, the thin man staggered in front of him, slapping the water with the flat of his hand like a malicious, provocative
child as he slowly approached. Bryan glanced desperately over his shoulder. Lankau was nowhere to be seen.

As Schmidt sprang forward again like a rabid animal, Bryan grabbed a floating branch and lashed out at his face. The man neither cried out nor slowed down as the branch went sideways through his mouth and halfway out his left cheek. Then Bryan jumped to one side to get a firmer foothold and two more rapid steps sideways enabled him to take stock of his position. The skinny man bared his teeth, standing to his knees in water. He stood for a moment, collecting himself. The branch moved in and out of his bulging cheek at every breath, making him look ridiculous in spite of the deadly seriousness of the situation. Like Bryan, his body was covered only by a soaking wet, grey dressing gown. His legs were naked, with no covering of fat, and just as blue-black as the water he was standing in. They’d been quick off the mark, he and the broad-faced man. It was hard not to admire their efficiency and determination.

And now Bryan had to break the fanatical willpower that had driven them to this spot with the sole object of killing him.

A shout from Lankau came from not very far away. Bryan’s eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth like a cornered animal, causing the thin man to instantly rush forward with outstretched hands. Bryan was no longer afraid. In his sudden leap, Schmidt momentarily lost his foothold in the smooth water, making him lean forward in an attempt to regain his balance. That’s when Bryan’s precise kick landed on his larynx.

Hardly any gurgles escaped the quivering figure as it fell over backwards. Not even as Bryan pressed the man under the water with all his might.

Just as the skinny man was about to lose his hold on life, Lankau appeared out of the thicket, jumping clumsily through the muck with knees held high. The machine guns began ticking again. This time they were quite close. Lankau and Bryan stood face-to-face, silent and determined in the calf-high water.

Lankau was still as a statue. He held a knife in his left hand with its long, ragged edge pointing into the air. Bryan knew those knives. A perfectly ordinary piece of cutlery from the hospital kitchen. How the broad-faced man had managed to get hold of it was puzzling. But how he’d managed to get it sharpened was really a mystery.

It was pointed like an awl.

Lankau stood sizing him up for some time and began speaking to him quietly. It was clear that he had respect for his adversary. But not the kind that would weaken his resolve.

The fight was unavoidable and unequal.

If nothing happened soon, they’d both be frozen stiff. Neither wished to lose the initiative and neither wished to take it. But then an almost inaudible sound from the forest mobilized Bryan’s senses. The thin man’s body turned at a right angle and lay on its side in the water as his last breath left him. The bubbles were silent and reminded Bryan that the water was his ally. He had the water, the darkness and the difference in age on his side.