Lycanthropos (12 page)

Festhaller turned to the young woman and smiled. "My
pleasure, Fräulein."

"The pleasure is mine, Herr Professor,"
Petra
replied,
shaking his hand and noting that his handshake was weak and liquid
.

"I have made careful records of everything we've been doing with the Sorbs since we spoke last month," Mengele
said. "I think that you will find the results interesting. The Sorbs seem to have absorbed a great deal of Aryan blood
over the centuries..."

"Yes, yes, in a moment," Festhaller interrupted. "Before
we get into all that, I have some special orders for you
from the
Reichsführer
." He reached into the inner pocket of
his heavy overcoat and pulled out a brown communications
envelope, clearly sealed with Himmler's personal insignia.
He handed it to Mengele and said, "A new project is being
begun, Herr Doctor, a fascinating new project."

"Indeed?" Mengele replied as he opened the envelope and unfolded the enclosed orders. His eyebrows rose as he read Himmler's message, and then he asked, "Is this serious, Herr
Professor? Is this true?"

"I have seen the film with my own eyes, Herr Doctor,"
Festhaller answered. "There is no doubt about the truth of Colonel Schlacht's report."

Mengele emitted a low whistle. "I'd give a year's pay to
get my hands on this man."

"No doubt, no doubt," Festhaller said, "but the
Reichsführer
doesn't want to commit too much of our research resources to this until he is certain that it is worth pursuing. Schlacht will be in charge of the project, and I will act as expert consultant for the time being. I'm quite certain that if we see results quickly, the entire matter will be transferred to you in due time. At the moment, however, all we require from you is a chemist to
assist the colonel's cousin."

Mengele dropped the orders down on the desk and began to pace up and down. "I'm not sure which of my people is best
qualified for this sort of research," he muttered. "Belser, perhaps. He studied genetics in
London
during the thirties.
He might be what Colonel Schlacht needs..."

As Mengele contemplated which of his assistants he could
spare for the next few months. Petra Loewenstein surrendered to her curiosity and looked down at the orders. She strained her eyes in a attempt to read them without being too obvious about it, and then her face blanched when she saw the word ‘
werewolf', and she picked the papers up eagerly. Her hands trembled as she studied them intently. Festhaller grabbed the pages from her and said with undisguised annoyance,
"That is classified material, Fräulein!"

She did not respond to his words. Instead she looked at
Mengele and said earnestly, "Herr Doctor, you must transfer
me to this project, you simply must!"

"Now,
Petra
," Mengele began, "this requires someone with
particular expertise in the..."

"Please, Herr Doctor, read my personal dossier," she
interrupted. "You will see that I have had some experience
with genetics." She paused. "You will also see that I have personal reasons for wishing to become involved in this
research."

"Petra, I cannot spare you here," Mengele said firmly.
"Our work with the Sorbs..."

"Can be continued by any one of a number of chemists,"
she finished for him. "Please, Herr Doctor, take a moment to read my dossier. Please!"

Mengele hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Very
well. If you will excuse me, Herr Professor?"

Festhaller shrugged. "As you wish." He watched as Mengele
left the room to go to his office, and then he turned to
Petra
. "Fräulein Loewenstein, I must say that I am not pleased with the manner in which you speak to your
superiors!"

She lowered her eyes. "I meant no offense, Herr
Professor, honestly I didn't. But I simply must work on this project, I simply must!"

He appraised her, noting with lascivious interest her
flawless skin and trim, athletic figure. Festhaller walked over to her and said, "The final decision will be mine, of
course."

"I understand, Herr Professor," she said. "I would be forever grateful to you if this opportunity did not pass me
by. I have made genetics my special area of study, you see."

He nodded understandingly and then, without any needless
preliminaries, he placed his right hand upon her rump and
began to move it back and forth across her buttocks. "Yes, I
see," he said. "I am certain you would be grateful for the transfer." He moved his left hand to her breasts and
explored them roughly.

Petra
suppressed the urge to spit in his face, and forced herself to smile. "Yes, very grateful, Herr Professor." She shut her eyes tightly and did her best to feign enthusiasm as Festhaller pulled her body tightly to his and pressed his fat, sweaty lips upon her mouth. His tongue forced its way between her teeth and his breath smelled of old sausages and stale beer.
Petra
tensed herself, ordering herself not to retch.

The door opened and Mengele walked in, intently reading
the contents of a file folder. Festhaller released the young
woman immediately and stepped back, so that when Mengele
looked up he saw nothing out of the ordinary. "
I
think that Fräulein Loewenstein will do," Festhaller said.

"Yes, yes,
I
tend to agree," Mengele said, nodding.
"
If
you would wait in my office, Herr Professor?
I
have a bottle of aquavit which I've been saving to share with you."

"Certainly, certainly," Festhaller agreed, waddling out
of the room.
"
I
look forward to working with you, Fräulein," he said innocently as he exited. The door closed behind him.

Mengele did not attach any significance to the fact that
Petra
was vigorously wiping her mouth as he said, "I had read your dossier when you first came to work here, of course, but I had never given any thought to these facts." He looked at her, saying in a sad and sympathetic tone,
"Both parents."

"Yes, Herr Doctor," she said quietly. "Mother and father
both."

He shook his head. "A horrible way to
die."

"Yes, Herr Doctor." Her face was an impassive, stoic
mask.

He paused again and then said, "
Petra
, it isn't likely that there is any connection, you know. And the testimony of
a terrified traumatized child..."

"My memory is quite clear, Herr Doctor. And I must work
on this project, whether a connection exists or not."

He nodded. "I understand completely. But I hope you
understand that personal considerations must never interfere
with scientific objectivity or devotion to duty."

"Of course I understand that, Herr Doctor," she said,
bristling slightly. "I am a scientist, after all!"

"Yes, yes, of course you are," he said kindly. He closed
the file folder. "Well, I shall issue transfer orders for
you at once. Make certain that this room is cleaned up, will you? I must go now and keep the Professor company for a
while."

"Yes, Herr Doctor," she said as she walked toward the
door.
"I'll
be back in a moment to attend to it." She left the operating room and went to the lavatory, where she spent the next few minutes vigorously rinsing her mouth,
determined to eliminate the residual taste of Festhaller's kiss. "Fat pig," she muttered, and then spit into the sink.

The walls of the nether reaches of the Ragoczy dungeons had rarely echoed the sounds of laughter in the centuries since they were built, but the family comedy which Louisa
von Weyrauch was relating to Blasko was causing the old man
to chuckle loudly. Schlacht had returned to
Budapest
and had
given Gottfried von Weyrauch details of his conversation
with Himmler and the consequent experiment authorization,
with the clear order that he was to confide the information
to no one. Weyrauch had agreed and had immediately thereafter confided it to his wife, who proceeded to burst into her cousin's office unannounced to tell him precisely
what she thought of him, his plans, and his boss. Schlacht had then summoned Weyrauch and had turned the full blast of
his anger on him. Blasko found himself laughing at the young
woman's description of the confrontation and at the picture
of the combination of Weyrauch's embarrassed discomfort,
Louisa's furious disapproval and Schlacht's withering
sarcasm.

Blasko was sitting on the stool in his damp dungeon
cell, eating a bowl of stew and a thick hunk of black bread.
Those unfortunates who fell into the hands of the S.S.
rarely ate well, if they ate at all, but Blasko's continued,
if temporary survival was a component in the experiment
which Schlacht hoped to begin within a few days, and so the
old Gypsy was grudgingly afforded some hog's head stew and
some stale black bread. To someone like Blasko, accustomed to eating whatever sustenance came his way, the food was
welcome and nourishing.

Louisa finished her anecdote, remarking to herself that she and Blasko were having less and less difficulty communicating with each other in their Romansch/Italian conversations, and watched as the Gypsy wiped the bowl dry with the bread that he then popped into his mouth. "
Grashia,
Donna," Blasko said. "My people spend much time telling tales around the fire at night, so I know a good story teller when I meet one." He smiled warmly. "You should
have been born a Gypsy."

Louisa accepted the intended compliment by returning his
smile and nodding her head slightly, and then she asked, "How can you still laugh, Herr Blasko? After all that has happened and after I've told you what they're planning to
do, how can you still laugh?"

"Donna, I am alive, I am sheltered, and I am eating. I
had expected to be dead weeks ago, and yet here I am, alive,
sheltered, eating. So when you tell me a funny tale, why shouldn't I laugh?" Then, as an afterthought, "And please, Donna, I am not Herr Blasko. I am Blasko, simply Blasko."

She smiled at him once again. "Very well. You can be Blasko if I can be Louisa."

The
old
man shook his head. "No, Donna, no. It would not be proper for me to address you as an equal."

Louisa's nostrils flared suddenly. "Blasko, if you have come to know me at all over these past few weeks, you must know that I do not believe the blasphemous nonsense the Nazis teach us about Nordic Supremacy!"

"Donna..." Blasko began, taken slightly aback by her
vehemence.

"You
are
my equal, Blasko! All of God's children are
brothers and sisters! ‘In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither male nor female, neither slave nor free, but all are one in Christ,'" she concluded, quoting the New Testament.

"
Pairei faviori
,
ma Donna!" Blasko laughed. "I wasn't talking about Germans and Gypsies! You are a fine lady, the wife of a holy man. I know that when Germans have ‘von' in their names, it means that they are nobles, so you are a Donna in truth. And I am just a poor wanderer. It would be unthinkable for me to address you by your given name."

Louisa blushed slightly. "I'm sorry, Blasko. I'm just so
accustomed to hearing people talk about... well, it doesn't
matter. I'm sorry. And by the way, my husband is far from
holy and his family is far from noble. There are millions of
people whose families acquired a ‘von' somewhere along the
line."

"Still, Donna," Blasko said, "you have been kind to me,
and you have taken the time to talk with me and visit with me. You have tried to calm my fears and soothe my worries,
so to me you are a donna, and a donna you will stay." Then,
with an exaggerated flourish, he leaned forward and kissed
her hand.

The gesture was too dramatic to be intended seriously,
and Louisa tried for a few moments to repress the laughter which then erupted uncontrollably. Blasko joined in the laughter, and an S.S. guard came to the door of the cell and looked in, annoyed by the mirth. He watched them for a few moments and then, shaking his head angrily, resumed his patrol.
I must speak to the Colonel about this
, he thought to himself.
An Aryan woman and a Gypsy together in close proximity! It is highly improper!