Stile Maus (21 page)

‘What do you think about Vilsmaier?’ the Lieutenant said again.

‘Oh, well...’

‘My wife, she adores him.  The thanks I’d get for bringing home an autograph.  I mean if he
was
here I wouldn’t be surprised, it’s not as though Paris is a war zone.  The perfect city to hide a national hero, other than Berlin that is,’ the Lieutenant snapped open a thick log book and tapped on the wave of pages,

‘I’ll need your signature here Captain, visitors log.’ 

Tobias began to plough through his inside pockets, his legs felt hotter by the second. 

‘Pen?’

‘Karsten, pen.’

The young man sitting behind the desk scrambled at the inventory before him and after his pimple dashed face had somewhat reddened he managed to slap a pen onto the bend of the visitor book.  Tobias signed the page and smiled, handing the pen back down to the nervous private.

‘Aha!’ yelled Keitel, grabbing at Tobias’s sleeve.

‘I appreciate the gesture, believe me I do, but I’m afraid even my wife would realise that this was a forgery.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Tobias.

‘The signature,’ grinned the Lieutenant, his finger pointing at the log book.  With his face riddled in confusion, Tobias stooped down and studied the last autograph.  A heavy lump formed in his throat.  His eyes enlarged, engorged with fear.  The signature on the page was not that of Captain
Niklaus Linder, it was of the German hero, Tobias Vilsmaier. 

‘Nearly got away with it,’ Tobias simpered quickly, gesturing at the desk clerk to pass back the pen. 

‘It would have made quite the story at supper this evening,’ chuckled the Lieutenant as he watched the Captain scratch away the signature and produce a fresh stretch of ink below. 

‘It’s been a pleasure Captain Linder.’

‘Likewise, Lieutenant Keitel, I’ll keep an eye out for the movie star and if I see him, I’ll be sure to send him this way.’

He slumped into the back of the car and closed the door, immediately falling onto one side and trembling uncontrollably against the leather seat.  The driver turned and muttered his concern but Tobias told him to drive through gritted teeth.  His heart raged, his fingers locked, his mind boggled and raced.  He had no control, it was as though every muscle in his body had sprung to life.  Sweat dripped from his forehead and leaked onto the hot leather.  Unbuttoning his collar Tobias breathed, desperately trying to calm his thumping heart.  Every few seconds the driver’s eyes filled the mirror, staring upon the man quivering against the back seat.  A hand clasped against his chest, soon to be rattled with a pulsating buzz.  The cab screeched to a halt outside the hotel.

‘No, no,’ spluttered Tobias, ‘g-go around the block,
circle the block, please.’

Nodding worriedly the driver slammed his foot against the accelerator and sped off, leaving the valet confused and stranded on the sidewalk. 

On the fourth time in passing the hotel Tobias tapped at the front seat and requested that the driver pull over.

‘Danke,’ he muttered, tossing a few notes into the front cabin.

He climbed out and monitored his heartbeat as he lumbered up the stairs and headed into the entrance lobby.  The evening had approached without warning and the lobby was lit in a murky glance of golden light.

‘Good evening Captain.’

He ignored the clerk and stepped into the nearest elevator, continuously punching at the button panel until it arrived at his floor.  With a careful stride he came to his room and rested his head against the door, his hands were clenched, his room key digging deep into his clammy palm.  His legs were heavy with fear; he didn’t want to be alone. He turned and headed back to the elevator.  He needed a drink.        

The scotch numbed his lips.  It was warm, potent.  A band of cheerful faces surrounded him, each laughing and joking whilst spitting out sprays of rich champagne.  They stroked at the collection of medals darned into his tunic, smiling as he recited countless accounts of battle and bravery.  The act continued.  His earlier panic reduced somewhat by each drink, arriving on a tray every five minutes or so.  His admirers held their breath as he spoke of ruthless enemies and perilous operations, hanging on every scotch bleached word. 

‘Were you not scared?’ sounded in his ears.

‘No, no,’ he chuckled, ‘of course not.’  Impressed, his entourage giggled and applauded.  Tobias began to relax and bathed in his characters false glory, lapping up every kiss and intoxicated compliment.  His warm fingers wrapped around the thin stem of a champagne glass and he sipped clumsily at the sizzling bubbles.  The tavern was lively.  Every so often an onlooker would pass the rowdy table and see an ageing German, encircled within a mob of gorgeous women.  A scatter of officers sat around the bar, quietly discussing the activity of the mysterious Captain’s exclusive company. 

Why does he get all the attention?  Who is he anyway?

They knew him.  They just didn’t know it.  A celebrity of his calibre knew how to attract a crowd such as the one sitting beside him.  There was a loud titter.  A glass scraped through a puddle that had stretched across the table.  A bustle of faces appeared at the entrance, followed by a clumsy racket of speech.  He prodded a finger over his rounded spectacles and swiped away the encasement of steamy gloss.  The new group joined the gawping officers at the bar and after a few whispers were exchanged, they too began to glance over at the taverns most vivacious table.  Hands rushed over his uniform, lipstick brushed against his cheeks.  For a while he had fallen silent, basking within a wave of rich compliments and flirtatious gestures.  His eyes caught the crowd at the bar.  One particular woman had been staring more than the others, glancing back into her glass every so often, he imagined so as not to arouse suspicion.  A burgundy shawl covered her shoulders and her slender body was cloaked in a black dress.  Tobias finally caught her glare.  For a moment or two he wondered about signalling for her to come over however once his drunken glare had settled he shrunk back into the cushioned seat, shying behind a tower of tall champagne bottles.  It couldn’t be, he thought, could it?  He took another gulp of scotch and raised his eyes over the brim of his spectacles.  It was
, it was the girl.  The girl from that night, in the tavern, the girl he had woken beside and then so carelessly left without the mask of Captain Linder.  What if she had seen him without the disguise as well as the loud mouth bartender?  He sunk further into his seat and avoided crossing glares again and excused himself hurriedly from within the hive of nattering voices.  His steps were shaky as he made his way across the bar and towards the entrance.  He was sure she was following his every movement, whispering to a friend behind a shield of fingers, telling everyone about how Tobias Vilsmaier was hiding underneath this German Captain’s disguise.  He glanced back.  She was nowhere to be seen, hidden amongst the collection of faces perhaps.  The table where he had been seated remained the same, champagne was sipped and smiles shared.  He wasn’t sure if they had even noticed him leave. 

He tried again, this time sinking his head into a pair of cold hands.  Taking in shallow bursts of air he desperately tried to clear his mind.  A rifling shake spread across his entire body causing his fingers to jingle unsteadily against his cheeks.  The warm taste of scotch had turned sour and it stifled his attempt at spluttering a sequence of gentle coughs.  Through the misty lens of his spectacles he stared out across the river.  Strands of brilliant light stretched out across the water, bobbing tenderly upon a silent bed of blackness.  He flexed his fingers around the railings and peered down into the water.  A swelling reflection stared back at him.  He pried his palms away from the cold steel and pushed away, back stepping until his heel clipped the curb.  There was a sudden rush of panic, a cascade of ice cold dread.  After a few short breaths he approached the railings once more, this time cautiously casting his gaze down into the gulf of pitiless black.  A gasp slipped away from his dry lips.

Staring back at him was a middle aged man, his face mantled with a pair of round spectacles and his crooked smile cloaked behind a bristly moustache.  The reason for his sudden terror was simple.  The second reflection did not match the first.  He couldn’t be sure if it was the drink or the purple night playing tricks on his tired eyes but what he did know is that what he saw first of all hadn’t been Niklaus Linder.  It had been the face of a young, handsome man wearing an expression quenched in despair.  It had been the ghost of Tobias Vilsmaier.  In a sudden rush he began to unpin each medal that was fashioned to his breast pocket, hurling each glistening piece down into the water.  Stripes of icy tears ran across his cheeks.  He cursed at the coiling ripples.  Once every medal had quickly disappeared into the murky depths he grabbed at his face, snatching the spectacles from the bridge of his nose and snapping them in two.  Through the tiny splits of glass he saw his angst and racing fright.  From under his nose he ripped away the fake moustache and allowed it to slip through his fingers, down towards the river and out of sight. 

The hotel room was cold.  A breeze had settled on the walls and had begun to whistle across the gloomy wallpaper like a restless ghoul.  He glared into the dimness.  A half bottle of liquor sat on the bedside table.  He couldn’t remember what it was but he was sure it would quench his thirst.  It dangled behind him, clenched in a weak clasp as he approached the bed. His shadow hit the mirror and he turned, observing the dark figure shaking within its frame.  For some reason he thought back to the night before he had left for Paris.  He had pondered over which way to lean, which way to walk.  One thing he had not contemplated was whether he would be able to endure becoming an entirely different person.  This was no longer an act.  Even as he looked upon the rugged form of himself in the mirror he found himself wondering what his likes were, what past times he enjoyed, what thoughts ran through his mind.  Niklaus Linder had come and gone but by doing so, had also taken Toby Vilsmaier with him.  What was left was a shell, filled with liquor and hate.  He closed his eyes, blindly swigging at the shallow bottle.  The darkness was strong and he found himself spiralling into the nothingness.  He stumbled over to the radio and took the receiver within his quaking grasp before nudging at the switch.  A buzz of noise filled his ears.  Scratchy purrs of interference leaker from each speaker.  He moved closer.  Applause, that’s what the static sounded like, an orchestra of applause.

He pushed away from his seat and thanked those who congratulated him as he passed through the sea of clapping hands.  A man wearing a large grin and a pearly white tuxedo with jet black trousers welcomed him onto the podium.  Beside him stood possibly the most beautiful woman Tobias had ever seen, her dress red and her hair flowing between blonde and brown.  Words were spoken, blurry words.  The wide grin pushed an award into his hands and Tobias raised it toward the cheering audience.  Their faces were lost within the memory, their applause as loud as he could remember. 

“You’re finest performance yet”

A tear had started to run away from the corner of his eye.  The hand that held the receiver began to shake and his lips trembled.   

‘
Captain Linder? Do you read me
?’  A flood of warm tears flowed across his cheeks.  He clutched at the handset and parted his lips, allowing the flowing stream of tears to fall against his tongue.

‘
Captain, do you read me
?’ 

‘That’s not my name,’ he whispered.

‘
Do you read me, Captain Linder
?’

The headset came away in his grip and he swiped at the transmitter, sending it crashing against the wall.  A short flaunt of sparkles and quivering murmurs escaped the shattered box as it crackled listlessly amidst the carpet.  Splinters of plastic and metal lashed into the heavily hunched rug.  Tobias wiped at his nose and lugged back another gulp.  A heart stopping cry slid away from his bitter soaked tongue. 

That is not,
my name

He padded to the curtains and pulled them aside, revealing the flickering city below.  His hand founded the handle.  The drapes lunged into the room, desperate to keep away from the cold outside.  Tobias stepped out onto the balcony.  He knew the air was bitter and chilly but he felt nothing through his mask of tears.  Paris spiralled before him, a city ignited within a yellow glow.  The bottle met his lips.  His arms fell against the railings.  The city lights were sprinkled graciously upon a backcloth of violet, each glint brighter than the last.  He studied them, trying to imprint them in his wavering memory.  The bottle slipped away from his loose grasp and hurtled down into the street below.  He watched carelessly as it smashed into a cobweb of shattered pieces.  He listened to the night. 

Where’s the applause now.

He hooked the heel of his loafer onto the bottom rail and slowly climbed over the edge.  His hands clenched against the cold steel.  Tears battled against his closed eyes.  The drapes flicked at his shoulders. 

Encore,
they scream,
encore
.