Stile Maus (29 page)

A bell jingled above and Felix was introduced by a soft smile.  The waitress left his gaze and continued scrubbing at the tabletop below.  Klatt’s was different to what he remembered.  The paint across the walls had started to soften and there had even been an attempt to redecorate but it seemed as though that idea had been abandoned quickly.  The seats were bare, all except for one.

‘Mr
Kalb?’

Felix met the outstretched hand of a middle aged man who rose as he approached and gestured for the waiter. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, here let me get you a drink.’  His hair was thin and receded sharply.  His stare was as grey as the pairs of cutlery before them.  The waiter scuttled over and quickly poured a simmer of milk into Felix’s empty mug before raising a silver tea pot and adding a flourish of hot water. 

‘Refill, Sir?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

The water rose to the brim and the waiter nodded and walked away.  Felix watched him. 

‘So I take it Luther has explained the situation to you.’

‘In parts, apologies I thought he would be joining us?’

‘If I know Luther he’s probably running late.’

The two men shared a smile and Felix sipped at the tea before taking another look around.

‘And what about your other friend, Doctor Brandt was it?’

‘Caught up at the practice perhaps?’  Sneaking the watch out of his pocket, Felix frowned at the ticking dials and then set it on the table.  Where were they?

‘Nevertheless, shall we go on?’

‘Please.’

The man clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms against one another.

‘So, do you understand what we do?’

‘Like I said, Luther informed me of very little.  I wouldn’t want to assume.’

‘To put it in simple terms, we prevent.  Or at least we aim to.’

‘Luther told me,’ Felix lowered his voice, ‘he told me you ran a rebellion group in the heart of Berlin.’

The man nodded, almost proudly. 

‘That’s correct.  The country is at its worst.  Inflation, the loss of jobs, the poverty, the German people are looking for a way out of this hole and they are willing to cling onto anything they can reach.’ 

‘I can’t disagree.’

‘So now I ask you this Mr Kalb.  What lengths would you go to, what would you do to stop Hitler from gaining complete control?’

Felix glanced cautiously towards the back room.

‘Anything within my power.’

For some reason, he found himself regretting the words he spoke.  Not because he didn’t mean it but because he feared the words would be heard by an eavesdropper. 

‘Excellent.’

There was a quiet hiss of conversation in the back and a waiter soon came rushing past, notepad in hand.  Felix caught the breeze of his passing and followed him to the door.  Someone had taken a seat outside.

‘I guess the weather doesn’t bother some!’ 

‘Right,’ Felix said with a gentle smile, his eyes fixed to the window. 

‘Before we continue, maybe we should wait for the others to arrive,’ the man said, unfastening the top few buttons of his leather jacket. 

‘Would you excuse me,’ he said, ‘I must use the restroom, too much tea perhaps.’  Felix pushed away the chair and nodded politely before reseating.  The stranger slid away from the booth and vanished behind a sweep of louver doors.  The bell above the door tinkled and the waiter stepped inside, hurriedly wiping away the specks of rain on his forehead.

‘You should tell him to come inside,’ Felix said as the waiter passed.

‘Sorry Sir?’

‘The customer,’ he pointed, ‘outside.’  The waiter smiled nervously and looked at the window before moving on swiftly.  Felix sighed and raised the mug to his lips.  The breeze had slipped in through the doorway and Felix was reminded of its icy snare.  It lingered around his ankles and neck.  He noticed that a briefcase sat in the corner of the booth.  A fly hummed around a bowl of sugar, testing how near it could get before Felix took a swipe.            

He snatched up the menu and
glanced it over carelessly.  He wasn’t hungry.  If anything he felt uneasy.  A note sat at the bottom of each laminated page, a message of thanks from the owner.  Jochem Feld.  He lived in Stuttgart and Felix recalled him serving in here before the war.  His pupils widened.  He hadn’t said his name.  Felix glared towards the restroom doors.  The man that had been sitting opposite him hadn’t told him his name.  The watch was gone too.  It had been sitting right before him, just next to his mug.  With a fleeting look his stare arrived at the kitchen.  It was empty.  The hiss of the stove, the smell of burning bacon, the awkward bustle that had watched his conversation so intently.  His fingers curled beneath the table and a soft chuckle left his pursed lips. 

‘Can I offer you a table inside, Sir?’  Klaus shook his head once more, tired of the waiter’s repetition.  Equally annoyed, the waiter huffed and grabbed at the door handle, his curses muffled by the cling of the bell that was disrupted by the forced opening.  Klaus creased the top of the newspaper and peered into the murky dimness of the cafe.         

His grandfather sat in a booth nearing the middle of the room.  The man sitting opposite him had excused himself from his seat and strode across the floor until he became out of sight.  Klaus tried to imagine the conversation they shared.  At first it was easy.  An exchange of hello’s and names then a request or offer of a particular beverage, probably coffee.  A joke must have crossed the table as both men rocked with a slight chortle.  Then came the departure of the leather jacket, swift and out of sight in seconds.  His Grandfather sat alone.  Rain hammered against the canopy above.  The cold slithered in between the soaked grooves of Klaus’ jacket.  Each water filled seam rubbed at his irritated skin.  What was going on in there?  Where were Hugo and Luther Eichel?  What did they have to do with all this?  He tried not to get too distracted, fearing that the slightest amount of complacency could cause him to miss something important.  Again he tilted the paper to assist his gaze.  The outline of his Grandfather still glowed in the middle of the room.  The leather jacket hadn’t yet returned.  There were no other customers, no sign of the waiter.  Klaus stirred, a cold shiver tickled his spine.  Silver beads of rain tumbled across the glass, passing over a collection of golden lettering before dissolving as they hit the pane below, one after the other.  Klaus focused on the other side of the window, observing the dim gloom inside.  The table closest to the glass was covered in a film of heavy dust.  There was no menu, no cutlery.  It may have been that that particular table was reserved for a special person who only came to town once in a blue moon or that the table was rarely occupied due to the fact that it was nearest the door and generally attracted an inhospitable draft.  Those were Klaus’ first thoughts.  Then he looked at the table beside that one and then the table beside that one.  No menus, no cutlery, nothing but a layer of dust.  He pushed his back against the chair, scraping the legs against the wet street.  His fingers crunched at the newspaper and his legs began to rise from the wicker furrow.  A spark ignited.  The windows shattered with an almighty clap and a swirl of black smoke engulfed Hyman Street.  

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Klaus woke to the taste of blood and soot.  For a moment he felt as though he was part of a dream, trapped in a bubble that rendered the outside world muffled and hushed.  His ears bled with the torture of silence.   A bile of black smoke swirled up into the skies.  He raised his palms from a carpet of crackling glass and grappled to his feet.  The cafe stood before him.  Keys of brick broke away from the crumbling foundation and plummeted into the fiery pools of ochre flame that writhed and screeched within.  The aftermath had created a wave of settling mist and ash and it fell in delicate snow like clumps.  The street was lost.  Glass clinked under his back peddling footsteps.  There were voices, all sounding like chants of approaching worry.  He didn’t hesitate. 

His blind wander came to a clearing about twenty yards down from the smoking wreckage of Klatt’s Cafe.  He knew that his face was laced in blood but dabbed a fingertip at his cheeks anyway, only to see the black smudges engulfing them soon swell with the darkest tint of crimson.  He pulled the neck scarf up onto the bridge of his nose, wincing as the fabric scratched at his scrawl of open wounds.  Klaus fought the urge to think about what had just taken place and ducked into the second street.  Rows of small stacked houses stood before his cloudy gaze.  He didn’t recognize the road.  He needed to get back to the Harley but he couldn’t walk through the streets, not after what had just happened.  With weak and slow footsteps Klaus shambled over a thick hedge of shrubbery and fell into one of the first gardens.  His face sank into the damp grass and he found it hard to get back onto his feet.  A washing line sat at the far end of the lawn, lined with flimsy white sheets and socks and other garments that were soaked through to the seam.  He clenched at a pillow case and tore it from the line before wrapping it around his face in a tight knot.  The pain burned.  He noticed that the next garden down had a small shed with the windows knocked through.  He figured he could hide there, just until it was dark.  Sure enough, with a slight nudge of his elbow he was in.  The door knocked nosily against the feeble wall, shaking a few of the ageing cobwebs that lay within.  Klaus slumped against the floor and let his head fall into the crease of his knees.  He began to sob uncontrollably, rocking backwards and forwards, gritting his teeth as each stream of hot tears delved into his bubbling scars. He cried and cried and would continue to do so until the sun went down. 

When he came around he found that his body ached more than before.  Each muscle burned with exhaustion and his entire face was numb with an unbearable throb of everlasting pain.  He stuck to the centre of the road, away from the street lamps and found his way back to Harley.  But not before passing through the alleyway once more, just so that he could lay eyes on the cafe, one last time.  The smoke was gone, or invisible in the darkness.  The tables and chairs from the forecourt had been stacked into more than two piles on the street and the canopy that had welcomed the customers was half of what it used to be, melted into almost nothing.  Why had this happened?  Was this a set-up?  Where was Luther Eichel?  The last thought stuck in his mind.  As the bike swept through the streets he made a decision to pay Luther a visit.  But he had to make a stop first.     

He shouldered at the front door, emerging into a gloomy hallway.  With an assured grip Klaus clutched at the banister of the staircase and limped up each step.  At the top of the landing he fell to his knees.  A beam of lilac moonlight spilled out from the bathroom and stretched across his sweat covered face.  He mustered enough strength to get back onto his feet and fell through the blushing doorway.  Slapping his hands upon the cold white of the sink he stared into the faint reflection that sat within the sparkling frame of the mirror.  He pinched at the knot beside his ear and very slowly began to unfold the makeshift scarf that he had swathed around his face.  The patch of silk leafed away, revealing an ashen cheek which was speckled in fiery dots of black and purple.  A whimper crept around the lump in his throat and escaped his quivering lips.  Klaus stared blankly at the ghostly figure shimmering before him.  Removing a hand from the basin he yanked at the light cord, keeping his eyes on the mirror as the cold blue reflection burst into colour.  Klaus raised a hand and flexed his fingers, almost as if to make sure that the figure within the mirror wasn’t some kind of illusion.  He then rubbed at the glare of fresh cuts and burns, wincing as his fingers delved into the rugged creases of sore skin.  Cranking at the tap heads he waited until the cold water turned lukewarm before holding a towel underneath the downpour.  He dabbed at his cheek, wincing as the water seeped around the serrated wounds.  He set the spoiled towel down and gathered a puddle between his cupped hands, stooping into the basin and splashing the water calmly against his tired eyes.  He returned his gaze back to the mirror.  From the birth of his hairline a thin black line had begun to run down towards his cheek.  Klaus moved closer, watching as another dark streak appeared.  He swiped at his forehead and examined the blotch that oozed over his shaking fingertip.  Slowly his glowing hair started to darken.  A casing of sleek oily grease formed over his scalp and the excess spilled onto his quivering brow.  He snapped at the light cord and let the darkness settle before pulling it again.  Klaus half expected his reflection to be the one that he had seen not two days ago however despite the disappearance of the running dye, the veil of scars still meshed across the side of his face, burning in the glaring bathroom light.  The sound of water filled his ears and he shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath.  With a short cough he yanked at the light switch and headed into the corridor.  The door to his Grandfather and Grandmother’s room stood open.  He couldn’t bear to step inside.  The stairs creaked under his limp footsteps, it was time to piece together the events that had unfolded, whatever the cost.