Vienna Blood (21 page)

“How are you feeling?” asked the regimental doctor.

“Couldn't be better,” Hefner replied. “Steady as a rock.” To prove it, the lieutenant thrust out his hands. They were still—more like carved marble than flesh and bone. “To tell the truth, Herr Doctor— I'm anxious to get this morning's business out of the way so that I can have breakfast. There's a splendid roadhouse in the village we passed on the way up. The Postschänke—do you know it?

“No.”

“Their cabbage soup is beyond compare. And the bread that they serve is like …” He paused, and waited for his brain to supply an appropriate superlative. “Ambrosia. Yes, ambrosia. Are you hungry, Herr Doctor?”

“I can't say that I am.”

“Shame.”

Trapp and Riehl had stopped, and it was now easier to see what they had been carrying: wooden stakes. Each man placed his stake upright against the ground and pressed down on the blunt end, ensuring that the sharp end sank deep into the snow. These markers were set approximately fifteen paces apart. Trapp and Riehl then measured a farther distance either side of the stakes, which was marked at both ends with brightly colored handkerchiefs held in place by rocks.

Renz made his way back to Hefner, breaking into a trot as he came nearer. “Fine pistols,” he called out. “German. A little heavy, perhaps, but very well made.”

“Excellent,” said Hefner.

Trapp followed close behind. “The light is acceptable. No shadows. No wind—and, apart from the beech tree, there's nothing else to distract you. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Let's go, then—and good luck.”

“Yes, good luck, Hefner,” Renz added.

The doctor—who was obliged to be impartial—inhaled deeply.
He wasn't altogether sure what he felt concerning Hefner's fate. He admired him, certainly; but whether he
liked
him or not was another matter.

Renz and Trapp led Hefner and the regimental doctor across the valley floor. Their progress was mirrored by Lemberg and his two seconds. Both groups came to a halt in front of the
unparteiische,
who turned out to be a very distinguished-looking gentleman with a well-waxed mustache.

Hefner caught Lemberg's eye. The industrialist's son was angry— but his anger was not so fierce that it could conceal fear. Hefner fancied himself a good judge of character, and he was reassured by what he saw: a telling glint of animal terror.

Yes,
thought Hefner,
the Jew has weak nerves. He'll make a poor decision under pressure. …

The
unparteiische
requested that the opponents empty their pockets, the contents of which were given to their seconds for safekeeping. Dishonorable duelists had been known to secrete watches, wallets, coins, and keys about their person in order to protect them from the low-velocity but nonetheless lethal bullets. When the searches were complete, the
unparteiische
turned to Lemberg.

“You are the offended party?” The young man nodded. “Then, in accordance with the code, it is for you to confirm before the assembled witnesses here gathered the terms of engagement. First blood or death?”

“Death,” said Lemberg. His voice caught on the heavy syllable.

Herr Riehl—who was the older of Lemberg's two seconds— winced.

“Freddi,” he growled, “I beg you to reconsider. It's not too—”

“Enough!” said Lemberg sharply, attempting to recover some of his ebbing dignity.

“This is madness,” muttered Riehl under his breath, appealing to
the regimental doctor, an expression of desperation in his wide eyes. But it was not the doctor's place to interfere.

The
unparteiische
opened the mahogany case and showed the interior to both parties. Inside, nestling in a deep bed of green fabric, were the specially modified dueling pistols. The octagonal barrels were fashioned from Damascus steel and had been darkened to stop reflection. All metal appurtenances had been left unengraved for the same reason. Sights—fore and back—had been removed. The guns were stripped down and entirely functional, reduced to their essential parts for a singular and fatal purpose.

The
unparteiische
tilted the case toward Lemberg.

“Sir?”

Lemberg removed the nearest pistol.

The box was then offered to Hefner, who removed the remaining weapon. He checked its weight in a loose grip and was unable to suppress a smile. It was perfect.

“Gentlemen? Are you ready?” The
unparteiische
looked from Hefner to Lemberg. “Please take your places.”

Lemberg slipped off his coat and let it fall to the ground. It was a maneuver designed to give him a small advantage. The white of his shirt would make him less visible against the snowy landscape. Hefner—who was duty-bound to wear his Uhlan uniform at all times—was not at liberty to do the same. Even so, he could do one or two things to mitigate his vulnerability. Discreetly, he lifted the lapels of his greatcoat to cover the stars on his collar.

The two duelists were led by their seconds to their respective positions, the places that had been marked with the brightly colored handkerchiefs. Then, with great solemnity, the seconds retraced their footsteps, returning in due course to the
unparteiische.

The regimental doctor sighed and opened his bag. He took out a scalpel and a bottle of carbolic.

“Herr Doctor,” said the
unparteiische.
“I respectfully request that you put your instruments away. We do not wish to demoralize the parties.”

The doctor protested, “An unnecessary delay can sometimes be the difference between a man living and dying.”

“May I remind you, Herr Doctor,” said the
unparteiische
sternly, “that in the present contest matters of life and death are secondary to those of honor and propriety. I must insist: put your instruments away.”

It was not the first time that the doctor had encountered such pedantry. With some reluctance, he replaced the scalpel and bottle in his bag.

A curious stillness descended on the valley. The two opponents stared at each other across a white no-man's-land, featureless except for the vertical wooden stakes. The forty paces that separated the men might have been a vampire's graveyard. Above the snowcapped hills, the light of the morning star was fading.

The man in the stovepipe hat called out, “Forward!”

His baritone bounced off the steep valley walls like the voice of Jehovah.

The opponents began walking toward each other.

Hefner held his pistol up, pointing the muzzle at the clouds and compressing his crooked arm against his chest. In the unlikely event of Lemberg's aim being true, the lieutenant's forearm would protect his heart and the pistol would shield his nose. He turned his torso slightly to the left—thus reducing the amount of his body's surface area exposed to Lemberg.

They drew closer, taking long, stately strides.

The rules of the barrier duel were simple. Both parties could—at any point—stop, aim, and fire. The advantage of shooting first was the preemptive demise of one's opponent. However, if the shot missed, the
premature action would incur a significant penalty: the presumptive party was required to stand still and await an answer. The opponent was given a full minute to reach the nearest barrier, from where he could make his leisurely riposte. Thus, the disadvantage of firing second was compensated for by the advantage of firing at an immobile target at shorter range. Hefner was a great advocate of the barrier duel. He found its mathematics deeply satisfying.

The opponents drew closer.

Thirty-five paces, thirty paces, twenty-five paces …

Lemberg stopped and raised his pistol.

Hefner had been expecting this.

The Jew has no nerve.

The Uhlan did not break his measured step. He checked that his arm was still in the correct position and tightened his abdominal muscles. A concave stomach would be less easy to hit.

He looked directly at Lemberg.

The muzzle of Lemberg's pistol was not true.

If he fires now, he'll miss.

There was a loud report. Hefner heard snow falling from the branches of the pines behind him. The air became acrid with the reek of saltpeter and sulfur. He felt no pain, and he was still walking.

Missed!

Lemberg lowered his pistol and awaited his fate.

Hefner showed no elation. He did not quicken his pace. His heartbeat was sounding a regular tattoo in his chest. When he reached the nearest stake, he stopped, took aim, and considered his target. Lemberg was shaking. The tremor was clearly visible.

Hefner squeezed the trigger.

A loud crack—more snow falling. A dull thud, and a rustle like rice on paper.

Lemberg swayed. His pistol fell from his hand and his knees
buckled beneath him. Before he had hit the ground, the regimental doctor was running toward him.

There was only one thought occupying Hefner's mind: breakfast at the Postschänke. The doctor would not be unduly delayed. Of that, Hefner was quite certain.

37

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON
and the hospital was uncharacteristically quiet. Even the most distressed patients, whose mournful cries could usually be heard reverberating down the corridors, had fallen silent. Perhaps it was the cold. The hospital heating system had been unable to withstand the Siberian temperature, which had advanced through the walls and was now taking possession of every ward. Many of the patients were still in bed, shivering under starched sheets.

Herr Beiber's bulging stomach rose and fell beneath the loose hospital gown. He was a short, stocky man who possessed a mutinous mustache and beard of a startling orange-yellow hue. From Liebermann's vantage, he could see that the poor fellow was going bald. A lightly freckled tonsure had been exposed on his crown. He looked like a mendicant friar. In fact, Herr Beiber worked for a firm of accountants whose offices were close to the Graben.

“She is such a fine woman.” His voice was rich and mellow. Declamatory, like an actor's. “Her skin is like china, and her eyes burn with an ardent fire.” He stretched his legs on the divan and wiggled his toes, the extremities of which had turned blue with cold. “Are you familiar with Plato's
Symposium,
Herr Doctor?”

“Not really.”

“It is one of the earliest works on love. According to Greek legend, human beings were once double-headed creatures with four legs and four arms; however, we humans were then a proud race, and Zeus
resolved that we should be humbled. To this end, he devised a punishment. He cut each body in half—producing two creatures where there had formerly been only one. Thereafter, each incomplete being yearned to be reunited with its other half. It is a legacy that affects us to this day. We are not properly born into this world. We are unfinished.”

“And you believe this Platonic doctrine?”

“It is not a question of belief, Herr Doctor. It is something I know to be true.”

“But surely it is just a metaphor … a fable.”

“No, Herr Doctor. It is something that I have experienced, something that I have lived.”

The line of Herr Beiber's mouth curved gently to form a saintly introspective smile. His fingers interlocked on the crest of his stomach, and he sighed with pleasure.

“But how?” asked Liebermann.

“When we discover our counterpart, the power of mutual attraction is irresistible—it is an overwhelming and undeniable truth. I could as much doubt the Platonic doctrine as I could doubt the existence of this divan.” He rapped the wooden side panel to emphasize his point. “For that reason, I am happy to go through this … this
procedure.
You seem a pleasant enough chap, and I have no reason to doubt your sincerity. I am content to lie here, Herr Doctor, and answer your questions in good faith, because I know that whatever obstacles are placed in our path, she and I will be together one day. It would be easier for you to stop the sun from crossing the heavens than to prevent our ultimate union.”

Liebermann opened Herr Beiber's file and made a simple note.

Monomania. Platonic myth—paranoia erotica?

“But how can you say that this power of attraction is mutual?” Liebermann persisted. “The lady in question has never corresponded
with you, spoken to you, or given you the slightest indication that she even knows of your existence.”

Herr Beiber began to chuckle quietly to himself as if he were party to a private joke. “That is what
you
think, Herr Doctor!” Herr Beiber tapped the side of his nose with a chubby index finger.

“I am mistaken?” asked Liebermann.

“Herr Doctor, it was not I who noticed
her
first—it was she who noticed
me.
”

Liebermann decided to humor the clerk. “Can you remember the first time she noticed you?”

“Yes. It was a Sunday afternoon last summer. I had been to the zoo and was walking to the streetcar stop, just beyond the Schönbrunn Palace. It was a glorious day, a little too hot for my liking, and I paused just outside the main gates to catch my breath. I turned to look at the palace, which was bright yellow in the sunshine. I squinted against the glare, and something … something drew my attention to the fourth floor. There are five windows below the balustrades of a roof balcony. I saw something moving behind the middle window … and I knew that it was her.”

“You could see her from that distance?”

Herr Beiber smiled benignly, as if Liebermann had asked an innocent but stupid question.

“It was her,” he said again, with quiet confidence.

“What did she want?” asked Liebermann.

“Initially, just to capture my interest—to reveal herself.”

“And what did you do?”

“I acknowledged her signal with a gesture—”

“What kind of gesture?” Liebermann interrupted.

The clerk rocked his head from side to side. “That, Herr Doctor, is something I cannot disclose.”

“Very well,” said Liebermann. “What happened then?”

“I caught my streetcar and went home. As you can imagine, I was quite restless. I kept going over in my mind what had happened, and found it almost impossible to sleep. But the more I thought about it, the more it became clear to me that the communication had had greater meaning … and the more I contemplated this meaning, the more I found myself possessed by a giddy excitement. Was it possible? I wondered. Was it really possible that such an exalted personage should have feelings for an ordinary chap like me? A humble accountancy clerk in the employ of Hubel & Wiesel. It seemed absurd, ridiculous, but I could not deny the great swell of emotion in my breast. The bright fire of recognition was burning in my soul. … She had found me, and I was powerless to resist.”