Gretel and the Dark (27 page)

‘Fancy a quick look round? It’ll be easier to explain as we go.’

Benjamin jumped to his feet. ‘I would, indeed.’

‘You’re eager,’ exclaimed Wilhelm, picking up the coffee cups and making for the shadowed doorway. ‘You’re supposed to see the boss first, but why not? After all, you’ll be working here next week. Come along then, Ben, follow me.’

They emerged from a short passage into a vast kitchen, four times the size of the one in the Breuer house, where silent youths in striped overalls scoured pans, chopped meat or prepared vegetables under the eye of the cook, a woman as wide as she was tall, her massive bosom jutting like a ship’s prow. She wore a starched apron and her braided hair was almost concealed by a white cap, but her cheeks were painted magenta, giving her the appearance of an oversized Dutch doll. One large and raw-knuckled hand gripped a cleaver. On the block in front of her lay a carcass – a pig, Benjamin thought, though it was extremely lean and lacked both head and trotters. She snickered as Wilhelm and Benjamin edged past her.

‘Found yourself another one already, Wilhelm?’

‘Leave off, Heike.’ Wilhelm frowned, but Benjamin stared
open-mouthed, for the woman’s voice was so deep, so gruff, that it could surely only belong to a man. And now that he looked again, although there was a woman’s silk blouse above, there were trousers and very large boots below. He waited, hoping for more conversation, but the cook had already lost interest in them. The cleaver fell. Splinters of bone flew across the room. Red chrysanthemums flowered on Heike’s apron. Yes, it must be a pig. As he drew alongside the stove, Benjamin glanced into a gently bubbling cauldron of liquid, noting it was almost clear, except for a few beans together with strands of finely chopped onion and cabbage.

Wilhelm wrinkled his nose. ‘Soup for the odalisques. It’s all they need. Mustn’t get fat, on any account. Don’t worry, my young friend, you’ll find the staff here eat rather better.’

‘Was that a pig being butchered?’ Benjamin asked anxiously. It wasn’t the question he wanted answering, but there seemed no polite way to approach the subject of whether the cook was male or female. Wilhelm looked at him askance.

‘Don’t you eat pork?’

‘Of course,’ lied Benjamin. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen so much meat in one place before.’

‘We get all sorts of meat here. Doesn’t do to be fussy.’

‘I’m not. Get fussy and go hungry, as my
Großmutter
used to say.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Wilhelm put his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and guided him out of the kitchen and through a vestibule lined with a dozen or so jardinières filled with flowering jasmine, each supported by a naked marble nymph. Every wall, the ceiling also, had been painted with easily recognizable themes from French fairy tales – with flowers and plants trailing and undulating to form borders – hardly a straight line
anywhere. Such emphasis on natural forms always pleased Benjamin. He looked back as his companion opened the far door and, as with the benches at the front door, realized what he’d missed at first glance: the paintings were obscene. It was as though a team of smutty-minded schoolboys had rewritten each tale, portraying the simple stories in the most indecent way possible. The entire court, their faces bright with lasciviousness, watched the prince awaken the Sleeping Beauty with far more than a kiss. Cinderella –

‘Come on.’ Wilhelm nudged him. ‘Plenty of time for that later.’ He shepherded Benjamin into a passage broken up by countless doors, between which hung full-length gilt-framed mirrors.

‘This is a very long corridor,’ said Benjamin, perplexed. ‘It’s strange – the house seems bigger inside than from outside.’

‘That’s because it takes up near enough the entire south side of the street. Each house leads into the next. You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait till we go upstairs.’ Wilhelm briefly examined their reflections in the glass. ‘Quite a contrast, you so dark, me so fair. Look good together, don’t we?’ He patted Benjamin’s cheek. ‘Anyway, this is where they take their exercise. Twice a day, ten at a time, forty turns each. Your job would be to make sure there’s no squabbling. They fight like alley cats, given half the chance.’

‘And then what? Do you punish them? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’ Perhaps this was the key to Lilie’s condition. Benjamin found he was holding his breath.

‘Nothing to it.’ Wilhelm pressed the moulding at the side of one mirror. A panel slid open and he beckoned. ‘I’ll show you.’ The stairs were dark and narrow; a dank, green smell Benjamin associated with caves rose to meet them. When they reached
the bottom he saw they were standing in a cellar far more ancient than the house built over it, lit only by means of an air vent close to the ceiling. In all the years since, nothing had been changed – the floor was damp and uneven, the walls dappled with mildew – except the arched recesses that had once accommodated barrels had been turned into crude cells. The smell was more intense here. It was the stink of the midden. Wilhelm took out a handkerchief and covered his nose, muffling his words. ‘A spell in here with the mice and spiders soon sorts out their temper tantrums.’

‘So no whipping?’ said Benjamin. ‘No shaven heads?’

‘Of course not. We wouldn’t want to spoil their looks.’ Wilhelm turned away, making for the stairs. Benjamin was about to follow, when a small movement caught his eye. A young woman, hardly more than a child, rose from a pile of rags, feeling her way along the wall until she managed to support herself on the bars. The girl’s eyes were enormous in a face so painfully thin her cheekbones protruded like knobs. A mass of fair hair, tangled and dirty, reached almost to her waist. There was something familiar about her and Benjamin feared she must be the daughter of family friends, or perhaps a neighbour, come to a bad end.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered.

‘How can I help you?’ he asked, darting a quick look at Wilhelm’s departing back. ‘Who shall I contact?’

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she repeated, and melted back into her pool of shadow.

Benjamin ran after Wilhelm. ‘What’s she done?’

‘Who?’

‘The girl in the cell,’ he said impatiently. ‘From the look of her she’s been there far too long. What did she do?’

‘The
cells are empty, my young friend. We only use them as a last resort. As for being there too long, an hour is usually long enough to break them of bad habits. First sight of a mouse’s tail and they’re screaming to be –’

‘I saw a girl,’ insisted Benjamin. ‘Come back down. Look for yourself.’

‘Either you’ve got a good imagination,’ said Wilhelm, as he demonstrated that each cell was unlocked and decidedly empty, ‘or you wanted to get me down here alone with you. Not that I mind, you understand’ – he squeezed Benjamin’s biceps – ‘but there are more salubrious places.’

Benjamin said nothing. As a child, he’d baited Rabbi Blechmann with claims that he’d seen ghosts trailing behind him on the way to the synagogue. The old man had retaliated with a two-hour lecture assuring him that, according to traditional wisdom, lingering spirits did exist; to see one might be considered a blessing, for in life these had often been pious Jews, but they must never be consulted. Later he’d wondered if this meant that the spirits stood outside time and were able to see the whole of human history unfolded like a tableau. The rabbi had gone on to explain, with copious references to the books of Samuel and Kings, that although these ovoth were almost detached from earthly desires there also existed dybbuk, evil spirits who might be looking for a body to possess. The girl had been neither, he was sure. By the time he’d followed Wilhelm back into the corridor, Benjamin was almost convinced he’d imagined her. As for her words of warning, they were probably self-generated, too. If this was what one puff of a cigarette did, he wanted none of it.

‘I’ll show you a nice, cosy spot for private … conversation,’ declared Wilhelm, lowering his voice. ‘Only a few of us get to
see this, but since you’ll be working alongside me to start with, why not? Not a word to the others.’ Linking arms with Benjamin, he ushered him back into the vestibule, where the sweet scent of the jasmine seemed curiously at odds with the paintings, for although at first glance the subject had appeared to be an innocent maiden triumphing over adversity, closer inspection revealed the threat of corruption closing in on her. Entwined with each border, in a parody of illuminated manuscripts, were misshapen imps and gnomes, apes and bestiary creatures peering at her from behind leaves and flowers and stinkhorn fungus, either gesticulating towards their outrageously swollen members or savagely ingesting their companions. Benjamin found it hard to tear his eyes away and he was still looking over his shoulder as they started to climb the thickly carpeted stairs leading to the upper floors, where he caught glimpses of even more explicit paintings and statuary.

Without a word, Wilhelm hurried him up another flight, and then another, narrower, but still as luxuriously carpeted, until they came to a bolted and padlocked door. Here he relinquished Benjamin’s arm and, first glancing from left to right, took a key from the bunch on his belt, using it to open a small cupboard containing a further pair of keys, one for the padlock, the other for the door itself. Beyond lay a dimly lit space. The air was stale. Faint whispers coiled from above. Wilhelm wordlessly drew Benjamin inside, locking the door behind them.

Benjamin took a step backwards. ‘What’s this?’

‘Shhh.’ Wilhelm laid a finger over his lips and shook his head. ‘This leads to the tower,’ he added, his lips brushing Benjamin’s ear. ‘Never speak to anyone of what you are about to see.’

As
his eyes grew accustomed to the poor light, Benjamin saw steps as narrow as those allowing access to the cellar. This one, like the main staircases below, was carpeted, though in white; the walls were covered in some thick fabric that muted every sound and had thick silken ropes instead of handrails. He was suddenly afraid – of what he might see, of what might be about to happen. Fighting the urge to run, he dragged himself up the stairs, heart thumping, head aching, and with Gudrun’s foul
Kürbissuppe mit Salami
churning so violently in his stomach there was a very real danger of him throwing up. Benjamin’s only relief was to beam rage at Gudrun. She knew he hated her home-made salami and loathed pumpkin; if he never ate another spoonful of her pox-ridden, resentment-seasoned witch’s-brew soup again it would be too soon.

‘Shhh,’ Wilhelm repeated as they stepped into an eyrie with several plush sofas forming a circle facing the walls. The walls themselves had narrow openings reminiscent of the arrow-loops of ancient castles but covered by gilded wooden shutters. Wilhelm silently indicated he should open one. Benjamin stepped forward unwillingly, fumbled with the fastening and found himself looking down into a room where a score of small girls lay sleeping on a row of little wooden beds. Each had a thumb firmly in her mouth, some the left, others the right, sucking gently, as if dreaming of feasting on breasts snatched away too soon. Everything in the room was white, from their lace-trimmed dresses to the delicately ornate furniture. A scatter of toys and books littered the floor. In the centre of the room a toothless old granny sat in a rocking chair, furiously knitting a piece of work so long it coiled around her feet.

‘Nap time,’ Wilhelm breathed, at his shoulder. ‘It won’t be so quiet by and by.’

‘But
they’re children,’ whispered Benjamin, profoundly shocked. ‘Surely you don’t … they don’t –’

‘Don’t be disgusting. What do you think we are?’ Wilhelm grimaced. ‘No, certain gentlemen with equal amounts of patience and money pick one out for the sheer pleasure of watching it grow.’ He smirked. ‘Like a flower. And then, perhaps, if they’re still able when the time comes, they pluck it.’

‘It?’ repeated Benjamin. He looked again, noticing the children were without exception light-skinned and with long hair in every shade of blonde, from chill moonlight to hot sun-gold. ‘So much yellow hair.’

‘Yes, there’s a lot of call for fair types.’ Wilhelm touched Benjamin’s glossy hair. ‘Me, I prefer dark.’ He waited, expectantly, but Benjamin was so deep in thought he hardly noticed and didn’t respond.

‘Where do they all come from?’

‘Everywhere, anywhere: schoolyards, backstreets, ghettoes, farms, forests and mountains. We harvest them for their looks – yellow hair stands out in a crowd – and carry them off like cattle rustlers. No good looking like that, my young friend. Harden your heart and ditch your conscience if you want to work here.’ Wilhelm closed the first shutter and indicated Benjamin should open the next. Again, he hesitated. And again he steeled himself to look.

These were older girls, some drawing or reading, others playing together under the eye of a stern-faced matron. There were pet animals running around, too, cats, Benjamin thought, then he saw that they were large rabbits. His vision blurred. The eyrie seemed to spin. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he was dreaming. ‘There are far less of these …’

Wilhelm nodded. ‘Pretty at seven isn’t necessarily pretty at
ten. They don’t always turn out as required in other respects either. It depends on the parents, and the parents’ parents.’ He looked over Benjamin’s shoulder. ‘Seen enough?’

‘What happens to the ones you don’t keep?’

‘What do you think?’

Benjamin said nothing. The fear returned. Pushing past the other man, he flung open the third shutter and, to his alarm, saw only one young girl in this room. She sat before a looking glass combing hair that reached past her waist. He was overwhelmed by a need to see her face and stood with his own pressed against the opening, willing her to turn. Wilhelm pulled him away and stood in front of the aperture, shutting off his view.

‘Her sponsor’s about to get a return on his investment.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You saw for yourself.’

‘But she’s only –’

‘Old enough,’ said Wilhelm. ‘Why should it matter to you? From what you’ve said, you’re not that way inclined.’ He pulled Benjamin towards him, placing one hand firmly on his hip, the other at the back of his neck. His lips grazed the boy’s cheek. Benjamin immediately tore himself free and Wilhelm’s hands dropped to his sides. ‘Kurt, is it?’