Wolf Among Wolves (85 page)

There came a rustling in the bushes, and out stepped the Lieutenant, thin, with sharp cold glance, and on his chin red stubble. Vi gazed at him with eyes that grew ever more radiant, for here at last was the Lieutenant—her Lieutenant.

But he did not look at her, nor at the Rittmeister; he stepped up to the sentry.

“Two civilians, Herr Lieutenant!” the man reported.

The Lieutenant nodded, and, as if only just noticing the pair now, he directed his sharp glance at them. What a pity Fritz wasn’t wearing a steel helmet also! She would so much have liked to see him wearing one!

But the Lieutenant, gazing thoughtfully from under a forage cap, seemed not to know Violet. He seemed also to know nothing of the Rittmeister. “Who are you?” he asked coldly.

The Rittmeister sprang to life, introduced himself, announced with military brevity that he was the son-in-law of the owner taking a walk through this, his forest—in short, highly pleased, military maneuvers—undoubtedly Reichswehr.…

“Thanks,” said the Lieutenant curtly. “Will you please go back the way you came without delay? And will you please preserve the strictest silence about this encounter? The State’s interests demand it!” He looked at the Rittmeister. “I should be obliged if you would impress this on the young lady as well.”

Vi gazed at her Fritz reproachfully, imploringly. How could she betray him, she who had successfully resisted all the blackmailing attempts of her mother! No, it was not nice of him. He was right to make no sign of recognition in front of her father, although even this pretense would not have been affected by a wink. But it was not nice of him to think that she might blab, she who was so faithful to him.

Even the Rittmeister was not pleasantly moved by so much positive strictness. This young snipe of a lieutenant was wrong to treat him as a complete civilian. He should have sensed the old officer, the comrade, even in mufti. Did the young puppy think he could throw sand in the eyes of an experienced officer? He spoke of the State’s interests. The Rittmeister, however, recognized from the patched, utterly disreputable uniforms, from the lack of any insignia, that this was not the Reichswehr, but at most what was called the “Black Reichswehr”—which hardly represented the interests of the present Government, of the present State.

His irritation at being treated in such an off-hand way, at being thought so stupid, was, however, mingled with curiosity. He wanted to find out what was going on in the district behind his back. He had already spoken in Berlin to Studmann about this disagreeable uncertainty, this foreboding ignorance—here he was at the source, here he could at last find out what was afoot, and adapt his movements accordingly.

When, therefore, the Lieutenant with renewed sternness said: “If you don’t mind!” significantly pointing to the forest path, the Rittmeister said quickly: “As I told you, I’m the owner of Neulohe—or rather the lessee. I have heard something—of certain preparations. I am—ahem!—not without influence. If I could have a short talk …”

“To what purpose?” the Lieutenant asked curtly.

“Well,” answered the Rittmeister eagerly, “I would like to know how the land lies, get a clear view of things, understand? A man has to make up his own mind.… Anyway, there are fifty men working on my farm, mostly ex-soldiers.… If necessary I could give very valuable assistance.”

“Thanks.” The Lieutenant brutally cut his stammering short. “In any case one doesn’t discuss these things before young ladies! Sentry, see that the lady and gentleman leave the place at once. Good day.” With that he dived into the bushes.…

“Fritz!” Vi had almost called, wanting to throw herself on his breast. Oh, she understood his coldness. It was as she had already feared, when he no longer came and there was no news of him: he had not forgiven her the vexation caused by her foolish love letter, he feared she might imperil his cause. For
him she was a stupid blabbing little girl; he had given her up! Perhaps his heart ached too, but he gave no sign of it; he was as hard as steel. She had always known he was a hero. But she would prove that she was worthy of him; never would a soul learn anything from her, and one day …

“If you don’t mind!” ordered the sentry almost menacingly.

“Well, come along, Violet,” urged the Rittmeister, starting from his stupefaction and taking his daughter’s arm. “Why, child, you’re looking quite pale, and just before you were as red as fire. You must have had a terrible fright.”

“He was a bit rude, wasn’t he, Papa?”

“He’s an officer on duty, Vi! How would they get on if they had to give information to everyone? I’m convinced he will report to his superiors. They will make inquiries about me, and one of the gentlemen will then pay me a visit.… That’s how it is in the Army, everything has to go according to regulation.”

“But he was really nasty to you!”

“Well, a young lieutenant! Probably gets a bit too big for his boots sometimes. He’s only rude because he still feels uncertain.”

“Was he really a lieutenant? He looked—so shabby.”

“The sentry addressed him as that. They’re not regular troops.”

“What did you think of him?”

“Yes, Vi, I can understand you, you’re angry with him because he was a little rude, not courteous to a lady. But as a matter of fact, I thought he made quite a smart impression. Probably a capable young officer.”

“Really, Papa? Did you also see what beautiful well-kept hands he had?”

“No, Vi, I really didn’t notice them. But I wouldn’t have let him run around so unshaven; as I said, they’re not regular troops.”

“But, Papa …” Vi would have liked to go on playing this tender game of hide-and-seek with her father, so soothing to her heavy heart. Forester Kniebusch intervened, however. He stepped out from between two junipers and greeted them.

“Kniebusch!” cried the Rittmeister. “What are you doing here? I thought you never came to this part of the forest.”

“One has to look at every place sometimes, Herr Rittmeister,” said the forester significantly. “One thinks nothing is happening, but something always is.”

“Why, were you also back there?”

“In the Black Dale? Yes, Herr Rittmeister,” announced the forester, who was burning to reveal what he knew.

“Oh,” said the Rittmeister indifferently. “See anything special?”

“Yes.” The forester knew that a piece of news imparted at once is worth nothing. “I saw you, sir, and your daughter.”

“In the Black Dale?”

“You didn’t get as far as that, sir.”

“Oh,” said Herr von Prackwitz, displeased that another should have witnessed that annoying scene, “I suppose you saw how we were stopped?”

“Yes, Herr Rittmeister, I did.”

“Did you also hear what we said?”

“No, Herr Rittmeister, I was too far away.” There was a short anxious pause. “I was between the sentry and the other men.”

“So there were others there?” asked the Rittmeister with as much indifference as possible. “How many?”

“Thirty, Herr Rittmeister.”

“Is that so? I thought there were more. Perhaps you didn’t see them all.”

“But I was there from the beginning; I heard the car. I have to know what is going on in my forest, Herr Rittmeister. I hid myself from the beginning. Thirty men, including Lieutenant Fritz.”

“The lieutenant’s name is Fritz?” cried the Rittmeister in surprise.

“Yes,” said the forester, turning scarlet at the young Fräulein’s glance. “At least, that’s what the men call him,” he stammered in confusion. “That’s what I heard.”

“His men called him Fritz, Kniebusch?” asked the Rittmeister incredulously.

“No, no,” the forester hastened to say. “The men said Herr Lieutenant, but there was another one there—perhaps he was a lieutenant, too—who said Fritz.”

“I see,” said the Rittmeister, satisfied. “It would have been preposterous if the men had called their officer Fritz. That sort of thing doesn’t exist even among irregular troops.”

“No.” The forester corrected himself. “It was probably the other lieutenant, a very fat man.”

“They had a car, too?”

“Yes, Herr Rittmeister.” The forester was glad to get away from the dangerous topic—even at the cost of his secret. “A truck, loaded right up.”

“Did you see it? What was it carrying?”

The forester looked around; but when he saw only high and scattered trees, where no eavesdropper could be hiding, he said very quietly: “Weapons, Herr Rittmeister! Guns, ammunition boxes, hand grenades. Two light machine guns, three heavy ones.… They’re burying it all.”

The Rittmeister knew everything he wanted to know. He drew himself up more stiffly. “Listen, forester,” he said solemnly. “I hope you are aware that it will cost you your life if you talk about what you know. It is to the interest of the State that complete silence should be preserved as to what is happening here.
If the Entente Commission hears of it, you will be better off if you have seen nothing! You are much too inquisitive, Kniebusch. As soon as you saw they were soldiers, you should have known the thing was in order—you shouldn’t have hidden in the bushes. Understand?”

“Yes, Herr Rittmeister,” said the forester plaintively.

“You had better forget everything, Kniebusch. If you ever think of it, you must say to yourself: ‘It was just a dream—it’s not true.’ Understand?”

“Yes, Herr Rittmeister.”

“And one more thing, Kniebusch. One doesn’t discuss such affairs of State before women—even if it is your own daughter! Remember that in future!”

“Yes, Herr Rittmeister.”

Herr von Prackwitz had avenged himself. In accordance with an old precept he had passed on the kick received, and could now walk on contentedly at his daughter’s side.

“How is your prisoner Bäumer getting on?” he asked affably.

“Oh, Herr Rittmeister, the scoundrel!” A deep sigh rent the forester’s breast. Apparently Bäumer had at last recovered consciousness, and they were treating him like a prince. They had taken him to the clinic in Frankfurt, and in a few days the forester was to confront him at his bedside.…” And I know what will happen then, Herr Rittmeister. I shan’t be allowed to speak about all the crimes he’s committed, but he’ll lie that I half killed him, although I can point out the stone in the forest on which he fell. But they won’t listen to me. The gendarme officer says they are getting out a summons against me for bodily assault or abuse of official powers. And in the end I’ll go to prison, although I’m seventy, and the poacher Bäumer—”

“Yes, yes, Kniebusch,” said the Rittmeister, very pleased that others also had their troubles, “that is just how the world is today, but you don’t understand it. We were victorious throughout the whole war and now we are the defeated. And you have been honest your whole life and are now going to prison. It’s all quite normal—take me, for instance. My father-in-law …” And for the remainder of the journey, the Rittmeister spoke consoling words to the old forester.

X

It was dark when Herr von Prackwitz arrived home with his daughter, but in spite of that his wife had not yet returned from the Manor. Vi went up to her room, while the Rittmeister paced angrily up and down. He had returned from the forest in the best of moods. He had caught a glimpse of secret military operations which pointed to the coming overthrow of the present hated Government, and even if he was going to exercise discretion in all
circumstances, he could still give Eva an inkling of his new knowledge, by delicate hints.

But no Eva was there. Instead, the gun he had fired stood in his study by the window, reminding him of the silly, irritating incident. His wife had been in the Manor for five or six hours on account of an affair in which he had been clearly in the right, and his efficient friend Studmann was bound to be with her, too. It was ridiculous, it was childish, it was intolerable. The Rittmeister rang for his manservant and inquired whether his wife had left any instructions regarding supper. In a reproachful, annoyed tone he said he was hungry. Madam had left no instructions, reported Räder. Should he lay supper for the Rittmeister and the young Fräulein?

The Rittmeister decided to become a martyr and said no, he would wait. But, as the servant was going out of the door, he blurted out the question he had wanted to suppress—had the geese been delivered at the Manor?

“No, Herr Studmann would not allow me to.” The servant went.

Herr von Prackwitz found his life gray. He had been in the forest, seen interesting things, become cheerful. But hardly had he returned home when a gray pall fell over everything again. There was no escape. It was like a powerful, merciless bog which sucked him down deeper every day. He rested his head in his hands. He longed for another world in which not everything, even wife and friend, made difficulties for him. He would gladly have left Neulohe. Like all weak people, he accused an imaginary Fate: Why must all this happen to me? I don’t hurt anyone. I’m a little quick-tempered, but I don’t mean it badly, I always recover at once. I don’t make any really great demands of life; I am quite modest. Others have big cars, go to Berlin every week, have affairs with women! I live decently and am always in difficulties.…

He groaned. He was very sorry for himself. He was also very hungry. But no one bothered. No one cared what happened to him. He might be dying; no one would pay any attention, not even his wife. Supposing, in his utter desperation, he put a bullet through his head—a weaker man than he would be quite capable of doing so in this situation. Then she would come home and find him lying there. She would pull a pretty face; then, when it was too late, she would be sorry. She would realize too late what he meant to her.

The picture of his lonely death, the thought of his despairing widow, affected the Rittmeister so much that he got up, put on the light and poured himself out a vodka. Then he lit a cigarette and extinguished the light again. Huddled in a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him, he tried once again to imagine his death. But to his regret he had to admit that the picture did not have such a strong effect the second time.

Räder, this wily diplomat of the servants’ quarters, whose conduct was guided by no understandable motive, yet who had a very definite object which he pursued by thousands of stratagems and artifices—this man ascended quietly to the young Fräulein’s room, after firing the arrow designed for Herr von Studmann into the heart of his employer. She sat at the table, writing furiously.