Gretel and the Dark (18 page)

‘It’s already prepared,’ said Gudrun, sailing majestically towards the kitchen.

Turning his attention back to the policemen, Josef found both men staring at Lilie, who seemed oblivious to their presence. He cleared his throat. ‘How may I be of service?’

‘Frau Gschtaltner –’ Kirchmann broke off as Gudrun returned with a tray. Placing it on a side table, she prepared to pour.

‘Thank you,’ said Josef, noting that a pair of the piebald butterflies had fluttered in after her. The damnable things got
everywhere. He would have to instruct Benjamin again. ‘We can manage.’

‘But …’ Gudrun protested.

‘That will be all, Frau Gschtaltner, thank you.’

‘Is she staying?’ Gudrun demanded, darting a vitriolic look at Lilie.

‘Thank you,’ Josef repeated, accompanying her to the door and closing it firmly, waiting for the satisfactory clunk of Benjamin’s replacement latch. As he settled behind his desk, Kirchmann caught his eye and grimaced commiseration. Since Josef’s only acknowledgement was the slightest of nods, the
Chefinspektor
continued with an explanation of his presence.

‘We’re assisting the Wels-Land authorities in their attempt to recapture a dangerous criminal –’

So that was Gudrun’s game. Josef clenched his teeth but nodded calmly enough, his expression one of detached interest. ‘The Lambach case, I presume?’

‘That’s correct. There’s a possibility that the fugitive found her way to Vienna –’

‘A long journey,’ said Josef, ‘and not an easy one. I believe the average walking speed is five kilometres per hour. To travel almost two hundred and fifty kilometres suggests a degree of purpose unusual in someone judged insane.’ He rearranged his pens and neatly squared up a sheath of notes. ‘Were you seeking an opinion on the fugitive’s state of mind?’ He noted that the
Chefinspektor
looked increasingly embarrassed and that his colleague was laboriously writing down every word. Lilie, who had been sitting in silence, stretched out her hand, allowing one of the butterflies to alight there.

‘How lovely they smell.’ She looked at Kirchmann. ‘Don’t you think it’s a pity the scent drives everyone mad?’

Kirchmann’s mouth opened and shut. ‘Er, indeed, yes.’

‘It is a fact,’ said Brunn, in a flat, grey voice, ‘that butterflies have no smell.’

Lilie continued to look at Kirchmann. ‘Not butterflies. Flowers.’

‘Flowers, are they? Very well.’ The
Chefinspektor
managed a weak smile and directed a pleading glance in Josef’s direction. ‘Flying flowers. A delightful idea.’

‘Lepidoptera.’ Brunn shook his head and wrote rapidly, ending with a full stop so vigorous that it must have marked several pages.

‘Stupid,’ said Lilie. ‘
Dumm wie Bohnenstroh
.’

‘Thick as two short …’ muttered Brunn, dutifully recording the insult before realizing it was addressed to him and viciously scoring through the words.

‘More coffee, gentlemen?’ As Josef set down the pot he motioned Kirchmann to continue. ‘Do you seriously believe this wretched woman has come to Vienna? Are you here to enquire whether she was previously a patient of mine?’

‘Frau Gschtaltner drew our attention to the unorthodox way in which …’ Kirchmann paused, his eyes flicking sideways to indicate Lilie ‘… in which a certain young woman entered your household. Apparently, there was an alarming domestic … incident. She is convinced that they are one and the same.’ He coughed apologetically. ‘Frau Gschtaltner was very insistent.’

‘One and the same?’ Josef looked down his nose. ‘Who? I don’t understand.’

‘The violent fugitive from Lambach and this young woman,
Herr Doktor
,’ Brunn said with a touch of impatience. Josef looked at him in amazement.

‘
Quite impossible. Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss …’ He rose and took a few steps towards the door. The
Chefinspektor
intercepted him. Taking Josef’s arm, he steered him towards the window.

‘Your pardon,
Herr Doktor
, but Frau Gschtaltner tells me the young woman was discovered near the Narrenturm in a very distressed condition. Beaten. Unclothed.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There was a suggestion of sexual foul play. The
Frau
even intimated the girl might have been working as a prostitute.’

‘It is what one would expect,’ added Brunn, ‘of a female criminal.’

Josef shook off Kirchmann. ‘Let me be plain,’ he said quietly. ‘Frau Gschtaltner has reached a difficult time. Women who’ve lived out their lives in service get to an age where any youth and beauty they once possessed has gone. To view such a life in retrospect – a life without a lover, a husband, without children, without even a home of their own – must be a bitter thing.’

‘Indeed,’ concurred Kirchmann. ‘A life affording security, I suppose, but perceived as full of missed opportunities. Yes, there must be regrets.’

‘And then,’ Josef said, ‘to be confronted by this pure young woman in the flower and beauty of her youth …’

As one, the men’s eyes turned to Lilie, who sat in silence, her eyes cast down. Sunlight played through her hair, turning it to gold. The butterfly still perched on her hand, its wings quivering gently. Its mate fluttered nearby.

‘Exactly,’ Kirchmann said with a sigh. ‘Yes. Impossible to avoid jealousy.’ After a moment’s reflection, he nodded sagely. ‘I understand all too well. My wife has a maiden aunt of just that age who took up writing anonymous letters to men in prominent positions. Some particularly poisonous ones’ – he
coughed and fidgeted – ‘full of claims relating to a fictitious love child and detailing astoundingly bizarre … er … practices were sent to Mayor Lueger. All very embarrassing.’ He glanced at Josef. ‘We placed her in Bellevue. The family decided it was in her best interest.’

‘An excellent choice,’ said Josef. ‘It’s a particularly enlightened sanatorium for those with nervous problems, and Kreuzlingen is no great distance from Vienna. I know Herr Binswanger, the director, well. Like his father before him, Robert pays great attention to engaging the patients’ intellects – educational activities, outings, crafts and gardening.’

Kirchmann looked dubious. ‘No doubt. We were concerned only with placing the old bi– …
woman
… where she could do no more harm.’

‘Precisely so,’ Josef said smoothly. So long a silence followed that he felt obliged to fill it. ‘I’ve often thought females are unfortunate in that, as it were, they die twice. Once when they become devoid of youthful charms and cease to be desirable; later, in actuality. Between the two is a curious time, of family warmth in those lucky enough to be so blessed, but often of sheer peculiarity when this isn’t so and where such women are left to their own devices … well.’ Nobody commented. It suddenly occurred to Josef that being left to their own devices might not be considered a misfortune for women, but rather a period of great liberation if such a gift could be accepted. He considered what it must be like to be judged on physical appearance, to be desired on looks alone – and then, with the passing of time, to be not. He thought of Bertha’s solitude. He tugged at his beard.

‘Three times.’ The voice was so small, issuing from such
a deep pit of silence it took Josef a moment to register that it belonged to Lilie.

‘What’s that, my dear?’

She looked up. ‘She has another death – as a mother – when her child dies.’

‘
If
,’ Josef said comfortingly. ‘It doesn’t always happen.’

‘If,’ echoed Lilie, ‘and when.’ She blew gently on the butterfly and it fluttered into the air.

‘Very perceptive,’ said Kirchmann, nodding vigorously. ‘Very true.’

‘Imagine what it’s been like for those women with large families,’ whispered Lilie. ‘Death after death after death.’ Her head drooped. ‘There’s no end to the dying. That’s why there are so many flowers.’

‘All right, Lilie,’ Josef said quickly. He glanced at the others. ‘Gentlemen, as you can see, this talk of dying has disturbed my patient. If there is nothing more, might I beg you to excuse us?’

‘One moment,’ said Brunn. ‘Where do you come from?’ he demanded of Lilie. ‘Where have you been living?’

Her forehead creased. ‘I’m in Germany.’

Brunn frowned. ‘This is Vienna.’

‘Vienna’s in Germany,’ said Lilie, without looking at him.

‘No, no, my dear,’ Kirchmann said in soothing tones. ‘It’s in Austria.’

‘But Austria’s in Germany, so Vienna must be too.’

Brunn smirked and surreptitiously waved his hand in front of his face. She caught the gesture and her lips trembled. ‘Perhaps we’re somewhere else.’

‘Please direct all further questions to me,’ Josef said sternly.

‘Of course.’ Kirchmann awarded Brunn a stony stare.

‘
I hope I can count on your discretion, gentlemen,’ murmured Josef. ‘Lilie’s family are anxious that her treatment remains a private matter.’

‘Oh,’ said Kirchmann with a wry smile, ‘it’s secret. As with the young Pappenheim girl.’ Under Josef’s direct gaze, he added: ‘I follow these things,
Herr Doktor
. I’ve always been interested in the tangles of the mind. Mostly in connection with matters criminal, though. I am unable to say more.’

The sun’s warm on my back and I keep bumping into Greet’s shadow. She says it will thunder this afternoon; all the scarlet pimpernels and blue-bird’s-eye have opened wide to watch the big black cloud sneaking over the horizon. I want to stop and poke a stick into the ants swarming up between the cracks of the path, but Greet has tied a length of string around my waist and fastened it to her apron so I have to run to keep up. Hot weather makes her cross and nasty. My leg still smarts from the slap she gave me after I escaped this morning.

When we get to the washing-line she unties me and hands over my
Stoffpuppe.
‘Stand there. Don’t drop your dolly. Move an inch and it’ll be back in the cellar for you, Miss, do you hear me?’

‘Look.’ A ladybird has landed on my arm. It opens and shuts its wing cases, while I try to count the spots.

‘
Marienkäfer
,’ Greet says, frowning. ‘Don’t hurt her, for that would bring disaster. Say the rhyme and then blow gently until she flies away.’

‘What rhyme?’

‘You know perfectly well which rhyme,
Dummkopf
.’ Greet huffs and puffs as she struggles to lower the clothes prop. ‘
Marienkäferchen, fliege weg!
That one. Remember now?’

‘No. Anyway, I don’t want her to fly away home.’

‘Unless she does our house will burn down, especially with a thunderstorm promised. Say the rhyme. Quick.

‘
Marienkäferchen, Marienkäferchen, fliege weg!

Dein Häuschen brennt,

Dein Mütterchen flennt,

Dein Vater sitzt auf der Schwelle:

Flieg in Himmel aus der Hölle
.

‘And watch which direction she flies off in, because that’s where your future husband will come from.’

‘Don’t want a stupid husband.’

‘You’ll get one whether you want one or not, Krysta. Some of us do’ – Greet sighed, and reached for Papa’s shirts – ‘and some of us don’t.’ She looked at me. ‘Now say the rhyme.’

‘Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!

Your house is on fire,

Your mother is crying,

Your father sits on the doorstep:

Fly into Heaven from Hell.’

I blow, but the ladybird won’t move.

‘There we are then,’ Greet says, folding pillowcases. ‘We’re done for. Probably be roasted in our beds like suckling pigs in an oven. Covered in crackling. Served up with gravy. What an end.’ I blow harder. The beetle opens its wings mid-fall and flies directly upwards. Greet shakes her head. ‘Oh dear. Looks like your own true love will die before the wedding day.’

‘Don’t care.’ I’ve got my eye on something better than husbands: the earth between the vegetables is newly dug, rich, dark brown, the colour of chocolate. Greet insists it tastes nasty, nothing like candy, but I’m not convinced. Behind her back I scoop up a whole handful and shove it into my mouth.

‘Idiot child!’ Greet bawls above my shrieks. ‘
Das war dumm.
Only worms eat dirt. It’s a taste of the grave. When will you learn to do as you’re told?’

I scrape at my tongue and spit and howl and stamp. My entire mouth is coated with the thick, cold, gritty stuff. It’s between my teeth and slipping down my throat. Greet holds my hair out of the way as I bend over, retching. Even vomit tastes better than dirt.

‘Perhaps that’ll teach you a lesson, Krysta.’ Greet wipes my face on a corner of her apron. ‘Your dolly’s done for – covered in sick – perhaps we all are, for the blasted ladybird’s come back to sit on your shoulder – it’s Our Lady’s messenger telling us there’ll be nothing left of the house by morning except a pile of cinders. Don’t take on so. I’ll try cleaning her.’ She picks my rag-doll up by one foot and pushes me up the garden path. ‘And I see that ladybird still hasn’t gone. Wriggle your shoulders. Maybe that’ll shift it. No. Well, I fear it’s all over for us. And look at those ants swarming. Flying ants, too. They bite. I’ll come out with a pan of boiling water in a minute. That’ll get rid of them. Did I ever tell you the tale of the poor boy in the grave? It’s very sad. All about a mean and nasty man whose house burns right to the ground.’

She goes on talking, but I can’t hear the poor boy’s story above the sound of my wailing. The taste of dirt and disappointment lingers. My lips feel dry and cracked. Occasionally a bit of stone finds its way to my tongue, but I have no spit left.

I don’t remember falling over and yet I’m face down in a patch of mud by the side of a road. It’s raining. There’s dirt in my mouth. Everything hurts. My fingers hurt most of all, but they’re underneath me so I can’t see what’s wrong with them.
It’s night but the whole place is lit up. There are two bright lights somewhere in the distance, moving all the time, sweeping backwards and forwards like the eyes of a giant owl watching rats running from side to side in a trap. The big aviary with its empty perches is in front of me. I must be inside the zoo because there’s the cafeteria and the infirmary’s further along. I want to run and find Papa, but he isn’t there. I try to remember where’s he’s gone –

Then I see Lottie lying in a puddle and crawl towards her. She’s ugly now. Her skin is bubbly and cracked and there’s a hole where her nose used to be. All her lovely blonde hair is black and crispy. Her legs hang loose. I hold her tight and say it doesn’t matter but we both still cry.

Why my fingers hurt is because they’re covered with blisters – like the ones Greet got after she dropped the fish kettle on her foot – and there’s no one to rub butter on them. Lottie asks why I’m wearing nasty dirty clothes and where my shoes have gone. I don’t know. I can’t work it out. Greet will roar and Papa will shout – then I remember Greet has gone away and Papa – Papa …

My screaming brings the animal-people creeping from their sheds to look. They beckon and make noises. They try to talk.

‘
Chodź tu.
Come. Come with us.’

Some of them stroke my hair and hold my hands, but I push them away.

‘Get off, dirty animal-things. You’re not eating me.’

‘Chodź z nami, dzieci.
Come with us, little one.’

When the rain starts pouring down, two of them pick me up and carry me into their shed even though I scream much louder, hitting them and kicking. They only have two candles inside, but I can see rows of beds stacked up with more of the
animal-people sitting and staring. I put my thumb in my mouth and stare back until one of those who have learned to talk properly comes forward and squats by my side, putting her arm around me.

‘Don’t be afraid, my little one. You’re with friends now.’

I stick my elbow into her. ‘Go away, stupid animal-thing.’

She takes no notice. ‘I’m Erika. What’s your name? Not going to tell me? Very well, perhaps you will later. Right now we need to find you somewhere to rest.’ She shows me a bed where a skinny animal-person is already fast asleep. ‘Share with Lena. There’s enough room if you lie head to toe.’

‘Won’t.’

Erika looks at me. ‘There’s nowhere else.’

‘Won’t sleep there.’ The mattress looks thin and lumpy. Lena has the single blanket wrapped round her but I can see she isn’t wearing nightclothes. ‘I want my
Federbett
and my nightie with the pink flowers.’

Someone laughs. Erika hushes them. She shakes her head.

‘We are poor people now,’ says Lottie. ‘Papa’s gone. Everyone’s gone. Everything’s been taken away. Nobody will look after us.’

‘A body can only put up with so much,’ says Greet, picking up my scattered clothes. ‘Any more of your “Won’t do this” and “Won’t do that” and I’ll pack my bags and go. See how you get on then. Now that your mother’s dead – God rest her misguided soul – men being what they are it’ll be a wicked stepmother for you before the year is out. She won’t want you.’

‘My papa –’

‘Oh, she’ll have ways of turning your father against you. Or maybe she’ll just poison him. And what happens next? You
know what happens next. Into the wild forest with an empty belly and nowhere to lay your head but a bed of leaves with stones for a pillow –’

‘It’s not too bad,’ says Erika, and pats my head. ‘Make do for tonight. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.’

‘No,’ I say round my thumb. ‘Want to go home. Want my papa.’

‘Papa’s dead,’ whispers Lottie. ‘Dead-as-a-doornail dead.’

‘No,’ I bawl, even though I know she’s right. ‘Take me to my papa. I want Papa.’

It’s dark and the house is silent until a car goes by with a scraping of gears as it turns the corner. Its headlamps momentarily light up the room and I see goblin shadows creeping along the skirting boards.

‘Mama! Mama!’ No one comes. I carry on shrieking her name, making myself small as possible while the shadows finger my bed. Finally, Greet throws open the door and picks me up, giving me a hug that squashes the air out of me.

‘Hush, now, Krysta. That’s enough.’

‘Go away,’ I gasp. ‘Want Mama.’

‘Mama has gone to a better place. You’ll have to make do with me.’

‘Don’t want you. Take me to Mama.’

Greet puts me back into bed and sits beside me. ‘Your mother is dead, Krysta, dead and buried. She chose to go, and no one can bring her back.’

‘Lie down now,’ says Erika. ‘Try to rest. The day starts early here.’

‘Mama! Papa!’ I howl, and, as an afterthought: ‘Greet! I want Greet.’

‘Shut her up,’ mutters a harsh voice. ‘I need my sleep.’

‘Want Greet,’ I shriek again. ‘Take me to Greet.’

Erika shakes her head. She says nothing but her face is sad and suddenly I find myself weeping without trying to, a new kind of weeping, one I can’t stop. It feels as if my whole body is crying, from deep inside right out to the ends of my fingers and down to my toes. I throw myself on the floor and crawl under the beds until I get to a corner. Lottie and I curl into a tight ball. We cry until we fall asleep.

A noise like a long scream wakes me. It’s still dark and all the animal-people jump up and rush around. When the noise comes again they file out of the shed. Lottie says we should leave and look for Greet. Neither of us knows where she went after Papa sent her away but it must be somewhere on the other side of the forest by the lake.

‘As you know,’ says Greet, while she fills the jars with big black cherries, ‘Hansel and Gretel were abandoned in the dark forest. But do you know why? Well, I’ll tell you – it was the final solution for their parents, not just because there was no food but because the children were wild and naughty and would not do as they were told. They also threw their clothes on the floor and answered back. Deep, deep into the forest, the parents marched the little sinners. Each child was given a dry crust. No butter. No honey. Then the parents went away, first the mother, then the father. The minute they were out of sight, all the wild beasts of the forest gathered round. They’re always hungry, those wild animals.’ She stands the jars in the preserving pan and turns up the heat. ‘What do you suppose happens next?’

I don’t answer. In the spring Greet put Peter in her shopping bag and set him free among the bushes in the park. She said he wanted to go and anyway she’d no time for cleaning out smelly rabbit hutches. Next time we walked that way there was white fur all over the grass. Greet found his tail and brought it home for good luck.

Lottie and I stay in the shed all day. When it’s beginning to get dark, the animal-people return, dragging their feet and hardly making a sound. After they light the candles, the one who can talk comes to find me.

‘It’s me, Erika. Up you get. It’s time to wash and to comb your hair.’

‘Won’t. Go away.’ I back into the corner, holding Lottie in front of me and making myself small. I spit at her, a very little spit, much less than usual, but it still lands on her skirt. Erika looks at it. Then her hand comes towards me. ‘You can’t smack me,’ I yell. ‘You’re only an animal-person. If you hit me, my papa will –’ I stop. Lottie reminds me that if there is no Papa, anyone can hurt me.

‘None of us will strike you,’ Erika says quietly. She drags me to my feet. ‘But there are things about living here you must learn very quickly, otherwise you will be punished by the others. Be a big brave girl now. No more tears. Wash your face and’ – she fumbles in her pocket for a gap-toothed comb – ‘tidy your hair.’ She puts an arm round my shoulders. ‘Are you ready to tell us your name?’ I shake my head and pull nasty faces at the other animal-people watching and listening.

‘Krysta,’ one of them says. ‘At least, that’s what she told Daniel.’

Daniel’s a real boy, even if he does eat worms. Erika is a bit
like Greet, but much thinner and quieter. ‘Are you an animal-person, Erika?’

‘Are you?’ She does a very tiny smile that looks as if it hurts, and then gives me a little push. ‘Hurry up now, Krysta. It’s almost time for lessons.’

‘Won’t go to school.’

‘Everyone here goes to school.’

‘Papa says I don’t have to go until after the –’

‘You
will
go to your lessons,’ Erika says fiercely. ‘And you will learn. Life is hard, but knowing about other people, other civilizations, other ways of living, other places – that’s your escape route, a magical journey. Once you know about these things, no matter what happens, your mind can create stories to take you anywhere you want to go.’

I dry my nose on my sleeve. ‘Anywhere?’

‘Anywhere and any-when.’

Daniel stares at my nasty clothes. ‘What are you doing here?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Have you got any bread or eggs?’

I shake my head. ‘You didn’t come back.’

‘Sometimes people don’t.’ He looks away. ‘That’s what happens here.’

Because I wouldn’t say please or thank you, Papa put the candy into a glass bowl on the sideboard and said it would stay there until my manners improved. I poked out my tongue behind his back. While Greet is busy bringing in the washing, I climb on to a chair and pull the bowl towards me. It’s a very pretty bowl held up by a fish and with dragonflies and flowers all around the top. The candy is right at the bottom, next to the fish’s eyes,
and I have to balance the leather pouffe on top of the chair so I can reach inside. Greet opens the door as I’m putting all the empty candy wrappers back.