Part 4 (1/2)
”It's raining, sir. It's a bad-luck day.”
”A bad-luck day? What makes you say that?”
”It's Friday the thirteenth.”
”You're not superst.i.tious, are you?”
She shook her head, but then she said, ”One of the girls downstairs thinks that you're a tovenaar tovenaar.”
Tovenaar is Flemish for a black magician. The girl must have seen my Bibles and my crucifixes and all the paraphernalia of Screecher-hunting. is Flemish for a black magician. The girl must have seen my Bibles and my crucifixes and all the paraphernalia of Screecher-hunting.
”No, I'm not a tovenaar tovenaar. Tell her I'm a goochelaar goochelaar.” A goochelaar goochelaar is a conjuror, the kind who pulls rabbits out of opera hats and strings of colored bunting out of his ears. is a conjuror, the kind who pulls rabbits out of opera hats and strings of colored bunting out of his ears.
”Yes, sir.” She tugged back the heavy velvet curtains and she was right. The sky was gloomy and the window was speckled with raindrops. ”You should be careful today, sir.”
”I'm always careful. Here.” I reached over to the ashtray on my night-table and fished out a couple of francs to give her a tip.
I met up with Corporal Little and Frank in the lobby downstairs. The hotel was bustling with activity because some of the British were leaving. Outside, Keizerstraat was crowded with Jeeps and trucks and British Tommies wearing rain-capes.
”You had something to eat, Henry?” I asked Corporal Little.
”Sure thing. Frank and I shared some sausage.”
”You know what the Belgians put in those sausages?”
”Hate to think, sir.”
”Reconst.i.tuted n.a.z.is, with additional cereal.”
Corporal Little had parked around the corner. We climbed into the Jeep and maneuvered our way toward Schildersstraat. Frank took the rain as a personal insult and kept shaking himself impatiently.
No. 71 was a tall gray building right on the corner of Karel Rogierstraat. The downstairs windows were covered with grimy lace curtains and all of the upstairs windows were shuttered. Corporal Little parked halfway up the curb and we went to the brown-painted front door and knocked. The knocker was cast in bronze, in the shape of a snarling wolf. A knocker like that was supposed to keep demons out of the house, but if Ernst Hauser had been telling us the truth, it certainly hadn't worked here. and knocked. The knocker was cast in bronze, in the shape of a snarling wolf. A knocker like that was supposed to keep demons out of the house, but if Ernst Hauser had been telling us the truth, it certainly hadn't worked here.
We knocked three times before the door was opened. A plain young woman in a white muslin cap and a plain brown dress stood in front of us, holding a mop. From inside the house, I could smell bleach and fish boiling.
”We're looking for three men,” I told her, holding out my ident.i.ty card. ”Do you have anybody staying here?”
”n.o.body now. Only my grandfather.”
”How about before?”
”Before? Yes. We had five Germans here before the Allies came, and another man, but they're all gone now.”
”Another man?”
”I don't know what he was. He didn't speak German. I don't know what language it was. He used to talk to us sometimes and I think he was asking us questions but we didn't understand.”
”Maybe he said something like buna dimineatza buna dimineatza? Or noapte buna noapte buna? Or multzumesc multzumesc?”
”Yes, that word multzumesc multzumesc. He was always saying that.”
”Can you tell me what he looked like, this man?”
The girl looked embarra.s.sed. ”He was tall, taller than you. With dark hair combed straight back.”
”What else you can tell me about him? I mean, if I were to see him in the street, how would I recognize him?”
She lowered her eyes. ”He was very handsome. My mother's friends used to come round for tea in the hope that he would be here.”
”Really?”
”If he pa.s.sed them in the hallway they would start to giggle.”
”What kind of handsome, would you say? Did he remind you of anybody? A movie star, maybe?”
”Well, I know it sounds funny, but if you can imagine Marlene Dietrich as a man instead of a woman. High cheeks, very proud-looking. Also, he spoke very warm, if you understand me, always looking you right in your eyes, so you didn't mind if you didn't know what he was saying. His eyes were green like the sea and he had a scar on the side of his forehead . . . like a V-shape.”
I gave Corporal Little a brief translation of what the girl had said, and the corporal grinned and shook his head. ”Sounds like this young lady didn't exactly fail to be swept off her feet, either. She didn't happen to notice his sock size, by any chance?”
I turned back to the girl. ”Did this man ever tell you his name?”
”No. But I heard one of the Germans call him Herr Doktor.”
”What were the Germans like?”
”Horrible. I hated both of them. They kept coughing, as if they were ill, and they always smelled bad.”
”Frank picking up anything?” I asked Corporal Little.
”Not so far, sir. But it's been raining all night.”
”Do you think there's any possibility that these men may still be here?” I asked the girl.
”What do you mean?”
”Could they still be hiding in the house? In the attic, maybe?”
”Their rooms are empty. I had to clean them after they left.”
”Do you think we could possibly take a look around?”
”I don't know. My mother isn't here. She won't be back for an hour.”
”We wouldn't disturb anything, I promise you.”
”She doesn't even like me to answer the door. It was only because you wouldn't stop knocking.”
”OK, then . . . we wouldn't like to get you into any trouble. We'll go find ourselves a cup of coffee and come back later.”