his lower lip. Finally he shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Forget what I said. Sorry.”
“I can’t forget it! I never knew him, no one ever talks to me about him, though they mutter things behind my back. All I know is what my mother’s told me: that he went down with his ship on the way back from Africa. So tell me, please, what did they do to my father?”
There was another silence, this time much longer. So long that Paul wondered if Eduard had fallen asleep. Suddenly his eyes opened again.
“I’ll burn in hell for this, but I have no choice. First I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything you say.”
“Go to my father’s study and open the second drawer on the right. If it’s locked, the key used to be kept in the middle drawer. You’ll find a black leather bag; it’s rectangular with a flap folded over it. Bring it to me.”
Paul did as he was told. He tiptoed down to the study, scared that he might meet someone on the way, but the party was still in full swing. The drawer was locked, and it took him a few moments to find the key. It wasn’t where Eduard had said, but finally he found it in a little wooden box. The drawer was filled with papers. Paul found a piece of black felt at the back, with a strange symbol etched in gold. A square and a compass, with a letter G inside. The leather bag lay underneath.
The boy put it under his shirt and returned to Eduard’s room. He could feel the weight of the bag against his stomach, and trembled just imagining what would happen if someone were to find him with this object that wasn’t his hidden beneath his clothes. He felt immense relief as he entered the room.
“Have you got it?”
Paul took out the leather bag and walked toward the bed, but on the way he tripped over one of the piles of books strewn across the room. The books scattered and the bag fell onto the floor.
“No!” cried Eduard and Paul at the same time.
The bag had fallen between a copy of May’s The Blood Revenge and Hoffman’s The Devil’s Elixirs, revealing its contents: a pearl-colored handle.
It was a pistol.
“Why do you want a gun, Cousin?” said Paul, his voice trembling.
“You know what I want it for.” He raised the stump of his arm in case Paul was in any doubt.
“Well, I won’t give it to you.”
“Listen carefully, Paul. Sooner or later I’ll manage, because the only thing I want to do in this world is to leave it. You can turn your back on me today, put it back where you got it, and force me to go through the terrible indignity of having to drag myself on this ruined arm in the dead of night to my father’s study. But then you’d never find out what I have to tell you.”
“No!”
“Or you can leave it on the bed, listen to what I have to say, then give me the dignity of choosing how I’m to go. You decide, Paul, but whatever happens, I will get what I want. What I need.”
Paul sat on the floor, or rather collapsed onto it, clutching the leather bag. For a long while the only sound in the room was the metallic tick of Eduard’s alarm clock. Eduard closed his eyes until he felt a movement on his bed.
His cousin had dropped the leather bag within reach of his hand.
“God forgive me,” said Paul. He was standing at Eduard’s bedside, crying, but not daring to look at him directly.
“Oh, He doesn’t give a damn what we do,” said Eduard, caressing the delicate leather with his fingers. “Thank you, Cousin.”
“Tell me, Eduard. Tell me what you know.”
The wounded man cleared his throat before beginning. He talked slowly, as though each of the words had to be dragged out of his lungs rather than spoken.
“It happened in 1905, which is what they’ve told you, and up to that point what you know is not so far from the truth. I remember clearly that Uncle Hans was on a mission in South-West Africa, because I loved the sound of that word and used to say it again and again as I tried to find the place on the map. One night, when I
“Forget what I said. Sorry.”
“I can’t forget it! I never knew him, no one ever talks to me about him, though they mutter things behind my back. All I know is what my mother’s told me: that he went down with his ship on the way back from Africa. So tell me, please, what did they do to my father?”
There was another silence, this time much longer. So long that Paul wondered if Eduard had fallen asleep. Suddenly his eyes opened again.
“I’ll burn in hell for this, but I have no choice. First I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything you say.”
“Go to my father’s study and open the second drawer on the right. If it’s locked, the key used to be kept in the middle drawer. You’ll find a black leather bag; it’s rectangular with a flap folded over it. Bring it to me.”
Paul did as he was told. He tiptoed down to the study, scared that he might meet someone on the way, but the party was still in full swing. The drawer was locked, and it took him a few moments to find the key. It wasn’t where Eduard had said, but finally he found it in a little wooden box. The drawer was filled with papers. Paul found a piece of black felt at the back, with a strange symbol etched in gold. A square and a compass, with a letter G inside. The leather bag lay underneath.
The boy put it under his shirt and returned to Eduard’s room. He could feel the weight of the bag against his stomach, and trembled just imagining what would happen if someone were to find him with this object that wasn’t his hidden beneath his clothes. He felt immense relief as he entered the room.
“Have you got it?”
Paul took out the leather bag and walked toward the bed, but on the way he tripped over one of the piles of books strewn across the room. The books scattered and the bag fell onto the floor.
“No!” cried Eduard and Paul at the same time.
The bag had fallen between a copy of May’s The Blood Revenge and Hoffman’s The Devil’s Elixirs, revealing its contents: a pearl-colored handle.
It was a pistol.
“Why do you want a gun, Cousin?” said Paul, his voice trembling.
“You know what I want it for.” He raised the stump of his arm in case Paul was in any doubt.
“Well, I won’t give it to you.”
“Listen carefully, Paul. Sooner or later I’ll manage, because the only thing I want to do in this world is to leave it. You can turn your back on me today, put it back where you got it, and force me to go through the terrible indignity of having to drag myself on this ruined arm in the dead of night to my father’s study. But then you’d never find out what I have to tell you.”
“No!”
“Or you can leave it on the bed, listen to what I have to say, then give me the dignity of choosing how I’m to go. You decide, Paul, but whatever happens, I will get what I want. What I need.”
Paul sat on the floor, or rather collapsed onto it, clutching the leather bag. For a long while the only sound in the room was the metallic tick of Eduard’s alarm clock. Eduard closed his eyes until he felt a movement on his bed.
His cousin had dropped the leather bag within reach of his hand.
“God forgive me,” said Paul. He was standing at Eduard’s bedside, crying, but not daring to look at him directly.
“Oh, He doesn’t give a damn what we do,” said Eduard, caressing the delicate leather with his fingers. “Thank you, Cousin.”
“Tell me, Eduard. Tell me what you know.”
The wounded man cleared his throat before beginning. He talked slowly, as though each of the words had to be dragged out of his lungs rather than spoken.
“It happened in 1905, which is what they’ve told you, and up to that point what you know is not so far from the truth. I remember clearly that Uncle Hans was on a mission in South-West Africa, because I loved the sound of that word and used to say it again and again as I tried to find the place on the map. One night, when I
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