Florian's Gate by T. Davis Bunn

Author:T. Davis Bunn [T. Davis Bunn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781441270870
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2012-05-05T14:03:17+00:00

* * *

“He is not ill, is he?” Gregor asked when Jeffrey explained Alexander’s absence.

“Not really. Just exhausted.” He related the happenings of the previous two days. “I have the feeling that it might have something to do with it.”

“Ah.” Gregor nodded his agreement. “I am so sorry to hear this. And on your very first trip as well.”

“Why is he like this?”

“The reasons are for him to say, my dear boy. They are his memories, not mine. All I can say is that your experiences in Schwerin have brought his worst nightmares to life.” Gregor began briskly preparing for departure. “That is enough on that, I should think. Shall we be off? We have much to do today.

“Despite what Alexander refers to as my apartment’s minuscule proportions,” Gregor said as they left the apartment, “it has several major advantages. It is a fifteen-minute walk to the old town, and the building has only five floors and thirty-seven apartments. That is nothing compared to the monstrosities that the Communists have erected. You will be visiting a few of them.”

“I can hardly wait,” Jeffrey said, casting a backward glance at the building. He took in the dull gray exterior, the flaking windowpanes, the crumbling front steps, the dusty strip of unadorned earth fronting the curb, and wondered what a disadvantaged place must look like.

“My building was erected in the fifties,” Gregor went on, making his rolling way down the sidewalk. “At that time, buildings were still being made from brick and concrete rather than mortar blocks and steel. As a result this building is insulated, you see. My walls do not sweat in the cold. Nor do they freeze in the dead of winter, as happens in some of the newer buildings—the interior walls, I am speaking of. Sometimes I feel a little guilty not residing as most people do here, but as you can see my health is unfortunately not the best. One winter in such a place and I would be immobilized for life.”

He stopped in front of a stubby car the color of old mustard. Jeffrey looked it over, tapped the plastic hood. It was a square cigar box on skinny tires, designed to grow old swiftly and fall apart. Gingerly he pushed down on his side; the car rocked like a boat in high seas. No shocks at all.

“Don’t you think we would be better off having Alexander’s driver take us around?”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” Gregor replied, climbing in and shutting his door. It bounced back open. He reached out with both hands and slammed it into submission. He inserted the key and ground the ignition. Jeffrey sighed in defeat, slid onto the narrow seat. The car sounded like a motorized sewing machine. “This is an East German car, a Trabant,” Gregor said above the engine’s whining putter. “In Poland they call them Hoennecker’s Revenge. Hoennecker was the former ruler of East Germany.”

“Back in the U.S., people put quarters in motel beds and don’t get as good a ride as this,” Jeffrey replied.

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