Swastika Night by Murray Constantine

Author:Murray Constantine [Constantine, Murray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Novela, Ciencia ficción
Publisher: ePubLibre
Published: 1936-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

PUNCTUALLY at six on the following evening Alfred and Hermann presented themselves before the Knight. Von Hess issued the same orders as before to Heinrich, and after the door had closed behind the servant he bade Alfred and Hermann sit down. But neither of them did so. Hermann started to speak, hesitated and stopped. Alfred helped him.

“He has something he wants to say to you, sir.”

“Well, get on with it, Hermann.”

“My lord,” said Hermann, looking not at the Knight but straight in front of him, “if you would graciously allow me I would rather do my work on the farm and not hear any more about the book of your thrice noble ancestor. I am not, please, a coward, but I do not understand very much when you and Alfred are talking. I would rather hear things from Alfred. So I beg, highly-born, that I may be excused.”

“Of course you may,” said the Knight, secretly relieved, but courteously concealing it. “I know it’s all very difficult, and if you don’t want to hear any more, why, it’s best you shouldn’t.”

“I am not afraid to hear things, sir. Only I do not understand very well, and would rather do my proper work.”

“Then dismiss. Oh, Hermann, how are those mangolds looking?”

“Poorly, sir. About half the size of Wiltshire ones at the same stage of growth.”

“They’ll be better after the hoeing,” said the Knight, hopefully. “Dismiss.”

Hermann saluted, turned stiffly and went out. Alfred sat down in response to a word from the Knight.

“How is Hermann, Alfred?”

“Collapsed.”

“He seems all right.”

“Oh, I don’t mean physically. He works like a dynamo. But he didn’t behave at all as we thought he would. He was violent enough when he still believed in Hitler and I didn’t, but now you’ve knocked all his props away. He’s collapsed completely into personal dependency on you and me. He’s our dog now, not Germany’s dog. Hermann has a very weak soul, a baby soul. But he asked me to tell you that though he considers you his father, God and Authority all rolled into one, or words to that effect, he cannot stay in Germany when I go. He says he must kill himself then. He couldn’t carry on.”

“Even if I tell him he’s not to kill himself?”

“I still think he might. It’s a great worry. If I overstay my pilgrimage leave they’ll drag me back in handcuffs, and I shall be a marked man. Unless you could apply for me to be your private ground mechanic, or something like that.”

“I don’t want to do that. You’re an army mechanic and a good one. All sorts of questions would be asked. Besides, I want that book to be out of Germany before I die. I don’t know when that will be. I’m old, and I get bronchitis in the winters. No, you must go back at the proper time, Alfred. I suppose what Hermann really means is that he can’t now live without you.”

“Well, he can’t talk to you, sir. You’re too high above him.

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