The Kill Dog by John Burke

Author:John Burke [Burke, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-11-27T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The sun chased the shadow of the car along a bank and then sprawled it on the road ahead as Maggie slowed towards the barrier. She said something airy and meaningless to Jan, to demonstrate to the waiting frontier guards that he and she hadn’t a care in the world.

There were two different uniforms on display. The Russians were easy to identify: grey-featured, sullen young men with tommy-guns slung across their chests.

A Czech came to the car and stooped beside Maggie’s window. She produced her passport with its visa and currency slips tucked loosely inside. Jan leaned across with his documents.

Now, said Maggie to herself. Now. Any minute now.

One of the Russians shifted his weight from his right foot to his left.

The Czech spoke to Jan. Jan said in English: ‘He wants to inspect a case or two.’

‘Oh, well.’ Maggie began to open her door.

Jan said: ‘I will do it. Stay where you are.’

He got out and unfastened the straps which lashed their baggage to the roof.

Maggie sat and stared at the bar across the road ahead. Fifty yards farther on was the Austrian hut. So close now.

When they had finished with the stuff off the roof, they’d get round to the interior of the car. And this plan here — what is it, please? Something military? The Russians a few paces forward, guns nosing in through the windows. Maybe they had a tank back there, ready to waddle out and crush her Renault just as Jan’s Skoda had been crushed.

Then the guard began to strap the luggage back into place. He made a thorough job of it. Jan got back in. When the guard had finished he bent down once more. His face was set, but he closed his eye in one solemn wink, and jerked his head towards the Russians. He said something, and Jan translated: ‘He says he had to show our Soviet brothers how thorough he is.’

They were waved on. The Russians stayed impassively where they stood. Maggie started slowly and tremulously, and stalled. The Czech guard indicated his willingness to give a shove. Maggie shook her head, and the car shot abruptly forward. They reached the Austrian checkpoint and were through in less than a minute.

Through. Free.

Maggie let out an explosive gasp. The world was suddenly wider, making her quite dizzy. The air was richer. The sun, on its way down, shone more brightly than it had done over those last dusty Bohemian miles.

She glanced at Jan. His head had sunk as though now, at last, knowing he was free, he was allowing himself to collapse. He looked despairing rather than relieved. Yet in that moment, when his face was drained — of life, colour, everything — she somehow saw through the stretched mask and saw Jan Melisek himself for the first time. There was a staunchness there that had nothing to do with the brusque or self-deprecating pedantry he had affected while they talked: a tenacity that would not be shaken, even by his own doubts of himself; a fine bone structure beneath the imperfect flesh.

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