As it disappeared, the ragged men, hidden like nightmare shadows, appeared like a pack of dogs, scrabbling in the mud until one of them, on his hands and knees, found the ring. "Das gehort mir!" "Mine!" But the others tore at him and beat him. He screamed and screamed; "Das ist der meinige, meinige, MEINIGE!" The pitiful man clung to his treasure, fought like a demon, then desperate to save himself, he threw the ring and it shot through the air, sinking in a puddle two feet away from a tiny little girl, a little girl crying from pain in her leg, terrified by what she had just witnessed... a frightened Ruda, crawling between the alleyways of huts, safe from the shadow men, on the other side of the barbed wire fence. The man clung to the meshing with his skinny hands, his mouth black, gaping and toothless, like a starving jackal he screeched: "Das ist der meinige, das gehort mir, das ist der meinige!" Ruda had crept back to her hut, silently lifting the worn blanket, slipping in to lie beside her sister, needing her comfort, needing to feel the warmth of the tiny plump body. In her sleep, Rebecca turned to cuddle Ruda, to cover her with sweet, adoring, childish kisses. Ruda felt safe and warm. They had a prize worth a fortune. A golden ring. The music, the red paper flowers, the screams and the anguished faces blurred in her mind as Ruda, not old enough to comprehend the misery, felt only the burning pain in her leg, and repeated over and over in her mind: "Das ist der meinige, das ist der meinige... meinige, meinige..."
Ruda carefully relocked her treasure box, hid the key, and returned the black tin box to its hiding place. She knew she could not sleep, and as it was after five decided she would shower and get ready for the first feed of the day. As she soaped her body, turning around slowly in the small shower cabinet, she felt the tension in her body begin to ease. But she could not rid herself of her deep anger. She carefully wrapped herself in a clean soft towel, patting herself dry, then pointed her left foot like a dancer. There was still the small scar where the trestle bench had cut into her leg, so many years before. She poured some lotion into her cupped hand and massaged her leg. The wound had festered. She had been so frightened of telling anyone that eventually she had been taken to the hospital bay. They had put a paper dressing on it. Days, perhaps weeks later the pain had become so bad, she had been carried back to the hospital by an orderly. Lice had eaten into her leg beneath the pus-soaked bandage, and she had been forced into the delousing bath, screaming and crying out in pain. It was as a result of the festering wound that she came to the attention of Papa. She had been taken to see him that afternoon, wearing clean clothes, washed and cleaned, her hair combed, her wound well bandaged with a proper dressing. That was the first time she had been alone with him, the first time he had asked her if she wanted to play a very special game with him. He had sat her on his knee, given her a sweet and bounced her up and down. When she didn't unwrap the sweet, he had asked why not. He had smiled, she remembered, asking why she didn't want the sweet. He even playfully tried to take it away from her.
"Das ist der meinige!" The little girl's fist clenched over the sweet as she glared into his handsome face. Her determined expression delighting him, he smiled, showing perfect white teeth.
Ruda tossed the towel aside. She continued to rub the lotion into her body, then she dressed. The anger was gone now. Thinking of Papa always made the anger subside. It was replaced, as it had always been, with a chilling, studied calmness. Ruda braided her hair, gave a cursory look at her reflection. She passed the poster of herself and lightly touched it with her hand. The poster represented everything she had fought so hard to attain, and nothing would take it from her. She didn't even look at the poster as she passed, but she whispered quietly to herself, making a soft hissing sound: "Das ist der meinige!"
Luis was still asleep where she had left him. She drew the blinds, pulled the blanket around his shoulders, and opened the door. Outside she picked up the hose and washed down the trailer herself. Then she began to whistle, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she strolled over to the cages. She looked skyward, shading her eyes. It still looked overcast.
Ruda passed between the trailers, calling out a brisk good morning to the early risers. There was movement now, some trainers and performers were heading to the canteen for breakfast, some like Ruda were getting ready to prepare their animals' feed.
She made her routine morning check, passing from cage to cage, calling every cat by name, and then she stopped by Mamon's cage.
He was lazily stretching, he threw back his head and yawned. "You're mine, my love." She leaned against the rails, and he swung his head low, stared at her, and then threw his black mane back with a roar that never ceased to delight her. He seemed to roar her inner rage.
"Everything's all right now ma'angel!"
Chapter 10
Torsen woke refreshed. The moment he got into his office, he pasted up his memos, his suggested schedule for the men. It was still only seven-thirty; he had brought in fresh rolls and was brewing coffee. He typed the past evening's reports furiously and distributed them around the station.
At eight-forty-five when the men began to trickle in to the locker rooms, they saw a large memo requesting all station personnel to convene in the main room for a briefing.
Torsen was placing his notebook and newly sharpened pencils on the incidents room's bare table when he overheard Rieckert laughing as he entered. "It's not just a dwarf, but a Jewish dwarf and..."
Torsen gestured for Rieckert to join him. He kept his voice low, his back to the main room. "I hear you make one more anti-Semitic remark, in the station, in the car, at any time you are wearing your uniform — you will be out, understand?"
Rieckert smiled, said that he was just joking.
"I don't care, I don't want to hear it, now sit down..."
Torsen handed out the day's schedule, and suggested that they should all review their on/off-duty periods. Anyone with any formal or reasonable complaint should leave a memo on Torsen's desk. He then discussed in detail his findings to date regarding the murder of Tommy Kellerman.
The meeting was interrupted by the switchboard operator, who slipped a note to Torsen. It was an urgent request to call his father's nursing home. Torsen telephoned, and the nurse informed him that his father was exceptionally lucid, and had asked to see him.
Torsen returned to the incidents room. "I will not, as listed, be on the first assignment; Rieckert and Clauss you take that, and I will join you at the Grand Hotel. Please stay there until I arrive." Torsen had made clear that they must all remain in contact with each other throughout the day to exchange information and discuss findings. He declined, however, to tell them where he was going. After his pep talk, a visit to his ailing father should perhaps not have taken precedence over the murder inquiry.