Heidi Fischer
SWALLOW
A Novel
July 1929
“Would you like to see some kittens?” He spoke with a thick Russian accent. “They’re so cute. You must come and see them.”
Gabi’s skipping rope fell to the cobbled ground, discarded in favour of something more interesting, her lively steps taking her to Yuri, the familiar character who tended their garden. She was a pretty girl with the mischievous grin of an only child accustomed to finding her own source of amusement and the temperament of a playful puppy gnawing on a favourite shoe.
Her stockings had shrunk down her legs and she pulled them high above her waist, as she had a hundred times that day, knowing that they would slip down again with each step. But she did not complain to her nanny for she knew that a bath awaited her, and today was a hair day.
“Where are they?” She smiled up at the tall man and his lips parted, showing a row of yellow teeth that fought for space.
“Come with me, just in here,” he said.
The excited seven-year-old skipped after Yuri, following him down a flight of stairs to a cellar used for storing wine, coal and preserved food for the long winter ahead. It reeked of musty, wet earth.
Gabi’s button nose wrinkled. “Phew, it stinks down here. I can’t see a thing,” she said, pinching her nose to block the stench.
A tarnished oil lamp hung on the wall by the entrance. Yuri placed it on a stand and lit the wick to reveal a deep chasm with large supporting pillars and beams that stretched as far as the light allowed, exposing a foreign world to the little girl. Many a time, she had been cautioned never to venture into the malevolent sanctum of the cellar where, according to her nanny, all manner of vermin and pestilence thrived. But the lure of kittens would not deter, and she squinted to see beyond the light.
“The kittens are down here? It’s so dark and cold. Perhaps we should bring a blanket for them?”
“No, they’re fine. Just go right to the back.”
Gabi moved forward, pulling at her tights with each tentative step.
“Farther back.” He waved his hands to urge her on. “Go, go…”
The girl tiptoed deeper into the cellar, fumbling in the darkness until a stone wall blocked her way. “I can’t go any farther. Where are the kittens?”
Yuri placed the lamp by a pillar and the shadows that had followed them into the cellar grew long and ghoulish.
She asked again. “Are they this far back? I can’t hear them.”
An arm came down and then another, grabbing the girl from behind and forcing her to the floor. “Don’t fight me, it will only hurt more.”
“Yuri, no, stop!” she pleaded, kicking her legs and thrashing her arms while he tore the layers of clothing from her body, his bulk so heavy upon her that she could not fight back. But she could hear every breath that he took and with each deep gasp, her body contracted in pain. “Stop, stop!” she shrieked, terror paralysing her efforts to break free.
He clutched her neck and squeezed until her screams fell silent.
She looked at the clock and pulled the sock from the darning mushroom, folding it inside its pair and placing it on a pile of mended underwear. She scurried to the bottom of the staircase and called up into the void.
“Gabi, Gabi, where are you?” She waited a moment, tilting her head to the left so that her good ear faced the stairs. She called up again. “Your father will be home soon—you must have a bath and get ready for dinner.”
Gabi’s silence came as no surprise to Frau Hermann. After all, what child with long hair looked forward to a bath? She wiped her clean hands on her apron out of habit and scurried down the hallway to the back of the house, leaving her unfinished darning and cold cup of tea. She quickened her pace crossing the courtyard to the kitchen door.
“Have you seen Gabi? I can’t find her anywhere—you know how the captain hates it when she is late.” Frau Hermann’s tight ashen bun had worked its way loose, and she hastily reinserted hairpins to secure it.
Chef turned and shrugged, stirring his pot of liver dumpling soup. He was a middle-aged, rotund man with a bulbous nose and a club foot he had endured since birth. His cuisine was provincial and flavoursome, reflecting his humble Salzburg origins. But his indifference to her helplessness aggravated Frau Hermann all the more and she scurried off to find Helmut, the head butler; he would know what to do.
An automobile clipped the curb as it pulled up at the front of the house, a stately mansion, four stories high with cream rendered walls and a red tiled roof. It was known as Rittergut Grosse Eiche—Manor Grand Oak—after an enormous tree that stood on a hill nearby. The Richter family had lived on the estate in eastern Germany for three generations, first making their fortune in mining coal and producing the machinery required for such an industry. But over time, the business struggled and was sold just before the great depression of ’29 for a substantial sum, leaving the Richter dynasty financially secure, at least for a time.
Captain Richter stepped from the vehicle and was immediately set upon by Helmut.
“Captain, we have a problem. We can’t find Gabi anywhere. The house has been turned inside out and the groundsmen are searching the gardens but so far, nothing!”
Captain Richter tugged at his earlobe, assessing the situation with the mind of a strategist. His thoughts were swift, his response definite. “She must be here; she can’t have just disappeared. Keep searching the grounds, I’ll look inside.”
He was a tall, striking man in his mid-thirties who moved with self-confidence, as one would expect of a senior ranking officer. He made his way to the kitchen, acknowledging the cook with a curt nod. “Have we checked the pantry?”
Chef nodded. “Twice, Captain. I know it’s one of Gabi’s favourite hiding places.”
The captain looked to the yard, through a window that framed a bleak picture for darkness had descended and the swallows were settled in the safety of their roosts for the night. But not Gabi.
A small crowd gathered in the kitchen and the room hummed with anxious muttering that rose and fell like the surge of a tide before the storm. The captain held up a hand to silence the group, fine-tuning his senses to a faint sound coming from the yard.
“Saxon.”
A miniature schnauzer bounded about, yapping and spinning frenzied circles. The captain immediately ran to the dog, grabbing him by the collar to hold him still.
“Where is Gabi? Go—show us.”
The dog ferreted its way across the yard before changing direction, not once, but twice and the gathering followed tenaciously behind, stopping and waiting until the next burst. Then, finally, the little schnauzer stood his ground by the cellar door.
Captain Richter unbolted the latch and seized a lantern from one of the men. He thrust at the door and the little dog bounded down the steps, Captain Richter and staff trailing behind, lanterns casting macabre shadows as they ran along the cobblestones and deeper into the blackness.
The little schnauzer stopped and whimpered. Dread turned to horror for on the floor lay the naked body of a child, her tiny figure white and lifeless. Captain Richter knelt down and placed a shaking hand on her neck.
“She’s alive. She’s alive. Go, get the doctor!”
He removed his jacket, placing it over her tiny frame and cradling her into his chest, rising slowly and charging for the door. Servants, groundsmen and farm hands all stood in silence, but for their shocked gasps as he passed them by. Helmut quivered at the base of steps.
“Go, get the police,” the captain said before making his way across the yard and into the manor.