“I’m finished except for the paint. We should hurry.”
Stumpfegle slowly carried the can of whitewash to the cart, strapped himself between the heavy shafts, and with Fegelein wheeling the motorbike, they started down the dark street.
The Mayor fell asleep while vague white animals pranced and chattered through his dreams. Miller wished pain upon him, and kicked up his sharp heels and flew away, only to return with the Colonel on his back and a rifle under his belly to plague the poor mare, hot and sore with age. The white handkerchief was over his eyes, his legs were tied, and all those animals of youth and death, the historical beasts, danced about to watch. It was cold and the kitchen was empty.
The Duke and the boy were halfway down the hill towards the institution where a sack was hidden behind the town girls’ bush. The dance music ceased in the storehouse below, the only lights were out. The cane once more was raised and the child, spattered with mud, tried without success to break away. A sleeper cocked his legs behind the storehouse.
“We’re almost there. But let’s try to hurry, will you?” The faster Fegelein tried to go, the more trouble he had with the machine. Yet he urged and he slipped. The shadow of the spy crossed their path.
The ghosts by the canal all watched, their heads together in the turret of the tank, the spirit of Leevey crawling to meet them from the dark water. A gaunt bird settled on the throat of the headless horse statue in the center of the town and mist fell on the grey sideless spire near the Autobahn.
The new watch on my wrist showed three o’clock. It was almost over. Tomorrow the loyal would know and be thankful, the disloyal would be taken care of. By tomorrow this first murder of the invaders would be public news; it would be, rather than a resistance, a show of strength. My footsteps echoed behind me in the darkness, somewhere the traitor was about, and then with a new energy swept upon me, I reached the boarding house. This town had no particular significance, as I entered the hall, because all towns were towns of the land, villages where idleness breeds faith, and the invaders hatred. Yet I knew this town, and in the days of power would always return, for I knew each disappointment, each girl, each silent doorway. I began to climb the stairs and on the next landing, knew the second floor boarder was still out.
My order, the new campaign, was planned and begun. It was spreading, conception and detail, to the borders of the land, aimed at success. The initial blow was struck, the enemy unseated, and there remained only the message to be dealt with and the traitor in our midsts to be undone. I opened the door and saw her warm and girlish arms.
It seemed she had been sleeping for only a moment and the bed was still warm where I had been.
The Census-Taker mumbled in his sleep two floors below, his shirt out of his trousers, wringing wet. They danced on his toes, it was so warm.
Gently pushing the covers back, she rolled slowly over, thinking of my warm brown chest.
Softly she spoke, “Come back to bed, Zizendorf.” She wanted to fall asleep again.
She seemed to have forgotten, this flush Jutta, where I had been, love without sense. I sat in the chair facing the bed.
Then, curling her hair in her fingertips, stretching her knees, she remembered.
“It’s done?”
“Of course. He fell as easy as a duck, that area-commander. He’s out in the swamp with his comrades now.”
“But how did you stop him?”
“The log.” I bent over and loosened my shoes. “The log stopped him. You’d think that when he hit it he’d fly, perhaps swoop over it in a pleasant arc or at least in a graceful curve. But that’s not true. He and the whole machine simply toppled over it, spokes and light and helmet flying every which way. Nothing grand about the commander’s end at all!”
“You’re safe? And now you can come and get warm.”
Jutta feared cold as once she had feared the Superior’s sun.
“The rest of the plan is still to be done.”
Stintz pushed the child ahead with loving hands and silently she crept up the stairs. “You mustn’t tell anyone what you saw, the moon will be angry,” and she was gone into the darkness.
“I’d like to stroke your lovely heart and your hair. But there’s still work.”
“And I suppose there’ll be even more when you reach success?” She yawned.
“Night should be mine, always.”
The child stole into the room, back with Mother, shivering in her thin gown for all the long tiring adventure. I, the Leader, smiled, and Jutta held out her hand across the hard pillows and cold top-cover.
“My darling child, where have you been?” Absently she touched the thin arm and it felt hard, frail.
“What a strange little girl,” I thought. Something stirred below, more like the sound of night than human, perhaps the mechanical movement of the trees against the house.
“I saw a man with a light, racing along where no one ever goes any more.”
Surely this was not the spy, the lean shadow I had seen for a moment. But she must know the traitor, perhaps was taken in his bob-cat steps and walked by his side.
“What was he doing?” I spoke quietly with a special voice for children, carried over from the days before the Allied crimes and war.
“He didn’t do anything. Somebody put something in the road and he was killed. His light was smashed.”
“How did you go to see the man? Did someone take you for a walk?”
Suddenly she was afraid. She recognized my voice perhaps.
“The moon did it. The moon’s a terrible thing in the sky and will be angry if I tell you anything. He’d kill me too.”
“You go to bed, go to sleep,” said Jutta, and the child ran into the next room. But she didn’t sleep, she waited, awake in the dark, to see what would happen.
The honest man is the traitor to the State. The man with the voice only for those above him, not for citizens, tells all and spreads evil. His honesty is a hopeless misgiving. He makes the way intangible and petty, he hampers determination.
Stintz, barely back in his room, stood by the window and raised the sash. Peering with excited eyes, he looked at the turning in the darkness where he had first seen the light of the victim and tense with anticipation he slowly looked across the dark town-site, to the spot, what a joy, where the victim fell.
What a pleasure it had been, he knew I was up to something, and the child, this was the perfect touch, to make her follow the father and murderer through the darkness! Oh, he knew it was I all right, animal-devil, who took the blood tonight, but his thrill was in the justice, not the crime, no one would accuse except himself. Soon he would hear the footsteps, soon he would be the judge and all the knowledge would come to bear, in the rope, on the father of the child. The sky, for Stintz, was clearing; he hoped, in the morning, to inform.
Her face was so flushed, overjoyed with night, that I disliked leaving.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, and she turned the other way to go to sleep. I heard the rustling again in the room below.
Stintz expected the knock on the door and said, “Come,” almost before he heard it.