‘Everyone has come, absolutely all the rooms are taken,’ Waldvogel murmured as she led us to the lift. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I booked you a very basic one – after all, you won’t be staying overnight, it’s only so that you have somewhere to tidy yourselves up… Was the skiing good? How’s the snow?’
‘It was really great, thanks,’ I replied.
‘Excellent, excellent… Come and ski here more often, it’s a good spot, and I asked the mountain to remember you, so you won’t crash or break any bones – unless you do something really stupid, of course…’
How much of what she said was true and how much of it was the kind of bluster that all witches excel in? Could a witch really ask a mountain to do something? And if she could, what did that mean?
I didn’t ask.
Our heavy boots clattered on the floor of the lift as we got in and rode up a few floors. Waldvogel opened the door of the room right beside the lift. (I knew from personal experience that these rooms were the very smallest and were usually given to solitary, unassuming travelling salesmen and guests who smoked and looked like alcoholics – the ones most likely to get the urge to go out during the night.)
But we didn’t have to spend the night there.
The room was cramped, but clean and tidy. Lying on the bed, which was too wide for a single and too narrow for a double, were a magnificent suit of dark-blue woollen fabric, a white shirt, a tie, socks, boxer shorts and a pair of fashionable men’s shoes. And lying beside them were a long black dress (which, to my surprise, looked slightly worn), a pair of black tights, black pants, a black bra and black shoes.
Nadya turned to the witch with an indignant look on her face.
‘I’m sorry, Fräulein,’ the witch said imperturbably. ‘I didn’t wish to embarrass you. But you are with your dad, after all, not some young man, and your father is hardly going to be shocked by the sight of your underwear.’
Nadya blushed violently, raked up the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
‘Ah, children…’ Waldvogel sighed. ‘But I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. A girl attending a Sabbath for the first time is obliged to dress in the traditional style. Everything black. Some believe that the underwear can be white, but I consider that an impermissible liberty. They start by blowing their noses in paper handkerchiefs, then they stop shaving their armpits, and they end up with white lingerie under a black dress – and look where it all leads: states crumble, morals decline, and they hold exhibitions in the churches.’
‘How very politically correct you are, Frau,’ I said, pulling off my heavy boots and starting to unzip my ski suit.
‘Yes, that’s the way I am,’ the witch sighed. ‘Kinder, Küche, Kirche, as we say in Germany. A healthy society starts with a healthy family and good taste! Do you need any help, Herr Anton?’
‘I’ll manage,’ I said, peeling off the ski suit. ‘I hope you won’t mind if I don’t take a shower, but just rub myself down with the throw from the bed and change into the clean clothes?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said the witch. ‘A man’s sweat is the finest aroma a woman can smell. You won’t feel embarrassed getting changed with me here?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ I replied, taking off my sweat-soaked underclothes.
‘What a pity,’ Etta sighed. ‘I adore my craft, I love being a witch, and I’m a good witch, believe me, Anton. But it’s a shame that our appearance is so… unattractive.’
‘But no one can see that,’ I said, getting dressed quickly. ‘And it doesn’t seem to affect your health at all.’
‘I can see it,’ the witch complained. ‘And you can see it.’
‘Oh come on, what’s the problem, really?’ I protested. ‘We Others aren’t the only fish in the sea, and it’s not as if we’re such great macho beasts that all the men in the world pale in comparison.’
‘Should I knot your tie for you?’ Etta asked. ‘Men sometimes don’t know how to tie a tie.’
I nodded, holding out the tie – it was dark-blue silk that matched the colour of the suit and had gold stars embroidered on it.
‘I used to knot all my husbands’ ties,’ Etta murmured, holding the tie up against my neck, examining it sombrely and holding it up against the jacket. ‘Hans, may he rest in peace, and Wolfgang, and Alfred, good riddance to him, and Otto, and Conrad, and Ludwig, and Basil… he was one of you, by the way, a Russian. And Antonio as well, and Horst…’
‘How many husbands have you had?’ I asked.
‘About a hundred,’ Etta said with a casual wave of her hand. ‘Don’t get the idea that I saw them all to their graves, Gorodetsky, we usually lived together for two or three years, then I got a bit bored, and men get this yearning for heroic deeds – I don’t like that sort of thing… So I got divorced, or I simply left… It was only Hans that I lived with right to the end of his life, and Alfred, of course, and Ludwig…’
The door of the bathroom opened and Nadya came out with a rather embarrassed air.
‘How do I look?’
I examined my daughter critically and was surprised. ‘You know, you look pretty good. The dress could have been made for you… although I don’t think it’s new.’
Etta giggled. ‘You guessed! It isn’t new. Girls have been going to their first Sabbath in it for three centuries. But we had it taken in for Fräulein Nadya, the dressmaker worked all day on it…’
‘You look magnificent too, Dad,’ said Nadya. ‘You ought to wear a suit and tie more often. It’s so… charmingly old-fashioned.’
‘Thank you, my dear,’ I said. ‘You certainly know how to make your father feel good. Frau Waldvogel, how are we doing for time?’
‘You have a quarter of an hour,’ said the witch. ‘You can have a glass of beer or wine in the bar. Or vodka, if you like. What do you usually drink in the evenings?’
‘No, I can’t have vodka, I promised my bear that I wouldn’t drink any without him,’ I replied. Nadya giggled. ‘Frau Waldvogel,’ I continued, ‘can you satisfy my curiosity on one point… Is this really your six hundred and sixty-fifth gathering?’
I think the witch was actually embarrassed by my question.
‘In a certain sense it is,’ she replied evasively. ‘You see, Anton, we witches are rather superstitious. So we’ve been holding the six hundred and sixty-fifth session of our Conclave for almost a century now. It has become a tradition.’
‘An interesting solution,’ I said.
‘That’s what I think, too,’ the witch replied without a trace of irony. ‘After all, the most important things in life are peace of mind and a positive attitude.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
But Nadya could.
‘That’s one all, Dad,’ she said quietly.
CHAPTER 3
THE CONCLAVE OF Witches was assembled in the hotel restaurant. A decision had been taken ‘to combine duty and pleasure’, as they say. Fortunately, there weren’t mountains of food – the sight of two hundred munching witches would have been just too much. Most of them really love eating, and copious hors d’oeuvres could easily have distracted them from the beginning of the end of the world.
The tables were set with only tea, coffee, wine, beer and cognac (which was the preferred tipple of many of the ladies), canapés with red and black caviar, foie gras on small pieces of toast, various little fancy cakes and slices of gateau (there is no limit to the amount of sweet things that witches can eat).
Most of the delegates had already taken their seats when we got there. For the most part, they had chosen to look young and were dressed brightly, but even the appearance of those who looked middle-aged or older was an improvement on reality – an appearance designed to deceive. The Power that witches possess drains them of beauty and youth. They can live for a very, very long time, almost for ever in fact, like the rest of the Others. But we live our long lives in bodies that are young, while witches live theirs in the bodies of old crones.