“Did that girl visit you or did she not, ma’am? I strongly recommend that you tell me.”
“Or there’s orange-flower water. You’re naturally high-strung, and it would help you to —”
A slap stung Martha’s left cheek. She was astounded. No one had ever slapped her, not even her father when she was a little girl, and Mills had a heavy hand. For a moment, stunned and distressed, she almost burst into tears, but she had no time for that. A sound like the booming of a gong was heard outside, followed by a creaking noise, and the door opened.
“Some kind of problem, Martha?”
Four consolers came in one by one, filling two-thirds of the room with their large bulk. The leader was Paula, Helen’s consoler, holding a frying pan. The other three were armed with rolling pins.
“No, none at all.” Martha smiled, with tears in her eyes. “We were just having a little chat, this gentleman and me — and a real gentleman he is too! But he was about to leave, or that’s what I think. . . .”
Mills, still sitting astride the chair, had been quick to assess the situation. In spite of his physical strength, he was far from sure that he could overcome those four mountains of flesh. And for a police chief who was a bachelor into the bargain to die at the hands of women armed with rolling pins would be a shocking humiliation. Of course, he had only to whistle up Ramses and tell him to attack, but setting a dog-man on the consolers would not look like a glorious feat either.
“That’s right. I was about to leave,” he grunted, rising from the chair.
The four huge women drew back, leaving a narrow passage through which he had to walk like a naughty boy running the gauntlet. Outside, Pastor was rubbing his head with both hands.
“Look what they did to me, Bombardone!” he said furiously. “The bump coming up on my head — you wouldn’t believe it. Those madwomen aren’t even afraid of the dogs!”
Mills ignored him. The six dog-men were grouped together a little way off. They were all turning to look north, muzzles pointing in the air and quivering. Mills joined them.
“They’re somewhere over there? They made for the mountains, right?”
“Uuu-nt,” said Ramses, craning his neck.
“I knew it,” muttered Mills. “Fugitives always try escaping over the mountains, never down the river.”
The other dog-men didn’t move, but as he came closer to them, Mills heard their impatient whining.
Although Catharina Pancek was only fifteen, with a childish face, she was resourceful. While pretending to give her a hug, a friend had slipped something into her hand, and whatever happened, she must hide it before the inevitable search was carried out. As she put it in her pocket, she recognized the tiny, familiar sound of little pieces of wood knocking against each other: matches! The best present anyone in her position could be given.
Miss Merlute propelled her on ahead through the dormitory where the older girls slept. They didn’t know Catharina’s first name, but their encouragement accompanied her all the way past their rows of beds.
“Be brave! You’ll be fine! Don’t be afraid.”
And as she went through the doorway, she even heard one last cry, uttered without any fear of the consequences. “Look at the Sky! Don’t forget!”
Catharina shivered. In the last few years she herself had tried to comfort girls being taken away to the detention cell, but she could never have imagined being condemned to it herself someday. As she walked past the beds, she felt her fear recede slightly as if the solidarity and sympathy of so many friendly voices were weaving her a garment of courage with light touches.
Once out of the dormitory, they walked quickly down straight, deserted corridors that Catharina had never seen before. Their shoes disturbed dark balls of dust fluff. These corridors couldn’t be swept very often. Miss Merlute went ahead, switching lights on and off as they passed. Sometimes she turned to make sure that her prisoner, whose legs were shorter than hers, was still following, and in profile her huge nose looked so long as to be almost unreal. Without slowing down, so as not to attract the supervisor’s attention, Catharina took the matchbox out of her right-hand pocket and thrust it into her thick hair. With a little luck she wouldn’t be searched there. They went through several doorways and suddenly, indeed entirely unexpectedly, they were outside the headmistress’s office. Miss Merlute quickly knocked twice on the door, then, after a pause, knocked for the third time. That’s their code, Catharina told herself.
“Come in!” called the voice of someone with her mouth full on the other side of the door.
Miss Merlute took Catharina by the collar, as if she’d been caught stealing, and pushed her into the room.
“Pancek!” she announced.
The Tank, seated at her desk, was just finishing her meal. The leftovers were spread out in front of her: some lettuce, a chicken carcass, a bowl of mayonnaise with a spoon dug into it, a plate of cheese, some jam, a bottle of beer.
“Well, Pancek?” she asked, masticating noisily.
Well what? Catharina would have liked to ask.
“Do you know where you’re being taken?”
“Yes, I know.”
“You can do mental arithmetic in there. It will pass the time.”
Catharina didn’t know exactly what the headmistress was getting at and said nothing.
“Are you afraid?” the Tank went on.
“Yes,” Catharina said untruthfully, guessing that it was better to say so. “Yes, I’m afraid.”
In fact she felt nothing at this moment, except anxiety that her matches might be discovered. Baffled, the Tank looked her up and down. “Have you been in the detention cell before?”
“No, never.”
“Excellent. It’ll give you something to tell the others when you get out. If you get out.”
You can say what you like! thought Catharina.
Meanwhile Miss Merlute had sat down at a corner of the desk in front of her own plate and was stripping remains of meat off the chicken carcass with the point of her knife.
“Empty your pockets!” the Tank ordered.
Catharina put a handkerchief and a hairbrush on the desk.
“You can have the handkerchief back. It may come in useful. But give me your glasses and your watch. Glass can cut. You’ll get them back when you come out.”
Catharina’s confidence instantly evaporated. She had been shortsighted from birth and wore glasses with thick lenses.
“Oh, please let me keep my glasses!”
“What did you say?” thundered the headmistress. “Giving orders now, is she? Where you’re going, child, you won’t need any glasses.”
“I wasn’t giving orders, I only —”
“Your glasses!”
Catharina felt her eyes blurring, and sobs rose in her throat. She took her glasses off and put them on the desk with her watch. Everything around her looked hazy. She was in a mist, and her tears made it sparkle.
“Search her!” ordered the Tank.
Miss Merlute didn’t have to be told twice. Her nasty paws scurried over the girl, who gritted her teeth. The supervisor’s breath smelled of cold chicken and mayonnaise. Just so long as she doesn’t search my hair, Catharina silently prayed. She didn’t.
“Take her away!” the Tank concluded.
Their wild careen down the corridors began again. Catharina slowed down, arms stretched out in front of her to avoid bumping into obstacles. When Miss Merlute had had enough of that, she seized her prisoner by the collar again and did not let go. Soon they were in the refectory. It was strange to be there in the middle of the night. The heavy tables, cleared after supper, seemed to be sleeping like large animals. Sounds echoed through the room. Miss Merlute opened the door at the far end of the refectory and switched on a flashlight, and, side by side, they both started down the steep staircase. After a few feet, they passed the cellar on their right and went on down. The steps glistened with moisture; sounds were muted. It felt like walking into a tomb. The spiral of the staircase finally came to an end, leading to a tunnel about thirty feet long, its roof propped up in a makeshift way and with a trodden mud floor. The detention cell was at the far end. Miss Merlute turned an enormous key in the lock, pushed the door open, and ran the beam of her flashlight over the furnishings inside.