“The Phalangist who tried to leave during the recital,” Jahn explained.
“Are they going to hurt him?” asked Milena.
“No. But I’m sure that’s what he expects. He’s probably half dead of fright, thinking he’s going to be executed, but that’s their way, not ours. We’re just going to leave him here. A little walk will do him good, and he’s not about to raise the alarm with his friends, because the nearest phone is almost twenty miles away.”
The two cars set off again. The Phalangist watched them go, holding his hood and astonished to find himself still alive.
Milena put her head on Bart’s shoulder. They drove on through the forest and then past fields with mist hanging over them. She was just falling asleep when they reached a village with rows of brick cottages. They looked drab in the faint light. At the very end of the road, Jahn stopped his car outside a small house just like the others.
“Here we are, ladies.”
They all got out except Jocelin, the young horse-man, who preferred to stay in the car to keep watch on the road. The air was sharp and cold. There was a loose brick in the wall to the right just above the door frame. Jahn stood on tiptoe, dislodged the brick, put his hand into the hole, and brought out a large key. The door opened, squealing, to reveal a small room with rickety, old-fashioned furniture. A single lightbulb dangled from a wire. Dora ran a finger over the dust on a chair and made a face.
“What luxury! Oh, you really shouldn’t have! See what a lovely life we musicians lead, Milena! Such a grand hotel! Such comfort! How many stars does this place have?”
“You won’t be staying here long,” said Jahn, sounding rather put out. “And you’ll be safe; that’s what matters most. Everyone in this village supports us.”
“Wonderful. And if we get bored, we can always do the housework. Guns for you, brooms for us, right?”
Milena, who knew Dora very well by now, realized how furious she was.
“Dora, please don’t think that —” Jahn began, but she gave him no time to go on.
“I don’t think anything!” she snapped, looking him straight in the eyes. “I just know one thing: fifteen years ago, Eva and I hid as if we were ashamed to be ourselves. We traveled covered by stinking blankets, we could wash only every third night, and we scurried into hiding like insects. And what for, at the end of the day? To be captured. To be tortured in my case and killed in hers. I’m sorry, Jahn, but I have no intention of playing the same part again. That role doesn’t suit me.”
Jahn was not used to opposition and was left speechless by the angry woman now already on her way to the door and about to march out of it.
“I am not staying in this hole!” she went on. “Nor is Milena. We’re not dolls to be taken out to make the place look good and then put back in the cupboard once the visitors have gone.”
“I just wanted to make sure you avoided any risks,” Jahn pointed out calmly. “You two are very valuable to the cause, as you well know, Dora.”
“Save your breath, Jahn,” Dora interrupted him. “I’m very fond of you, but it’s no use arguing. This discussion is now closed. Come on, Milena.”
Bartolomeo was torn between astonishment and admiration. He had never before heard anyone speak to Mr. Jahn so fiercely.
After this outburst, oddly enough, the atmosphere in the car was more cheerful and relaxed. It was as if Dora’s anger had done everyone good, first and foremost herself; it had been on her mind for a long time. Jahn too, for he was tired of secrets and the necessity for silence. And finally Bart and Milena, who would now be able to stay in the fight together.
The two men replied freely to questions now, describing the hundreds of meetings that had been held over the last few months in cellars and garages, the underground work of thousands of invisible but determined partisans. Their supporters were waiting only for the signal, they revealed, and then the revolt would begin. It was a matter of days now, no more.
The two cars had turned back and then branched off on a road going north. Bartolomeo soon recognized the moorland landscape and the moss-grown rocks. This time it seemed only a short way to the horse-men’s village.
Faber and his wife had waited up late to welcome their visitors. They were upset to think they had received them so grudgingly last time and were determined to make up for it. They succeeded. Roberta was wearing a pretty flowered dress and pink lipstick. Her husband was barely recognizable in a suit that could have accommodated two men of normal size. A comb had left shining furrows in his black hair.
Seeing the gigantic horse-man appear before her, Milena felt that she was suddenly in one of the stories she had read as a little girl, tales in which peaceful giants held children in the palms of their hands. Bart hadn’t been able to keep from telling her how Faber had crushed the Phalangists in his kitchen. She had doubted the story, but now that she saw the colossus in front of her and the new ceiling above their heads, she had to believe it was true. Jahn made the introductions. As soon as he said that Milena was the daughter of Eva-Maria Bach, Roberta clasped her hands, saying breathlessly, “Oh, how like her mother she is! Oh, my God, she’s so like her! And can you sing too, Miss Bach?”
“I’m learning,” Milena modestly replied, to the great amusement of those who had heard her a few hours earlier.
They sat down at the table — a new one, like the ceiling — and Roberta brought in beer. Faber dispensed smiles all around, delighted to have all these people in his house. The gradual revival of the leader of the horse-men was complete now, and it was a pleasure to see the change in him.
“Well, Faber?” said Jahn. “Have you managed to assemble your men?”
“I think so, Mr. Jahn. There are groups all over the country, ready to fight. A good number here in this village. I don’t know quite how many, but a lot. You’ll see them tomorrow morning.”
Then Lando, the head chef, raised a particular problem: how to bring this fighting force of horse-men to the capital when the moment came? None of them could drive.
“Walking’s best,” replied Faber. “A pair of legs never breaks down. It’ll take three days; that’s nothing.”
“Three days is far too long,” growled Lando.
“No, Faber’s right,” Bart put in. “If they go on foot and separately, it’ll be harder to pick them up than if they’re traveling by bus or car. They’ll be on all the roads coming from the north, the south, everywhere. And the rest of the population will join them. It’ll be a human tide converging on the capital. The Phalangists can’t intervene everywhere. They’ll be overwhelmed.”
He went on in this vein, picturing the irresistible advance of the horse-men while all the other supporters of a free society rallied to them. His black eyes were blazing. Milena looked at him with love and admiration. He might be only seventeen, but he wasn’t afraid of arguing with older men, and they treated him as an equal.
“I’ll speak to them tomorrow,” he added, without waiting for anyone to agree with him. “I’ll explain what’s at stake, and they’ll listen to me.”
“Yes,” Faber confirmed. “They’re expecting you to speak to them anyway, Casal.”
Now Jahn spoke, but gradually Milena realized that she was no longer following what he said. His words echoed around in her head without making sense. She felt dizzy, lost consciousness, and came around in the powerful arms of Roberta, who was laying her down on the bench, pushing the men aside.
“White as a sheet, poor little thing! Has she had anything to eat recently?”