Текст книги "The Murder Farm"

Автор книги: Andrea Maria Schenkel

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

Old Danner tosses and turns restlessly in bed. He can’t get to sleep tonight.

He tries to, but the wind, constantly whistling through the cracks in the window frame, gives him no peace.

He’s turned the whole house upside down today. He can’t get those footprints out of his mind. Footprints leading to the house. He could see them clearly in the newly fallen snow this morning, before the rain washed them away.

He looked in every nook and cranny of the house. Didn’t find anything. He’s sure no one can hide from him on his own property. This is his domain.

He’s repaired the lock on the machinery shed. The fellow must have gone around the house and made off in the direction of the woods. He can only have gone that way. Otherwise he, Danner, would have found more tracks.

In the evening he searched the whole property again. In the process he noticed that the lightbulb in the cowshed had gone out. He’ll have to get a new one. Until then they’ll just have to make do as best they can with the old oil lamps.

The new maid looks as if she’d be a good, hard worker. That’s what he needs. He can’t be doing with anyone who’s work-shy. The farm is too much for him and Barbara on their own. During the summer, anyway.

In winter they get by somehow.

It’s harder and harder to find laborers and maids to work on the land these days. Most of them try their luck in town. Lured there by better pay and lighter work.

Town life, that’s not for him. He has to feel free. Be his own master. No one tells him what to do. He decides on everything here. On this farm he is Lord God Almighty, never mind how much his wife prays. The older she grows the more pious she gets.

What’s keeping the old woman in the kitchen so long? Sits praying under that crucifix half the night, wasting expensive electric light.

He’ll have to get up and go and see.

In his socks, clad only in his nightshirt and a pair of long johns, he slips his wooden clogs on. Shuffles down the stone flags of the corridor to the kitchen.

The door of the room next to it is open.

What the hell’s the idea? What are those women doing in the cowshed at this time of night? You had to see to everything yourself around here.

Very annoyed, he goes into the room next to the kitchen and then on, over to the cowshed.

From his vantage point, Mick has been watching the comings and goings on the farm all day long

He sees old Danner finding traces of the break-in. It’s dead easy to keep out of the old man’s way.

Old Danner searches the whole place. He even climbs up to Mick’s hideout in the loft.

Mick holds his breath. Stands there with one hand gripping the knife in his pocket. Hiding by the chimney, behind the farmer’s back. He could touch his shoulder. Danner is perched on the steps up to the loft not an arm’s length away from him. Trying to light up the dark loft with his lamp, which is very faint.

He doesn’t notice the straw scattered over the suspended ceiling of the barn, or the rope hanging ready.

Mick waits all day. He can take his time. He knows just where the Tannöd farmer hides his money. He’s planned everything out down to the smallest detail.

If it all goes as he’s calculated, he can leave the house unseen. And if not?

Mick shrugs off this idea. He doesn’t shrink from using violence. Violence is part of his job. He’ll play it by ear.

As evening comes on, two more strangers appear in the farmyard. Two women going toward the house in the rain. They knock. Both of them are let in. After about an hour the women come out of the house again. They say good-bye to each other, and one of them goes back indoors.

Hansl Hauer, age 13, Georg Hauer’s son

It was the Tuesday when my auntie told me to go over to the Danner farm.

“No one’s seen or heard anything of them over there,” she told me. “Maybe something’s happened and they need help.”

So I went over.

I guess it was about three. But I’m not sure.

There wasn’t any of them in the farmyard, so I knocked at the front door. I knocked good and loud, I shook the door, but it was locked and nobody opened it.

So then I went around the house. Peered in all the windows. Couldn’t see a thing, though. The place looked quite empty. Like there wasn’t anybody there.

I heard the dog. Whining terribly, it was. And I heard the cattle in the cowshed. The cows were lowing like anything. But I couldn’t get into the cowshed, it was locked from inside.

You can get into the cowshed from the old machinery shed, though, I know that. First you go through the barn, then there’s a wooden door into the cowshed on the left.

And the door of the machinery shed was standing open. Wide open, but I didn’t fancy going in there.

I just stood at the door and called. I called for Barbara and Marianne. But there wasn’t any answer and I didn’t want to go in. I was too scared because the cattle were bellowing like that, and everything was all different from usual. Like as if the place was deserted.

I got goose bumps, I really did, it seemed so scary.

Something’s wrong, that’s what I kept on thinking. I felt like there was a bell ringing in my head. Same as an alarm bell when the fire engine’s coming out. So I ran home quick, I told my auntie and my dad.

Dad said I was to fetch Farmer Sterzer, because he wasn’t going over to that farm on his own.

So I went on, over to the Sterzers in Upper Tannöd.

Farmer Sterzer’s Dagmar was outside in the garden with her mother. Working on the garden beds.

I shouted to them way before I got there, I was in such a state. Asked if Farmer Sterzer was home, and he came out of the door right that moment. I told him there was something wrong up at the Danner place. No one was in, and the dog was whining and all that, and the cattle lowing in the shed. And I said my dad said to fetch him to go over there with my dad. Because my dad didn’t want to go alone.

So Farmer Sterzer called Alois right away. Alois is the farmhand at the Sterzer place, he’s going to marry Dagmar.

Then I went over to Tannöd and the Danner farm with Farmer Sterzer and Alois.

It was just before we reached the house we met my dad. He’d been waiting for Farmer Sterzer there. Then he went on up to the Danner farm with us.

And then we found them.

Well, not me, because my dad wouldn’t let me go into the house. He said I was to stay outside.

And after Farmer Sterzer and Alois came out of the barn again, white as chalk they were, I was really glad I hadn’t gone in with them.

My dad told me to go down to the village. “And tell them they’d better call the police from the mayor’s house.” So that’s what I did.

I fetched my bike and went over to the village, I went to the mayor’s, and I shouted out how they were all dead at Danner’s. All of them murdered dead. I shouted it in everyone’s face, even the mayor’s.

Johann Sterzer, age 52, farmer in Upper Tannöd

I was sitting in the living room. I saw young Hansl through the window. He was waving his arms around, and he kept on shouting something.

Right away, I guessed something had happened, but I thought it must be at the Hauer place.

So I came straight out of the house. Hansl says to me, “Dad sent me because there’s nothing stirring at the Danners’.”’

He, that’s Hansl, he’d been to look around on their farm today, he said, and there wasn’t anyone at home and the dog was whining terribly. And the cattle were restless too.

“But Dad doesn’t fancy going there alone,” he told me, so I called Alois and we went over to the Tannöd farm with Hansl.

I’d noticed myself there was nothing stirring there. When I was plowing on Saturday, in the field next to Danner’s land, I didn’t see anyone at all the whole time.

It was odd, yes, but I thought no more of it.

They’ll be in the woods, that’s all it is, I thought to myself.

Hauer was waiting for us just before we got to the house. We all went up to the farmyard together. I saw at once that the door of the machinery shed was open.

Hauer knows his way around the farm since that business with Barbara. He was in and out of the place a lot back then.

“We can get into the barn through the shed. There’s a door into the cowshed from there, and we can go on into the house from the cowshed,” he said to me and Alois.

He told Hansl he’d better stay outside. That was all right by Alois and me, so it was just the three of us went into the shed. Sure enough, there was a little door there. On the back wall of the shed, but it was fastened shut with a hook or something on the other side.

I was going out again to see if there wasn’t some other way into the house.

But Hauer took my sleeve. “That door’s so flimsy we can just push it in,” he says.

Alois agreed with him, so the three of us braced ourselves against that little door.

After a while, yes, it did give way, and there we were in the barn.

It was very dark inside. The only daylight came in through an open door on the left-hand side of the barn. On the right-hand side hay was stacked up, and the other stocks of feed, and there were piles of straw everywhere against the back wall and the left-hand side. But we couldn’t really see much in that dark barn. It was more like guesswork.

The bellowing of the animals in the cowshed was getting louder and louder.

“There’s a cow there!” Hauer saw her first. The cow was standing right in the doorway.

“Come on, come on, she must have torn herself free.”

Hauer went over to the cow in the doorway. My eyes weren’t really used to the darkness in that barn yet. I didn’t like it at all, but I didn’t like being left behind on my own either. So I followed Hauer. Looked like Alois felt the same. But as he started off after Hauer he stumbled. Managed to catch himself up in time, though.

I’m about to tell Alois he’d better watch where he was going, and then I see this foot in the straw.

Alois grabbed my arm. Grabbed it tight.

We both stood there just staring at the heap of straw. We didn’t neither of us move, not Alois and not me. We simply stood there.

My heart was beating like it was fit to jump right out of my chest. The ground under my feet wouldn’t hold me up anymore, I was so weak at the knees. I clung onto Alois with all my might, and he clung onto me.

It was all so hard to grasp, it was unspeakable.

Then Hauer pushed the straw aside. Freed them of the straw, one by one. Danner. Little Marianne, her grandma, and last of all Barbara, too. They were all covered with blood. I felt such dread, I couldn’t really look at them.

Everything around me was ghastly. Like in a nightmare. Like the Trud was sitting on you squeezing the air out of you. I wanted to get out of there, away from that place.

When I turned to go out, Hauer barred my way.

“We have to look for Josef,” he shouted at me. But I pushed him away. Hauer tried to keep on holding me. “We have to look for the little boy. Where’s the boy? Where’s Josef?”

But I just left him standing there. I went out into the open air, so I could breathe.

Out there I found Alois outside the machinery shed. He was pale as a ghost. Couldn’t even stay on his legs anymore. He’d slid down to the ground outside the shed with his back to the wall. I sat down beside him.

But Hauer—he’d followed me out of the barn—he kept at us. We must try to get into the house from the barn, he said.

I couldn’t do any more, I was exhausted and trembling all over. I felt unspeakably awful.

Hauer still wouldn’t let it go. He kept at us, badgering us the whole time.

“We have to get inside the house. We have to find out what happened.” He kept repeating it. Alois and me, though, we just stayed there sitting on the ground. So in the end Hauer went back into the barn alone.

From there, so he told us later, he went through the cowshed into the farmhouse.

A few minutes later we heard the door of the house being unlocked.

Meanwhile we’d pulled ourselves together enough to feel we could stand.

Hauer called to us again to go into the house with him. And now that we didn’t have to go through the barn and past all the dead family, we finally did as he wanted and went into the house with him.

There was still a glass sitting on the kitchen table. It looked like the family had only just left the room. Like one of them would come back into the kitchen any moment.

We looked around the room. The door to the little room next to it was ajar. Hauer threw the door wide. We found a woman’s dead body, it was half covered by a quilt. There was blood all over the place around her.

I didn’t know the woman, I’d never seen her before in my life.

Still Hauer kept on urging us to search the other rooms in the house.

And at last we found little Josef in his cot in the bedroom. He was dead too.

Alois Huber, age 25

Supposing I hadn’t stumbled, maybe we wouldn’t have found them so soon—who knows? There was no light to speak of in that barn. The daylight coming in through the open cowshed door wasn’t enough to make the place any brighter.

First I thought I’d fallen over a stick, a piece of wood, some largish object. It was a while before I took it in.

Me and Farmer Sterzer, we just stood there. If Hauer hadn’t been there to clear the straw away, I reckon we’d have stood there forever. I reckon we’d just have stood there unable to move.

When I saw those dead bodies I felt sick.

Not that it’s that easy to upset me. I saw more than enough in the war, believe you me. Everyone who was in the war saw enough dead bodies to last them a lifetime.

But a thing like that. All of them killed stone dead.

I mean, I’d known them all, they weren’t strangers, they were people you saw every day.

I couldn’t look at them. I was out of that barn double quick, and I threw up outside the machinery shed.

Everything else, it was like the world around me had stopped. All I still felt was that sickness. That horror. Whoever did it can’t be human. Whoever did it is a devil. Can’t be anyone from around here, we don’t have monsters like that in these parts.

If Farmer Hauer hadn’t gone on and on at us like that, I’d never have gone into the house to look for the others. Never in my life.

Farmer Hauer kept pressing us to go in, though. We followed him like lambs to the slaughter. He didn’t lose his nerve. I mean, it was almost unbelievable. He didn’t lose his head like us, like Farmer Sterzer and me. Everything he did, he was very calm and self-controlled. And he was the one who knew Danner and his family best. I mean, he was kind of almost like his son-in-law. Well, he was little Josef’s dad, right?

In his place I could never have kept such a good grip on myself. He never lost his nerve, not for a moment. I must say I admired him for that, for being so self-controlled. Almost cold-blooded, he seemed.

I’ve seen things in my time, back under Adolf they called us boys up at fifteen years old. They put us in uniform, gave us guns, and told us to go and shoot at the enemy. The enemy. What a laugh! The enemy was old men and mothers with their children, and I was supposed to shoot at them.

I was stationed in Regensberg. The Yanks had already surrounded the whole town. We were told it had to be defended to the last man. Better dead than fall into enemy hands, they said. What a load of garbage, none of that mattered now.

This group of mothers with their children and old men, they were walking through the town. They wanted the place to surrender without a fight. Only women and children and old men, they were, the other men were all at the front or taken prisoner.

The Party top brass had already headed for the hills, the filthy cowards. We even had to help them pack their cases.

They wanted to scarper for it quick, those gentlemen. They sent us kids, just kids of fifteen we were, out into the street. Told us to shoot the demonstrators. We were supposed to shoot those old men, and the mothers with their children.

So in all the confusion I scarpered too. Threw my gun away and went down to the Danube. I hid in the cellar of a burned-out house there. That evening I swam across the river under cover of darkness. I’m a good swimmer.

I was scared then. Terrified. I was scared to death.

I thought that was the worst thing I’d ever have to see in my life.

On the other side of the Danube, in Walch, an old woman hid me for three days. She didn’t have anything for herself anymore. Hid me till the Yanks came into the town.

She gave me some of her dead husband’s old clothes, too. Because I still had my Wehrmacht uniform on, and if the Americans caught me wearing it they’d have taken me prisoner. And the Nazis, if they’d caught me they’d have shot or hanged me out of hand for deserting, for betraying the Fatherland.

I walked home from Walch. Took me almost a week before I was finally back. The whole country seemed to be on the move after the Nazis cracked up. I saw ragged figures, dead people, hanged men.

But a horror like we saw at that farm, there’s no words for it. The way they were butchered—like animals.

What kind of man could he be? I mean, it was a monster, a lunatic.

And can you tell me, why the children too? Why those poor little mites, I ask you? Why?

Thou who lentest Thine ear to the thief on the cross,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who fillest the elect with joy in Thy mercy,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who holdest the keys of Death and Hell,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who wouldst liberate our parents, relations and benefactors from the pains of Purgatory,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who wouldst more particularly show mercy to those souls of whom no one on Earth thinks,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who wouldst spare and forgive them all,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who wouldst satisfy their longing for You right soon,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

Thou who wouldst take them into the company of Thine elect and bless them forever,

we beg You, hear our prayer.

The room is bathed in faint light.

He can’t tell whether the curtains are drawn or not.

He sees the room before him immersed in shimmering, milky whiteness. As if through a veil as thin as gossamer.

He sees the furniture of the room. The chest of drawers, dark brown oak, a heavy chest with three drawers. Each drawer has two brass handles. They are dulled, worn with use. You have to hold both handles of the drawers, that’s the only way to pull them open. They are heavy drawers.

A picture above the chest of drawers. A guardian angel leading two children across a wooden bridge. The children walk hand in hand. A boy and a girl. A stream races under the bridge at the bottom of the picture. The guardian angel, wearing a billowing white robe, has spread its arms protectively over the children. Barefoot, the angel is leading them over the wild torrent. A mountain range casts its shadow in the background. White snow can be seen on the mountain peaks.

The picture frame is gilded, the gilt is beginning to flake off in many places. The white of the frame beneath shows through.

He knows that the bed is on the far side of the room. With the bedside table next to it.

Both made of the same dark brown oak.

A death cross stands on the bedside table, with candleholders to its left and right. The candles are lit.

A girl lies on the bed. Little more than a child. Her eyes closed. Her face translucent, pale. Her hair, plaited into braids, hangs far down over her shoulders. A myrtle wreath has been placed around her forehead.

Hands folded on her breast. Someone, perhaps his wife, perhaps the woman who came to lay out the body, has put a death cross into her folded hands.

The girl wears a white dress. White stockings. Her feet are in white stockings, no shoes. Her figure seems to be slowly dissolving in the light of the room.

“Look at her, oh, do look, she is an angel now.”

He hears the voice of a woman. His wife? Feels his throat tightening more and more. Notices the nausea rising gradually inside him.

“She’s an angel now. Isn’t she beautiful?”

The nausea almost takes his breath away.

He turns and runs to the door.

Almost tears the door off its hinges, or so it seems to him. Hurries downstairs. All he wants is to get away. Out across the fields and meadows to the woods.

There he drops to the ground. He lies with his face in the cool moss. With every breath he takes in the cold, earthy aroma of the woods. A scream rises from deep inside him. The scream makes its way out. He screams in his despair. There is nothing human about the scream, he screams in despair like a wounded animal.

The scream wakes him. He sits up in bed, bathed in sweat.

The dream is repeated night after night. Sometimes his wife is lying dead on the bed before him. On other nights the girl has taken her place, or the little boy.

He stands up, goes to the window, looks out into the cold night.