Blood Ties (4 page)

"...so at last Charles," the woman said. Somehow,
he had expected more respect. The title at least.

"Wolfgang's description of you both was surprisingly
accurate." The face was clear now, the features revealing no aspect of
ingratiation.

"And see our nephew, Charles. Aleksandr," Karla
said, oddly animated. She was holding the boy by the shoulders, a thin lad with
a vaguely familiar face, like the young Wolfgang.

"So much like Wolfgang, don't you think?" Karla
said.

"Yes," he agreed, studying the boy as Karla moved
aside and propped up the pillows.

The boy reached for his mother's hand and looked up at her,
imploring. She bent down.

"He smells," the boy said. It was meant to be a
whisper.

His mother silenced him with a fierce look.

So the stink of death is clear to Wolfgang's son, Charles
thought. Appropriate, that Wolfgang's son should be the harbinger of his death.

"Your brother spoke of you often," Olga said with
what seemed like proletarian directness. Charles nodded. With contempt, no
doubt. Even as a boy Wolfgang had been contemptuous of the von Kassels, their
myths and enterprises. So why had she come?

"It was his wish in the end that we come."

"His wish?"

Karla patted the boy's head until he pulled it away. His
mother shot him an angry glance.

"Toward the end," Olga said, "he was quite
nostalgic, talking of your old place in Estonia. Actually, we went there last
year for the first time." She hesitated. "He cried like a baby when
he saw the old family cemetery."

"You saw it, the old graves."

"Quite remarkable. All those ancestors being there
together. And I understand you still pay for its maintenance. I thought that
quite interesting. Wolfgang, you know, is buried there."

He did not know. The idea was revolting, the old Bolshevik
lying there, the enemy in our midst.

"So he decided to come home, did he?" Charles
said, deliberately displaying his contempt with a sneer.

"He would have it no other way," Olga said. The
boy was growing restless, hanging on his mother's skirts. Karla removed a plate
of cakes from a nearby table and proffered them with a kindly smile. He could
understand her interest. She had lost her only sons in the war. The boy looked
at his mother, who nodded, and he took one of the cakes. Again, she patted his
head and he did not move away.

"So you have fulfilled his death wish," Charles
said. She was quite attractive, he realized. No more than thirty. Wolfgang must
have been in the late sixties when he married her, he calculated. He was
surprised at his own curiosity.

"They must think of you as a loyal Bolshevik to have
let you come," Charles said, shooting a glance at Karla. But she was busy
with the boy and ignored him.

"Wolfgang was a Party member."

"Yes. We are aware of that."

"If he had lived, he would have come as well."

"You expect us to believe that?" Charles snapped.
His attitude diverted Karla from the boy.

"I told you he was getting nostalgic."

"For what? For us? He despised us."

"Yes. That is true in a sense."

"In a sense?"

"He could not get it out of his system. There was some
compelling mystique that kept you in his thoughts. Although..." She
hesitated. "He was contemptuous of everything you are, everything you
stood for. I say this not to hurt you and without embarrassment."

"You came to tell us that," Charles said.
"As if we did not know." He looked at Karla. "She came to make a
speech about how much he hated us."

"I did not say hate," Olga corrected.

"Why then?"

She had been watching him coolly behind her high
cheekbones, with alert brown eyes. But suddenly she was flustered and her eyes
darted around the room.

"Why then?" he repeated. Again, he looked at
Karla. "I was against it." He pointed to his sister. "I listened
to her."

"Please, Charles. You are exciting yourself."

"I'll never understand it," Charles said.
"She is after money, a piece of the von Kassel fortune. I told her that.
Bolsheviks are greedy bastards."

"I'm not a Bolshevik," Olga protested.

"No. Of course not. Not now. Not here."

"Please, Charles," Karla pleaded.

"Wolfgang deserted us. Remember, Karla? It was the
night the Bolsheviks burned us out. The night we fled to the woods. The night
Father was murdered."

"If it were not for Wolfgang, they would have murdered
you as well," Olga said gently.

"Yes," Charles said. "I have heard that
before." His anger had left him spent again. He warned himself. There was
still too much to be done. That was old business, irrelevant. He had promised
himself not to stir himself up about it. Closing his eyes, he let his head sink
into the pillows.

"You are the boy's only family," Olga whispered.
"I have none." She turned to Karla. "I promised him. So I am
here. Beyond that, I dared not speculate. He said you were monsters. I came
anyway."

"He is a von Kassel," Karla said, looking at the
boy, who continued to stuff himself with cakes.

Charles heard them move away from the bed, then the closing
of the door. When he opened his eyes again, Karla stood over him.

"The boy is a von Kassel," she said firmly. He
did not know whether a reply was necessary. Besides, his strength had ebbed. He
did not want Albert to see him so depleted.

When he opened his eyes again, Karla was looking out of the
window.

"Albert?"

"Yes."

The Baron rose in the bed and struggled to its edge. Karla
helped him into his dressing gown and edged his glasses over the bridge of his
nose. Grabbing her still strong upper forearm, he let her guide him to the
window and into the wing chair that faced it. He saw the Daimler thread its way
over the ribbon of road out of the mist and into the brightness, moving through
the castle gate to the main entrance. The figures of his son and his female
companion emerged. The sight of Albert always filled him with pleasure, and for
a moment, the old man's eyes watered.

"Who is the woman?" Karla wondered aloud.

"We will know soon enough," the Baron responded,
watching until the figures were out of sight. The Baron's color had risen.

"Is it a serious liaison?" the Baron asked.

"Siegfried says not."

"Siegfried," the Baron hissed with contempt.
"My philosopher."

"It will come," Karla said.

"But when?" the Baron sighed. He was remembering
Emma now, his first wife. Poor sad Emma. Barren Emma. It was another intruding
image of late. Like Helga. What he had done was necessary, he told himself.

"He must marry. Have sons. It is his duty," the
Baron said.

"He will," Karla replied.

"He must be made to understand," the Baron began.
"Three sons, and all we have is one set of silly female twins."

It was so typical of Rudi, his wife Mimi had told the Baron
when she had presented the infant twins for the first time at a family reunion.
"Rudi always has to do things twice. As if he can't get it right the first
time." Rudi had actually beamed, as if the double helping revealed a
special superiority. But the humor had paled with the years. No more offspring
had emerged. Albert was thirty-five now. It was time.

On the other hand, Siegfried and Heather's childlessness
was welcome. Bad seeds. The woman was probably barren. Like the unfortunate
Emma.

"There are so many loose ends," the Baron sighed.
Infirmity had softened him. It was the one element of himself he could not
reveal to Karla, although he was certain she suspected. The imminence of death
had a leavening effect on the psyche. He dared not call it conscience. Von
Kassels, after all, were above conscience, as they were above nations, above
emotional diversions that forced the stream of blood into unproductive eddies
and whirlpools.

"You will not tell them about Helga," he said
again, as he had during the past few months. For years he had never mentioned
her name, had blocked it from his mind. Was it necessary commanding her
silence? Karla's face froze into a mask of contempt.

"Or Emma," he said.

"The arteries must be hardening," she said,
through pursed lips. There was some truth in that. The doctor had been quite
candid. The mind will play tricks, he had told them both.

"Forgive me," he said.

They had always been like two peas in a pod. Even as
children, Wolfgang felt his isolation from them. Perhaps that was why he chose
to go in a completely opposite direction, as far as possible from them, with an
iron curtain between.

"Helga is probably dead," he said as Karla
resumed her seat. They both knew that could hardly be true. The money was still
being sent and received.

"It could be someone else cashing the checks,"
the Baron said.

"It is possible."

"But not likely?"

The sound of the elevator alerted them. The iron gate
trembled, echoing beyond the door. The Baron with a great effort moved higher
in the chair as Karla went to answer the knock.

Albert embraced her, and when he disengaged, the Baron
watched him stride across the room, filled again with pleasure at the sight of
him, tall, lean. No sign of the soft plumpishness of his mother that afflicted
Rudi. He had grace, a style. One could sense the lithe body beneath the well
fitting clothes. His light brown hair was cut carefully along the ear line, and
the part was a perfect line across the sidewise length of the head, softly
waving as the strands moved into a slight curl at the back. Only the eyes were
Helga's, sea blue, especially when the light was brightest, like now.

"Father," Albert came to the chair and grasped
the Baron's hand. When he had disengaged, Albert stood over him, watching. His
disappointment at his father's condition could not be masked.

"He looks quite good, don't you think?" Karla
signaled. The Baron smiled thinly at the comment.

"Under your care, how could he be otherwise, Aunt
Karla." It was the obligatory recognition of the bond.

"Have you seen anyone?" the Baron asked.

"The twins," he shrugged with confirming disdain.
"They are growing up."

Albert sat down near his aunt and accepted a cup of tea,
which he sipped, balancing it with steady fingers. The Baron watched his son's
hands, then looked downward at his own, grown knobby and arthritic.

"You've brought a friend," Karla mused. There was
a hawklike quality about her, her nose was high and straight and her eyes were
set deep.

"Company," Albert said with an air of casual
dismissal, telling the full story.

"We have a great deal to talk about, Albert," the
Baron said.

"We always have," Albert said, lowering his eyes
into the teacup. The Baron watched him silently for a long time.

"Von Kassels are always adaptable to the changing
time," the Baron began, knowing that it was repetitive, the old litany. He
had never considered such repetition redundant. It was necessary, a duty, a
prayer to be recited over and over again. What the von Kassels meant, was the
essential business. Beyond wealth. All alien matters were simply not germane.

"Of course," Albert replied. Could he sense the
rebuke?

"Rudi came to me," the Baron said, relieved at
last. It was a matter to be transmitted only face to face. They both knew that.

"Perhaps, subconsciously, I suspected that,
Father."

"I listened to him very carefully."

"Of course. I never really believed he would sit still
for my explanation of the refusal."

"Well then. You know it must be resolved."

"Of course."

The Baron faltered for a moment, wondering whether he would
have the strength to go on. He looked at his son, trying to pierce the high
forehead, into the fine mind.

"I told him he was right in coming to me,"
Charles began.

The Baron shook his head, waiting to compose himself. If
only this illness had not intruded. When he was younger, he would simply
command, and the family order would be obeyed. Later, when the boys had grown,
he had eschewed command for persuasion. Only Siegfried had refused to respond.
Now even this power was growing weak, like a candle's flame in diminishing air.

"I condoned his telling me," the Baron said,
beginning again.

Albert's blue eyes flickered briefly, concentrating on his
father's face.

"I'm prepared to accept what comes," the son
said. "I told Rudi he was mad and I have no illusions about the possible
consequences. It had to be said." Albert stood up and walked to the
window. One could see he had not completely articulated the thought. The Baron
respected the interruption, waiting.

"It is wrong," Albert said, turning. The words
were terse, coming with conviction.

"Wrong?" The Baron was confused, although the
idea confirmed the accusation. He might have understood "unwise,"
"imprudent," "dangerous." But "wrong?"

"We could be putting the means to Armageddon in the
hands of madmen," Albert said.

"That is not our affair."

"Even von Kassels are human. Some responsibility must
be accepted," Albert responded. The Baron detected an air of resignation.
"We do not act in a vacuum."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" There was an edge of irritation
in his tone.

"We broker arms, not morality," the Baron said,
tamping his anger. "Rudi is concerned that you are losing your
perspective." He had wanted to say "courage," but he could not
bring himself to admit that.

"Perhaps. From his point of view."

"I told him we would put it on the table, that we
would all consider it. The others as well."

"Since when are we getting so democratic, Father. You
can just order Rudi to do it. And that would be that."