Hanns Heinz Ewers Alraune (31 page)

That’s when I learned the opposing lawyers
have united, they already had a long conference the day before
yesterday. A couple of newspaper reporters were there as well. One
of them was sharp Dr. Landmann from the General Advertiser. You
know very well, your Excellency, that you haven’t put a penny of
money into that paper!

The roles are well divided. I tell you–this
time you won’t get out of the trap so easily!”

The Privy Councilor turned to Herrn
Gontram.

“What do you think, Herr Legal
Councilor?”

“Wait,” he declared. “There will be a way out
of it.”

But Manasse screamed, “I tell you there is no
way out of it! The noose is knotted, it will tighten–you will hang,
your Excellency, if you don’t give the gallows ladder a quick shove
ahead of time!”

“What do you advise then,” asked the
professor.

“Exactly the same thing that I advised poor
Dr. Mohnen, whom you have on your conscience, your Excellency! That
was a meanness of you–yet what good does it do if I tell you the
truth now?

I advise that you liquidate everything you
possibly can. By the way, we can do that without you. Pack your
bags and clear out–tonight! That’s what I advise.”

“They will issue a warrant,” opined the Legal
Councilor.

“Certainly,” cried Manasse. “But they will
not give it any special urgency. I already spoke with Colleague
Meir about it. He shares my opinion. It is not in the interest of
the opposition to create a scandal – the authorities would be happy
enough if they could avoid one as well.

They only want to render you harmless, your
Excellency, put an end to your doings–and for that–believe you
me–they now have the means. But if you disappear, live somewhere in
a foreign land, we could wrap this thing up quietly. It would cost
a lot of money–but what does that matter? They would be lenient on
you, even today yet. It is really in their own interests to not
throw this magnificent fodder to the radical and socialistic
press.”

He remained quiet, waiting for an answer. His
Excellency ten Brinken paced slowly back and forth across the room
with heavy, dragging steps.

“How long do you believe I must stay away?”
he asked finally.

The little attorney turned around to face
him, “How long!” he barked. “What a question! For just as long as
you live! You can be happy that you still have this possibility at
least. It will certainly be more pleasant to spend your millions in
a beautiful villa on the Riviera than to finish out your life in
prison! It will come to that, I guarantee you!–By the way, the
authorities themselves have opened this little door for you. They
could just as easily have issued the warrant this morning. Then it
would have already been carried out! Damned decent of them, but
they will be disgusted and take it very badly if you don’t make use
of this little door.

If they must act, they will act decisively.
Then your Excellency, this night will be your last night’s sleep as
a free man.”

The Legal Councilor said, “Travel! After
hearing all that it really does seem to be the best thing.”

“Oh yes,” snapped Manasse. “The best–the best
all the way around, and the only thing as well. Travel!
Disappear–step out–never to be seen again–and take the Fräulein,
your daughter, along with you–Lendenich will thank you for it and
our city as well.”

The Privy Councilor pricked up his ears at
that. For the first time that evening a little life came into his
features, penetrating through the staring apathetic mask,
flickering with a light nervous restlessness.

“Alraune,” he whispered. “Alraune–if she goes
with–he wiped his mighty brow with his coarse hand, twice, three
times. He sank down, asked for a glass of wine, and emptied it.

“I believe you are right, Gentlemen,” he
said. “I thank you. Now let’s get everything in order.

He took the stack of documents and handed
over the top one, “The Karpen brickyards–If you please–”

The attorney began calmly, objectively, gave
his report. He took the next document in turn, weighed all the
options, every slightest chance for a defense, and the Privy
Councilor listened to him, threw a word in here and there,
sometimes found a new possibility, like in the old times.

With each case the professor became clearer,
his reasoning better thought out. Each new danger appeared to
awaken and strengthen his old resiliency. He separated out a number
of cases as comparatively harmless. But there still remained more
than enough to get his neck broken.

He dictated a couple of letters, gave a lot
of instructions, made notes to himself, outlined proposals and
complaints–then he studied the time tables with the Herren, making
his travel plans, giving exact instructions for the next meeting.
As he left his office it was with the conviction that his affairs
were in order.

He took a hired car and drove back to
Lendenich, confident and self-assured. It was only as the servant
opened the gate for him, as he walked across the courtyard and up
the steps of the mansion, it was only then that his confidence left
him.

He searched for Alraune and took it as a good
omen that no guests were there. He heard from the maid that she had
dined alone and was now in her rooms so he went up there. He
stepped inside at her, ‘Come in.’

“I must speak with you,” he said.

She sat at her writing desk, looked up
briefly.

“No,” she cried. “I don’t want to right
now.”

“It is very important,” he pleaded. “It is
urgent.”

She looked at him, lightly crossed her
feet.“Not now,” she answered. “–Go down–in a half hour.”

He went, took off his fur coat, sat down on
the sofa and waited. He considered how he should tell her, weighed
every sentence and every word. After a good hour he heard her
steps.

He got up, went to the door–there she stood
in front of him, as an elevator boy in a tight fitting strawberry
red uniform.

“Ah,” he said, “that is kind of you.”

“Your reward,” she laughed. “Because you have
obeyed so beautifully today–now tell me, what is it?”

The Privy Councilor didn’t gloss things over,
he told her everything, like it was, each little detail without any
embellishments. She didn’t interrupt, let him speak and
confess.

“It is really your fault,” he said. “I would
have taken care of it all without much trouble–but I let it all go,
have been so preoccupied with you, they grew like the heads of the
Hydra.”

“The evil Hydra”–she mocked, “and now she is
giving poor, good Hercules so much trouble! By the way, it seems
that this time the hero is a poisonous salamander and the monstrous
Hydra is the punishing avenger.”

“Certainly,” he nodded, “from the viewpoint
of the people. They have their ‘justice for everyone’ and I have
made my own. That is really my only crime. I believed that you
would understand.”

She laughed in delight, “Certainly daddy, why
not? Am I reproaching you? Now tell me, what are you going to
do?”

He proposed his plans to her, one after the
other, that they had to flee, that very night–take a little trip
and see the world. Perhaps first to London, or to Paris–they could
stay there until they got everything they needed. Then over the
ocean, across America–to Japan–or to India–whatever they wanted,
even both, there was no hurry. They had time enough. Then finally
to Palestine, to Greece, Italy and Spain. Where ever she
wanted–there they could stay and leave again when they had enough.
Finally they could buy a villa somewhere on Lake Garda or on the
Riviera. Naturally it would be in the middle of a large garden.

She could have her horses and her cars, even
a yacht. She could fill the entire house with people if she
wanted–

He wasn’t stingy with his promises, painted
in glowing colors all the tempting splendors that awaited her, was
always finding new and more alluring reasons that she should
go.

Finally he stopped, asked his question, “Now
child, what do you say to that? Wouldn’t you like to live like
that?”

She sat on the table with her slender legs
dangling.

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “Very much
so–only–only–”

“Only?”–he asked quickly. “If you wish
something else–say it! I will fulfill it for you.”

She laughed at him, “Well then, fulfill this
for me! I would very much like to travel–only not with you!”

The Privy Councilor took a step back, almost
fell, grabbed onto the back of a chair. He searched for words and
found none.

She spoke, “With you it would be boring for
me–you are tiresome to me–I want to go without you!”

He laughed, attempting to persuade himself
that she was joking.

“But I am the one that must be leaving right
away,” he said. “I must leave–tonight yet!”

“Then leave,” she said quietly. “I’m
staying.”

He began all over again, imploring and
lamenting. He told her that he needed her, like the air that he
breathed. She should have compassion on him–soon he would be eighty
and wouldn’t be a burden to her very much longer.

Then he threatened her again, screamed that
he would disinherit her, throw her out into the street without a
penny.

“Just try it,” she threw back at him.

He spoke yet again, painting the wonderful
splendors that he wanted to give her. She should be free, like no
other girl, to do and have as she desired. There was no wish, no
thought that he couldn’t turn into reality for her. She only had to
come with–not leave him alone.

She shook her head. “I like it here. I
haven’t done anything–I’m staying.”

She spoke quietly and calmly, never
interrupted him, let him talk and make promises, start all over
again. But she shook her head whenever he asked the question.

Finally she sprang down from the table and
went with soft steps toward the door, passing him.

“It is late,” she said. “I am tired. I’m
going to bed–good night daddy, happy travels.”

He stepped into her way, made one last
attempt, sobbed out that he was her father, that children had a
duty to their parents, spoke like a pastor.

She laughed at that, “So I can go to
heaven!”

She stood near the sofa, set down astride the
arm.

“How do you like my leg?” she cried suddenly
and stretched her slender leg out toward him, moving it back and
forth in the air.

He stared at her leg, forgot what he wanted,
thought no more about flight or danger, saw nothing else, felt
nothing–other than her slender strawberry red boy’s leg that swung
back and forth before his eyes.

“I am a good child,” she tittered. “A very
dear child that makes her stupid daddy very happy–kiss my leg,
daddy–caress my beautiful leg daddy!”

He fell heavily onto his knees, grabbed at
her red leg, moved his straying fingers over her thigh and her
tight calf, pressed his moist lips on the red fabric, licked slowly
along it with his trembling tongue.

Then she sprang up, lightly and nimbly,
tugged on his ear, and patted him softly on the cheek.

“Now daddy,” her voice tinkled, “have I
fulfilled my duty well enough? Good night then! Happy travels–and
don’t get caught–it would be very unpleasant in prison. Send me
some pretty picture postcards, you hear?”

She was at the door before he could get up,
made a bow, short and stiff like a boy and put her right hand to
her cap.

He forgot what he wanted, thought no more
about flight or danger

“It has been an honor, your Excellency,” she
cried. “And don’t make too much noise down here while you are
packing–it might disturb my sleep.”

He swayed towards her, saw how quickly she
ran up the stairs. He heard the door open upstairs, heard the latch
click and the key turn in it twice. He wanted to go after her, laid
his hand on the banister. But he felt that she would not open,
despite all his pleading. That door would remain closed to him even
if he stood there for hours through the entire night until dawn,
until–until–until the constable came to take him away.

He stood there unmoving, listening to her
light steps above him, back and forth through her room. Then no
more. Then it was silent.

He slipped out of the house, went bare headed
through the heavy rain across the courtyard, stepped into the
library, searched for matches, lit a couple of candles on his desk.
Then he let himself fall heavily into his easy chair.

Who is she,” he whispered. “What is she? What
a creature!” he muttered.

He unlocked the old mahogany desk, pulled a
drawer open, took out the leather bound volume and laid it in front
of him.

He stared at the cover, “A.T. B.”, he read,
half out loud. “Alraune ten Brinken.”

The game was over, totally over, he sensed
that completely. And he had lost – he held no more cards in his
hand. It had been his game; he alone had shuffled the cards. He had
held all the trumps–and now he had lost anyway.