Psychomech (5 page)

‘Remarkable!’ said Koenig. ‘Yes, the SS. Does that strike terror into your heart?’

‘No, should it?

‘Many people are still foolish about it—especially Germans!’

‘Well, I’m a Military Policeman—for a week or two more, anyway. And I’ve read a great deal about the SS. There were good and bad. There are in all armies, all corps and regiments.’

Koenig grinned, his amusement finding its way into his voice. ‘The Royal Military Police and the SS are two very different concepts, I assure you!’ he said, his words slow and precise.

‘Oh, I know that,’ Garrison answered. ‘But I’ve a feeling that you and the Colonel… well, that you weren’t all jackboots and Mausers.’

‘We were excellent soldiers, certainly,’ Koenig answered. ‘As to whether we were good or bad men, would it sound too—how do you say, trite?—to say that we, the Colonel and I, did not relish our duties? Yet it is true. Fortunately Colonel Schroeder’s was an active command. In fact we were permanently in action, on one front or another. It was his punishment, I suppose. You see, he came of very bad stock.’

Garrison’s face took on a puzzled look. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘In the First World War his grandfather was General Count Max von Zundenberg. And his grandmother was Jewish!’

Garrison grinned again and tasted his drink. ‘That might account for his tax-dodging, eh?’ Then the grin slipped from his face. He sipped again at his drink. ‘That’s a very poor brandy,’ he said.

‘But you like it?’

‘Indeed I do. I spent two years in Cyprus as a Lance-Corporal. Could hardly afford to drink anything else. Why, you might say that as a drinking man, which I’m not, I was reared on bad brandy! We Lance-Corporals used to drink two-star Haggipavlu. A gallon of the stuff would only cost a couple of pounds!’

‘I know,’ Koenig laughed a deep laugh. ‘That’s why I ordered the worst brandy in the house. Especially for you.’

Garrison tasted his food. Meat in a spicy sauce, with mushroom. He smiled for a moment, then frowned. His handsome brow wrinkled as he turned his black lenses on the German. ‘You’ve done your homework well, Willy Koenig. What else do you know about me?’

‘Almost everything. I know you had a fairly rough time as a boy, and that you seem to have come through unscathed. I also know that from now on it won’t be near)y so rough.’

‘Your Colonel is more than merely grateful, then?’

‘Grateful? He owes you his life. I owe you his life! And his wife’s life. And Heinrich, his son’s life. And he owes you your sight. Yes, he is more than merely grateful…’

‘I want nothing from him.’

‘Then you are a fool, for he can give you everything.’ Koenig stared for a moment at his own reflection in the dark ovals of Garrison’s spectacles. ‘Almost everything.’

Their third stop was at a Gasthof on a mountain road, where they both drank a beer and relieved themselves before the final stage of the journey. By then Garrison felt very secure in Koenig’s company and he had grown tired. He loosened his tie, his jacket, lay back in his seat and dozed while the big German drove and hummed an accompaniment to soft music from the car’s radio.

He was still half asleep when they arrived at their destination. It was early evening and there was a little laughter from somewhere close at hand. A chill breeze was up, carrying piney smells on the sweet mountain air; but there were also splashing sounds, shouts of encouragement, someone urging ‘Schwimm, schwimm!’ A heated outdoor pool.

But by now Garrison was far too tired to concentrate. When he got out of the car he straightened his tie, did up the buttons of his jacket, gave himself once more into Koenig’s care. He was not given his stick back but led into a building, into an elevator, along a corridor and into a room. All of these things and places made impressions, but blurred in his mind and unreal for now. It had been a long day, a long eight months. He remembered Koenig saying goodnight and something about a pleasant day in the morning.

He found the bed and lay down gladly upon it, loosening his tie once again and his uniform. He kicked off his shiny black shoes and wondered if they were as shiny as they used to be. But what difference did it make?

Then, just before he slept—

There was a drink, brought to him by some soft-voiced girl. It made him very drowsy. The girl helped him with his clothes, treated him like a baby, as though she might break him, covered him with cool sheets.

Following which—

‘Good morning,’ said the same soft voice, the girl’s voice. It held the hint of a German accent. Garrison opened his eyes (he always did it, an automatic reaction to waking up) and heard the girl gasp. He at once closed his eyes and groped about for his dark-lensed spectacles: his ‘blinkers’, as he thought of them. For as if it wasn’t enough to be blind, his eyes were now especially hideous, completely white and without pupils. Only in searching for his blinkers did he discover his own nakedness, the fact that in his sleep he had thrown off his bedclothes.

He found his blinkers on a bedside table, put them on, opened his dry mouth to say something sharp… and bit the words off un-uttered. The girl was still there, had not moved, could only be watching him. He sensed her presence, her—curiosity?—and his anger turned to a curiosity of his own. This was his first experience of anyone taking advantage of him.

Very well, if voyeurism was her scene…

He lay back on his pillow and deliberately put his hands behind his head. The very act—of consciously displaying himself, unashamedly lying there naked—gave him a rise. He reached down and gently patted his swelling hardon. ‘Good morning,’ he answered. ‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’

‘Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it is.’ She moved closer. ‘Aren’t you going to get up? Or perhaps you would like your breakfast in bed?’

Garrison grinned. ‘What’s on offer?’ he asked. He was ramrod stiff now—half from the need to urinate, the rest from the powerfully erotic presence of this girl. From the very tone of her voice he could tell that she wasn’t in the least disturbed either by his nakedness or his hard. But then, why should she be? She had undressed him, hadn’t she? He scratched an itchy spot on his belly and wondered just exactly what the girl’s duties were.

‘Anything you like,’ she said, very matter of factly. She came and sat on his bed, within reach. Garrison put out his hand and let it fall on her thigh. His palm touched flesh, his fingers the hem of her shorts. He grinned at her; but after a second, when he made no effort to remove his hand, she took it and placed it on his stomach. Only then did she jerk her own hand away and jump to her feet.

‘Oh!’ she said, her voice a half-gasp. ‘You’re naked!’

Now Garrison couldn’t stop himself laughing. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘Are you telling me you’ve just noticed?’

‘Why, yes,’ she answered, plainly indignant. ‘Did you think you were the only one in the world who was-’

The truth struck him like a thunderclap. ‘Blind!’ he finished it for her.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m blind.’

He reached over the edge of the bed, found his sheets and covered himself. Then he laughed again, and much louder.

‘Oh?’ she said, her voice stiff. ‘And is something funny?’

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. When I thought you could see me I pretended not to mind,’ he chuckled again. ‘And when I learned you were blind I covered myself up!’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

‘Neither do I!’ he laughed again, then quickly sobered. ‘Will you sit down? What’s your name?’

‘I’m Vicki,’ she told him, perching herself on the edge of his bed again. He sat up and took her face in his hands. It was a slim face, elfin. Her ears were small, her hair brushed back and falling over her shoulders. Her eyes had a slight tilt. Smooth skin. High cheekbones. A small nose. A pert little mouth.

‘You have a sexy face,’ he said. ‘Vicki.’

‘Oh?’ She took his hands and held them. ‘Is that supposed to flatter me? Am I supposed to be pleased?’

‘It pleases me,’ he told her frankly.

She let go his hands and stood up. ‘You are to get dressed,’ she said, ‘and come and have breakfast.’

‘OK,’ he answered, ‘help me dress.’ He swung his legs out of bed.

‘I will not! Your pyjamas are on the chair by the bed, and there is a robe hanging behind the door. Why should I help you? Can’t you dress yourself?’

‘Well, I seem to remember it was you
undressed
me!’

There was a moment of silence, then she giggled. ‘I did not. But I do begin to understand. So, you thought I was your own little nymph, eh?’

Garrison began to feel foolish. He should have known it was too good to be true. ‘Er, look, I—’

‘I brought your drink,’ she told him. ‘I spoke to you and fluffed out your pillow a little. But Nurse undressed you, not I.’

‘Jesus!’ said Garrison.

‘Willy Koenig warned me about you,’ she said, her voice dry. ‘He said you must be one of the least handicapped blind men he’s ever seen. In fact he’s not quite sure you even
know
you’re blind yet!’

‘Jesus!’ Garrison said again. ‘Listen, I—’

‘Sit still,’ she laughed, bending over him. ‘My turn.’ Her fingers were warm on his face. ‘You’re a handsome boy,’ she finally said, ‘but only a boy.’

‘Oh? And you’re a woman of the world, I suppose? Listen, I’m my own man, twenty-one, an ex-soldier—or soon to be—and if you knew me better you wouldn’t call me a boy.’

‘I am five years older than you,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been blind since I was fifteen and I’m probably far more experienced—in just about everything.’

On impulse he kissed her fingers where they touched his lips. They tasted sweet. ‘Your breasts are throwing body heat in my face,’ he told her, and at once heard her breathing quicken.

‘You are much too forward for my liking, Richard Garrison,’ she told him. She stepped away from him and tossed him his pyjamas, which wrapped around his head. ‘Now hurry up and I’ll show you the bathroom, and when you’ve washed we’ll go down. You can shave and dress later. Life is slow and very pleasant here, as you’ll discover. But since staff are few, schedules are important. And you are late for breakfast.’

‘One thing,’ he said; disentangling himself and pulling on his pyjama trousers. ‘Why did you gasp when you woke me up? You said good morning, and then you gasped. That’s why I thought you could see. I thought perhaps you had seen my eyes—or perhaps my nakedness.’

She led him to a door and pushed him gently through into a bathroom whose surfaces were soft and rounded, closing the door after him.

‘Well?’ he called through the door.

‘Oh, that,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘It was just that I tripped over your bedclothes where you had thrown them. I almost fell.’

He thought about it. ‘All of my bedclothes?’

‘It felt like all of them to me.’

‘So you knew I was naked after all?’

For a moment there was silence, then: ‘Yes, I suppose I did. But—’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, you’ll find out for yourself soon enough. If you don’t know already. You see, it’s sort of hard to get embarrassed when you’re blind. Little things embarrass you, like bumping into someone or knocking a cup over. But the big things—why, you simply don’t see them!’

Garrison grinned, found the taps and ran water into a washbasin. ‘Thank God for touch, taste, smell and hearing,’ he called.

‘Oh, I do!’ she answered, ‘I thank Him every day.’

He sat down on the toilet to make water. That way he couldn’t miss. The rush of water down from the taps covered his own splashing. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I meant,’ he said. ‘I meant that although I can’t see you, I can at least have the pleasure of knowing how you feel, taste and smell. And the sound of your voice.’

‘Oh? And who says you can have those pleasures?’

‘Who can stop me?’ he asked. ‘I’ve smelled you, touched your face, listened to you talking and tasted your fingers. And—’

‘And now you’re interested in the entire combination, eh? With perhaps a few variations thrown in for good measure?’

‘Oh, something like that.’

‘Willy Koenig is right, I think,’ she slowly said. ‘You hardly seem to understand how badly handicapped you are. And I repeat, you are a very forward boy, Richard Garrison.’

‘Not really,’ he answered, coming out of the bathroom. ‘But it’s like you said. When you’re blind, it’s sort of hard to feel embarrassed. In fact, being blind probably has a lot of compensations.’ He found her waist, drew her close and kissed her. Beneath her halter top she wore no brassiere and her breasts were hot and firm against his chest. After a long moment she began to respond to his kiss, then drew breath sharply and pulled away as his hand found her breast. She held him at arm’s length.

‘Much too forward altogether,’ she repeated. But her voice was husky as chaff in a summer farmyard.

He reluctantly let himself be guided to the door and helped into the robe hanging there, and then she took him downstairs.

Breakfast was huge, English (as English breakfasts used to be) and excellently prepared, and it was served in a room where at least one wall was a vast window facing east. Garrison could feel and enjoy the sun’s rays on his face and forearms. Moreover, he found himself with a real appetite, something he had missed until now without realizing it. He ploughed through sausages, bacon, eggs and tomatoes, and was following up with coffee, toast and marmalade when Koenig entered the room.

Until then Garrison and Vicki had been on their own, and since they had both come to realize what must inevitably be, neither one of them had found it necessary to say a lot. The space between them was charged, however, as the space between imminent lovers always is.

Koenig’s entrance was therefore something of an intrusion. He said nothing, but Garrison had heard the door open and close, and he had recognized the other’s sure tread even on the thick pile of the dining room’s expensive carpet. When Koenig came to a halt at the table, the blind Corporal sighed and pushed away his plate.

‘Good morning, Willy,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sit? There’s more coffee in the pot if you want it.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Koenig answered. ‘And thanks, but I have already eaten. Actually, sir, I have brought you some new clothes. I am here to help you try them on. They are more suitable to this good weather we are enjoying.’