The Ring (18 page)

All finished with the girl? Captain von Rheinhardt looked at Manfred irritably as he stalked past his desk later that afternoon.

Yes, sir.

Did you take her out to Grunewald to get her things?

Yes, sir.

It's a nice house, isn't it? Lucky man, the general. I wouldn't mind having a house like that. But he wasn't doing badly either. A family whose home had a view of the Charlottenburger Lake and Schloss had been fortunate enough to give up its home for him.

The captain went on to speak to Manfred of other matters. Hildebrand kept busy answering the phones. Time and time again Manfred found himself wondering if one of the calls was General Ritter's aide asking about the girl. Then he would stop his thoughts. What difference did it make to him? She was nothing to him, just a young woman who had fallen on hard times, lost her family and her home. So what? Thousands of others were in the same boat. And if she was attractive enough to catch the eye of a general, then it was just something that she would have to learn to handle herself. It was one thing to protect her from the viciousness of a junior officer planning to rape her in her cell, but quite another to steal her from a general. That would mean trouble. For him.

Manfred von Tripp had been careful to avoid problems with his superiors and other officers during the entire course of the war. It wasn't a war that he approved of, but this was the country that he served. He was a German, first and foremost, and more than many others he had paid dearly for the fervor of the Reich. But still he did not argue, he kept his mouth shut and endured. And one day it would be over, he would go back to the land of his parents, and the schloss would be his. He wanted to restore the castle to its medieval splendor, rent out the farms, and bring the surrounding lands around the castle back to life. And there he would remember Marianna, the little boy and girl, and his parents. He wanted nothing more than to survive the war for that. He wanted nothing further, nothing from the Nazis, no stolen priceless paintings, no misbegotten jewels or cars, he wanted no plunder, no rewards, no gold, no money. What he had wanted and held dear was already gone.

But what troubled Manfred as he sat at his desk and listened was that she was so innocent and so young. In a way their lives were much the same now, but Manfred was thirty-nine and she was nineteen. He had lost everything but he hadn't been helpless the way she was now. He had been agonized, broken, anguished, but not frightened and alone' Manfred had heard the stories. He knew the kinds of games the old man played, the girls together, he and the girls, a little perversion, a little brutality, a little sadomasochism, a little whip, a little ' Thinking of it made him sick. What was wrong with all of them?

What happened to men when they went to war? God, he was tired of it. He was tired of it all.

He threw his pen down on his desk after Captain von Rheinhardt left the office and sat back in his chair with a sigh. It was then that the call came from the general, or rather from his aide, who spoke to Hildebrand, who only grinned. He put the phone back in its cradle after taking the message that the captain should call him back in the morning. Something about a woman. Christ, that old fart is going to end this war with his own army an army of women.

Did his aide say who?

Hildebrand shook his head. Just a little matter he would like to arrange with the captain. Unless, as the aide put it, it's already too late. The aide said this is one cookie the general figures will be off the pastry shelves pretty quick. She may already be gone. Knowing Ritter, she'll be lucky if she is. I wonder who he's got his eye on this time.

Who knows. But after the phone call Manfred stirred restlessly in his seat. Hildebrand left for the day, and Manfred found himself sitting there, at his desk, for another two hours. He couldn't get his mind off her and what Hildebrand had said. The general wanted Ariana ' unless the cookie was already off the pastry shelf' . He stood there for a long moment, as though spellbound, and then, hurriedly grabbing his topcoat, he turned off the light in the office and ran down the stairs, out of the building, and across the street.

Lieutenant Manfred von Tripp found Ariana von Gotthard easily at the barracks. He had been planning to inquire at the desk, but it turned out to be unnecessary. She was outside raking leaves and placing great armloads of them in a barrel, which afterward she would have to burn. It was easy to see that it was the first time in her life she had done any manual labor.

Fr+nulein von Gotthard. He looked official, his shoulders squared, his head terribly erect, like a man about to make a major pronouncement, and had Ariana known him better, she would have seen, too, that lurking in his blue-gray eyes was also fear. But she didn't know him that well. In fact, she didn't know Manfred von Tripp at all.

Yes, Lieutenant? She said it with exhaustion, pushing a long stray lock of blond hair from her eyes. She was wearing delicate brown suede gloves to work in, they being the only ones she had. She imagined that he had arrived to give her still more orders. Since that afternoon she had scrubbed down two bathrooms, cleaned trays in the cafeteria, carried boxes from the top floor to the basement, and now this. It hadn't exactly been a leisurely afternoon.

Please be so kind as to collect your bag.

My what? She looked at him in total confusion.

Your suitcase.

Can't I keep it here? Or what was it, had someone admired the leather, and now they were taking her suitcase, too? She was still carrying the little leather book with the false compartment in her coat. And when she had had to leave it in her room, she had hidden it in a ball of laundry under the bed. It was the only place she had been able to think of in her rush to get to work. The matron in charge was a large bull-shaped woman with a voice better suited to the drill ground than a women's barracks. She had kept Ariana appropriately terrified all afternoon. But now Ariana looked at Manfred with fresh disgust. So someone wants my suitcase. Well, let them have it. I'm not going anywhere for a while.

You misunderstand. His voice was gentle, but hers was not. She had to remind herself always that this was the man who had saved her from Hildebrand that night in her cell. Otherwise it was too easy just to think that this man was like the others. Because, after all, he was. He was inextricably woven into the fabric of her nightmare, and she could no longer separate his needs from theirs. She didn't believe in anything anymore, or anyone. Not even this tall, quiet officer who looked at her gently but firmly now. In fact, Fr+nulein Gotthard, you're quite wrong. You are going somewhere.

I am? At first she looked at him in sudden terror. Now what? What were they planning for her now? Some terrible internment in a camp somewhere? Then a sharp stab of joy Could it be? Have they found my father? His quick look +|f dismay told her all she needed to know.

I'm sorry, fr+nulein.

His voice was soothing. He had seen the terror in her face. You will be safe. For a while at least. And that was something these days. A while was better than nothing at all. And which of them were safe? In the past year of never-ending air raids, the bombs never ceased to fall.

What do you mean, I will be safe? She eyed him with fear and suspicion, clutching tightly to her rake, but he only shook his head now and spoke softly.

Trust me. With his eyes he tried to reassure her but she still looked desperately afraid. Now please be so kind as to pack your suitcase. I will wait for you in the main hall. She looked at him with despair blending into desperation. What did it matter now?

What should I tell the matron? I didn't finish out here.

I'll explain.

She nodded and walked into the building as, silently, Manfred watched her. He found himself wondering what the devil he was doing. Was he as crazy as the general? But it was nothing like that, he told himself. He was only doing it to protect the girl. Yet he, too, had felt the stirrings. He was not unaware of the beauty that lay only faintly obscured by the drab clothes and her distress. It would take very little to polish the diamond to its old luster, but that was not what he was doing, it was not why he was taking her to Wannsee that night. He was taking her there to save her from the general, to take the cookie off the bakery shelf. Ariana von Gottibard would be safe in Wannsee, no matter what.

Manfred spoke briskly to the matron, explaining that the girl was being removed. He managed to explain with inferences and subtle nuances that it was a matter of someone's pleasure rather than any military decision regarding the girl. The matron understood perfectly. Most of the girls like Ariana were snatched up by officers within a few days. Only the ugly ones stayed to help her, and when she had first seen Ariana, she had known it wouldn't last. It was just as well really. The girl was too small and delicate to do much work. She saluted the lieutenant smartly and assigned another girl to go outside and rake.

Ariana was back in the main hall not quite ten minutes later, with her suitcase clutched tightly in her hand. Manfred said nothing, but turned on his heel and marched swiftly out of the building, expecting Ariana to follow him, which she did. He opened the door of his Mercedes, took her suitcase from her this time, and tossed it in the back, and then he walked around the car, got behind the wheel, and started the motor. For the first time in a very long time, Manfred von Tripp looked pleased.

Ariana still didn't understand what was happening, and she watched the city around them curiously as they drove off. It took her almost twenty minutes to figure out that they were going in the direction of Wannsee. They had almost reached Manfred's house. But by then she had already figured out what was happening. So this was what he had saved her for, that night in her cell. She wondered if he also used a whip. Perhaps that was how he had got the hairline scar that traveled a short distance along his jaw.

A few moments later they pulled up outside a small house. It looked respectable but not sumptuous in any way, and inside it was dark. Manfred signaled for her to get out of the car, and he grabbed the suitcase from the backseat as she walked toward the front door with her spine ramrod straight and her eyes avoiding his. How charmingly he had arranged things. Apparently she was to be his. For good, she found herself wondering, or just the night?

Without further ceremony he unlocked the front door, waved her in, and stepped inside. He shut the door firmly behind them, flipped on some lights, and looked around. His cleaning woman had been there that morning, and everything looked tidy and clean. There was an unceremonious but friendly living room, with lots of books and plants, and a stack of freshly cut wood next to the fireplace where each Bight he made a fire. There were photographs, mostly of his children, and a journal of some kind lying closed on his desk. There were big, friendly, country windows that opened out onto a garden filled with flowers, a view shared by the kitchen, a small den, and a tiny, cozy dining room, all of which occupied the main floor of the house. There was a narrow wooden stairway, carpeted with a well-worn but once handsome rug, and all Ariana could see from below was a low-ceilinged upstairs hall.

As though he expected her to understand his intentions, Manfred stalked silently from room to room, throwing open doors and then moving on to the next room, until at last he stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked at her hesitantly for a moment and stared into her deep, angry blue eyes. She still wore her coat and the gloves she'd worn to gather leaves outside die barracks; her hair was falling from its tightly woven golden knot. Her suitcase stood behind them, forgotten near Manfred's front door.

I'll show you around upstairs. He said it quietly as he waved her up before him. He didn't quite trust her behind him yet. She was too afraid, too angry, and he knew enough to protect himself, even from a child like this.

Upstairs, there wasn't a great deal to show her. A single bathroom and two ominous-looking doors. Ariana stared at the doors with terror, her huge blue eyes wandering slowly to Manfred's hands and then his face. Come, I'll show you. The words were gentle, but it was useless, he could see from her face that she was so frightened, she could barely hear. What could he do to reassure her? How could he explain what he had done? But he knew that in time she would come to understand.

He threw open the door to his bedroom, a stark and simple room done in browns and blues. Nothing in the house was very fancy, but it was all comfortable and it had been precisely what he wanted when he decided to find his own quarters in Berlin. It was a place where he could escape everything, where he could sit peacefully at night, watch the fire, smoke his pipe, and read. His favorite pipe lay on a table in his bedroom, next to the fireplace where he sat in a well-worn, always welcoming chair. But instead of seeing the harmless surroundings, Ariana stood there, eyes wide, arms down, her feet rooted to the ground.

This is my bedroom.

The eyes stared at him in helpless horror, and she nodded. Yes.

And then, touching her arm gently, he walked past her and swung open a door she had assumed would be a closet. But he stepped inside and disappeared. Come this way, please. Gingerly and trembling, she followed him, only to discover that it was yet another small room. There were a bed, a chair, a table, a desk so small, it was almost better suited to a child, but there were pretty little curtains and a bedspread covered with roses that matched the wallpaper in the small room. There was something reassuring about it as Ariana stepped inside. And this is your room, fr+nulein. He looked at her warmly, but still he saw that she didn't understand. Her eyes went to his again, with the same pain, same sorrow, and he smiled at her, and let out a long sigh.

Fr+nulein von Gotthard, why don't you sit down, you look exhausted. He waved her gently to the bed, which she stared at for a moment, and finally rigidly sat down. I'd like to explain something to you. I don't think you understand. He looked suddenly very different as he spoke to her, not like the stern officer who had trotted her up and down those endless halls and stairs, but like the kind of man who came home at night, who ate dinner, sat by the fire, and fell asleep over his paper because he was so tired. He looked like a real person, but still Ariana shrank from him as she watched him from the bed. I brought you here tonight because I believed that you were in danger. He sat back slowly in his chair and prayed that she'd relax. It was impossible to talk to her when she sat there like that, staring at him. You're a very pretty woman, Fr+nulein von Gotthard, or I should say that you're a very pretty girl. How old are you? Eighteen? Seventeen? Twenty?