The Rocket Man

ALSO BY MAGGIE HAMAND

The Resurrection of the Body

Doctor Gavrilov

In memory of Gamini Seneviratne

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank all those people in London, Vienna and Paraguay who helped me in my researches, and those whose continued belief in this book sustained me through the long struggle for publication. I must also thank my family and above all my husband Jeremy, who alone knows how many tears I have shed over this book.

First published in the United Kingdom by Images Publishing (Malvern) Ltd, 1995

This revised ebook edition published by CCWC, 2014

All rights reserved, © Maggie Hamand 2014

The right of Maggie Hamand to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Cover image © Kentannenbaum |
Dreamstime.com

eBook edition ISBN 978-0-957694-44-6

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PART ONE
VIENNA, 1991

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

PART TWO
SOUTH AMERICA, 1991

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

EPILOGUE

W
hen Hans Müller committed suicide one cold Sunday in January nobody could understand why he had done it, least of all his wife, Lieselotte. Katie Haynes had spent hours holding the distraught woman in her arms, listening to her howling over and over, ‘Why did he do this? Why? Why?' To this neither Katie, the police, nor Müller's UN colleagues could provide an answer.

The funeral was held the following week in the Vienna Central Cemetery. Lieselotte stood at the graveside, clothed in black and veiled, her hands clasped, standing as still as if frozen by the icy wind. At Lieselotte's side, her sister held the Müllers' six-month-old baby. A sombre crowd stood behind them, and all around stretched the endless long avenues of gravestones, the bare trees, and the wide paths sprinkled with dirty snow.

Katie looked at her nervously from across the empty grave, holding her own daughter's hand, watching the men prepare to lower the coffin, afraid that her friend might break down completely, or make some desperate gesture. Katie wondered for a moment how she would feel if it were her own husband Bob who was being buried, but she could feel nothing; either her imagination was wanting, or the idea failed to move her. She pushed this thought to the back of her mind, not wanting to admit that Lieselotte grieved her husband's death with a depth that she could not match.

Men lifted the coffin with ropes and manoeuvred it towards the grave. Katie instinctively drew backwards, pulling Anna with her, though the little girl didn't seem at all upset, just wide-eyed, curious. Icy raindrops suddenly began to fall from the heavy sky. To Katie's left, a man tapped her arm to attract her attention and held an umbrella over her head. Katie, surprised, glanced up at him; he looked at her quite solemnly and didn't smile. He was wearing a shapeless dark overcoat, a man in his mid- forties, she would guess, with an unusual face, a face you would not easily forget with its strong and mismatched features; a craggy nose, a mouth that was too large, cool blue-grey eyes, and dark hair, just starting to recede in front, exposing the high forehead. He held a fur hat, and it was this, together with his high cheekbones, that made her think he was almost certainly a Russian.

It was very cold; the wind blew in gusts against them, and the trees suddenly tipped down showers of water. Anna tugged at Katie's sleeve and said that she wanted to go home; Katie gathered her under her coat. The priest, seeming anxious to finish, hurried through the service, but the men were struggling with the coffin, the ropes and the earth slippery with the rain. Water ran off the side of the umbrella and soaked Katie's shoulder, so she leaned closer to the stranger beside her, and he offered her his arm to lean on. Despite his size he did not seem solid, but tense and taut, full of suppressed energy. Without being aware that she was doing it, she gradually leaned closer to him, till the whole of her side touched his through their thick coats.

When the earth was thrown onto the coffin she shuddered, and to her horror found that tears were running down her face. She hoped the man wouldn't notice; but he had. He pulled off his thick glove, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a clean white handkerchief which he offered her; she was surprised at the pale hand which emerged from the bulky sleeve, so large and yet unthreatening. She took the handkerchief, smiled at him politely through her tears, and let go of his arm.

When the burial was over, just as they were all turning away, Lieselotte stepped forward and gently tossed a single red rose into the grave.

Everyone was anxious to get away quickly because of the rain, which continued to fall in an icy, drenching stream. Katie went over to her friend, took her hand and squeezed it, but Lieselotte seemed in another world, and turned away, distracted, leaning on her sister. Katie stood for a moment with Anna, lost and disoriented. She looked around for anyone she knew and saw the Russian – if that's what he was – standing on his own under his umbrella, lighting a cigarette. She glanced at him once or twice and noticed that he hardly took his eyes off her.

Lieselotte went on ahead; Katie followed more slowly, with Anna. They walked down the long avenue between the trees, past some mounds of earth from freshly dug graves, covered over with large sprays of evergreen foliage and topped with fading flowers. Anna stared at everything, fascinated. To one side a woman in an Austrian hat with a bitter, much-lined face swept the sodden path with her broom.

As they walked along the path, she realised that the man with the umbrella was walking beside her. Smoke from his cigarette drifted across her face.

‘Do you know Müller's wife?' he asked her. He spoke English in a smooth, deep voice, and with a definite Russian accent.

‘Yes, she's a good friend of mine.'

‘How is she taking this?'

‘It's terrible for her, she can't understand. Nobody can understand. Why did he do it? When they just had the baby… Why?'

He did not reply at once; in fact, she thought he wouldn't reply at all. Then he said, very softly, ‘I think perhaps you are asking the wrong question.'

She looked at him, startled, but he looked away. A moment later he excused himself and walked back along the path. She was left feeling puzzled, perturbed; she didn't have the slightest idea what he meant.

After the funeral Katie drove straight to the airport to meet Bob. Like Hans, he worked for the International Atomic Energy Agency in Vienna, and despite a recent promotion he still travelled extensively. Katie had been longing for him to come back, having had to deal with Lieselotte's grief unsupported. She hated his long absences and had more than once urged him to pack the job in. His contract was coming up for renewal again at the end of the year, and she had told him she couldn't face another three years in Vienna, isolated from her family and friends, and unable to find any satisfying work. But where to go was a problem; Bob was American, and she was English, and neither of them was keen to settle in one another's countries.

They waited at the arrivals barrier, Anna jumping up and down with excitement. Bob had missed her fifth birthday, and she was expecting a present. Katie scanned the crowd but it was Anna who saw him first; she ducked under the barrier and ran towards him, shouting, ‘Daddy! Daddy!', jumping up at him so eagerly that he put his suitcase down and swept her up in his arms. Her face was bright and flushed as she hugged him, and he kissed her, saying, ‘Well, how's my little princess? Are you five now, huh? Let me look at you.' Katie had to wait till he had given Anna her birthday present before she was able to kiss his cheek.

Despite travelling all night he looked quite unruffled, his clothes uncrumpled, his face close-shaven, and his hair neatly combed back from his forehead. Although she had looked forward so much to his return, her first emotion was of irritation at his composure. They walked off towards the car.

‘Everything okay? Give me a real kiss.'

She kissed him again, on the mouth this time.

As they crossed the arrivals hall, she said, in a quiet voice, ‘Bob, did you hear about Hans?'

Bob went on walking. He said, ‘Yes, I did hear. It's tragic, shocking.' Anna skipped on ahead, oblivious; Katie had to call her back. Bob started to talk but an airport announcement drowned out what he was saying.

‘Bob, slow down.' She grabbed his free hand, he squeezed it and began walking more slowly. Katie showed him where she had parked their car and he loaded the suitcase into the boot. She said, ‘You must be tired. Do you want me to drive?'

‘No, I'm fine.' But he seemed tense and preoccupied, and, when Anna was strapped in, he let her climb into the driving seat. On the autobahn, while Anna ecstatically played with the doll he had bought her, he asked, ‘What happened with Hans exactly?'

‘She'd gone out for a lunch with friends and then for a walk in the Vienna Woods. It was a week ago last Sunday. Hans said she should have a day off, she hadn't left Jochum since he was born, so she left him with Hans. When she got back he was dead and Jochum was crying in the cot.'