The Clowns of God (25 page)

“If we are,” said Johann grimly, “there won’t be much future to discuss.”

“There may be,” said Mendelius with bleak humour, “if you’re interested in becoming an Alpine farmer. Agricultural workers and proprietors are normally exempt from military service. If you’re still keen to acquire that property in Bavaria, do it now. Start to develop it immediately. It could be a refuge as well as a productive property.”

“It’s a hell of a price to pay for a bomb-shelter.” Johann was thoughtful.

“Not to mention the development costs. But, yes, it bears thinking on. Mother could come there and Franz and Katrin. We need labour anyway.”

“Tell him the other thing, Carl!” Lotte cut in to the talk.

“This can wait.”

“What other thing, father?”

“There are people who want to kill me, son. So long as we are here together in Tubingen we are all in danger. That’s why I think we should disperse for a while. Your mother’s going to Paris to get Katrin settled. If you take up my offer on this property that gets you out of the way.”

“And you, father? Who takes care of you?”

“I do,” said Lotte, “and I’ve changed my mind about Paris.

If Katrin’s old enough to take a lover instead of a husband, she’s old enough to find and furnish her own lodgings. You and I will stay here, Carl… Johann can make his own decisions.”

“Frankly, son, I’d much rather you were out of the University.” Mendelius was suddenly eager to persuade him.

“Things are going to get rough. There’s a move to have security dossiers on all students. Faculty members will be required to contribute information. I’ve refused to go along.

That means sooner or later if I survive the assassins I’m under fire from the security boys.”

“It seems to me,” said Johann deliberately, “all this is predicated on a belief that war is inevitable global war!”

“That’s right. It is.”

“And do you truly believe mankind will commit to that monstrosity?”

“Mankind will have very little to do or to say about it,” said Mendelius.

“According to Jean Marie’s vision, war is already written into our futures. That’s why I found myself at odds with him in Rome. On the other hand, everything I see and hear tells me that the nations are hell-bent on a confrontation over fuel and resources, and that the risk of conflict grows greater every day. So, what can I say to my adult children? Your mother and I have lived the best part of our lives. We’d like to offer you free choice about the disposition of your own.”

“You are part of our lives. We can’t just go about our own affairs as if you both didn’t exist. I’m very grateful for your offer, father, but I want to think about it very carefully. I want to talk with you, too, little sister. There are things I have to arrange with your Franz!”

“Franz is my business.” Katrin was instantly defensive.

“I

don’t want a fight between you two.”

“There’ll be no fight,” said Johann calmly.

“But I want to be sure Franz knows what he’s getting into and what he’ll have to share by way of a family responsibility. It would be good, for instance, if we could recruit some sort of bodyguard for father and mother, from within the student body.”

“Absolutely not!” Mendelius was very emphatic.

“That’s an immediate gain for the terrorist. He has disrupted our lives, forced us to take public precautions. Therefore he is important, potent and to be feared. No! No! No! Your mother and I and you, too, so long as you are here will protect each other. The handbook the police gave us is very good. I want you both to read it and …”

The doorbell rang. Mendelius went to answer it. Johann followed him. Mendelius recited the simple drill.

“Always use the spy hole in the door. If you cannot identify the caller, leave the chain-bolt on when you open the door. If you receive a package you are not expecting, or an especially bulky letter, call the Kriminalamt and ask for a bomb expert to examine them. You may feel foolish if the packages are harmless but it’s better than opening a booby-trap which will blow your face off.”

This time the caller and his package were both harmless.

Alvin Dolman had come to deliver the framed prints. While Mendelius poured his drink he displayed them proudly to Lotte and the family.

“They look good, eh? I had a fellow in my studio yesterday who offered three times the price you paid. You see, you do get favoured-nation treatment, Professor!”

“With this family, I need it, Alvin.”

“Be glad of this family, Professor. I wish I had one like it.

I’m getting too old for hunting in the wildwood! Which reminds me, I was at a party last night in honour of the mime troupe. Your name came up. The leading man said they had performed for you and some journalist fellow at a party in the Holderlinhaus.”

“That’s right. It turned into a long night.”

“Anyway, I mentioned that I knew you and your family.

Everybody seemed to know about your adventure in Rome.

Then this girl buttonholed me and started asking questions” “What girl?” Mendelius frowned.

“What sort of questions?”

“Her name is Alicia Benedictus. She works for the Schwabisches Taghlatt. She said she was writing a profile on you for the paper.”

“Did she offer any identification?”

“Why should she? We were both guests at the same party. I took her at face value and the value was pretty good, believe me!”

In spite of his concern, Mendelius laughed. The light of lechery in Alvin Dolman’s eyes was beacon-bright. Mendelius repeated his query.

“What sort of questions did she ask?”

“Oh, the usual stuff: what sort of man you were; how were you regarded in the town; who were your most important friends… that sort of thing.”

“Strange! If she works for the Tagblatt, she has a file full of that material. I think I’d like to check her out.”

“Why, for God’s sake?” Dolman was completely at a loss.

“This was cocktail talk. I just thought you’d be interested that someone was doing a piece on you.”

“I’m very interested, Alvin. Let’s call the paper now.”

He leafed through the directory and made the call, while Dolman and the family looked on. The call was brief; the information negative. There was no one on the staff called Alicia Benedictus. No one had been assigned to do a feature on Carl Mendelius. Mendelius put down the receiver and told them the news. Dolman gaped at him.

“Well, how do you like that?”

“I don’t like it at all, Alvin. I’m calling Inspector Dieter Lorenz in the Kriminalamt. He’ll want to see us both.”

“The police? Hell, Professor! I live a nice quiet life here. I’d like to keep it that way till I go home. Why do you need the police?”

“Because there’s a contract out on my life, Alvin. I was a key witness to a shooting in Rome. We know the terrorists have spotters covering me and my family in Tubingen. This girl could be one of them.”

Alvin Dolman shook his head as if he were trying to clear it of cobwebs. He swore softly: “Christ! Who’d have believed it? They’re gunning for academics now and in Tubingen yet! O.K.” Professor, let’s call the cops and get it over with.”

Fifteen minutes later they were in the office of Dieter Lorenz at the Landeskriminalamt. Lorenz put Dolman through a lengthy interrogation, then settled him in an interview room with a cup of coffee, a sketch-pad and an instruction to produce a likeness of the girl who called herself Alicia Benedictus. Then, back in his own office, he asked Mendelius:

“How close are you to this Dolman?”

Mendelius shrugged.

“Not that close; but I’ve known him for years. I’ve had him to drinks many times but rarely to dinner. I buy prints from him. I drop in at his studio sometimes for a glass of wine and a chat. I find him an agreeable jester. Why do you ask? Do you have anything against him?”

“Nothing.” Lorenz was frank about it.

“But he’s one of those characters who always bother a policeman in a provincial town like this. A criminal you can deal with. You can ship home a guest-worker who gets into trouble. But this type is different. You can see no good reason why he stays.

He’s an American. He’s divorced from a local girl. He’s gainfully employed but there’s no way he can make a reputation or a fortune. Also he’s a raffish type. When he gets bored, you find him in the boozy bars and the wilder student nightclubs. His house-parties make a lot of noise, and we get complaints from neighbours. So, because he’s popular and a bit rowdy and a high spender, we wonder if he’s got any sidelines like hash or heroin or receiving stolen goods. To this point he’s clean. But I still have to ask whether he could be spotting for the group that is out to get you or whether he’s connected with these mysterious folk who, you told me, were supposed to be shadowing Mr. Rainer.”

“It sounds a little far-fetched to me,” said Mendelius.

“It probably is,” Lorenz agreed patiently.

“But sometimes in this business you get nasty surprises. Dolman’s an artist.

We’ve found a sketch of you in the pocket of a dead man.

Wouldn’t it be odd if it were done by Alvin Dolman?”

“Impossible! I’ve known the man for years!”

Lorenz shrugged off the objection.

“It’s the impossible that happens every day. Anyway, he’s making another sketch now. It will be instructive to compare the two.”

Mendelius was suddenly edgy and irritable.

“You’ve put me in an intolerable position, Inspector! I can’t continue to be friendly with Dolman and not tell him what you’ve told me.”

“I don’t mind your telling him.” Lorenz seemed mildy surprised.

“It helps me. If he’s innocent, he’ll go out of his way to cooperate and he’s got a lot of useful contacts in town. If he’s guilty, then he’ll get restless and begin making mistakes.”

“Don’t you ever get sick of this game, Inspector?”

“I like the game, Professor; I dislike the people with whom I have to play it. Excuse me, I’ll see how Dolman’s coming along with his artwork.”

As they left the police station and strolled homewards through the warm summer air, Dolman seemed philosophic about his situation. He brushed aside Mendelius’ apologies with weary humour.

“Don’t fret about it, Professor! I understand Lorenz and his kind. I’m a fringe operator, always have been, even in the army. The only time I’m surprised is when someone drops a coin in the blind man’s hat instead of kicking him in the teeth.

However, just between you and me, I have no interest in getting you knocked off and no connection with any group.

I’m strictly a loner and I’m sure Lorenz is bright enough to see it. What he figures is that because I get around and meet a lot of odd-balls, I might stumble on some useful information.

Because it’s you that’s involved, I’m prepared to cooperate.

Also, I don’t like being played for a sucker which is what Miss Alicia Benedictus tried to do. All in all, Professor, this has been one lousy day. This used to be a nice cosy town.

You could wrap it round yourself like strudel pastry. Now? I don’t like it any more. I think I’ll start packing very soon.

You go on home, Professor. I know a girl who keeps a bottle of brandy warm just for Alvin Dolman!”

He turned away and strode across the bridge, a big, aggressive man thrusting heedless through the shoppers and the loiterers. Mendelius turned down the path that led to the gardens. He did not want to go home yet. He needed time and quiet to set his thoughts in order. The family needed privacy to discuss the radical proposals he had made to them.

It was a warm, bright day and the burghers of Tubingen were sunning themselves on the lawns. Down by the lake a small crowd had gathered to watch the theatrical troupe working with a group of very young schoolchildren. It was a charming scene the youngsters wide-eyed and wondering, totally absorbed in the tale of a sad clown who blew beautiful bubbles but could never coax one of them to rest on his hand.

The clown was the cadaverous fellow who had entertained them at the Holderlinhaus. The rest of the troupe played the bubbles who mocked his efforts to catch them.

Mendelius sat on the grass and watched the small, innocent opera, fascinated to see how the children, timid at first, were drawn to participate in the mimicry. After the grim and grandiose debates in which he had been engaged, this simple experience was a matter of strange joy. Unconsciously he found himself aping their smirks and bows and fluttering gestures. The clown noticed him and, a few moments later, began to mime a new story. He summoned the other players and their attendant children and conveyed to them in dumb show that a new, strange creature was in their midst. Was it a dog? No. A rabbit? No. A tiger, an elephant, a pig? No.

Then they must inspect it but very, very cautiously. Finger to lips, walking on tiptoe, he led them, single file, to examine this extraordinary animal.

The audience chuckled when they saw that the butt of the joke was a middle-aged fellow running to fat. Mendelius, after a moment of uncertainty, decided to join the comedy.

As the actors and the children circled him he played back to them as he had once played charades with his own children.

Finally, he revealed himself as a big stork standing on one leg and looking down his long beak. The audience applauded.

The children laughed excitedly at their triumph. The clown and his troupe mimed their thanks. A tiny girl caught at his hand and told him:

“I knew before anybody. I really knew you were a stork!”

“I’m sure you did, liehchen.”

And as he bent to talk to the little mite, Mendelius had a sudden sickening thought of what she would look like after the first blast of radiation, or a lethal infection of anthrax.

That evening at supper Katrin and Johann dominated the talk, reading an unexpected lesson to their parents. Katrin’s argument was very simple.

“Mother has said it. If I’m old enough to go off with a man, I’m old enough to manage my own affairs. Franz and I have to improve our relationship before we can think of getting married. In spite of his success with the gallery he’s still very uncertain of himself… and I have to find a few pieces of me, too. I’m lucky. Thanks to Papa I’ve got financial security.