A Man Without Breath

‘Nothing good,’ said Blobel, ‘like a Titian painting gone very wrong,’ and I believed him; much later on I came to the conclusion it was the only true thing he said all morning.

CHAPTER 8

The Polish Red Cross had arrived in Katyn Wood the previous day – the whole football team of eleven representatives, including Dr Marian Wodzinski, a stone-faced forensic specialist from Krakow, and three lab assistants. In Germany Marian tends to be a man’s name, and when Lieutenant Sloventzik learned that Dr Marian Kramsta was flying in the next day from Breslau to assist Professor Buhtz, naturally he assumed that Dr Kramsta would be as hard on the eyes as Dr Wodzinski and asked if I wouldn’t mind fetching him from the airport. I minded less when I took a closer look at the passenger list and discovered Dr Kramsta was a Marianne. I minded not at all when I saw her patent-leather pumps with pussycat gros-grain bows coming down the steps of the plane from Berlin. Her legs were no less elegant than her shoes, and the general effect, which I found to be particularly graceful, was only marred by the clumsy fool greeting her on the tarmac, who managed momentarily to allow his admiration to master his manners.

‘They’re legs,’ she said. ‘A matching pair, last time I looked.’

‘You say that like I was paying them too much attention.’

‘Weren’t you?’

‘Not in the least. If I see a nice pair of legs, then naturally I just have to take a look at them. Darwin called it natural selection. You might have heard of that.’

She smiled.

‘I should have listened to the pilot and put them safely away in a rifle case where they can’t do any harm.’

‘I certainly don’t mind getting shot in a good cause,’ I said.

‘That can be arranged. But for now, I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘I wish you would. It’s been a while since I handed one out with such alacrity.’

I collected her bags from the top of the steps and carried them to the car, but only just – they were heavy.

‘If this is more shoes in here,’ I said, ‘I should warn you. The field marshal isn’t planning any regimental balls.’

‘It’s mostly scientific equipment,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry it’s so hard to carry.’

‘Really, I don’t mind at all. I could fetch and carry for you all day long.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

‘You know, Professor Buhtz didn’t tell me he was expecting a lady in Smolensk.’

‘I spit a little too much tobacco juice for him to think of me as that,’ she said. ‘But I imagine he did tell you he was expecting a doctor. Oddly enough, it’s possible to be both of those things, even in Germany.’

‘You remind me I should go back there sometime.’

‘Been down here long?’

‘I dunno. Is Hindenburg still the president?’

‘No. He died. Nine years ago.’

‘I guess that answers your question.’

I finished putting her bags in the back of the Tatra and she offered me a cigarette from a little tin of Caruso.

‘Haven’t seen any of these in a while,’ I said, and let her light me.

‘A friend in Breslau keeps me in good cigarettes. Although for how much longer I don’t know.’

‘That’s some friend you have there.’ I nodded at the bags. ‘Is that all of them?’

‘Yes. And thanks. Now all you have to do is help me with them at wherever it is we’re going now. I’m just praying there’s a bath.’

‘Oh there is. There’s even hot water to pour into it. I could scrub your back if you like.’

‘I see the car comes with its own spade,’ she said. ‘Is that to crack the driver over the head with if he gets any amorous ideas?’

‘Sure. You could use it to bury me, too. One way or another there’s a lot of that going on in this part of the world.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘I don’t know if it counts as an amorous idea, but if I’d known it was you that was coming I’d have grabbed us a better ride.’

‘You mean with windows? And a seat instead of a saddle?’

‘Let me know if you want the top down.’

‘Would it make any difference?’

‘Probably not.’

Dr Kramsta collected a black fur stole around her neck with one hand and gathered the lapels of her matching coat with the other. Underneath a little black-beaded cloche her hair was red, but not as red as her mouth, which was as full as a bowl of ripe cherries. Her chest was no less full, and for some reason I was reminded of the two churches on either side of Gendarmenmarkt – the French church and the New church, with their perfect matching domes. I narrowed my eyes and gave her a sideways, blurry look, but no matter how many times I did this and actively tried my best to make her look ugly she still came out looking beautiful. She knew it of course, and while in most women this would be a demerit, she knew that I knew that she knew it, and somehow that seemed to make it just fine.

When she was as comfortable as she was ever going to be I started the car and set off.

‘You know my name,’ she said. ‘But I don’t seem to know yours.’