The Schirmer Inheritance

By eight o’clock that night it was quite dark and he set off for the city.

He had a disagreeable surprise when he reached it. The quarters through which he had to pass were ablaze with lights. The citizens of Salonika were celebrating their liberation from the occupation forces and the arrival of the “Macedonian Group of Divisions” of ELAS.

It was a fantastic scene. Along the waterfront, long chains of screaming, singing people swayed and capered to music blaring from cafes and bars. The restaurants were jammed. Shrieking mobs danced on the chairs and tables. Everywhere there were groups of drunken andartes, many of them Bulgars, staggering about, shouting wildly, firing rifles into the air, and fetching women out of the brothels to dance with them in the streets. To the Sergeant, hurrying along discreetly in what shadows he could find, the city seemed like some vast orgiastic fairground.

Kyra’s shop was in a narrow street near the Eski Juma. There were no bars or cafes in it and it was relatively quiet. The shopkeepers with shutters had taken the precaution of putting them up; others had nailed boards across their windows. Kyra’s windows were protected in this way and the shop was in darkness; but there was a light in the window above it.

He was relieved at this. He had feared that she might be out taking part in the carnival in the streets, and that he would have to wait for her return. The fact that she was in also meant that she did not share in the popular rejoicing at the turn of events. That was all to the good.

He looked round carefully to see that his arrival had not been witnessed by anyone who might know him by sight; then, satisfied on this point, he rang the bell.

After a moment or two he heard her come down the stairs and cross the shop to the door. The boards prevented his seeing her. He heard her stop, but the door did not open.

“Who is it?” she said in Greek.

“Franz.”

“God in heaven!”

“Let me in.”

He heard her fumbling with the bolts and then the door opened. He stepped inside, shut the door quickly behind him, and took her in his arms. He could feel her trembling as he kissed her, and then she pressed away from him with a gasp of fear.

“What are you doing here?”

He told her what had happened to him and what he planned.

“But you cannot stay.”

“I have to.”

“No, you cannot.”

“Why not, my beloved? There is no risk.”

“I am already suspect because I have loved a German.”

“What can they do?”

“I may be arrested.”

“Absurd. If they arrested every woman in this place who has loved a German, they would need an army to guard them.”

“It is different with me. The andartes have arrested Niki.”

“What for?” Niki was her brother.

“He is accused of spying for the Germans and informing. When he has confessed and accused others, they will kill him.”

“The swine! Nevertheless, I must stay, beloved.”

“You must surrender. You would be a prisoner of war.”

“Don’t you believe it. They would cut my throat.”

“No. There are many German soldiers here. Deserters. No harm comes to them if they say they are sympathizers.”

“If they say they are Communists, you mean?”

“What does it matter?”

“You class me with these deserter swine?”

“Of course not, beloved. I wish only to save you.”

“Good. First I need food. Then a bed. I will use Niki’s room tonight. I am fit for nothing but sleep.”

“But you cannot stay here, Franz. You cannot.” She began to sob.

He gripped her arms. “No tears, my beloved, and no arguments. You understand? I give the orders. When I have eaten and rested, then we can talk. Now, you can show me what there is to eat.”

He had driven his fingers deep into her arm muscles, and when she stopped weeping he knew that he had frightened as well as hurt her. That was as it should be. There would be no more disobedience for the present.

They went up to the apartment. When she saw him in the light, she gave a cry of dismay, but he cut short her further lamentations impatiently.

“I am hungry,” he said.

She put together a meal for him and watched him while he ate it. She was silent now and thoughtful, but he scarcely noticed her. He was planning. First he would sleep, and then he would see about getting a civilian suit. It was a pity that her brother Niki was so undersized; his clothes would be far too small. She would have to buy a second-hand suit somewhere. Then she could find out exactly what papers he would need in order to move about freely. There was the language difficulty, of course; but perhaps he could overcome that by pretending to be a Bulgar or an Albanian; there would be plenty of that sort of scum about now. After that, he would have to decide where to go. It would be an awkward problem. There were not many countries left in which a German soldier would be welcomed and assisted to repatriate himself. There was Spain, of course-he might get there by sea-or Turkey…