Part Three – The Consul

The Czechoslovakian Consul lighted a cigarette. “Perhaps to know that those of your own family had been crucified and then killed in slow agony would be no worse torment than to know the treachery of a brother and a wife,” he mused.

“It was the world war, too, for me. I had finished my course at the University in Prague when the call to arms came. I had to leave my mother and sister alone. My father had been dead many years. My mother was of the nobility and I felt a fear for her and my sister, for already the socialists were gaining power. It was not so much the fear of the war or of our foe. It was a fear of the peace to come. For, when it would come, that the old conservative rule would be easily overturned. War had impoverished and weakened the aristocratic and the noble class. I saw it coming and, gentlemen, I was afraid. It had drained them dry, of the young blood of their sons and of their wealth.

“My fate it was to be cast into a German prison camp. Strange as it may sound to say it, I did not suffer there. I was merely a prisoner of war. It was afterwards, when peace was declared and I was freed from the German camp, that my ordeal began. I was halted and arrested on entering my own country by my own countrymen and made a prisoner again. Ah, they had been working from within, even during the war. They did not even explain the reasons for my incarceration.

“My cell was a small hole, too low for me to stand fully upright, too narrow and too short to lie fully outstretched. Through an aperture at the bottom of the bars a pan of some nauseating mess and a dish of dirty water was pushed through to me once a day. There was no window. The floor was wet and filthy. On the first night an old sack had been tossed in to me for my bed. It was a place in which one could easily go mad.

“I fought it. I had to for my mother and sister, of whom and from whom I had heard no word, were my responsibility. I had to escape.

“From the turnkey I demanded that someone in authority come to explain why I had been thrown into prison as soon as I entered my own country for which I had fought. An insolent shrug was the only answer. Finally, four weeks later, authority came – pompous, fat-bellied, unwashed, and illiterate. There was hardly room for both of us. We stood so close that I could see the grimy pores of his face and smell the foul acrid scent of him.

“It was then that a hate and fury finally drove me mad. My hands were at this throat and he sank to the floor unconscious. The door had been left unlocked when he came in. I could not see the turnkey – nor did I care if he were in sight. Strength had returned to me impelled by my rage. I stepped over the body and out the door. With one movement I struck the guard who was leaning against the bars of the next cell. He made no outcry, he was so taken by surprise. The corridors were dark but narrow, and it was not difficult to make my way out by following the wall.

“But my freedom depended on how long my two victims would remain unconscious. The sunlight blinded me at first. Where I was, I was not certain. I dared not ask after I first came upon a small child who when I questioned him gave me one glance and dashed away his eyes wide with terror. It was a moment before I realized what four months in that cell must have done to me. I was saturated with filth, half-starved, and with eyes probably those of a madman. I walked then, keeping as far from humans as possible.

“In the little park where I finally found refuge was a public fountain. Surreptitiously I washed my face and hands and tried to smooth back my hair, which had grown so long it hung down my neck. As I sat there a young woman with a child at her side strolled by. Her son held in his hands a large torte. She must have seen the look I gave the cake for she stooped and whispered something to the boy. Swiftly he took the sack she gave him, dashed over to me, and laid in on my knees. Weakness kept me seated.

“‘Madam,’ I tried to soften the hoarse croaking my voice had become, ‘Will you tell me the name of this town?’

“She gave me a strange look, hesitating before she told me. Then she came closer, still clutching the boy’s hand.

“‘You are ill?’

“‘I have just escaped from the prison back there.’ I was horrified as soon as the words left my mouth. She hesitated, watching me closely. Was she going to report me? I went on recklessly anyway.

“‘I was arrested as soon as I entered the country. I was returning home from the war. From a German prison camp. Now I must have work to earn enough to get back to my home, to my family. All my possessions were taken from me by the turnkey at the prison. Do you know of work?’

“She thought a moment. ‘You do not care what work it is? We do not have as much to spend as before the war.’ She stopped, then said slowly, ‘You have no place to stay? Would you work for that and food until we can find paying work for you?’

“I accepted gratefully. ‘I have yet to regain all my strength. But I can work. I think I used up all my strength when I strangled the beast who came to see me in the cell.’

“She looked startled, then glanced about fearfully. ‘We must get away from here quickly. Come with me.’

“I followed her to the curb where stood a one-seated cart drawn by a sober old horse. Both cart and horse had seen better days. She unfastened the rein from the iron post. I hesitated – suddenly remembering my filthy condition, for in talking to me she had so easily made me forget it.

“‘Madam I can follow you on foot, if you will drive slowly, for like this I cannot ride beside you. You have not seen the inside of that prison, nor the cell in which I was a prisoner. It was at that fountain over there that I just washed my face and hands for the first time in four months.’

“‘Perhaps I know more about prisons than I care to remember,’ she said bitterly, her face becoming gray and etched with lines of painful memory. She looked down at the boy, a gentle-mannered little chap of perhaps four years. ‘Zdeno, climb in. You will sit at my feet. This gentleman will sit in the seat beside me. That way we will all have sufficient room. We shall take the less-traveled street so that, if they are searching for you, you will not be recognized.’

“I understood, when we clattered up the long drive to the chateau, why i had been so reckless to tell a stranger of my escape. An old man, evidently the butler of better days, opened the doors and conducted me at her suggestion to the bath house. He left me there, then came back a few minutes later carrying an armful of clean clothing. He held them while the other hand smoothed them with a reverent look in his eyes.

“‘These belonged to my master. He is – gone.’

“I drew back and began to demur. But he interrupted me saying softly, ‘The madam wishes it, sir. She sent me to give them to you. When you are finished here she will be waiting for you in the salon. I shall come back when you are ready for your beard and hair to be cut. That was my duty to my master when he was alive.’ His voice broke on the last word and turned quickly, his face working, and left me.

“He came back later and without another word went about the task of cutting my now clean hair and removing that terrific growth from my face. At the conclusion he he stood back and looked me over critically. His eyes approved and I again felt respect for myself. ‘You will not be recognized now, if they come,’ he announced with ill-concealed satisfaction. ‘They are already searching for you. We heard the beating of horses’ hooves on the main road when the mistress and I were taking the clothes from the master’s wardrobe. Their shouting must have penetrated the spaces to the capitol. Come, I shall take you now to the madam. She is in the salon.’

“She was there, waiting, the little boy playing with colored blocks are her feet. She rose and came to meet me, her slender hand extended. ‘Ah,’ she said softly her eyes smiling in approval. ‘There is no more of the disguise left. They will never recognize you now. Come – first we shall eat. You must have hot food, if only a little at first, so you will not become ill.’

“She stooped and caught the boy’s hand, then led the way to the adjoining room. A heavy damask cloth covered the table and rare, old china and silver were placed for three. It was a frugal meal and simple, but nourishing. It showed me how every cent counted in that household. I knew I would have to get some sort of work to pay for the hospitality she could ill afford.

“She refused to let me go out the first few days. ‘Until the first fury of the search for you has died down – no,’ she stated firmly and calmly. ‘I have friends. We shall find means of employment, for earning the money to return you to your home. But for this poor fare – no.”

“In a few days more she agreed that I could take the work that she had succeeded in finding for me. In the library there was need for someone to put order to the greatly disarranged books. It was safe there, away from any curious prying eyes. Those who came there, like herself, had only eyes for the vast shelves of books. Her friend, the curator, had been eager to employ her ‘cousin.’ She announced the sudden relationship with an impish smile. Furthermore, he, the curator, had been informed that this cousin had returned from the war abroad and had to have light employment until he was strong enough to get back to his regular duties. To kneel before her and kiss the hem of her gown was the emotion of my heart. I endeavored to thank her, but she lightly brushed my words aside.

I spent a beautiful two weeks. It would have been perfect if there had not been the thought of my mother and sister, and the fear in my heart that I might be apprehended and again thrown into prison. So eventually, under the assumed name of the madam’s cousin I made ready to leave for my home. She clung to me when I stood before her to say ‘Adieu.’ For I knew I would return to her if I succeeded in reaching home and finding my mother and sister.

I had dared not write to friends. The socialist party had completely taken over the regime. From the madam I had learned how sad and hopeless everything had become. Still, when I reached my home, they were waiting for me as I feared they would be. They knew I would eventually return. My new name was laughable to them. But first they let me learn the terrorizing news. My mother and sister were no longer living in the chateau of my father. My demands for knowledge of their whereabouts were met with indifferent shrugs. I would learn about them when they returned me to prison, I was told by their leader. It would keep me entertained, he promised, and the rest of the group greeted his words with guffaws. In the days that followed I was given, item by item, a summary of my mother’s and sister’s fates.

“Futilely I tore and shook the bars of my cell. The only thing I gained from that was when a burly brute of guard came in and struck me about the face and neck with a long leather lash. I wanted them to kill me. It would have been merciful. The brutal deaths and torments my family had gone through kept me awake. My beautiful mother and sister. I tried to find some means to die so I could be out of the terror of thinking of them. But still, thoughts of the madam and her little boy kept me sane. The days – I lost count – went on and on. Night and day were the same in my new dungeon.

“Then, suddenly and without explanation, I was freed. I went directly to the madam’s house. It took me a long time and for sheer weakness I had to sit often along the road side.

“But then, I reached my goal, but – ah gentlemen – I hoped and prayed what I saw was an evil dream. I closed my eyes and opened them again, thinking to make it disappear. Fire had eaten out the whole building. It stood like a tottering skeleton. Even part of the upper stories had caved in. I fell on my face. Everything turned black. How long I lay there anguished, I don’t know. Then I felt hands trying to turn me over. I opened my eyes. It was the old servant of the house. He cried out, then knelt beside me.

”Madam? And the boy?” i demanded, trying to get up. Fury and hate tore at his face. He shook his head.

“‘It was in the night. They died in there – killed by the raiders first, and then burned. They imprisoned me when I tried to get in to help them. I was freed only two days ago and found this, just as you have found it.’ He kept kneeling there, his head bent, muttering to the ground. ‘First my master, crucified and tortured and allowed slowly to die. Now my beautiful mistress and the little master!’ A dry sob shook him from head to foot.

“I helped him up with what little strength I had left in me, and like two broken old men we left that terrible place. Somehow we managed to exist and helped each other. I swore to myself I would never lave him. Then two years later he died. I returned to my home and picked up as best I could the threads of living. But I missed the old man.”

With the point of his cane the Consul was tracing the intricate patterns of the tile floor. With a shrug he leaned the cane against the table again.

“When I could no longer endure the memories that flood in at night like the tide out there … then I boarded a ship and voila! You see me here now – the Ancient Mariner. Tonight I will sleep, finally. It has given me a little peace to pour myself into your ears.”

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