I then felt Erik shudder and say softly, "My dear, I'm afraid that I'm
beyond help at this point..."
"No! We'll get you to the hospital and..." I started to say,
unwilling at that point to admit that he might have been right.
He shook his head and said, "No, I won't make it...but I must say that I've redeemed myself, haven't I?" I kneeled down on the sidewalk and, still holding him, began to cry, for I knew that he was right. I could see a large and growing circle of blood forming at the middle of his back. He coughed a little, and after clearing his throat, he added, "Don't mourn for me...I've led a good life...I lived long enough to sing on the stage at the Paris opera house, and I've even lived long enough to take on a student...who didn't know just what she was getting into when she got me as a teacher! I regret that I can no longer be...your guardian angel, and I'm sorry that I threatened you and I'm sorry that we cannot be...together...I'm sorry that I caused so much damage, so much pain, for everyone. I should never have tried to kill Christine...my Christine, how I loved you! But Raoul...I should have guessed that your heart belonged to him long before you ever met me...and Max just got in the way...it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't Joseph's fault either...poor Joseph, in his dotage long before his time, all because of me! Should never have tried to kill any of them..."
"Hush now! Don't talk..." I said softly as I heard the ambulance getting closer.
Seeming to come back to me, and yet fade away at the same time, Erik continued, "But the other deaths were justified, and yes, that includes Carlos...what a sorry son-of-a-bitch he was!...But..., the first real student I ever had was you...and a challenge at that!...Not that you couldn't sing, really, just that you have approximate pitch, not true pitch...always grated on my nerves! But, how you tried to please me! I only wish I could live long enough to see you sing on stage-you'd make a wonderful Carmen...with the right director, of course..." I could only cry harder as I held him, and actually felt his life slip away in my arms. "And I'm sorry I won't be able to see your homeland-how wonderfully it seems to stretch across an entire continent...and populated by a people that are so energetic...and optimistic even in the face of death itself..." His voice began to fade and he coughed a little more just as the ambulance arrived. As the paramedics quickly got out, he whispered, "Forgive me for not staying...Take the gold wedding ring from my right hand. I had always wanted Christine to have it, but since that isn't possible...No, take it and keep it and promise that whenever you look at it that you'll remember..."
Seeing the determined look in his eyes, I knew he would not tolerate any arguments at that point, so I removed the plain gold band he always wore on the third finger of his right hand, just as the paramedics carefully approached and, after they placed him on a gurney and put him into the ambulance, I begged them to allow me to ride with him, but they refused, and if it were not for one of the English-speaking locals, I probably would not have been able to get to the hospital at all.
In spite of my efforts, I arrived at the hospital too late. I learned that Erik had died on route to the hospital, and that the authorities were holding his body, pending an autopsy and an investigation into the shooting. I never did find out who shot him or even if he was the intended target. Stunned and in shock, I could only pace the floor of the hospital's lobby, unable to even concentrate on praying either the Rosary or even the Chaplet of Divine Mercy that Pete had given me earlier that same year. All I could think of was my memories of Erik-of our first encounter, when he frightened me so; of our lessons; of his support when Carlotta first tried to get me fired; and even of his tragic past. Although memories of his mood swings and angry outbursts came to mind, so too did memories of his kindness, and all of the bad memories were mitigated by the memories of his recent efforts to save me, as well as the memories of his deteriorating health, and I wondered ever after if he had known all along that he would not live long enough to see me enjoy asylum.
What a complex man! Was he a father figure to me? A lover? A teacher? A talented musician and performer? Or was he, as he once said, merely a talented bully and a spouse beater who broke even his own mother's heart? Probably all of the above. Erik had expressed his regret in not living long enough to see me perform on stage, but I too, regretted that he had never published his musical arrangements that I found among his papers in his backpack after his death. Perhaps if he had published his works, he never would have had to work as an exterminator, but then again, I never would have met him and really had the chance to learn to sing. It must have rankled him that he had come down so far in the world, and yet, I never heard him complain, for perhaps he was grateful just to be employed, considering his criminal record and the state of France's economy.
His funeral was three days later. Celeste flew down from Paris, and immediately expressed her disapproval when she learned of my plans. "He always wanted to be cremated! And besides, he didn't believe in any of these superstitions, so why have a funeral Mass? Don't you know there will be nothing but curiosity seekers, coming only to stare at his ugliness? And, an open casket, to boot!" she hissed at me as I knelt in the kneeler of the pew directly behind Erik's casket.
I had kept vigil all the previous night at the church where I had Erik's body laid out, and was still exhausted from our ordeal as well so I only sighed as I sat back in the pew from where I had knelt, and, as I played with his gold band that I now wore on the third finger of my left hand, I said softly, "Erik was a child of God, the same as you and I, and he deserves better than having his ashes scattered and his memory reviled. As for his ugliness, take a close look at his face-that normal look isn't entirely due to the mortician's skill of applying make-up. The local police inspector and the coroner both pointed that out to me when I claimed Erik's body. In fact, the coroner was surprised to learn that Erik actually needed to wear a mask at all, and if the inspector hadn't have backed me up on my story about Erik's face, I'm sure the coroner would have thought I had lost my mind because of grief! The curiosity seekers that you are so disdainful of aren't coming to see a monster but to see the remains of a saint and martyr, for you see, his face was healed after he died. I'm not ashamed to have people look at Erik-on the contrary, when they see him and learn of his story, they will be clamoring to have him canonized!"
Looking at me with sheer disbelief, she rose from the pew we shared, and went over to look at his body lying in the casket. Seeming in disbelief, she even touched his nose and his high cheekbones several times, as if to find any hidden flaws in his face. Finding none, she finally returned to the pew and whispered, "My God! How can that be? Except for the creases on his forehead, he looks no older than the night he gave his last performance at the opera house! But why him? There are other deformed men out there who have never committed a mortal sin, let alone any crimes, and they aren't healed!"
I shook my head and replied softly, "I don't have any answers for that question." And indeed, I did not, for the only other times that I had ever even heard of miraculous healings after death, like Erik's had been, were for religious mystics and contemplatives, not for abusers like Erik, reformed though he was.
"So, what are you going to do now? And is that his ring that you're wearing?" she asked.
I nodded and the said "Yes, he asked me to keep it, and as for the future, I guess I'll stay here in Castelo Branco, like the authorities urge all of us expatriates to do. Besides, I don't want to leave Erik alone in a strange city. As for what I'll do after the funeral, I don't know yet. But, I'm sure I'll find something to do to keep busy. Maybe I'll end up taking care of some of the refugee children because there are so many here in the city that have no one to look after them," I knelt once again as the church began to fill with other mourners.
Colonel Mitteldorf stood in the open doorway of the trailer and watched the single subcompact car drive up the dirt road and stop at the guard shack before proceeding into the work camp, which at any other time of day, would have been busy with the workers working the fields created from the former national monument, but were now quiet because of the intense heat of summer. He took a sip of his morning coffee and thought No wonder the Frogs and we Germans were able to defeat what was left of the American forces so easily at the Battle of Springfield! If the Americans fought like they make coffee, it's a wonder they were able to put up any resistance at all! Godawful stuff, but then, what can you expect from people who have a leader like President R. who wouldn't even try to send any forces out into the field until it was too late! And women are supposed to be such ferocious fighters? Evidently, that doesn't apply to American female warriors who would rather not fight, certainly not President R. who saved her fights for her political opponents!
The car, which had stopped at the guard shack continued on its way down the dirt road before turning off and parking in the dirt parking lot in front of the trailer. A young woman with long blond hair got out of the drivers' side of the car and walked to the trailer. As she ascended the porch steps, she said, "I'm Jennifer Martin, Colonel, and I believe you're expecting me. You said you had some things that belonged to my mother." The officer nodded and she continued, "How in the hell did she ever end up back here in this godforsaken state?"
"If you're referring to prisoner number 452155, come inside and I'll explain," the colonel said as he opened the door to allow himself and his guest to enter into the single-wide trailer that served as his office. "Would you like some coffee, or perhaps some cola, Ms. Martin? I apologize that my small refrigerator only contains some European cola, not your American colas." He asked as he motioned for the young woman to be seated in the chair in front of his desk.
"No thanks, but I would like some water, though. I had forgotten just how dry Colorado gets, especially during the dog days of summer! I never could understand why Mom actually liked this part of Colorado better than the mountains-hot, dry and dusty during the summer and dry and windy during the winter!" Jennifer replied, and the added, "Do you mind if I smoke? I thought Mom would have a fit if she ever found out I smoke!"
"If you wish, Ms. Martin," the colonel replied as he walked to the sink to the left of his desk and filled a styrofoam cup with water and then added, "Are you comfortable? I can always turn up the air conditioner to make the room cooler." Jennifer shook her head after she lit her cigarette. "Of course, our 'workers' don't have the same amenities as we do, but the exploiters such as your mother was, would understand that rank has its privileges."
Jennifer took a long drag from her cigarette and asked, "Exactly what was my mother doing here? I understand that Portugal gave all American expatriates asylum several months ago."
Mitteldorf shook his head and said, "As you know, neither your president nor the new president of the European Union recognize Portugal's move to grant asylum to anyone, regardless of their beliefs, and after your president personally called on ours and asked that we send our new army to Portugal to round up American expatriates, your mother was seized along with the other parasites and brought back here to be imprisoned, and the reason for that was because of the efforts she made to escape our people in France and Spain. I, for one feel that she must have had some help in getting to Portugal, for there is no way she could have gotten as far as she did without help, but there was no proof that she had anyone else to help her for she was found in Castelo Branco, in one of the convents taking care of abandoned expatriate children, and like them seemed to be quite abandoned. I, like the previous commandant, had hoped she would change her mind and be more cooperative by signing the papers we give to all of our 'workers'-the papers that say that she had renounced all of her beliefs. For her constant refusals, she was frequently sent to solitary confinement, which was a shame for not only did we lose our most productive worker here at the camp, but we lost our best singer as well. You do know, of course, that she had a lovely alto voice and could have been sent to any of the finest music institutions either here in America or in Europe, had she done the right thing and renounced her beliefs. Which reminds me, I would like to know how she learned to sing so well. Did she learn while in college? Her records indicate that she did have some college experience."
Jennifer shook her head and replied, "No, she said that she took a lot of strange courses when she went to school, but I know that singing wasn't one of them."
"Did she, perhaps, take any lessons while she was in exile?" Mitteldorf asked, as he lit a cigarette.
Jennifer shook her head again and replied, "I rather doubt it. She didn't earn much money while she was in exile, and for a time sent me almost all that she earned, so I don't see how she could have afforded lessons. Why do you ask?"
"Because of her posture as she worked. We make our 'workers' work ten hours a day every day with only one day in ten off, and yet, in spite of her work load, she always stood and walked as if she were a dancer, or even a singer. I know such things-my son back in Berlin has been a voice student for a few years at the E.U. Institute of the Arts, and so I know what to look for and listen for. So, there's yet another mystery to put in your mother's file."
"Another mystery?" Jennifer asked as she stubbed her cigarette out into
the ashtray Mitteldorf had furnished.
"Yes, and that one is associated with her death. You see, about
two months ago, a prisoner escaped from our camp and was never found.
In order to make sure that never occurred again, ten prisoners were selected
and then taken to solitary confinement where they were starved to death,
and your mother was one of them. In her file, we have sworn affidavits
by the guards on duty that they heard your mother and the voice of an unknown
male talking and singing, and yet, every time the guards looked in on your
mother, she was alone and either pacing in her cell to keep warm or else,
sleeping and when awakened, claiming to be completely oblivious and unaware
that she was singing," Mitteldorf replied as he leaned back in his chair.
Her interest piqued, Jennifer then responded, "Now, really, Herr Mitteldorf,
isn't it highly unlikely that your camp is haunted?" Then, after
a brief moment of silence, she asked, "So, did Mom actually die of starvation?"
"No, it was decided by my superiors to have any survivors put to death
by lethal injection, and your mother was the last of the prisoners alive
when the order was given. And now, I'm sure you must be shocked by
all of this and probably disapprove of our methods of dealing with these
parasites," Mitteldorf said with only a small hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"On the contrary! President R. should have built these camps long ago for idiots like my mother! I still resent her forcing my brother and I to go to Mass with her on Sunday mornings when we would have much rather stayed at home with Dad. Dad was so much more fun than Mass, I can assure you, and he was so much more fun than religious classes on Sunday! In fact, anything was better than that boring old priest droning on and on! God, between her and her brother, we didn't know who was worse! I swear my mother was worse than any Jehovah's Witness, and everybody knows they're a bunch of nut cases!" Jennifer replied vehemently.
A little surprised at the young woman's venomous remark, Mitteldorf replied, "So, you're a fellow non-believer? I myself, am a fourth generation non-believer, my great-grandfather and grandfather were followers of Hitler, my father worked for the Stasi and I now work for the European Union. Of course, it's rather inaccurate to say that I'm a non-believer, for, like my ancestors, I actually believe in the State and what it can actually do. And you, what do you believe in?"
Jennifer shook her head yet again and said, "I only believe in myself and what I can do-nothing else! Didn't you say on the phone the other day when you called that you have my mother's things?"
"Yes, everything we found on her we were able to put in this small envelope. As you can see, we have this set of beads and her wedding ring," Mitteldorf replied as he retrieved an envelope from the top drawer on his desk and handed it to Jennifer.
Jennifer opened the envelope and removed a string of beads and a simple gold wedding band and examined the items before commenting, "The beads look like they're homemade. What did she make them out of?"
Mitteldorf nodded and said, "The guard who injected her with the final dose said the same thing. He thinks she may have made them by moistening bread morsels and rolling them onto the string made of denim threads from her work pants, which is why they're misshapen."
"They look like a single decade Rosary. I should know! She had enough of those beads to provide an army of pro-lifers! But, what's this ring doing here?" she responded.
"Isn't that your mother's wedding ring?" Mitteldorf asked.
Jennifer shook her head and said, "That isn't her wedding band.
Dad made her give it back before she went into exile, and then took the
diamonds out of it and gave them to me before he had the band melted down."
Seeing the shocked look on the German officer's face, she added, "As you
can probably tell, my mother and I didn't get along at all! I've
always blamed her and her stupid beliefs for breaking up her marriage.
Dad always got along fine without God, so I don't see why she couldn't
as well. I always loathed her beliefs and she loathed mine, besides,
I also thought hers were totally useless in this day and age. Is
this all you have for me?" Mitteldorf nodded and she concluded, "Then,
I'll take these things and go, but I am curious. What did you do
with her remains?"
"We cremated her body and scattered her ashes on the Plains, as is
our standard policy for all of our deceased 'workers'. That's just
our way of letting your dissidents know what we think of their 'ideas'
of a bodily resurrection! Like you, we only have contempt for backward
ideas such as a belief in a higher power than man, and we will not hesitate
to express our contempt any way we can! And now, I suppose I should
let you go. You have a three hour drive back to Denver and then a
long flight back to Maryland from there, do you not?" Mitteldorf asked.
Jennifer then rose from her chair and after shaking the colonel's hand, she left the trailer, taking the envelope with her. She then drove from the work camp, taking the same road and just as she reached the intersection of the road with U.S. Highway 34, she pulled off to the side of the road, and got out of the car carrying the envelope. She then opened it and after taking out the contents, she threw the beads to the ground and stepped on them, deliberately crushing and grinding the beads into the dust of the road. Finished with her little act of sacrilege, she then examined the ring and discovered the engraving on the inside of the ring-to Christine from Erik. Shaking her head, she thought to herself, Where in the hell did you get this thing, Mom? And, as if in one final gesture, she threw the ring as far as it would go into the dusty field in the northeast corner of the intersection that was right on the edge of the Pawnee National Grasslands, before getting back into her car and turning right at the intersection and resuming her westward route on U.S. 34 before turning south once she got to I-25, and then continued her journey to Denver.
In the late afternoon of early autumn, Celeste Renard turned off the narrow French country lane and pulled her car next to the small house made of the native gray shale that was found throughout the Bocage region of western France. After getting out of her car, she opened the trunk and removed two small rose bushes along with a shovel and a bag of a mixture of bone meal and manure and placed the items next to the car. Then, walking out into the front of the house and carrying the shovel, she stopped in front of the house and dug two holes about a meter apart from each other before emptying half of the bag of fertilizer into the first hole and then emptying the rest into the second. Then, going back to her car, she retrieved the two rose bushes, and after carrying them to the holes, she placed first the white rose bush into the first hole, and filled in the hole by carefully placing the dirt around the rosebush before repeating the action with the red rose bush. Then, she went back to her car and retrieved a hose that she had on the floor of the passenger side of the car and then walked back to the house and hooked up the hose with the outdoor faucet and carefully watered both rose bushes thoroughly with the hose before unhooking the hose and carrying it back to her car and rolling it up and placing it in the trunk before closing it. Then, returning to the rose bushes, she admired her handiwork for a moment before saying aloud, "I only wish I could do more for you two, but rest in peace, my friends. Rest in peace."
Fin