Descendant by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online Page B

language it was. He used to talk to us sometimes and I think he was asking us questions but we didn’t understand.”
    “Maybe he said something like
buna dimineatza
? Or
noapte buna
? Or
multzumesc
?”
    “Yes, that word
multzumesc
. He was always saying that.”
    “Can you tell me what he looked like, this man?”
    The girl looked embarrassed. “He was tall, taller than you. With dark hair combed straight back.”
    “What else you can tell me about him? I mean, if I were to see him in the street, how would I recognize him?”
    She lowered her eyes. “He was very handsome. My mother’s friends used to come round for tea in the hope that he would be here.”
    “Really?”
    “If he passed them in the hallway they would start to giggle.”
    “What kind of handsome, would you say? Did he remind you of anybody? A movie star, maybe?”
    “Well, I know it sounds funny, but if you can imagine Marlene Dietrich as a man instead of a woman. High cheeks, very proud-looking. Also, he spoke very warm, if you understand me, always looking you right in your eyes, so you didn’t mind if you didn’t know what he was saying. His eyes were green like the sea and he had a scar on the side of his forehead . . . like a V-shape.”
    I gave Corporal Little a brief translation of what the girl had said, and the corporal grinned and shook his head. “Sounds like this young lady didn’t exactly fail to be swept off her feet, either. She didn’t happen to notice his sock size, by any chance?”
    I turned back to the girl. “Did this man ever tell you his name?”
    “No. But I heard one of the Germans call him Herr Doktor.”
    “What were the Germans like?”
    “Horrible. I hated both of them. They kept coughing, as if they were ill, and they always smelled bad.”
    “Frank picking up anything?” I asked Corporal Little.
    “Not so far, sir. But it’s been raining all night.”
    “Do you think there’s any possibility that these men may still be here?” I asked the girl.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Could they still be hiding in the house? In the attic, maybe?”
    “Their rooms are empty. I had to clean them after they left.”
    “Do you think we could possibly take a look around?”
    “I don’t know. My mother isn’t here. She won’t be back for an hour.”
    “We wouldn’t disturb anything, I promise you.”
    “She doesn’t even like me to answer the door. It was only because you wouldn’t stop knocking.”
    “OK, then . . . we wouldn’t like to get you into any trouble. We’ll go find ourselves a cup of coffee and come back later.”
    She smiled, and said, “
Dank U
.” And I can still see that smile now, and her white linen cap, and her hand holding the mop.
    We drove to a café at the far end of Karel Rogierstraat. There were chairs and tables set out on the sidewalk but because it was raining there was nobody sitting there except for one old man. He was sheltering under the dark green awning, smoking a meerschaum pipe.
    Corporal Little tied Frank to the cast-iron umbrella stand and we went inside. The interior was very gloomy, even though there were decorative mirrors on every wall. Behind the bar an old Marconi wireless was playing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” We sat down in the corner, lit up cigarettes, and asked for two filter coffees. The proprietor was a fat middle-aged man in a floor-length apron. Every time he turned toward the window the gray morning light reflected from his glasses, so that he looked as if he had pennies on his eyes.
    “Do you know what today is?” I asked Corporal Little, breathing smoke.
    At that instant there was a deafening bang, louder than a thunderclap, instantly followed by another one. The café windows cracked diagonally from side to side, and everything in the whole place rattled and shook. We both stood up, just as a huge billow of brown smoke came rolling along Karel Rogierstraat, immediately followed by a shower of bricks, chairs, torn fragments of sheet metal,