The Vanishing of Katharina Linden by Helen Grant Read Free Book Online Page A

leather armchair he had been sitting in and to point over Herr Schiller’s shoulder at something that was just coming into view.
    “Scheisse!”
I squealed, forgetting for once that I was in the presence of one of my elders.
    Herr Schiller’s house was a traditional Eifel house, dark and gloomy even in broad daylight. It was now early evening, and the corners of the room were sunk in darkness. Out of one of these pockets of blackness there appeared first the silken head and then the sinuous body of an enormous tomcat, blacker than the shadows, and with great yellow eyes like headlights.
    I realized later that the creature must have been sitting on the sideboard behind Herr Schiller’s armchair, but at the time it was like someuncanny materialization. My heart thumped wildly, and it was several moments before my eyes connected with my brain and I realized what I was seeing.
    “You dope, it’s Pluto,” I almost shouted at Stefan. “Sit down, you idiot—it’s Pluto!”
    Herr Schiller, who had been arrested midsentence by Stefan’s scream, pipe frozen between hand and lips, now jumped as though someone had touched him with a cattle prod. He was on his feet faster than I remember seeing anyone of his age ever move before. His face was a mask of horror.
    “Out,
out!”
he was shouting, gesticulating at the cat, which spat derisively, its back a jagged arch. But the street door was closed; there was nowhere for the cat to bolt even if it wanted to. With considerably greater daring than I could have shown, Herr Schiller reached over and grasped the creature by the scruff, hauled it swinging and scratching to the front door, and cast it out into the street. The slam he gave the door afterward must have rattled that old house down to its foundations.
    As the sound died away, we all stood there, panting like racehorses. Stefan looked as though he was going to be sick. Poor Herr Schiller looked almost as bad; the sudden rush of adrenaline that had fueled his assault upon the cat had passed like a flash flood, leaving wreckage in its wake. I was afraid he might collapse and so I offered him my arm. He looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then took my arm and allowed me to lead him back to his armchair.
    “You are an idiot, Stefan,” I snapped, not adding, as I might have,
You nearly gave the old man a heart attack
. “It was only Pluto.”
    Pluto was a well-known fixture in Bad Münstereifel, at least among those who lived in the old part of the town. A large, foul-tempered, and unsterilized inky-black tomcat, he had once made it onto the front page of the local free newspaper (admittedly during a quiet week as regards other news) after a resident of the town accused him of making an unprovoked attack on her pet dachshund. Describing him as “only Pluto” was rather like describing Baron Münchhausen as a bit of a fibber.
    Still, I was annoyed with Stefan, not least because I was afraid that this piece of high drama really
would
spell the end of my visits to Herr Schiller. That evening my suspicions seemed to be confirmed, since Herr Schiller seemed suddenly tired and quite relieved to see us go.Normally he would stand on his doorstep watching me as I went off up the street, but this evening Stefan and I were scarcely on the cobblestones before we heard the door quietly click closed behind us.
    I set off up the street at a fast pace, half wanting to leave Stefan behind.
StinkStefan
. I might have known he would mess it all up. I considered just running home at top speed without speaking to him, but as I reached the bridge over the Erft I heard him coming up behind me, panting with exertion, and I relented. Still, I was not going to make things easy for him. I stood on the bridge looking down into the shallow but fast-flowing waters of the river, and waited for Stefan to speak first.
    “Why did you run off like that?”
    Typical StinkStefan question. Like all those others:
Why won’t you let me play with