Winter's End

The next day was Friday, the day the Skunk came. Helen would have to get a move on if she was going to write her letter to Milos and leave it in the laundry cart before the old man arrived. She took advantage of Miss Mersch’s math lesson, which was from nine to ten. The math teacher was confined to a wheelchair and wouldn’t rush at her to snatch away her half-written letter shouting, “And what, young lady, is this?” She might have an eagle eye, but Helen, like the rest of her friends, was good at covering up.

For a moment she wondered how to begin. Dear Milos? They hardly knew each other. . . . Hi, Milos? You might say that to anyone. She decided on just Milos. He could take it any way he liked. She told him how she had found the library empty, about her return to the boarding school without Milena, and above all about how miserable she felt when she saw little Catharina Pancek taken away to the detention cell. She wrote about Milena’s amazing voice, saying she’d never have thought her capable of letting anyone down like that. And she asked him to reply soon, adding that she’d be waiting impatiently for his letter. Then she cobbled together a makeshift envelope out of another piece of notepaper folded in half and glued together. She took the piece of paper that Milos had given her the day before out of her sock, where she had tucked it away, and carefully copied his name: Milos Ferenzy. The boys’ boarding school. Fourth year. Before slipping her letter into the envelope, she paused for a moment to think, and added, under her signature: By the way, I haven’t even told you anything about myself. I’m seventeen. I like books and chocolate (and I’m glad I met you).

Writing that last line, she felt doubtful and uncertain. Had she said too much? Not enough?

At ten o’clock break, she unobtrusively joined a group of fifth-year girls in one corner of the school yard and asked straight out, “How does the mail service work? Does someone put the letters in the laundry cart and then the Skunk takes them away?”

A tall, slim, and rather pretty girl stared hard at her. “Who do you want to send a letter to?”

“A boy from over there.”

“What year are you in?”

“The fourth year.”

“What’s your name?”

“Helen Dormann.”

“And what’s his?”

“Milos Ferenzy,” said Helen. She blushed, and felt furious with herself.

The older girls conferred by exchanging glances. None of them knew Milos. He’d probably be too young to interest them.

“Give it here,” said the tall girl, and the others spontaneously formed a little barrier around them so that Helen could hand her letter over unnoticed.

“You’re the one who leaves the letters?” Helen asked.

“That’s right.”

“I . . . I don’t have a present for you. Or for the Skunk. I don’t have anything. I didn’t have the time to . . .”

“That’s all right. I’ll bring you the reply. If there is one.”

A little before midday, Helen was looking out the music-room window, which had a view of the yard, and saw the Skunk arrive with his jolting cart. He disappeared into the laundry and came out with a pile of white sheets. The day’s letters must be hidden among them.

I sent a letter to my love

And on the way I dropped it.

One of you has picked it up

And put it in your pocket.

Helen hummed, amazed to find how easily the nursery rhyme came back to her from her early childhood.

The days that followed were unbearable. Helen expected to be called to the Tank’s office at any moment. But the summons never came. The lack of reaction to what had happened was worse than anything. It meant that the school staff were sticking to Rule 16: If any pupil does not return after her three hours’ absence, another girl will be sent to the detention cell immediately and will stay there until the runaway is back. Everything was in order; the matter was closed.

None of the girls dared mention Catharina, but everyone thought of her the whole time. Was she managing to sleep? Did they give her anything to eat and drink? Helen questioned a fifth-year girl who had spent a whole night and half the next day in the Sky last year for throwing her soup plate at the refectory wall and shouting that she was “Fed up! Fed up! Fed up!” She wouldn’t say much and seemed mainly anxious to know if Catharina would have had time to get a look at the picture on the beam.

“Is it that important?” asked Helen. “Did you see it yourself?”

“Only for a second or so, but it kept me from going around the bend. Was it you Milena went out with?”

“Yes.”

The girl turned her back. Helen felt that everyone held her responsible for what had happened, or at least thought she had been Milena’s accomplice. As Milena wasn’t there, they couldn’t tell her what they thought of her, so they took their fury and resentment out on Helen. Only Vera Plasil hadn’t turned against her.

“It isn’t your fault. How could anyone think it was? She’ll come back, I’m sure. I expect she had something really important to do. You wait and see; she’ll do it and she’ll be back.”

“Then why didn’t she tell me anything about it?”

Vera Plasil had no answer to that. She just looked at Helen with sympathy in her big blue eyes.

From Sunday onward Helen was counting not the days but the hours until Friday, when the Skunk came. Time just wouldn’t pass. She made herself imagine the worst to avoid feeling too bad when the moment came: the worst was if she didn’t get a reply from Milos this time and had to wait another week. The mere thought of it was disheartening.

And Milena still didn’t come back. Might never come back . . . until Catharina died in that black hole. The worst moment was suppertime. Since the detention cell was under the refectory cellars, the girls knew that Catharina was close to them, and they had difficulty forcing down what was on their plates.

At last Helen woke up in the morning and it was Friday. At ten to twelve, punctual if none too steady on his feet, the Skunk wheeled his cart of clean sheets across the yard. From the music room, Helen saw him disappear into the laundry to exchange them for the dirty bed linen.

“Happy of heart and pure of soul,

In unison we sing.

Midst fields and forests we will stroll . . .”

Old Ma Crackpot made them repeat that verse for the twelfth time, but Helen wasn’t listening to the others singing anymore. Oh, let there be a letter for me, she thought. Let there be a letter! I can’t wait another whole week.

On her way out of the refectory, a sixth-year girl came up to her. “Are you Helen Dormann?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s your mail, then! And don’t forget the little present next time.”

“I won’t — I promise!” said Helen, beside herself with delight as she put the two envelopes in her pocket. There were two of them! All week she’d been afraid of not getting a letter, and now she had two!

Feverishly, she searched the school yard for Vera Plasil. “Vera, could you wait at the door for me, please?”

The lavatories were dilapidated, but the only place where you could be left in peace on your own for a few moments, so long as there was someone to stand guard at the door. Once inside, Helen took the envelopes out of her coat pocket. Her name was on both, Helen Dormann, the girls’ boarding school, and her class, fourth year, but the handwriting on them was different. The first envelope was in Milos’s writing, which she easily recognized, large and neatly connected. The second, an inimitable, almost adult hand, was Milena’s! She opened Milos’s letter first. After all, this was the one she’d been waiting for all week. It was short:

Helen

I got your letter, and here’s mine. I hope it won’t be too Skunk-scented! Bartolomeo didn’t come back the other evening. I have something serious to tell you. Be at the corner of the east and north walls of your school at midnight on Friday. Promise?

Milos

P.S. I haven’t told you about myself either. I’m seventeen. I like Greco-Roman wrestling and eating (and I’m very glad I met you too).

Helen wondered if what she was holding was her first-ever love letter. The repetition of the last sentence of her own letter almost word for word suggested that Milos wanted a close friendship. Emotion almost made her dizzy. So many extraordinary things had been happening these last few days. She put the letter back in its envelope and opened Milena’s, which was longer.

Dear Helen,

I can imagine how angry with me you must be, and I really do understand. But you have to know that I didn’t let you down on purpose.

What happened is this: Bartolomeo came back to the library just after you left. We talked for over two hours, and at the end of that time, I decided to go on the run with him. We’re leaving tonight. I’m never coming back to the boarding school again.

We were hiding behind the fountain when you passed just now carrying a basket. I don’t know what was in it, but thank you for bringing it for me!

At the moment we’re at my consoler’s house, where I’m writing you this letter. She’ll send it on to you via the Skunk.

There’s so much I’d like to tell you, but I don’t have time. Milos knows all about it. He’ll explain. Ask him.

I hope we’ll meet again. You’ve been my best friend all these years. I’ll never forget you. I’m very sad to say good-bye.

Love and kisses,

Milena

P.S. I feel terrible about Catharina, but I had to do what I’m doing now.

“Helen, I’m getting cold out here. And it’s raining too.”

Waiting at the door, Vera was getting impatient. Helen wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, hid the two envelopes in the inside pocket of her coat, and emerged from the lavatories.

At evening study time, it was as if the ghosts of Milena Bach and Catharina Pancek occupied their empty places in the third row and the front row respectively. The absence of the two girls weighed on everyone’s mind. Miss Zesch, sweating more than ever, was almost falling asleep.

“What’s Greco-Roman wrestling, Vera?” Helen whispered.

“I think it’s men in swimsuits flinging themselves on each other and each tries to get the other guy down on his back.”

“God — really?”

“And they stink of sweat and grunt a lot.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering.”

Helen couldn’t stop thinking of Milos, telling herself all the time that she must be crazy to go falling in love with a boy she’d seen for less than five minutes, and in a dim light too. Another thing was that she couldn’t conjure up his face. The harder she tried to remember it, the more elusive it was. She thought she remembered that Milos wasn’t very tall; his cheeks were rather round, yes; he had curly hair, yes; and a nice smile — yes, yes, and yes again — but she couldn’t visualize him anymore. She decided that what she really wanted was to fall in love, and the first boy to come along would do. She just hoped she wasn’t going to be too badly disappointed.

And what did he want from her? The idea of meeting him by night fascinated her, but it scared her too. I have something serious to tell you. What did that mean? And she’d have to get out of the dormitory in the middle of the night. Luckily Miss Zesch, who was their supervisor again tonight, snored like a pig as soon as she fell asleep, and she didn’t surface again until early morning. She was by far the easiest of all the supervisors to deceive. Much more than Miss Merlute, a silent, cunning insomniac who went poking her long nose around among the rows of beds at any time of night. No, the real danger was from the other girls. Especially Vera, who was always a light sleeper and would want to know where she was going. Helen was tempted to tell Vera what was going on but decided against it. Sensible Vera was capable of waking the whole dormitory when the moment came, just to save Helen from putting herself at risk.

Under the covers, Helen looked at the luminous hands of her watch; it was after ten, and Miss Zesch wasn’t snoring yet. She still wasn’t snoring at eleven. That was very strange. The light was on in her cubicle, but no other sign of life came from it. Was she determined to stay awake through the night now, of all times, and imitate Miss Merlute by prowling around the beds looking like a bird of prey? Helen strained her ears desperately. In the absence of the usual roaring sounds, a gentle little snore would have been enough for her, but even that didn’t come.

At quarter to midnight, her patience exhausted, she decided to try her luck and go out anyway. She glanced at the next bed. Vera was sleeping peacefully with her mouth half open. Reassured, Helen ventured to sit up. She was going to get out of bed to go to her closet and get her clothes when Miss Zesch opened her cubicle door. Helen first froze like a statue and then lay down again, eyes wide.

Miss Zesch was obviously not in her normal state of mind. Taking care to make no noise, she slipped out of her cubicle as slowly and surreptitiously as an assassin. What was more, although Helen felt she must be dreaming this part, she was wearing high-heeled shoes and an evening dress! Never, ever had she been seen with anything but clodhoppers on her feet, wearing huge pants or, on her good days, a thick woolly skirt. She closed the door behind her and tiptoed away. Helen waited for her to disappear entirely, restrained herself for a few more minutes, just in case the supervisor came back, although that seemed unlikely, and then, since nothing was moving, she dressed and made for the dormitory door in her own turn.

It was a clear, cool night. Several long clouds were drifting in shreds across the full moon. Clutching her coat around her, Helen skirted the east building, going around by the back of it. The perimeter wall rose on her left, dark and threatening. She followed it. A gray outline stood there at the corner. Milos! She waved and hurried toward him. He moved forward himself, smiling, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Helen! You had me scared. You’re late.”

She was surprised to find him so much taller than she remembered. Bartolomeo must be extremely tall for his friend to seem short by comparison.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get out. Our supervisor wasn’t asleep. And now she’s gone out herself — can you believe that? She left the dormitory just before midnight.”

“Did she really? Then I know where she’s gone, and I’m going to show you. If you’re good at gymnastics.”

“I’m great at gymnastics.”

“Excellent. Can you climb a rope?”

“Like a squirrel!”

She wasn’t sure whether squirrels climbed ropes or not, but she felt like saying yes to everything tonight. She’d have jumped into a fire with Milos if he’d asked her to.

“Wait for me here, then. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Can’t you explain a bit first?”

“Later!”

Milos was already stuffing his cap in his pocket and beginning to climb. Helen was amazed by his strength and agility. Clinging to the gutter, he climbed as easily as a monkey. His fingers, hands, arms, and legs were moving all the time, and he didn’t stop except to get his breath back with his foot on a second-floor windowsill.

“Be careful!” begged Helen down below.

But in reply he just kept on climbing, and next moment he was just below the roof. He stayed hanging from the gutter for a few seconds, then swung from side to side a couple of times and threw his right leg over it. As he recovered his balance, something slipped out of his pocket and fell at Helen’s feet.

“My knife!” he called down. “Can you pick up my knife?”

She bent down, and retrieved a heavy pocket knife that must have at least six blades.

Then there was a long silence. Milos had disappeared. She felt the cold seeping in under her coat. What was she doing here with this acrobatic boy who had something serious to tell her?

She was still looking up at the roof in vain when a slight rustling noise attracted her attention. A little way off, a rope was passing over the gutter and dropping straight down the wall. She quickly unbuttoned her coat so that it wouldn’t hamper her, wedged the rope between her ankles as she had often done before, and began climbing. When she was level with the third story, she glanced down and was overcome by vertigo. She’d never climbed this high in gym lessons. And there was no mat here to soften the impact if she fell. Weird kind of first date, she thought. Is it always like this? She took a deep breath and went on. When she reached the gutter, she had no time to wonder how she was going to get up on the roof. Milos was already reaching a hand out to her.

“Give me your right hand and take hold of my wrist. Not my hand, my wrist!”

She took his wrist, and he took hers. Next moment Helen felt herself being lifted into the air. She hardly had to help herself at all with her knees and elbows before she was sitting beside Milos, who seemed as relaxed forty feet from the ground on top of this roof as he would have been on a sitting-room sofa.

“That’s called a cross hold. It doubles your strength,” he explained.

“I thought I was going to die,” breathed Helen.

“Rest for a minute. We’ve done the toughest part.”

“I should hope so.”

They clambered over the damp slates of the roof and reached a skylight to which Milos had fastened the rope. He hauled it up now, coiled it, and fixed it to his belt. Then he opened the skylight far enough for them to slip in. It was easy to hang from the edge and then let yourself drop to the floor inside. Milos went first and landed silently, bending his knees to break his drop. Helen copied him with ease and felt that she had just impressed him twice in a short time: first by climbing the rope so well, then by jumping down into this loft. When Milos caught her, she felt light as a feather in his strong hands. He took a flashlight out of his pocket, switched it on, and swept the beam over the space around them.

The loft was empty and dusty. There was nothing between the massive roof structure and the oak floorboards. They could stand upright in the middle of it but had to bend as they moved closer to the sides.

“What are we doing here?” Helen asked.

Milos put his forefinger to his lips and pointed down. “Shh! Listen!”

The confused, muted sound of conversation came from the story below. There was even a sudden burst of laughter.

“What’s going on?” Helen whispered.

All Milos said was, “Got my knife there?”

She handed it to him. He worked his way cautiously forward, eyes lowered, as if looking for something. When he reached the other side of the loft, he knelt down and signaled to Helen that he had found it and she could join him.

“Give me a light,” he said, handing her the flashlight, and with the point of his knife he made an incision about four inches long where one of the floorboards looked weaker than the others.

“Are you allowed knives in the boys’ school?” Helen marveled, crouching down beside him.

“If we did only what’s allowed,” said Milos with a smile, “I wouldn’t have a rope or a knife, and I certainly wouldn’t be here with you in the middle of the night.”

“When are you going to explain? I’ve earned the right to know, haven’t I?”

“Hang on a little longer. I’m nearly finished. If you like surprises, you won’t be disappointed.”

He worked away for several more minutes, removing tiny wood shavings. Then he opened another blade of his knife and used it as a lever. The floorboard groaned slightly and resisted, but then it gave way. Milos signaled to Helen to switch off the flashlight, and he slowly raised the oak board. At once the voices, barely audible a moment ago, could be heard clearly.

“You go first!” said Milos, inviting Helen to look down.

She lay flat on her stomach and placed her face against the narrow rectangle of light. What she saw seemed so unreal at first that she wondered if she was going out of her mind.

There were about fifty people. At the back of the large room stood a buffet laden with food and carafes of wine. Rows of chairs faced a platform with an oak table on it. The rows on the left of the central aisle seemed to be reserved for women, and Helen immediately spotted the Tank standing near the front row with her inseparable ally, Miss Merlute, beside her. Squeezed into a purple evening dress too tight for her beefy shoulders, the headmistress was smiling. Beside her, Miss Merlute wore an extraordinary structure like a helping of sauerkraut on her head, which was bobbing this way and that. Her nose could have been a sausage sticking out of the sauerkraut.

Behind her sat other familiar figures, although they were barely recognizable this evening: first the Skeleton, who had tried unsuccessfully to plump herself up with shoulder pads and other devices; Old Ma Crackpot, breasts swelling like mortar shells under a bottle-green outfit; Miss Mersch in her wheelchair, made up like a birthday cake and clutching a sparkly black evening bag in her white-gloved hands; and finally Miss Zesch as Helen had seen her emerge from her cubicle, but now further adorned by an improbable little yellow hat. Standing on his own near the buffet, the Skunk was fiddling with his cap while eyeing the wine carafes.

Helen almost burst out laughing. Then some men she didn’t know took their seats on the right of the aisle. Helen straightened up in astonishment. “Is this some kind of a fashion parade?”

“No, it’s the annual assembly of the staff of both boarding schools.”

“What sort of assembly? And how do you know all this?”

She had to wait a little longer. Fascinated by the spectacle below them, Milos was taking it all in. Sometimes he shook with silent, suppressed laughter. After a few minutes, he propped himself on his elbows and looked at Helen. The light coming up through the gap he had made in the loft floor faintly illuminated their hands and faces.

“Listen, Helen,” Milos whispered. “No other student at either school has ever seen what we’re seeing now. When I told you to go first, it was a historic privilege! Did you recognize the staff of your school?”

“Yes, they’re all there. And they’re all dressed up! Anyone would think they were crazy.”

“They are crazy. And the men are the staff of my school. Mad too in their own way.”

“Milos, you’re scaring me . . . and anyway, what are they all doing here together?”

“I told you: it’s their annual assembly, and it’s super-secret. They’re getting together to welcome a man called Van Vlyck. He’s a leading figure in the Phalange, one of its top security bosses, and in particular he’s in charge of boarding schools like ours. Apparently they’re all scared stiff of him. We’ll see.”

Alarmed, Helen lowered her voice even further. “What if they catch us? You said this was supersecret. You could have warned me!”

“They won’t catch us. No one ever catches me.”

“So why wouldn’t they catch you sometime in the future?”

“Because I’m lucky, see? Always have been.”

“Lucky? You expect me to be satisfied with that?”

“Yes, I do!”

Helen wanted to lose her temper with Milos, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. There was such confidence in his smile that she found herself believing what he said without the slightest doubt: no, they’d never be caught.

“Milos, you said boarding schools like ours. Meaning what?”

“Oh, there’s too much to explain all at once, Helen! I’ll tell you about it all later. That’s a promise.”

“OK, so why is this man Van Vlyck coming here?”

“To see if everything’s in order, I imagine. Checking up to make sure his lunatics are as crazy as ever. Wait a minute! Something seems to be happening down there. Your turn to have a look, and remember everything you see!”

Helen took up her observation post again. The men and women down below had risen to their feet to applaud the energetic entrance of a powerful man with a red beard, in a sheepskin-lined jacket so worn that it was shiny at the elbows. He certainly hadn’t gone to the trouble of putting on evening dress, and his muddy boots could have done with a good polishing. Two men, apparently under his orders, followed close behind him. He made straight for the platform, sat down on a chair, which disappeared under his large posterior, and didn’t even take off his jacket. Evidently he didn’t intend to stay long. With a gesture, he invited the Tank and a man who must be headmaster of the boys’ school to come and sit on either side of him. The Tank was preening like a fat goose as she joined him on the platform. The headmaster, with a flower in his button hole, looked equally proud. The newcomer’s two henchmen stationed themselves at the door and never moved from the spot.

“Ladies and gentleman, my dear colleagues . . .” There was total silence as Van Vlyck addressed them. His blazing eyes swept over the audience. “My dear colleagues, here we are again. As you know, I really enjoy these nocturnal meetings. They give us all a chance to get together every year, and . . .”

“Can you hear all right?” asked Helen, who was in the best position.

“Not great,” Milos admitted.

“Come on, if we shove up a bit . . .” She moved a little way until they were lying side by side, almost cheek to cheek. “Better?” whispered Helen.

“Perfect,” Milos replied.

“As tradition demands,” Van Vlyck went on, “we’ll begin by reviewing the months that have passed since my last visit. Let’s start with the girls’ school. It is my pleasure to convey the congratulations of the Phalange to the headmistress for the firm and rigorous hand with which she runs the establishment. She is confirmed in her post.”

The Tank murmured bashful thanks, but Van Vlyck gave her no time to luxuriate in these compliments.

“Congratulations also to the supervisory staff, in particular Miss Zesch and Miss Merlute, for their conscientious devotion to duty. Congratulations to Miss Mersch, the mathematics teacher, whose exemplary commitment . . .”

As these commendations were handed out, heads turned to those who were fortunate enough to have earned them and were practically swooning with self-satisfaction. Other staff members tried to smile, but jealousy distorted their faces. The Skeleton in particular tightened her lips and craned her scrawny chickenlike neck.

After dealing with the girls’ boarding school, Van Vlyck went on to take stock of the boys’ school just as rapidly and with the same indifference. Then he suddenly raised his voice.

“We are fighting a hard battle, my dear colleagues. A battle that calls for perseverance and determination. I want you all to know that you are supported in your efforts by the Phalange, which I have the honor of representing here. But I also want you to know that the slightest weakness on your part will be severely punished. For instance, as I am sure you are well aware, we regard allowing letters to pass into or out of the schools as a major misdemeanor . . .”

At the back of the hall, the Skunk made a face and kept his eyes on the toes of his shoes for the rest of the speech.

“Let me repeat this,” continued Van Vlyck. “If you ever doubt yourselves, if at any time you find yourselves beginning to feel some compassion for one of your charges, remember: these people are not like us!”

He emphasized this remark by tapping the table with his forefinger, and then went on, pale with anger.

“Secretly, these people despise you, and you must never forget it!”

“These people?” whispered Helen. “Who’s he talking about?”

“You and me,” Milos whispered back. “Listen . . .”

“They are a threat to our society, just as their parents were.”

Helen was trembling. “What’s he saying? Our parents? Milos, what does this mean?”

Milos moved a little closer still to her. “Shh. Hear him out.”

“We offer them the chance of reeducation in the establishments into which we have generously received them,” Van Vlyck was going on. “Our essential mission is to keep the bad seed from germinating. We must crush it underfoot, showing no pity. The rules are there to guide you in your task. They are not complicated; observe them and you will be safe. Forget them and the retribution will be severe. Finally, let me tell you, face-to-face, that the Phalange will tolerate no treachery.”

Having delivered these threats, Van Vlyck jutted out his powerful jaw, while an uneasy silence fell over his audience.

“And now I will take up no more of your time,” he concluded, clearly satisfied with the effect he had made. “I know there’s an excellent buffet supper waiting for you. If anyone has anything to say, speak up now. Otherwise I’ll close the meeting.”

He spread his arms, sure that no one would venture to raise any other subject, and he was about to conclude proceedings when something extraordinary happened.

The Skeleton, mortified by the lack of any special commendation for herself, rose from her chair, pale as a corpse and skinnier than ever.

“Mr. Van Vlyck,” she began in nervous but clipped tones, “if I may ask, have you been told that one of our students has run away?”

Van Vlyck, who had already been rising to his feet, slowly sat down again.

“Has . . . run away, Miss Fitzfischer? Really? Kindly explain.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Skeleton, overwhelmed to be mentioned by name. “I told the headmistress a week ago. The runaway is a girl in the fourth year.”

Van Vlyck turned slowly to the Tank, who changed color three times within a few seconds: her face went first white, then red, and ended up with a tinge of green.

“Yes, it’s true, Mr. Van Vlyck. But we instantly brought the rule for such cases into force. Another student is at present in the detention cell, and —”

“A week ago?” asked the incredulous Van Vlyck, articulating every syllable. “The girl ran away a week ago?”

“Yes, Mr. Van Vlyck,” babbled the Tank, suddenly sounding as nervous as a small child. “But I thought — I thought there wasn’t any point in —”

“In telling me?” Van Vlyck finished the sentence, with terrifying calm. “You thought, Headmistress, the re ‘wasn’t any point’ in telling me, is that correct?”

“Yes,” admitted the Tank as she bent her head, unable to utter another word.

“Miss Fitzfischer,” said Van Vlyck, turning back to the Skeleton, who was still on her feet, “what is the name of the young person who has run away, if you please?”

“Her name is Bach, sir. Milena Bach.”

“Milena Bach,” Van Vlyck slowly repeated, and it seemed to Helen that he had turned deathly pale.

She shivered. Even hearing her friend’s name spoken by this ogre made her feel as if he almost had Milena in his dirty hands already.

“And what’s she like?” he went on. “I mean, describe her physical appearance.”

“She’s quite tall, a very pretty girl . . .”

“Her hair, please. What color is her hair?”

“Light — light brown,” stammered the Tank, in a faint voice, although he had not been asking her.

“Light brown?” asked Van Vlyck, surprised.

“Oh no, she’s blond, sir,” the Skeleton corrected the headmistress. “Very blond.”

The Tank found the strength to raise her head and look at the woman who had watched over the gate of her school for twenty-five years, and the glance the two of them exchanged was pure poison. There was silence while Van Vlyck passed his hands over his face at some length, as if to wipe mud off it.

“This girl,” he went on at last in a very low voice. “Miss Fitzfischer, does this girl have any . . . any special talent or quality?”

“Yes,” replied the Skeleton, relishing what she was about to say in advance.

“And . . . and what is this special quality, please?”

“She has a very fine singing voice, sir.”

There was a long and oppressive silence.

“One final question, Miss Fitzfischer,” said Van Vlyck at last, “and then I shall be able to offer you the thanks and congratulations that are your due. Did this girl run away on her own?”

The headmaster of the boys’ school, sitting on Van Vlyck’s left, had already been wringing his hands for some time. The prospect of having to confess to the same dereliction of duty as the Tank turned his stomach.

“It so happens . . . Mr. Van Vlyck . . . it so happens that, unfortunately, our own institution has also had a similar —”

“What’s the boy’s name?” Van Vlyck interrupted him forcefully.

“His name is Bartolomeo Casal, sir, and —”

He never finished his sentence. Van Vlyck had appeared to keep calm until now, but at this he closed his eyes, his chest swelled, and he did something no one would have thought possible: he raised his enormous, hairy fist, brought it down on the oak table where he was sitting, and broke the top of the table in two. The dreadful cry he uttered at the same time froze his audience with horror.

“Someone tell Mills!” he shouted, beside himself. “Someone take Mills and his Devils an item of clothing, a handkerchief, a shoe — something, anything carrying the scent of those two vermin!”

“Milos,” gasped Helen, terrified, “what are they going to do to them? I don’t understand any of this. Explain.”

The two of them straightened up, kneeling face-to-face. Milos opened his arms, and Helen, on the brink of tears, flung herself into them.

“Oh, Milos, this is a nightmare.”

They heard chairs being overturned down below, and the sound of running feet.

“Get out of here!” bawled Van Vlyck hoarsely. “Get out, all of you, before I murder you!”

The racket died away, and ended with a door slamming violently. Helen looked down through the hole in the floorboards one last time. No one had stopped to put the lights out, and the hall was silent and empty again. Empty except for the Skunk, the only one left, still beside the buffet table with his cap on a chair beside him. He poured himself a glass of white wine, sipped it, clicked his tongue appreciatively, put the glass down, and began making himself a ham sandwich.