Fatal Lies

46

It was the dead of night. A thick mist had descended into the valley, and the four boys had to consult a compass to find their way. They assiduously avoided footpaths, and as a result their progress was slow. The ground was muddy and treacherous-an adhesive mulch that made each step effortful. Boggy hollows were brimming with ice-cold filthy water that filled their boots and soaked their trousers. Sometimes the trees would grow closer together, and the spaces between would become congested with prickly leafless bushes. Then the boys were unable to move forward, and had to retrace their steps and find some other way.

Wolf led the group. He carried a paraffin lamp, the light of which barely mitigated the darkness. Freitag followed, carrying a shovel, and straggling behind, striving to keep up, were Drexler and Steininger, each grasping the corners of a large, sagging jute sack.

Suddenly, Wolf raised his arm. The others stopped.

“What is it?” whispered Freitag.

Wolf beat the air with his hand, a burst of quick downward movements indicating that the others should be quiet.

The boys froze, and listened intently. Wolf lowered the wick of his lamp, and attempted to peer through the opaque veils of turbid brume. Something scampered away, and Wolf sighed with relief. He consulted the compass again and pointed slightly to the left.

“Wolf,” said Steininger. “Wolf, I can't go on.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“It's too heavy. Let's do it here… There's no need to go any farther, surely.”

“Freitag, you take over.”

“No, Wolf, I'm exhausted. Drexler can carry it on his own-it's all his fault.”

“It is not my fault!” said Drexler angrily. “If you hadn't insisted on playing your stupid games!”

“I said keep your voices down!” said Wolf.

“Really, Wolf,” said Steininger, dropping his end of the sack. It landed with a dull thud. “We've been walking for hours. We don't need to go any farther.”

“And we have to get back, remember,” said Freitag.

“And what about our uniforms?” said Steininger. “We can't arrive for drill practice looking like this! We'll need time to get them cleaned up.”

“I'll wake Stojakovic,” said Wolf.

“No,” said Drexler. “We can't involve anybody else! Not tonight.”

Wolf paced around the circle of trees in which they were standing. He then tested the ground with his foot, kicking up some turf.

“It's not too hard,” he said.

“Then let's get started,” said Steininger, snatching Freitag's shovel and driving its pointed blade into the earth.

Drexler leaned against the nearest trunk and rested his forehead on his coat sleeve. His moment of repose was at once disturbed when he opened his eyes and observed in the contours of the bark a peculiar arrangement of knots, whorls, and ridges that suggested the lineaments of a human face-an old, deeply lined face, with bushy eyebrows and a long wavy beard. The sad eyes were full of anguish. It was as if some unfortunate soul had been magically incarcerated in the timber. The image reminded Drexler of the fantastic stories of E.T.A. Hoffmann. The boy drew back-and felt a freakish chill that made him shiver.

“How deep should the trench be?” asked Steininger.

“How should I know?” Wolf answered irritably.

“But what if animals…”

“Dig him up?”

“Well, yes.”

“What animals?”

“I don't know, but it's possible, isn't it?”

“All right,” said Wolf, glaring. “Make it deeper!”

Drexler looked over at the abandoned sack and considered its contents. He felt a wave of pity and regret. The swell of emotion that made his eyes burn was only just containable, but his self-control gave him no satisfaction. He knew that this was just the beginning. There would be worse to come: guilt, nightmares, and various forms of mental torture. The terrible millstone of his secret would weigh heavily on his conscience for the rest of his life, and would eventually drag him down to the depths of hell. He had never believed in such a place before, but now it all seemed quite plausible.

He turned away and stared into the darkness.

Steininger's digging was creating a hypnotic rhythm: the crunch of the blade penetrating the soil-a heave of effort-and then the dull rain of soil on leaves. Its regularity was comforting and lulled Drexler into a kind of trance. Once or twice, he noticed discontinuities of consciousness: he was so tired that he must have nodded off…

Freitag gasped: a sudden intake of breath, cut short and invested with the rising pitch of surprise.

Steininger stopped digging.

An owl hooted.

“What is it?”

“I thought… I thought I saw something move. Over there.”

“What?”

Freitag's voice shook. “It was big, like a bear.”

“Don't be so ridiculous,” said Wolf. “If it was a bear, we'd soon know about it!”

“I didn't say it was a bear-I said it was like a bear. Really, I did see something. Something big.”

“Pull yourself together, Freitag,” Wolf commanded.

Freitag shook his head. “I'm going. I don't like it here.”

Wolf grabbed his arm. “Look, it's just your imagination! There's nothing out there!”

He gestured between the trees and raised his lamp. Nothing was visible, except the restless mist.

Freitag swallowed-subdued by the steel in Wolf's eyes.

“Yes…” Freitag smiled-somewhat desperately. “Yes… of course. My imagination.”

“Don't be a fool, Freitag,” said Wolf, releasing his grip.

Drexler said nothing, but his heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He had seen something too-exactly as Freitag had said: something large and lumbering-big-like a bear. He marched over to Steininger.

“Give me the shovel. You're too slow, Steininger. Let's finish this business and get away from this awful place.”