The Memorist

Chapter 29

Vienna, Austria

Monday, April 28^th-10:15 a.m.

Outside the Dorotheum auction house the next morning, the armed uniformed guards controlled the snaking line of potential bidders and curiosity seekers waiting to see the “Beethoven Gaming Box,” as the press had dubbed it. Meer gave her name to one of the guards and was allowed to bypass the line and go right inside, which was a relief because not having slept well for the second night in a row, she was overtired and didn’t feel well. Didn’t feel like herself. When she’d been getting dressed and glimpsed herself in the mirror it had been like staring at a stranger. She wasn’t connected to the woman who looked back at her with pained, haunted eyes. Except Meer knew it wasn’t possible for her to be feeling the desperation and sorrow of a woman who’d lived over two hundred years before.

The lobby was crowded and Meer had to wade through the mass of people. “Your name will be with the guards outside and I’ll be waiting for you in the main viewing room,” her father had told her the night before when he’d called from Switzerland. He’d stayed on later than he’d expected because sadly, Dr. Smettering had died. Now there were two murders being investigated.

Meer walked among chairs, couches, armoires and tables covered with small objets d’art, and strained to find her father’s head over the crowd. As a little girl, his towering height reassured her she could never get lost. Or at least any more lost than she already was.

When she finally spotted him, he was gesticulating toward a display case with a graceful sweep of his hand and lecturing to a circle of people who appeared absorbed by his words. His hair looked grayer than she remembered and there were inky shadows under his eyes. How old was he? She had to think. Sixty-six? No, a year older. She felt a throb of anxiety deep in the pit of her stomach. Her mother died before she turned sixty. But her father was healthy. Of course he’d look worn out…the last forty-eight hours had been filled with trauma.

She leaned against the wall, not wanting to approach him with the group there or see the gaming box for the first time with a dozen strangers looking on. Or was it for the first time?

Einstein once said he believed it was possible to occupy two spaces at the same time but in different dimensions. Her father had tried to use the quote to counter Meer’s arguments against reincarnation. At the time she hadn’t been swayed even though the scientist, who had loved music and studied violin and been so sensitive to the wonders of the universe, was one of her heroes.

Now, she rethought the concept. Since she’d wiped her feet on a doormat that wasn’t there but that she had seen as clearly as her own feet, Meer’s concept about her false memories had developed its first crack. Nothing in all her learning about memory and reality could explain that one small action.

Did Einstein’s theory also mean there could be a transfer of consciousness from one material form to another? From a human in one time zone to another human in a different time zone?

“Hello.” Sebastian sidled up to her and tilted his head toward where her father was still holding court. “Have you seen it yet?”

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” Meer said, feeling a curious mixture of pleasure and anxiety.

“I don’t have a rehearsal till this afternoon and I didn’t want to miss a chance to view a true Beethoven relic.”

“It appears you weren’t alone.” She gestured toward the crowd.

“This is a major discovery. Everyone’s curiosity is aroused. Especially because of Antonie Brentano. It’s not just music, it’s love.” He offered a warm smile that shouldn’t have disturbed her but did.

“Before I forget,” Sebastian said, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white envelope, “these are my house seats for a private concert being given on Thursday night. I’d like you and your father to come. While you’re here you should see Vienna all dressed up at least once. She’s quite amazing.”

“Thank you. What’s the event?”

“A gala performance for an international association of top-level security firms with dignitaries and government officials coming from all over the world.”

Taking the envelope from him, she slipped it into her bag.

“You and your father will need to stop by the hall in advance and have your pictures taken and your passports scanned to activate the tickets. The security for the event is staggering.”

“What will you be performing?”

“The Eroica.”

“So you’ll have a solo in the third movement?”

He nodded.

“My father loves that symphony, he’ll be thrilled.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

She was about to say that she wanted to see the box without a crowd around her but didn’t. First, thinking he wouldn’t understand, then afraid he’d understand too well and that disturbed her more. Meer heard her name.

“Meer, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Her father took her in his arms. She felt the familiar rub of his cashmere jacket on her cheek and smelled the ever-present verbena cologne. With him holding her a beat too long, she wondered if he was offering solace or taking it.

Turning to Sebastian, her father shook his hand. “It was a real comfort to know you were taking such care of my daughter. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’m sorry about both your friend and your housekeeper.”

“Two useless deaths.” Jeremy shook his head. “The funeral for Ruth is this afternoon. Karl will be cremated.” Checking his watch, he frowned. “Has been cremated. Both gone, and for what?” Jeremy was quiet for a few seconds, despite the cacophony all around them. Meer wondered if her father was praying. Like her mother, Meer was always astonished when she glimpsed the depth of his spirituality. It never seemed to fit the brave adventurer who traveled to faraway places, tunneled behind the Iron Curtain when it still existed, was shot at and recovered treasures. But today he seemed ordinary and almost frail. Someone who needed his faith.

“I’d like to go to Ruth’s funeral with you,” Meer said.

Jeremy smiled sadly. “Thank you, sweetheart, but it’s not necessary.”

“I have a rehearsal this afternoon or I would-”

Jeremy interrupted. “No need to explain, Sebastian. You’ve done enough.” Straightening up, he threw back his shoulders as if he was shaking off the melancholy, and the powerful man Meer remembered reemerged. “Now,” he said, looking at his daughter. “Are you ready to see your box?”

As Jeremy ushered them through the crowd he explained this was supposed to have been a minor auction, but between finding the Beethoven letter and the robbery it had turned into a media circus.

“I’ve arranged for tighter security and am moving the auction itself to a larger venue on Wednesday. We should have moved the viewing to another room, too.” Finding a group congregated in front of the exhibition case, Jeremy subtly made room for Meer and Sebastian to step up to the plinth.

In the showcase, the gleaming wooden box was open, revealing the velvet-lined compartments holding various gaming pieces and decks of cards. A mirror allowed the viewer to also see the box’s elaborate top. Meer fixated on what she saw in that mirror: a silver oval with fancy etched scrollwork, flowers, birds, the initial B.

Yes, she’d seen all this in Malachai’s office in the catalog photo but that had been a facsimile, not the three-dimensional manifestation of her imagination. She stared at it hoping the real box would help her remember when she’d seen it before. Not in some past life, as her father and Malachai suggested, but at some prior point in her own life.

But nothing came to mind. Her only reaction was to notice that the decks of cards were similar to a pack in Malachai’s collection. When she was a child she always asked for that deck as soon as she arrived and played with it during her sessions. There was even a game that she’d made up with those cards. What was it?

Using a key on a very full ring, Jeremy unlocked the cabinet. “Let’s take this to a private viewing room so you can have some time alone with it.”

As he began removing the box, Meer stepped up and, almost in a trance, reached out for a deck of cards and then started searching through it. Unaware of the room around her, she was only conscious of the stiff cards in her fingers as she counted the hearts in the deck, checking they were all there and that there were no duplicates. This was the same game she played with Malachai’s cards.

“Meer, wait till we get into a private viewing room,” Jeremy insisted.

A loud, intimidating ringing ripped the moment apart.

“Was ist das?” she asked her father, frightened by the noise, not even realizing she’d asked in a language she didn’t speak.

“The fire alarm,” Jeremy shouted over the noise. “Probably a glitch. It happens-”

The smoke came quickly; billowing clouds rising upward and outward, reaching out for her. For all of them. The alarm continued shrieking. Jeremy was coughing. Meer’s eyes stung. Then she was coughing too. Unexpectedly, tears came to her eyes and spilled over. People were screaming and the alarm bells continued shrieking. In the chaos, someone ran past and pushed her. Losing her balance, Meer put out her hands, trying to feel for support, but there was nothing to hold on to and she went down, hitting her shoulder on the edge of the showcase. A crack of pain shot through her and its intensity, mixed with the voluminous acrid smoke, made her gag.

She knew she might be hurt but couldn’t worry about that now…had to save the box…needed to get up and find it and protect it from the fire. Groping blindly she found the edge of the pedestal and grasped it, prepared to feel it burning hot but it was cool. How could that be if there was a fire?

That’s when she realized there was no heat and no smell of a fire either. She didn’t have time to try to understand. All that mattered was keeping the box safe because she was certain it held the clues to where the memory flute was and she needed it to save her husband. Somewhere, sick and alone, Caspar counted on her. Thrusting her hands down into the case she felt for the box. Right. Then left. The case wasn’t that big. There was nothing in it.

The wind and the rain were so loud but she could hear a man was calling out to her, shouting at her to stop. Except she couldn’t. Her horse responded to the pull of the reins and took off, galloping. The woods were deep here and he’d have trouble following her. He was a brilliant horseman but she had the advantage; even in the rainstorm she knew these woods, he didn’t. Then the sound of a gunshot rang out.

No, it was not a gun, only the fire alarm. What was going on? The smoke was clearing but her eyes were still tearing and it was hard for her to see clearly. Then the outlines and shapes started to turn into people and furniture. Furniture? People? Where were the woods? She’d been riding in the woods trying to get away from terrible, imminent danger, trying to save the box.

“Are you all right?” It was her father helping her up, his face wet with tears.

“Do you have the box?” she shouted over the noise.

Before he could answer, one of the guards rushed over, yelling loudly. The man’s face was flushed and his cheeks were wet with tears, too. Every second more smoke cleared, revealing other guards helping people who’d fallen and ushering them out of the room. Everywhere pieces of furniture were overturned and objets d’art lay broken on the floor.

“What are they saying?” Meer shouted. Even in her own ears, her voice sounded hysterical.

“There was no fire, it was tear gas,” her father said. “This…all of this…must have been a staged distraction.”

Meer grabbed his arm. “What happened to the gaming box?”

“It’s gone.”