day. Are we ready?’
A few of the men tossed their cigars on the ground and stamped them out. Everyone had his own method of preparing for the hunt.
Ditlev smiled. This was the ruling class at its best: merciless and selfish – by the book.
‘Yes, normally the two chosen riflemen share the kill,’he said, ‘but that’s up to the one who downs the animal. If Ulrik bags the trophy, we all know what will happen.’ All of them laughed, except for Ulrik. Whether it was shares of stock, women or boars released in the wild, Ulrik shared with no one. They knew him.
Ditlev leaned over and picked up two rifle cases. ‘Look,’ he said, dragging the rifles into the morning light. ‘I’ve taken our old Sauer Classics back to Hunter’s House so we can try these two small wonders.’ He raised one Sauer Elegance rifle above his head. ‘They’re broken in, and they’re damn lovely to hold. You can look forward to it!’
He thrust out the bundle of sticks, ignoring the heated exchange taking place between the Hjorths, and gave the two lucky winners the rifles.
Torsten was one. He seemed agitated, but Ditlev knew it was hardly because of the hunt. This was something they would have to discuss afterwards.
‘Torsten has done this before, but not Saxenholdt, so congratulations are in order.’ He nodded at the young man and raised his hip flask to him along with the others. With his cravat and pomaded hair, Saxenholdt was a real boarding-school lad, and would be until his dying day. ‘You two are the only ones who may shoot at today’s special game, so it’s your responsibility to see to it that it is done properly. Remember to keep firing until the animal is no longer moving. And remember that whoever downs it receives the prize ...’
He took a step back and removed an envelope from his inner coat pocket.
‘The deeds to a fine little three-bedroom flat in Berlin with a view of the landing strips at Tempelhof Airport.But don’t worry, the airport will be gone soon, and you’ll have the pier right under your window.’ When the men began clapping, he smiled. His wife had pestered him for months to buy that damned flat, but had she bothered to visit it even once? Hell, no. Not even with her bastard lover. Now was his chance to rid himself of it.
‘My wife is leaving, Ditlev, but I’m taking the dog with me,’ a voice behind him said. Ditlev turned and looked directly into Hjorth’s stubborn visage. Clearly, he was trying to negotiate so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Ditlev glanced over his shoulder, catching Torsten’s eye for a split second. No one overruled Ditlev Pram. If he told a man he couldn’t take his dog with him, then that man would have to suffer the consequences of disobeying.
‘You insist on taking the dog along, Hjorth? OK, then,’ Ditlev said, avoiding Hjorth’s wife’s stare.
He didn’t care to argue with the bitch. This was exclusively between him and Thelma.
When they reached the clearing at the top of the hill, the smell of humus from the undergrowth decreased. Fifty yards below was a little fog-enshrouded grove, and behind it a thicket extended all the way to a dense forest, which lay like a wide sea before them. It was a magnificent sight.
‘Everyone spread out a little,’ Ditlev said, and nodded with satisfaction when there were seven or eight yards between each of them.
The noise of the beaters in the grove wasn’t loud enough yet. Just a few of the released pheasants had taken flight before softly gliding back into the undergrowth. The footfalls of the hunters near Ditlev were muted butexpectant. Some of the men were thoroughly addicted to the kick they got out there in the morning fog. Squeezing the trigger could satisfy them for days. They earned millions, but it was the killing that made them feel alive.
Young Saxenholdt, pale with agitation, walked at Ditlev’s side. His father had been the same, back when he was a regular participant in the hunts. The son walked
A few of the men tossed their cigars on the ground and stamped them out. Everyone had his own method of preparing for the hunt.
Ditlev smiled. This was the ruling class at its best: merciless and selfish – by the book.
‘Yes, normally the two chosen riflemen share the kill,’he said, ‘but that’s up to the one who downs the animal. If Ulrik bags the trophy, we all know what will happen.’ All of them laughed, except for Ulrik. Whether it was shares of stock, women or boars released in the wild, Ulrik shared with no one. They knew him.
Ditlev leaned over and picked up two rifle cases. ‘Look,’ he said, dragging the rifles into the morning light. ‘I’ve taken our old Sauer Classics back to Hunter’s House so we can try these two small wonders.’ He raised one Sauer Elegance rifle above his head. ‘They’re broken in, and they’re damn lovely to hold. You can look forward to it!’
He thrust out the bundle of sticks, ignoring the heated exchange taking place between the Hjorths, and gave the two lucky winners the rifles.
Torsten was one. He seemed agitated, but Ditlev knew it was hardly because of the hunt. This was something they would have to discuss afterwards.
‘Torsten has done this before, but not Saxenholdt, so congratulations are in order.’ He nodded at the young man and raised his hip flask to him along with the others. With his cravat and pomaded hair, Saxenholdt was a real boarding-school lad, and would be until his dying day. ‘You two are the only ones who may shoot at today’s special game, so it’s your responsibility to see to it that it is done properly. Remember to keep firing until the animal is no longer moving. And remember that whoever downs it receives the prize ...’
He took a step back and removed an envelope from his inner coat pocket.
‘The deeds to a fine little three-bedroom flat in Berlin with a view of the landing strips at Tempelhof Airport.But don’t worry, the airport will be gone soon, and you’ll have the pier right under your window.’ When the men began clapping, he smiled. His wife had pestered him for months to buy that damned flat, but had she bothered to visit it even once? Hell, no. Not even with her bastard lover. Now was his chance to rid himself of it.
‘My wife is leaving, Ditlev, but I’m taking the dog with me,’ a voice behind him said. Ditlev turned and looked directly into Hjorth’s stubborn visage. Clearly, he was trying to negotiate so that he wouldn’t lose face.
Ditlev glanced over his shoulder, catching Torsten’s eye for a split second. No one overruled Ditlev Pram. If he told a man he couldn’t take his dog with him, then that man would have to suffer the consequences of disobeying.
‘You insist on taking the dog along, Hjorth? OK, then,’ Ditlev said, avoiding Hjorth’s wife’s stare.
He didn’t care to argue with the bitch. This was exclusively between him and Thelma.
When they reached the clearing at the top of the hill, the smell of humus from the undergrowth decreased. Fifty yards below was a little fog-enshrouded grove, and behind it a thicket extended all the way to a dense forest, which lay like a wide sea before them. It was a magnificent sight.
‘Everyone spread out a little,’ Ditlev said, and nodded with satisfaction when there were seven or eight yards between each of them.
The noise of the beaters in the grove wasn’t loud enough yet. Just a few of the released pheasants had taken flight before softly gliding back into the undergrowth. The footfalls of the hunters near Ditlev were muted butexpectant. Some of the men were thoroughly addicted to the kick they got out there in the morning fog. Squeezing the trigger could satisfy them for days. They earned millions, but it was the killing that made them feel alive.
Young Saxenholdt, pale with agitation, walked at Ditlev’s side. His father had been the same, back when he was a regular participant in the hunts. The son walked
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