Leinsdorf. “We can’t stay on this road too late.”
“Ich bin hungrig,”
said Preuss, the first words he’d uttered since Elsenborn.
“I didn’t hear that,” snapped Von Leinsdorf.
“I have hungry,” said Preuss.
“I
am
hungry,” said Bernie, correcting him.
“Yes. Me also,” said Preuss.
“Speak German again,” said Von Leinsdorf, “and I’ll feed you your own leg.”
Von Leinsdorf scanned the buildings as they continued through the encroaching fog. A lettered sign in the shape of an oversized pink pig loomed out of the mist on the right. Von Leinsdorf told Bernie to pull over beside the butcher’s shop beneath it. Preuss looked up at the sign and his mood brightened.
“We eat now,” he said.
Von Leinsdorf banged on the front door. Bernie peered through the front display window. A massive shape carrying a lantern appeared inside and moved behind the door.
“We close,” said a woman’s voice.
“Das Phoenix steigt. Der Pfeil fliegt,”
said Von Leinsdorf.
The Phoenix rises. The Arrow flies.
The woman shuffled to the window and held up the lantern to look at them. She stood over six feet tall, wrapped in a cheap house coat. Bernie shrank back on instinct as she appeared in the light.
Her enormous head looked oblong, misshapen, and her skin was flushed with ragged scarlet patches—a peasant’s face, absent a healthy glow of outdoor labor. Bright, small eyes peered out from beneath a thick ridge of simian bone. A fringe of lank, mousy brown hair hung down in greasy clumps. Her tongue darted out between thick sensual lips as she sized them up. With a sidestep she vanished again, and the door opened.
“Gekommen
,
”
she said.
“Park the jeep around back,” said Von Leinsdorf to Bernie.
Von Leinsdorf and Preuss followed her into the shop. A smell of onions and fried meat wafted off her. With every step waves of cascading fat shimmied down her upper back. She led them through a storeroom behind the sales counter, into a small abattoir with a stained concrete floor. Two bare bulbs provided the only light. A butchered animal carcass hung from a steel hook suspended on a chain connected to a bolt in the ceiling. Judging by the shape, Von Leinsdorf thought it might be a dog. A sharp scent of blood and offal thickened the air. The woman turned sideways to wedge her girth behind the cutting block. She opened a hidden hatch in the wall, then slid out a small shelf revealing a crystal wireless shortwave radio.
“Für zu verwendende Sie,”
she said to Leinsdorf.
“Please, fräulein, may we speak English?” asked Von Leinsdorf, indicating Preuss. “My friend needs the practice.”
“The
Amis
come here, but never find this radio,” she said. “I speak with my contact every day. They tell me you come.”
“Good; that’s what they were supposed to do. The
Abwehr
was also supposed to leave a package for us here. Do you have it with you?”
“No package. No one comes.”
“Did they contact you about it?”
“No. No
Abwehr
comes. The
Amis
take all the food, from all the village. They leave me nothing.” She picked up a large meat cleaver from an array of cutting instruments on the chopping block, which was covered with a mass of some half-minced internal organ. “They don’t tell me you dress like the
Amis
.”
The cleaver posed both a question and a threat. Von Leinsdorf tried to keep her focused on him, and not Preuss.
“And you mustn’t tell anyone either, fräulein,” said Von Leinsdorf, turning on an authoritative charm. “It is fräulein, isn’t it?”
The big woman blushed, the scarlet patches on her cheeks glowing like embers. “Frau. Frau Escher.”
Bernie entered the house through the back after parking the jeep and came face to face with Frau Escher, clutching the meat cleaver.
“Whoa, what the fuck,” said Bernie.
Von Leinsdorf signaled Bernie to stay calm. “What is your Christian name, my dear?”
“Lisolette,” she said, smiling
“Ich bin hungrig,”
said Preuss, the first words he’d uttered since Elsenborn.
“I didn’t hear that,” snapped Von Leinsdorf.
“I have hungry,” said Preuss.
“I
am
hungry,” said Bernie, correcting him.
“Yes. Me also,” said Preuss.
“Speak German again,” said Von Leinsdorf, “and I’ll feed you your own leg.”
Von Leinsdorf scanned the buildings as they continued through the encroaching fog. A lettered sign in the shape of an oversized pink pig loomed out of the mist on the right. Von Leinsdorf told Bernie to pull over beside the butcher’s shop beneath it. Preuss looked up at the sign and his mood brightened.
“We eat now,” he said.
Von Leinsdorf banged on the front door. Bernie peered through the front display window. A massive shape carrying a lantern appeared inside and moved behind the door.
“We close,” said a woman’s voice.
“Das Phoenix steigt. Der Pfeil fliegt,”
said Von Leinsdorf.
The Phoenix rises. The Arrow flies.
The woman shuffled to the window and held up the lantern to look at them. She stood over six feet tall, wrapped in a cheap house coat. Bernie shrank back on instinct as she appeared in the light.
Her enormous head looked oblong, misshapen, and her skin was flushed with ragged scarlet patches—a peasant’s face, absent a healthy glow of outdoor labor. Bright, small eyes peered out from beneath a thick ridge of simian bone. A fringe of lank, mousy brown hair hung down in greasy clumps. Her tongue darted out between thick sensual lips as she sized them up. With a sidestep she vanished again, and the door opened.
“Gekommen
,
”
she said.
“Park the jeep around back,” said Von Leinsdorf to Bernie.
Von Leinsdorf and Preuss followed her into the shop. A smell of onions and fried meat wafted off her. With every step waves of cascading fat shimmied down her upper back. She led them through a storeroom behind the sales counter, into a small abattoir with a stained concrete floor. Two bare bulbs provided the only light. A butchered animal carcass hung from a steel hook suspended on a chain connected to a bolt in the ceiling. Judging by the shape, Von Leinsdorf thought it might be a dog. A sharp scent of blood and offal thickened the air. The woman turned sideways to wedge her girth behind the cutting block. She opened a hidden hatch in the wall, then slid out a small shelf revealing a crystal wireless shortwave radio.
“Für zu verwendende Sie,”
she said to Leinsdorf.
“Please, fräulein, may we speak English?” asked Von Leinsdorf, indicating Preuss. “My friend needs the practice.”
“The
Amis
come here, but never find this radio,” she said. “I speak with my contact every day. They tell me you come.”
“Good; that’s what they were supposed to do. The
Abwehr
was also supposed to leave a package for us here. Do you have it with you?”
“No package. No one comes.”
“Did they contact you about it?”
“No. No
Abwehr
comes. The
Amis
take all the food, from all the village. They leave me nothing.” She picked up a large meat cleaver from an array of cutting instruments on the chopping block, which was covered with a mass of some half-minced internal organ. “They don’t tell me you dress like the
Amis
.”
The cleaver posed both a question and a threat. Von Leinsdorf tried to keep her focused on him, and not Preuss.
“And you mustn’t tell anyone either, fräulein,” said Von Leinsdorf, turning on an authoritative charm. “It is fräulein, isn’t it?”
The big woman blushed, the scarlet patches on her cheeks glowing like embers. “Frau. Frau Escher.”
Bernie entered the house through the back after parking the jeep and came face to face with Frau Escher, clutching the meat cleaver.
“Whoa, what the fuck,” said Bernie.
Von Leinsdorf signaled Bernie to stay calm. “What is your Christian name, my dear?”
“Lisolette,” she said, smiling
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