A Novel
Translated from the original German version by
Vernon D. Cook
Dedicatory
Prelude
1. Chapter
2. Chapter
3. Chapter
4. Chapter
5. Chapter
6. Chapter
7. Chapter
8. Chapter
9. Chapter
10. Chapter
11. Chapter
12. Chapter
13. Chapter
14. Chapter
15. Chapter
16. Chapter
17. Chapter
18. Chapter
19. Chapter
20. Chapter
21. Chapter
22. Chapter
23. Chapter
24. Chapter
25. Chapter
26. Chapter
27. Chapter
28. Chapter
29. Chapter
30. Chapter
31. Chapter
32. Chapter
33. Chapter
34. Chapter
35. Chapter
36. Chapter
37. Chapter
Acknowledgements
Author
About this book
To my parents, Hildburg und Manfred,
whose love of nature deeply influenced me.
Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep,
mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke
he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not.
Then sang on her head that seemly blade
its war-song wild. But the warrior found
the light-of-battle was loath to bite,
to harm the heart: its hard edge failed
the noble at need, yet had known of old
From: Beowulf
(Translation from Old English)
Thursday, February 4th
The Congo Rain Forest
A nameless eternity.
A world of jade.
A forgotten kingdom full of wonders.
The jungle covered the land like a festering, steaming ocean of chlorophyll, sluggishly beating against the shores of time, yet ready to absorb the light of the sun that was rising above the horizon. A new morning was spilling over the treetops, driving the darkness into the depths of the jungle.
With the light came the voices. The shrieks of gray parrots, the chattering of chimpanzees and the chirping of birds. Splashes of color rose out of the protective canopy to catch the first rays of light. Swallowtail, peacock and monarch butterflies circled each other in the heavy scent of the flowers, dancing a dizzying, intoxicating dance, interrupted only by the occasional appearance of a lily-breasted roller which, after a brief flash of its steel-blue plumage, would disappear again into the darkness with a beak full of food for its every-hungry brood.
Daylight would soon arrive in the depths of the jungle where it had been raining all night. The morning mist hung amidst the mighty trunks of the giants of the jungle like a fallen cloud, absorbing every sound.
Egomo ran nimbly over the ground, which was covered in an ankle-deep layer of semi-decomposed plant material. The ground was soft and bounced with every step. The Pygmy warrior ran so swiftly that one could almost imagine he was an antelope. He slipped through the twilight, dodging thorny undergrowth and diving under tall roots. The drops of sweat on his skin sparkled like crystals in the first light of morning.
Egomo, a member of the Bayaka tribe, had left the simple grass huts of his village early that morning and plunged into the rain forest. The purpose of his hunt was to find the dwarf elephant, a mysterious creature that everyone, except himself, believed to be mere fantasy.
Some said it was just a young doli, which is what the Bayaka called the shy forest elephants. But he refused to listen to their talk. He knew that the dwarf elephant was not a fantasy, and he was sure he knew where to look for it.
He made his way through the thicket with springy steps. Somewhere over the horizon the sun had risen, but down here in the realm of eternal twilight there was only silence.
Egomo was the only one of this tribe who claimed to have seen the dwarf elephant, but it had been three years since he had stood face-to-face with the shy inhabitant of the marsh forests. Since then, not a day had passed without his mentioning it or thinking about it. His story had caused great skepticism, but also great curiosity. Even the experienced hunters listened spellbound to his words and he had to retell the fateful encounter again and again. The mud-covered dwarf elephant had stood only a few meters away from him, half hidden in the meter-high marsh grass surrounding Lac Télé. The alert beast had noticed Egomo at once, but had lingered a few more seconds before vanishing into the water with a snort. Perhaps the reason only Egomo had ever seen the elephant was that none of his people had ever ventured so near the accursed lake. Lac Télé lay in the forbidden zone where it was rumored that a monster lived where it waited, deep down on the bottom of the lake, for some careless person to venture too close to the mirror-like surface of the water so that it could grab them and pull them into the verdant depths. Although no one had even seen this creature before, all the Pygmies within a radius of a thousand kilometers knew of the myth of Mokéle m’Bembé which, according to legend, was so enormous that it could hold back entire rivers. Rumors persisted that one of the monsters had been killed over thirty years ago. But by whom, no one knew. Nor did anyone know what had been done with the carcass. If you asked for details, you were told that they had heard it from a friend of a friend of a distant relative, who was most likely no longer alive. That was how it always was with such stories.
Egomo paused and looked up in order to get his bearings. He did not believe in the existence of the monster. He was convinced that the story had been made up in order to frighten small children into obeying their parents. On the other hand, the dwarf elephant really did exist, and so did Lac Télé. Just how closely Egomo’s fate was linked to the lake had become apparent the day a white woman came to his village along with some companions. That had probably been six or seven months ago. She had heard from neighboring tribes that he was the only one who dared to venture into the forbidden zone. She had praised him for his bravery and began showering him with presents in order to learn about the lake and its secrets. But after a while, her curiosity had begun to annoy him, so he publicly proposed to her and the flattery stopped. But in the meantime, his reputation among the villagers grew considerably. It wasn’t that he had thought there was ever a chance this woman would marry him. Rather, he had only wanted to make Kalema jealous, and that, he believed, he had achieved. Of course, she did not show it. But on one or two occasions he had caught her looking at him longingly. He knew then that she was as in love with him as he was with her. Now all he needed to do to win her over was a little time and some luck with his hunting. Egomo was determined to kill the dwarf elephant and return to the village with the dead animal. And if he couldn’t bring the entire animal back, he would at least bring the head, a foot or a tusk. The main thing was to bring back some kind of trophy.
What had happened to the white woman, he didn’t know. She had disappeared about a week ago. It was said that she had gone to Lac Télé, but he had not seen or heard from her since.
Egomo heard a deep, rumbling roar echo through the jungle and he stopped dead in his tracks and looked up. He had never heard anything like it before. It didn’t sound like a hippo, water buffalo or any of the other strange big animals. This sounded like something different, almost unearthly.
Even the sounds of the other forest dwellers suddenly ceased. It was as if the jungle had suddenly turned into one giant, listening ear. Egomo backed up against a tree trunk, reached for his crossbow and held his breath.
He heard the noise again a short time later, but this time it sounded more like a howl, like the howl of the wind sweeping over the treetops. It seemed to last forever before it finally died away in the distance.
A chill went up Egomo’s spine. The howl had sounded like a mixture of anger and grief, and for a moment, he wondered if it might be one of those giants that could often be seen eating its way through the forest. One of those rusty, stinky monsters that devoured whole trees in order to make way for roads. No, he decided, they sounded different. They didn’t have a soul.
The roar was coming from an animal. A very big animal.
And it was coming from exactly the same direction he was going.
Friday, February 5th
Along the California coast
The drop of sweat running down my temple felt like and insect trying to bore into my skull.
I tried to clear my thoughts. How long had I been traveling? Was it ten hours, twelve or fourteen? I had lost track of time somewhere shortly after the aircraft had started its approach to San Francisco. Why was I even here and what was in store for me? I tried to focus, but the sight of the whirling rotors above my head ruined my concentration.
“You really don’t have any idea why Lady Palmbridge invited you, Mr. Astbury?” The pilot’s voice coming through the headphones momentarily drowned out the roar of the helicopter’s turbine. It was only with great difficulty that I was able to tear my eyes away from the view of the Pacific, which was surging against the Big Sur Coast. The sight was strangely unreal and I had to force myself to keep my thoughts from straying again.
“I bloody hell wish I knew,” I replied, looking up. “Do you seriously think I would have squeezed into this jacket and leather shoes if I had suspected that it was anything other than just a cozy get-together?”
“Then you think it’s something else?”
“To be honest, I don’t have the slightest idea what to expect. All I know is that I’m coming straight from London and that I long to get back into my sweatshirt and jeans in my suitcase.”
The pilot turned around and examined my clothes. From the look I saw reflected in the mirror, he seemed to approve.
“You made the right choice, Mr. Astbury. As you know, Lady Palmbridge comes from old English nobility and she appreciates nice clothes, even though she has become somewhat more relaxed now that she lives in the US. But you should work on your tie. The knot is crooked. My name is Benjamin Hiller, by the way. I’m Mrs. Palmbridge’s personal assistant. To be more specific, I’m in fact her pilot, chauffeur and her gofer. Since the passing of her husband five years ago, she needs me more than ever. Just call me Ben.”
He stuck out his hand and I shook it.
“David,” I said curtly.
Ben’s hand felt warm and dry, completely unlike my own. I stared down at the mirror-like surface of the water all the while having a rising suspicion that I looked embarrassingly nervous. When it came to ties, I was completely clueless and without a mirror, I was totally helpless. I never wore the things if I could avoid it. What’s more, I hated them, even though in England, one was almost born with one. Maybe that was why. Suits and ties - all the attributes of a successful businessman - were precisely the kinds of things I could do without. They were nothing more than protective armor, which one used to arm oneself against everyday life and only served to make one appear invulnerable.
I fumbled with the knot, wondering for a moment whether I should tell him that Lord and Lady Palmbridge were my father’s childhood friends and that their daughter Emily was my first great love, but I quickly rejected the idea because I didn’t want to distract Hiller unnecessarily. He seemed to like showing off by flying over the mountains at low altitude. Ahead of us, a flock of seagulls scattered in all directions. They looked like snowflakes in the early afternoon light. I was just about to ask whether the birds could pose a danger when I noticed Hiller’s grin. He appeared to be waiting for just that fearful demurral and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I wondered what it would be like if one of the rotor blades struck one of the cliffs and flew off into the sea in a high arc.
Not a good thought.
“What’s she like,” I asked, trying to distract him.
“Who? Lady Palmbridge? I thought you knew each other. I heard she was a good friend of your father’s.”
I raised an eyebrow. Miller seemed to know more than I had thought. “Yes, that’s right,” I replied. “But I was just ten when the Palm ridges visited us at our country estate. Lord Palmbridge and my father used to do a lot of business together, but that was mostly in London. I only met Lord and Lady Palmbridge personally on that one occasion because they left England shortly thereafter and moved to the United States. We lost contact after that.”
Ben took the chopper to an altitude of around a hundred and fifty meters and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Mrs. Palmbridge has changed a lot since the death of her husband,” he said. By the way he talked, he appeared to like his boss. “
“Did they tell you about the package?” I shook my head and looked at him questioningly. “She received it about a week ago. There was something in it that deeply affected her. It was from her daughter.”
“From Emily?”
“Did you know her? Ah yes, of course. You both lived in Hever, right? Wasn’t that where Winston Churchill had his country estate?”
I nodded. “He lived nearby, in Chadwell.”
“An aristocratic area. Emily told me a lot about it and showed me pictures of the fine brick homes. You can imagine that for a boy like me from the Bay Area, her stories about her excursions, butlers and banquets would all sound like a tale from the Thousand and One Nights.”
“How long have you and Emily known each other?” I asked, feeling a touch of jealousy begin to nibble at me.
“I’ve been working at the Palmbridge Manor ever since I was nineteen. My Uncle Malcolm was employed there. For me, it was like an opportunity you only get once in a lifetime. I’ve never regretted it. And Emily is absolutely enchanting.”
I nodded. “That’s her. But we were just kids back then.” My thoughts turned to the past and I realized how often I had thought of her. Emily, without even wanting to, had become an integral part of my life – and that, in spite of the fact that I had no idea what she might be like now as a grown woman. In retrospect, all the girlfriends I had ever had over time had had to compete with that shadowy image. A difficult task, and perhaps that was the reason why none of my relationships had ever lasted more than half a year. The latest victim of this fear of commitment was Sarah, who was probably red-faced with anger while she waited for an explanation for my sudden disappearance. And rightly so.
“Is everything OK?” Hiller’s question brought me back to the present. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “I was just thinking. “What was in that package that upset the old woman so much?”
“I don’t know. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be able talk to you about it. That is just between you and Mrs. Palmbridge and that’s why she had you come. I can only tell you this: It has something to do with Emily’s trip to the Congo.”
My fatigue suddenly vanished. “What in God’s name was she doing there? A civil war has been raging in that area for years. Over five million people have been slaughtered there.”
Hiller shook his head. “Not quite. You’re referring to what is happening in the Democratic Republic of Congo, formerly Zaire. Emily, however, is in the Republic of Congo, which lies to the west of it. A much smaller country that up until now has been peaceful. But according to the information I have, that situation may not last long. Everything’s getting pretty complicated. But right now, you’ll have to excuse me because that’s the Palmbridge Manor up ahead and I have to start preparing for landing.” With a curt smile, he buried himself in his instruments.
Emily in the Congo? Had she gotten lost somewhere in darkest Africa? I suddenly realized just how little I knew about Emily. For all these years she had always been just a little girl with long blonde braids for me. But unlike me, she seemed to be leading an adventurous life.
While I tried to sort out my thoughts, a peninsula, which jutted out from the cliffs in front of us, appeared It was crowned by a building that was remarkably similar to the former Palmbridge mansion in Hever, although it somehow seemed to have grown in some grotesque way. It was as if they had confused inches with centimeters when they transferred the blueprints. On the other hand, its dimensions were in accordance with the American penchant for exaggerating size. The brick on the four corner towers, stretching toward the sky like fingers, was shining brightly in the afternoon sun. A road that ended in a spacious parking lot lined with pine trees, led over the narrow peninsula toward the Palmbridge estate. Several cars were parked there; all of them luxury sedans, I realized with some envy. The Palmbridge’s genetic research seemed to be paying off. As far as I knew, she ran a research center somewhere in the California desert.
“Please hold on, we’re about to land,” Hiller informed me, easing the chopper into a gentle left turn and softly setting down on the lawn beside the parking lot. After a barely noticeable jolt, the turbine died.
“We’re here,” he said, beaming at me while removing his helmet. “Welcome to Palmbridge Manor.”
He sprang out of the helicopter, ran around the silver nose, opened my door and helped me unbuckle my seatbelt. I got out, relieved to finally feel solid ground under my feet again. I started to get my luggage out of the back, but Hiller waved me away.
“Just leave it, David. I’ll take it to your room for you. I suggest you just walk straight ahead. The other guests have already arrived and Lady Palmbridge hates tardiness.” He gave me an encouraging nod.
I hesitated on the grass for a moment, my arms dangling limp against my sides like those of a puppet. Hiller seemed to notice my hesitation and encouraged me: “Don’t worry. Just go up to the main entrance. Aston will open the door for you.”
I gathered my wits together and headed toward the magnificent mansion, the gravel crunching beneath my leather soles as I crossed the parking lot. After consulting my watch, I saw that the San Francisco fog had caused me to be a half an hour late.
At the entrance, I looked around in confusion. I couldn’t see a doorbell, only a massive cast-iron knocker in the shape of a dragon’s head grinning maliciously at me. I gathered up all my courage and used it to knock on the door. My knocks echoed dully into the depths of the house. I waited a while, and just when I was beginning to think that no one had heard me, I heard shuffling footsteps coming from inside. Someone began fumbling with the door lock and then the heavy door swung open on its hinges.
An old butler in full array opened the door with a look that spoke of the glories of earlier times. He had to be an import from England because no American could have exuded such tight-lipped dignity.
“If you please, sir, my name is Aston,” he said, introducing himself in a raspy voice. “Who may I say is calling on Lady Palmbridge?”
“David Astbury.”
“Please follow me into the parlor, sir. You are expected.”
When I crossed the threshold, it was like being transported back in time. I caught the scent of exotic flowers, just like twenty years ago when I first entered the Palmbridge home. To the right of the entrance stood a man-sized vase where strange orchids, the likes of which I had never seen before in any of my botany seminars, were growing. On the left was a small forest of rare bonsai trees that reaching for the light of day. I sighted a magnificent full-grown ginkgo and a dwarf mangrove. Between them hung a golden aviary with a bird of paradise bobbing up and down inside it, its chatter filling the room with strange melodies.
Aston looked me up and down as if he was looking for something, but after convincing himself that I was not carrying a cane, coat or hat, he cleared his throat disappointedly, turned away and shuffled into the room to the right. He was walking so slowly that I had plenty of time to look around. My respect for the Palmbridges grew with every room we passed. Exotic plants alternated with bookshelves that reached all the way to the ceiling and exquisite old furniture. Elaborately inlaid tables and the leather armchairs that looked so comfortable that you would never want to get up out of them. I came from a well-to-do family, yet I was amazed by such opulence. The family had been very wealthy back then, but they had obviously increased their fortune considerably since then.
As we crept through the great room, I could hear voices of three people coming through the closed doors of the neighboring room. The voices couldn’t have been any more different. The woman’s voice was dry and resolute and undoubtedly belonged to our hostess. The second voice belonged to a man who had an accent I wasn’t quite able to place. The third voice left me totally flabbergasted. It was throaty and guttural and wasn’t like any I had ever heard before.
The butler reached the door and knocked.
“Enter!” came a voice from inside and Aston opened it. With an uneasy feeling, I went inside.
I was met by thick tobacco smoke. Lady Palmbridge and two men were sitting around a coffee table smoking and looking curiously at me.
“At last!” My hostess got up and came over to greet me. I was surprised by how tiny she was. Her gray hair was tied in a knot and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were a testament to an indomitable will. One could clearly see that she had once been a real beauty.
“My dear David, how nice to see you. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation to get on the plane. Let me look at you. You look marvelous! It’s hard for me to believe that the boy I knew has become such a handsome man. And with such good taste in clothes, I might add.” She gripped my hand and shook it warmly. “Gentlemen, may I present the son of my friend and companion Ronald Astbury? A pity the old charmer is no longer with us. He passed away five years ago, about the same time as my husband. I spent a good part of my youth with these two people.”
She paused to think for a moment, then she looked up and turned to the two men, who were clearly struggling to get up out of the comfortable armchairs.
“Please remain seated,” I said, moving toward them. The two men gladly accepted my offer and sat back down. One, a nearly two-meter tall giant with a sharp nose and high hairline, stretched out his paw. His forearm was covered with scars. “Stewart Maloney,” he exclaimed. His voice, like his handshake, was surprisingly gentle and pleasant, however, I thought I detected a twinkle in his eyes that suggested an unyielding will. My gaze fell on an archaic amulet hanging around his neck. It was a stylized lizard mounted in a round wooden frame that was decorated with numerous engravings. “This is my assistant,” he said, introducing his companion.
I looked at him in surprise. The man was an Aborigine with a smile that reached from ear to ear. When I looked down, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He took a small wooden pipe from his mouth and reached out his hand. “Sixpence,” he said with that unmistakable voice I had heard through the door. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I replied, taking his hand and immediately realizing I had made a huge mistake. If I had known what an iron grip the man had, I would have been more careful.
When he finally released my hand, I could have sworn that I would only see bits of broken bone under my skin. I suddenly realized why Maloney spoke with such a strange accent and why his amulet seemed so familiar. He was Australian and the amulet was a tribal symbol.
Lady Palmbridge smiled at me as if she had read my mind. “Mr. Maloney and Mr. Sixpence have made the journey from the other side of the globe for the same reason you have. But I’ll explain all that after dinner this evening. For the moment, I’d simply like you all to make yourselves at home. What may I offer you to drink, David? Brandy, whiskey or would you prefer sherry?” I glanced at the others’ glasses and spontaneously decided on whiskey. It wasn’t that I was particularly fond of it, but no one else was drinking anything else. Mrs. Palmbridge nodded at Aston, who shuffled over to the bar. As splendid as the villa was, it was nothing more than a luxurious retirement home without Emily’s presence.
“Scotch or Bourbon, sir?” the butler asked.
“Scotch – no ice, please.” I felt like I wasn’t myself. How had I gotten myself into this? Lady Palmbridge led me to a chair on the narrow side of the table across from Maloney and Sixpence and I let myself sink into it. My first impression had not deceived me. The chair was heavenly. Our hostess waited until I had my drink, then she raised her glass. “To all of you who have taken the trouble to help an old lady. May our meeting take place under a favorable star.” She drank down the contents of her glass in a single gulp and then let Aston refill her glass.
While I contemplated the strange behavior of our hostess, I wondered what her stark words meant. As expected, the whiskey was excellent. Soft and oily, producing a pleasant warmth as it ran down my throat and into my stomach.
“Well, David, tell me. How do you like your life at the university? Is it still the same old grind it was back in my day?”
I looked around in embarrassment. “That’s rather hard for me to judge, ma’am, but I don’t think it has changed much. It’s a very bureaucratic institution for someone like me who is trying to make a difference. All the same, I was recently invited to hold my first guest lecture on intracellular signal pathways. It’s a tremendous breakthrough.”
Lady Palmbridge turned to Maloney, who was looking at me with a mixture of skepticism and amusement.
“For your information, my dear Stewart, David is seeking a professorship at the Imperial College in London. Mind you, the Imperial College is the second-most elite university in England. It even comes before Oxford, but unfortunately behind Cambridge.”
“Well, I hope to remedy that in a few years,” I said with a wink.
“I’m sure you will. Incidentally, David did his doctorate on a subject in structural biology, which is a very promising new branch of research in the field of genetics. If we have time, I’d like to talk to you in more detail about it.”
“With pleasure,” I replied, taking another sip. Meanwhile, Mrs. Palmbridge continued, “David is following in the footsteps of his father, one of the greatest taxonomists and scientists who ever lived. The only difference is that Ronald was a globetrotter. He was drawn to it; he always had to be on the move. I’ve never known such a restless man. He and my husband were colleagues. Without any false modesty, the two did some very important basic research. But enough of the past and back to you, David. You seem so different from him.”
“That’s right,” I admitted frankly. “My father dragged me hallway around the world long enough for me to realize that it was not the life for me. I like to stay in my lab, close the door behind me and carry out my research in peace.”
Lady Palmbridge smiled knowingly before turning again to Maloney. “You can’t imagine how thorny the path is from being an associate professor to a full professorship. To a man like you who prefers field work, life at a university must seem like an alien planet.”
“That wouldn’t be for me,” Maloney said, mumbling into his glass. “But with all due respect, I side more with your father, Mr. Astbury. I need fresh air in my lungs and adrenaline in my blood. I need more than just books and lecture halls.”
“Interesting,” I replied with a slight biting undertone. “What kind of field work do you do?”
“Mr. Maloney and his assistant are two of the best big-game hunters in the world,” Lady Palmbridge said, intervening, and then added with a twinkle, “They are, so to speak, responsible for ensuring that the universities don’t run out of subjects. They are among the few people who have even seen a living okapi in the wild and captured it. What would you say was the most difficult catch in your life, Mr. Maloney?”
Maloney hesitated and I could see his jaw muscles moving under his perfectly shaved skin. He seemed undecided. Finally, he said, “That was three years ago in Borneo near Ketapang. A six-meter long crocodile, an incredible monster. For a live specimen of that size you would get the equivalent of a half a million dollars on today’s market. It looked like the crocodile of all crocodiles.
“Is that where the wounds on your arm are from?” I asked, pointing at his forearm.
“No,” he replied. For a moment I thought I could see that twinkle in his eye again, then he continued, “I had shot it in the belly three times with a tranquilizer gun and it was sleeping like a baby, at least that’s what we thought. We were just beginning to hoist it out of the water when it woke up, got free and fell in between all our assistants. You have no idea how fast a crocodile can move. It had killed three of my men before I could even get the safety off my rifle. Then it disappeared, leaving a trail of blood in the murky water.” Maloney took one final sip from his glass and let Aston refill it.
“And how did you finally capture it?” I asked.
“It took us another four days,” he said. “The beast came up out of the water every night to get one of us. On the second night, it even invaded one of our tents and grabbed the cook.” He laughed drily
“Why didn’t you change camp sites or give up the hunt?”
Maloney looked at me like I didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. “On the third day, our helpers abandoned us,” he continued. “They said that they had angered Movuata, the god of the water, and that they could no longer help us. So, Sixpence and I set up a guard post on the shore and waited. And the crocodile was also waiting, forty meters away from us in the water. We could see his eyes looking maliciously at us, day and night. Have you ever looked a crocodile in the eyes when it was hunting you, Mr. Astbury? It has absolutely motionless eyes, like the eyes of a dead man. I tell you, there’s nothing like it in the world. Neither Sixpence nor I dared sleep in that place. The danger that one of us would become inattentive while the other one rested was just far too great. We sat there waiting for that crocodile for thirty-six hours. It was the hardest war of nerves I have ever fought. On the morning of the fourth day, the monster came up out of the water after we arrived. Slow and steady. It made no attempt to attack or to flee. It just lay there and let us watch it. At first, we thought it must have been a trick. Crocodiles can be quite devious, but in this case, it was something different. Its entire demeanor told us that it was there to make peace with us. It respected us because we weren’t afraid of it.”
“That’s very unusual behavior for a crocodile, don’t you think?” I stammered, immediately cursing my impertinence.
“Why?” Mahoney slid forward in his chair, suddenly looking like a predator ready to strike. Everyone was looking expectantly at me. I had put my foot in it.
“Well, I’ve never heard of a crocodile that was capable of such, let’s say, human emotion. Crocodiles are quite stupid. Terms like peace or respect don’t have any meaning in the lives of crocodiles,” I added.
“If you say so.” Maloney said, giving me a cold smile.
“Anyway …,” I said, trying to put an end to the hunter’s tale and get myself out of an uncomfortable situation, “… then were you able to capture it and collect your half million?”
“No.” Maloney’s eyes bored into me so hard that it gave me a shiver.
The grandfather clock in the room struck a quarter to seven and I mustered up the strength to get up and dress for dinner. The journey had taken more out of me than I had thought and I felt like it would be days before I got over the jet lag. In addition, the whole visit had me upset. I still couldn’t figure out why I was actually here. Hiller’s short declaration about Emily, Lady Palmbridge’s enigmatic allusions, and not the least, the presence of Maloney and Sixpence raised a lot of questions. But one thing was clear: Maloney and I couldn’t stand one another. That was something that had become painfully apparent from the very first moment we met. His openly friendly shell was hiding a hardened killer. I just hoped that Lady Palmbridge wasn’t expecting me to become friends with the butcher. There was something about the tale of the crocodile that really bothered me. What kind of man would give up a half a million-dollar payment just to satisfy his revenge? Not exactly a very professional attitude.
I went into the bathroom, shaved, washed my hair and put my clothes back on. While I stood in front of the mirror checking the fit of my tie one last time, I realized how eager I was to find out about what had happened to Emily. Lady Palmbridge had promised to reveal the mystery of her invitation after dinner and I also hoped to learn something about her whereabouts. I wondered what she looked like now. In the twenty years since I had last seen her, she might have gotten fat and ugly. No, that was unlikely. After all, Hiller had spoken wonders of her. Surely, she was as enchanting now as she was before.
I went over to the window and opened it. A soft evening breeze carried the scent of the sea air into the room. Under my window a pine grove and a well-kept lawn stretched down to the cliff, beyond which I could hear the thundering surf. I could hear the barking of sea lions off in the distance.
I straightened up and closed the window. It was time to go.
Aston met me at the landing and escorted me to the dining room. I could hear the clatter of pots and pans off to my left and I picked up the delicious smell of roasted meat. God was I ever hungry.
The butler opened the door and my eagerness quickly turned to disillusion when I found that I was the first to arrive.
“Unfortunately, I must leave you alone for a moment while I go to meet the other guests,” the butler said. “Please help yourself to an aperitif, if you’d like.” He vanished with a look on his face that made me feel like he was afraid I was going to steal the silverware or something. Bad timing, I thought. Typical of me. On the other hand, I now had the opportunity to take a closer look at the magnificent hall. It was, as was customary in most aristocratic English houses, decorated with hunting trophies. I discovered a wooden longbow with a quiver and arrows with feathers from birds of prey between a stuffed grouse and a boar’s head. It was beautifully made and certainly very valuable. There were also various bladed weapons such as Bowie knives, rapiers and bastard swords. Between each was an ornately decorated muzzle loader. All in all, it was a romp through the history of armory, something the English loved. The only difference was that these specimens would have put the ones in the Tower of London to shame. But what fascinated me the most was the painting hanging over the fireplace. Even from five meters away I could tell it was a genuine Turner. It showed a magnificent white sailing ship being pulled into dock by a dark barge. The scene was bathed in a misty sunset that was so typical of Turner. When I came closer, I discovered a small brass plate on the frame. It read, Fighting Téméraire, Joseph William Turner 1838. There were some framed photographs of Palmbridge and his family on the mantlepiece below. My heart leapt when I discovered a close-up of Emily happily waving at the camera. She must have been around twenty-five years old and she looked quite different from what I had imagined. Her blond hair was short, yet stylishly cut. I stepped so close to the picture that my nose was almost touching it. Her rounded face had filled out, especially her nose, which used to be small and dainty, but now seemed to stick out. Her mouth was full and curved and her eyes seemed to glow with energy. I thought I could see the Emily I once knew in them. Her entire appearance exuded energy and a lust for adventure. And suddenly, as if someone had pulled back the curtain, all the memories came flooding back in. I could hear her voice, her musical laughter and her singing. I remembered the day we found ourselves in the garden, hidden behind the mighty elder tree in which Emily had built her treehouse. After our music teacher, Mrs. Vonnegut, had reprimanded us for our lack of diligence, we had simply run away and left the scolding, nagging teacher standing there. It was the first time that Emily ever talked to me about leaving. Anywhere, no matter where, just away from home. She told me that she felt oppressed by the size of the house. It was so lonely and bare, especially at night. She told me that if I were there it would be different, but no sooner did the door close behind me, the feeling would be back. When I left, it was as if the walls would begin to spread apart, leaving behind a vacuum that would get colder and colder. I tried to comfort her, but without any apparent success. I remember that she had looked me long and hard in the eyes, and what she saw there seemed to satisfy her.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?” The question just came out of the blue and struck me like a lightning bolt. I remember how hot I felt, and it wasn’t because of the May son beating down on us. Of course I had never kissed a girl, but I didn’t want to admit it. Instead of answering, I just silently shook my head.
“Would you like to?”
I don’t remember if I said yes or no. It’s more likely that I just sat there waiting, paralyzed like a mouse in front of a cat. Emily looked at me, and before I could get up and run away, she pressed her lips to my mouth. I can still remember that first kiss as if it were yesterday. It felt like a thousand stars were raining down on me. Never, not in a thousand years, will I ever forget that kiss.
I sighed.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” Came Lady Palmbridge’s voice from nearby. I flinched because I hadn’t heard her come up.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you were so absorbed in the picture that you didn’t hear me coming.”
“I was just taking a short trip into the past,” I confessed frankly.
“Oh, I know the feeling,” my hostess said, smiling. I assure you, when you reach my age, you’ll find comfort in the past far more often. May I offer you a ’69 Amontillado as an apology?
“I’d like that,” I replied.
“How do you like your room?”
“It’s fabulous, ma’am. Just like the whole estate. It reminds me of your home in Hever. Its memory is indelibly etched into my brain.”
“Ah, yes. The old Hever home. Have you been there since Ronald’s death?”
“No. I sold the house. It was so full of memories that it was crushing me. What was I going to do with such a property anyway? I was born a city boy. I bought a nice condominium from the money I got from the sale and I’m quite happy with it.
“Forgive my frankness, but I think it was mistake you sold the house,” Lady Palmbridge said, handing me my glass. “Believe me, the older you get, the more you’re drawn to your childhood roots. You’ll soon realize that. Why did my husband and I build this home using the old plans? We were hoping to set down new roots here, but may I tell you something? It didn’t work. Nothing or no one will ever be able to replace the place of your youth.”
With that she raised her glass and we touched glasses. Just then, voices could be heard in the foyer. The other two guests had obviously arrived. The door opened and the two Australians entered the room. Both of them were wearing perfectly tailored suits, but it was apparent that Sixpence felt as uncomfortable in his as I did in mine. I had to hold back a grin at the sight of them because they both looked like they had sprung out of a Henry Rider Haggard story. Although I was still skeptical about Maloney, I was curious to know what had brought such two different people together.
“Come in,” Lady Palmbridge said with her usual firm voice, and I began to wonder what she must have sounded like when she was in full control of her powers. “Aston, please serve these gentlemen whatever they’d like. I hope you’ve come with an appetite because my cook, Miranda, has come up with something very special for you.”
“I’m as hungry as a bear.” Maloney laughed and waved a hand as Aston offered him a sherry. “Not for me, my friend. Thanks,” he said to the butler, who raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the rejection since he had already poured the drink. “I would rather be sober when we learn the reason of our invitation. My compliments, Lady Palmbridge, the rooms are fantastic. I would never have dreamed I would be so comfortable so near the sea. I’m an old landlubber.”
“Where exactly is Leigh Creek?” I asked.
“In the south, at the foot of the North Flinders Range.” When he noticed my blank expression, he asked, “Do you know where Adelaide is?”
“Approximately.”
“Leigh Creek is about three hundred miles north of that. It’s a wild, untouched area with rolling hills, dense forests and rivers full of fish. The outback begins just past it, the great endless void …”
“It may seem empty to you,” Sixpence chimed in, “but for us it’s full of dreams and memories.”
“Then you know the old stories?” I asked, and then added, “I’ve read Bruce Chatwins Dream Paths and I must confess that it has fascinated me ever since.”
Sixpence flashed his white teeth. “All the Aborigines know the stories. We always carry them with us.”
“Where did you get your name from?” I asked him. “I think it’s rather unusual.”
Sixpence smiled but something in his face told me that it was a painful subject. “That’s the price that my mother sold me to the Maloneys for,” he replied. “Six pennies and a bottle of whiskey. That’s all Stewart’s father had in the glove compartment of his car, but it was enough for the deal. The bottle probably would have been enough, but I’m glad there was some change involved, otherwise they’d call me whiskey today. I was still just a baby and my mother was an alcoholic, like so many of my people,” he added with a shrug.
“A sad story,” Maloney added, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I was just a snot-nosed kid, not even eight years old, when my father brought him to the fields,” he said. “I was the black sheep of the family back then. I didn’t care a lick for sheep herding and I had isolated myself from my parents and siblings. But with Sixpence I discovered a kindred spirit. I took care of him like a brother. He was my best friend and companion. Today I don’t know what I would do without him.” He gave him a friendly smile. I was amazed by how frankly Mahoney spoke of his past. His sincerity and deep attachment to the Aborigine suddenly made him appear in a different light.
While Sixpence took the sherry glass from the butler, who had still been holding it helplessly in his hand, Maloney pointed at the weapons. “You have a nice collection here, Lady Palmbridge,” he said with an expert eye. “I especially like that musket. It’s a genuine Enfield, 16.5 mm caliber, right? Have you hunted with it?”
“What do you think?” she answered. “I did some fox hunting in my youth, but that’s about it. My husband and I have always endeavored to enrich life rather than extinguish it. Nevertheless, I have a certain sentimental attachment to these weapons. Like so much of this house, they remind me of my homeland.”
“Then I guess it’s out of the question to ask whether you’d sell me the Enfield.”
Just then, Aston rang the dinner bell.
“Dinner is served.”
The dinner was excellent. Miranda, a woman who looked like she also liked what she was cooking, had prepared a wonderful menu. Goose liver with truffles and iced cucumber soup were followed by baby turbot on Chinese vegetables and stuffed leg of lamb with green asparagus. These delicacies were paired with exquisite French white and red wines, which I had only ever read about. Just when I thought I couldn’t eat another bite, Miranda brought out a chocolate cake with an orange confit which was accompanied by a full-bodied Takaji.
It had been years since I had eaten so well. Maloney and Sixpence seemed to have enjoyed it too, for they leaned back with a contented smile, stretched out their legs and watched with blissful expressions as Miranda cleared the table and served coffee.
“Well, Lady Palmbridge,” Maloney said as the door closed behind the cook, “you’ve really found an excellent cook. I wish we could find someone like her.” He undid one of the buttons on his vest to relieve some of the pressure on his belly. “But that would be bad for my figure.”
“Really? But I have to admit that she really went the extra mile tonight. It’s probably because we seldom have guests.”
Maloney reached into his vest, took out a silver tin, opened it and offered us one of his sweet-smelling cigars. When we declined, he shrugged, took one out and lit it. “Lady Palmbridge, I think you should stop torturing us. Why don’t you tell us why you’ve brought us here?” He blew smoke in the air and the room was immediately filled with a mild vanilla aroma. All eyes turned to our hostess. She slowly got up and I got the impression that it was difficult for her. Her age seemed to be weighing more heavily on her now. She sounded a gong and Aston, who had been waiting outside, stepped in. After a nod from his boss, he went over to a closet, opened a double door and pulled out a movie projector. He then dimmed the lights and turned the device on. A white rectangle with a company logo appeared on the opposite wall.
“Thank you, Aston. That will be all,” our hostess said. She waited for the servant to leave the hall and then she went over to the projector.
“Before I tell you why I’ve asked you to come here, please allow me to give you a brief overview of Palmbridge Genetic Engineering, PGE for short.” She started the projector and a bird’s eye view of some flat white buildings nestled in a barren, rocky landscape appeared on the screen. A high double chain-link fence surrounded the grounds, making it look like the high-security wing of a prison.
“The facility was built in the 1970s,” she explained. “At the time, it was still being used for nuclear research, which is why it was located in the Calaveras, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada, far away from human inhabitation. But when it became clear that atomic energy was not going to prevail, operations there ceased. For my husband, who was experimenting with viruses and other aggressive life forms, this area was of course ideal, both in terms of its location and its safety standards. What you don’t see in the pictures are the four floors underneath the building. The high-security laboratories are located down there where we work with the really interesting stuff.” The camera then panned down to the surface, past a watchtower, the gatehouse and then into the main building. Only then did I realize that it was a computer simulation. The desert, the bushes, even the Joshua trees were all computer-generated. Impressed by the high level of realism, I let myself be drawn deeper into the virtual world.
“What you saw on the left are the living quarters and the small electric power plant that supplies the facility with electricity,” she explained, her voice showing how much she liked talking about her husband’s life work. All her weariness suddenly fell away from her and she stood before us as she had once been, a woman who was full of strength and zest for life.
“Now we’re passing through the administration building, along with its offices, and then into the areas where we work with microbes and other microorganisms.” The virtual camera glided past changing rooms, where yellow suits were hanging, while subtitles explained that these were chemical showers that the scientist who had gone into the deeper, more dangerous areas had to use. We saw the transfection and DNA sequencing laboratories crammed with scanning electron microscopes, mass spectrometers, autoclaves, incubators and other scientific equipment. It was incredible. The assets must have been worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Lady Palmbridge smiled when she saw my jaw drop.