Death in Breslau (10 page)

Anwaldt looked at one of the last names: Doctor Hermann Winkler, Gabitzstrasse 158. “Are you in a position to have it removed?”

“I’m not even going to try.” Mock followed two girls walking beneath the red wall of the barracks with his eyes. His pale jacket was darkened at the armpits by two stains. “Do you think I’m going to risk contention with the Chief of the S.S., Udo von Woyrsch, and the Chief of Gestapo, Erich Kraus, for one quack who prattled nonsense in the papers?”

He saw the clear sarcasm in Anwaldt’s eyes: “Well, admit it, that nonsense did you no harm in your career.”

†
A horse-drawn cab.

†
Watch your hooves, shoemaker
, i.e. mind your own business (Latin).

IV

BRESLAU, THAT SAME SUNDAY, JULY 8TH, 1934
NOON

Anwaldt sat in the police laboratory, studying Weinsberg’s materials, and grew increasingly convinced that the paranormal did exist. He remembered Sister Elisabeth from the orphanage. That petite and unassuming person with a prepossessing smile had drawn unexplained, alarming incidents to the orphanage. It had been during her stay in the institution – never before nor after – that processions of silent people in pyjamas would march during the night, that the cast-iron coverings of the cisterns in the toilets would fall with a crash, a dark figure would sit at the piano in the clubroom, and the telephone would ring every day at the same time. After Sister Elisabeth had left, albeit at her own request, the mysterious incidents had come to a stop.

From Weinsberg’s – alias Winkler’s – notes, it appeared that Friedländer differed from Sister Elisabeth in that he did not conjure up events and situations but foresaw them. In his state following an epileptic fit, he would shout five or six words, repeating them over and over like a monotonous refrain. Doctor Weinsberg recorded twenty-five such cases, of which he noted down twenty-three, and recorded two on a gramophone record. He analysed the material in detail and presented his results in the
Twentieth Annual of the
Zeitschrift für Parapsychologie und Metaphysik
. His article was entitled “The Tanathological Predictions of Isidor F.”. Anwaldt had an off-print of the article in front of him. He read the methodological introduction cursorily and immersed himself in Weinsberg’s arguments:

It has been stated beyond all doubt, that the words shouted by the patient come from Ancient Hebrew. This is the conclusion reached by the Berlin Semitist, Prof. Arnold Schorr, after three months of analysis. His linguistic expertise establishes it to be irrefutably so. We have included it in our materials and can render it accessible to those who might be interested. The sick man’s prophetic messages can be divided into two: a name written in code and the circumstances of its bearer’s death. After three years of research, I have managed to decipher twenty-three of the twenty-five messages. It is very difficult to solve the last two, even though they have been recorded on gramophone record. The messages which I have understood can be divided into those which have concurred with reality (ten) and those which refer to a person still living (thirteen). It must be emphasized that the majority of Isidor F.’s predictions concern people unknown to him personally, and this has been confirmed by the daughter. These persons are connected in two ways: 1 – all lived or are living in Breslau; 2 – all died a tragic death.

The
condicio sine qua non
^†
of understanding the whole message is to fish out and decipher the name contained within it. It is expressed in two ways: either by the sound, or the Hebrew meaning of the word. The Hebr.
geled
“skin”, for example, we deciphered as being Gold (similar sound, the same consonants
gld
). It must be pointed out, however, that the patient could have expressed this name in a different
“semantic” way. Indeed, Gold meaning “gold” could be coded synonymically in the Hebr.
zahaw
. This is the second way, where the name is hidden in the meaning and not in the sound of the Hebrew word. This can be seen, for example, in the Hebr.
hamad –
“helmet”, which clearly points to the German name Helm, which means nothing else but precisely “helmet”. Certain distortions were inevitable here, e.g. the Hebr.
sair
means “goat” (
Bock
), but the prophecy referred to a deceased bearing the name Beck. The most interesting and also the most satisfying to decipher was the Hebr.
jawal adama –
“river”, “field” (Germ.
Fluss
,
Feld
). It seemed, therefore, that the name should be identified as Feldfluss or Flussfeld.

When I looked through the official list of deaths, I came across the name Rheinfelder, the circumstances of death: beating with an army belt. In a word, Rhein is “the Rhine”, “river”. From Rheinfeld to Rheinfelder is but a short distance. Here is the full roll of prophecies referring to persons deceased (I hold the list of those living in my records, but am not publishing it so as not to provoke any unnecessary, strong emotions).

From the examples mentioned above, it is clear that patient F.’s prophecies can really only be understood after the death of the person they specify. Let us, for example, look at example 2. There are several possible interpretations. The person mentioned in the prophecy could equally well have been called Weisswasser (“white water”) – there are fifteen families of that name in Breslau. And then some Weisswasser could have been struck by angina (“lips”, “breath”) while sunbathing
(“sun”). The deceased could also have been called Sonnemund (“lips”, “sun”) – three families in Breslau. Foretold death: choking (“breath”) on vodka (one of Danzig’s vodkas is called
Silberwasser
, “silver water”).

I guarantee that I could also interpret the remaining cases in numerous ways. That is why we are not publishing the list which has not, so to speak, been validated by death. Let us simply say that it includes eighty-three names and various circumstances of tragic death.

Does such a variety of interpretations disqualify Isidor F.’s prophecies? Not in the least. The complex and gloomy forecasts of my patient divest the person of any possible defence. It is impossible to imagine a more spiteful and cruel fatalism – because here we would be publishing a list of eighty-three people of whom thirteen are yet to die tragically. And thirteen do, indeed, die – or maybe twelve, or maybe ten! But suddenly, after some time, we go through the death certificates and find a few deceased who were not on the list but to whom Isidor F.’s prophecies did apply. A person mentioned in his prophecies falls prey to harpies of the dark forces, is a helpless puppet whose proud declarations of independence are shattered by the stern sound of Hebrew consonants, and whose
missa defunctorum
^†
is only the derisive laughter of a self-satisfied demiurge.

After this pathetic note followed dreary and learned proofs comparing Friedländer to clairvoyants and various mediums who prophesy in a trance. Anwaldt read Weinsberg’s article to the end with far less attention and started studying the eighty-three interpretations which, held together by brass paperclips, formed a clearly noticeable wad among the other materials and notes. He soon became bored with it. For dessert, he left himself the audio prophecies, sensing that they had something to do with the death of the Baron’s daughter. He set up the gramophone and surrendered
himself to listening to the mysterious messages. What he was doing was irrational for, at secondary school, Anwaldt notoriously used to miss extra-curricular lessons in Biblical language and might now as well be listening to an audition in Quechuan with as much understanding. But the hoarse sounds induced in him the same state of morbid unease and fascination as had overcome him when he had first seen the flowing letters of Greek. Friedländer emitted sounds similar to choking. The sounds once purred, once hissed, once a wave forced from the lungs practically ripped the tense larynx. After twenty minutes of this relentless refrain, the sounds broke off.

Anwaldt was thirsty. For a while, he drove away the thought of a frothy tankard of beer. He got up, put all the materials – except the gramophone record – into the cardboard box, and went to the old store of office supplies which, now equipped with a desk and telephone, served the Official for Special Affairs as an office. He telephoned Doctor Georg Maass and arranged a meeting with him. Then he made his way to Mock’s office with the list of gramophone names and his impressions. On the way, he passed Forstner, who had just left his superior. Anwaldt was surprised to see him there on a Sunday. He had a mind to joke about the heavy police work, but Forstner passed him without a word and ran briskly down the stairs.
(That’s how someone looks who Mock has caught in a vice.)
He was wrong. Forstner had been held in a vice all along. Mock only tightened it from time to time. That is what he had done a moment ago.

BRESLAU, THAT SAME JULY 8TH, 1934
HALF-PAST TWO IN THE AFTERNOON

Standartenführer S.S. Erich Kraus kept professional and private matters neatly apart. He dedicated far fewer hours to the latter, of course, but it was time strictly measured out – Sunday, for example, was held to be a
day of rest. Following his post-prandial siesta, it was his habit to talk to his four sons between four and five o’clock. The boys would sit at a huge round table and relate to their father the progress they were making in their work, the ideological activities of the Hitlerjugend and the resolutions which they had regularly to make in the Führer’s name. Kraus would pace up and down the room, comment good-naturedly on what he heard, and pretend not to notice the surreptitious glances at their watches and the suppressed yawns.

But he was not permitted the freedom to spend his first Sunday in Breslau in a purely private capacity. The taste of his lunch was spoiled by the sour thought of General-Major Rainer von Hardenburg, the chief of Breslau’s Anwehr. He loathed this stiff, monocled aristocrat with all his might – he, the son of a bricklayer and alcoholic. Kraus swallowed a delicious schnitzel with onions and felt his gastric juices rise. Furious, he got up from the table, threw his napkin down in a rage, walked through to his study and, for the umpteenth time that day, phoned Forstner. Instead of exhaustive information about Anwaldt, he heard half a minute of a long, intermittent ringing tone.
(Where has that son-of-a-bitch gone?)
He dialled Mock’s number, but when the Director of Police picked up the telephone, Kraus threw down the receiver.
(I won’t learn any more from that obsequious prat than he’s already told me.)
The helplessness he experienced in the face of von Hardenburg, whom he had already known in Berlin, was somehow comprehensible to Kraus: in the face of Mock, it was almost contemptible – which is why it so wounded his
amour propre
.