THE GREEN KING (part 28)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
He heard the
heavy front door slam as the policemen left. Then the muffled sounds of a
discussion between the Austrians and the International Patrol, followed by the
rumbling of engines starting up, whose noise then decreased. Silence returned
to the house. Reb tried to straighten up. He had to twist himself, very slowly,
inch by inch. A hundred times, as a child, he had hidden his way, curled up in
this nook, deriving mysterious pleasure from this voluntary confinement, the
first few times forced to fight an unspeakable panic and not resting until he
had overcome it, forcing himself to press against the damp cold stone wall
where with its things crawled. At least he thought there were white; he had
forsaken light in order to preserve the mystery and, mostly, the capacity to be
scared, and, eventually, to dominate himself.
Under his
fingers, the board finally gave way. He put out a leg, then one shoulder, and
slipped through the opening. He found himself in the closet and, from there, in
the room that had been his and was now empty of all furniture. He went into the
hallway. To his right was Mina’s room; further down, Kati’s. Those room were
also empty; there was nothing left. It was the same in what had been the games
room, the conservatory, and what Hannah had given him as study, him, Reb….
And also the
three guest rooms, the two room were the French governess lived, from which
even the framed etchings of the Place des Loire near Pont des Arts in Paris, a
view of the Loire near Vendome, where Mademoiselle was born, another of an
inlet in Britanny, and one of the Pyrenees had been removed.
On the next
floor, only one of the servants’ rooms seemed to be still lived in, or had been
recently. He found two camp beds and some very neat packing. There was a slight
aroma of mild tobacco in the air. Some khaki underwear had been hung to dry on
a line in the bathroom.
TO BE CONTINUED
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I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
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