The Land Across Page 3

  I said, “And then?”

  “No gold either.” Volitain smiled and licked his thin lips. “There are banks, but Eion Demarates? No accounts he has. His servants stole it, so my ancestor believes. They are questioned under torture. This one has taken a silver cup, that one the razor with which he shaves his master. A maid takes clothing for her son, fine stockings and other such things. Trivialities. The gold of Eion Demarates none ever finds.”

  Martya muttered, “Or your ancestor does not think it.”

  “Correct. He searches the house, with police to help. They find nothing. There is no will. The brothers, the sisters, loudly say many times everything belongs to them. My ancestor says no, taxes are owed upon the estate. He sells the horses and carriage and other things, and holds the money against these taxes. He does not wish to sell the house because he believe the hidden money will soon be found. It is under a floor, eh? Or in a wall. He will wreck the house and find it.

  “Brothers and a sister journey to the capital. This judge will wreck our house, they say. You must stop him. The Prince Judicial issues an order: the house is not to be demolished.”

  “It’s still standing?” I asked.

  “It is. Some of the furniture has been sold. Some remains. It belongs to the state, that was decided when the taxes went unpaid. It has been rented more than once, long ago. People died there. No one will rent it.”

  Martya said, “You will rent it for us. You can get it most cheap.”

  “Legally,” I told her, “I’m your husband’s prisoner. I don’t want to go to jail.”

  Volitain nodded. “You must sleep in Kleon’s house, but you will rent the house I have told you of that you may repair it, rendering it a fit residence. Soon, you say to those who ask, the court will see that you are an innocent traveler. Then you will be released, and you must have this place to live until your passport is returned. It will be rented to you, and you and Martya will search, reporting to me what you have done.”

  My food was gone, but I sipped my wine. “Is a court looking into my case?”

  Volitain shook his head. “At present? No.”

  “Then I should get a lawyer. I don’t want to stay here forever.”

  “I will represent you.” At long last, Volitain forked a piece of his remaining meat roll into his mouth.

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  “He is many things.” Martya looked sour and serious. “That is why I brought you to him.”

  “An attorney, as other things,” Volitain told me. “I practice law for, oh, not quite three years. It bored me, and I did not require the money. I still represent a few friends and take cases of interest. Soon you ask why I do not search the Willows myself.”

  That sounded interesting. “The Willows?”

  “It is the name of the house Eion Demarates built. At the tax office, you must know it. Tell them you hear the Willows is without a tenant. You will rent, if it is cheap enough. Can you bargain?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “Good. They will ask too much. Officials always do.”

  Martya said, “You are an official yourself, Volitain.”

  He wiped his lips to hide his smile. “A minor one, you understand. You need not be afraid of me.”

  “Can you get my passport back?”

  “No. Certainly not. If we win our case, then I might do something. Until then, it is hopeless. Do you think I intend to charge you?”

  I nodded again. “Lawyers do.”

  “I will not, provided you find the treasure and share it with me.”

  A waiter brought our check, parting the green curtain to push it through. Volitain laid it on the table, laid a bill on it, and weighted both with the salt shaker. “You see? I do not deceive.”

  “Thanks for lunch. Why don’t you search the Willows yourself?”

  He laughed. “That you would ask, I knew. First, because I must do many other things. Second, because already I have. For two months I searched whenever I had an hour to spare, but found nothing. A new searcher, one of foreign temperament, employing foreign methods, may succeed where I failed. Or so I hope.”

  3

  THE WILLOWS

  Martya and I went to an office on the second floor of the long yellow brick building called the Mounted Guard, where a sweating fat man in shirtsleeves sat writing letters. “To those who are behind on their rent,” he explained.

  We had not asked, but we nodded. Anyway, I did.

  “The police will come. If they are kind, they will permit the tenants to move out their personal belongings. If they are not, they will not. Then those who are too poor to pay will be poorer still.”

  Martya translated and added, “They have no money.”

  “They must get some.” The fat man pointed his pen at her. “Let me tell you, young woman, it is one thing to be without money, quite another to be without the means of getting money. The state finds employment for everyone who applies.”

  I said, “Then why don’t they apply?”

  He turned his attention to me. “You are German?”

  “American.”

  “Ah. You are most ignorant. I have heard this. They do not apply because they do not want to work. What is the purpose of the state?”

  Neither of us spoke.

  “I ask seriously, sir. What is it?” He laid aside his pen and fanned himself with a painted fan of thin wood.

  “To defend the country,” I said. I was trying to recall the Constitution. “To secure the property of its citizens.”

  He shook his head. “You have not been to school. For those things and more the nation is responsible. It is on the state that we rely to make all work, and to reward good work should there be any. This I explain in these letters you see, with certain other things. What is it you wish?”

  “I want to rent a house,” I said.

  “You are German. Why would you rent a house here?”

  “I will stay here in Puraustays for some time. It should be cheaper to rent a house here than to live in a hotel. Do you rent houses here? In this office?”

  “I do. The houses I rent belong to the state, sir. When taxes are not paid, the state takes the house. Also for certain criminal offenses. If a serious offense is committed by the owner in his house, the house is forfeit.” Grunting, the fat man lifted a heavy book onto his desk.

  Martya said, “He wants to rent the Willows.”

  The fat man ignored her. “These houses I have, sir. All good houses, though some are in need of minor repairs.” He flipped pages. “Here is one of the sequestered kind I just described. The owner lured women to his house, raped them, strangled them, and raped them again. He was put to death and his house confiscated. Seven rooms, full bath. Full of interest, too, for a visitor. It is said that one of the dead women walks up the cellar stairs by night.” He smacked his lips. “I would advise keeping the cellar door shut and bolted by night, and not going down there save in a case of dire necessity. Which is not likely to arise.”

  He waited for my comment. When I did not talk he said, “Think of the tales you will tell when you return to Germany. Why, a man might dine out for a year on it!”

  “He doesn’t want that one,” Martya said.

  I explained that I had already selected a house, the Willows, and asked him to rent it to me.

  He pursed his lips. “You are bold, sir. Indeed you are bold. I myself … Well, no matter. You have seen it, sir?”

  “The exterior, yes. We looked at that and peeped in through the windows. We couldn’t get in.”

  “It is kept locked. I see to it that all the vacant houses are locked.” The fat man paused to fan his sweating face and became business-like. “Normally, sir, we require a security deposit equal to three months’ rent. It is to be refunded when the tenant vacates. I inspect the house. If it is in good condition, your deposit is refunded.”

  I said, “I understand.”

  “In this case…” He was paging through his book. “For the house you
have selected, sir, we will not. The house is not in good condition.”

  Martya said, “We know that.”

  I promised I would make any necessary repairs.

  He cleared his throat. “You may post the bills to me. Should I approve them, they will be settled by the state. Should I decline them, you must pay them yourself…. Ah, here it is. The rent will be twenty euros per month, sir.”

  I said it seemed quite cheap.

  “It is.” He cleared his throat again. “We take into consideration the poor condition of the house and its long vacancy. Let me see….” He bent over the page. “One Volitain Aeneaos rented it years ago. He remained for two months. It has remained vacant ever since. Are you sure you want it, sir? At twenty euros per month?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Certain. I’ll give you the first month’s rent in advance, if I may.”

  “You must give me two months’ rent in advance,” he told me. “Forty euros. That is the law, sir. I cannot make exceptions.”

  I gave him the money, and he filled out a printed receipt, signed it, and handed it to me. “Crucifixes are said to be effectual, sir. There is a little store in the cathedral. You might get holy water there, too. My own grandmother swore by cold iron. Large nails, by choice. She was a woman of wide experience. Should you have need of the assistance of the state, you might speak to me. I will direct you to the proper persons.”

  I thanked him and told him I appreciated his help.

  He nodded, frowning as he handed me two rusty iron keys. “The trees, sir. The willows. You must have seen them when you looked at the house.”

  I had.

  “I would cut them. You will cut them, if you take my advice. Root out the stumps. Plant grass and clover, and leave it so until the soil recovers. You have been stung by bees?”

  “He will plant fruit trees,” Martya declared.

  “They will not do well until the soil recovers. Plow in manure, sir, before you plant your clover. When it has sprouted, beware of bees. Clover attracts them.”

  I said, “Good advice. Thanks a lot.”

  When we had left his office and stepped into the hall, I heard him say, “Would you eat their fruit, young woman?”

  Martya was silent until we had left the Mounted Guard, then she said, “He thought I was a cousin.”

  “My cousin, you mean?”

  “Not a real cousin.” She laughed. “When foreigners come, girls attach themselves. Did I say that well? The girl shows her friend the city and interprets for him. He buys her gifts and she sleeps with him. Sometimes he gives her money. They are called cousins because it is what she says: ‘He is my cousin.’”

  I said I would be happy to buy her a gift.

  “Would you really? A hat? Would you buy me a winter hat?”

  “It’s spring,” I said. “Why would you want a winter hat?”

  She laughed. “How little you understand! You are married, yes?”

  I shook my head.

  “No wonder! Because it is spring, the winter things are most cheap. Besides, the hat I wore all last winter is old. Most ragged! It is a hat to laugh at, an old wool hat that was not good when it was new.” She tugged at my arm. “Come! There is a shop near. I show you.”

  It was not near, but she did. The hat I eventually bought for her was a perky round cap of what looked to me like fox fur. She was thrilled with it, posing a dozen times in front of the mirror in the store before we left.

  When we were out on the street again, I said, “How will you explain your new hat to Kleon?”

  “He does not see it until autumn.”

  “Yes, but he’ll see it then. What’ll you tell him?”

  Her chin went up and her shoulders back. “The truth! I will tell him you bought it for me.”

  “He’ll be jealous.”

  “Good! Let him be most jealous. He needs much more jealous, that Kleon.”

  We were walking, of course. The police have their patrol cars, and there are limousines for high officials. In a day, you might see three or four trucks and a dozen wagons. But private cars? Buses and cabs? All that shit? Forget it! Ordinary people walk everywhere.

  The way to the Willows was not hard, but it seemed to me like it went on forever. We walked in the street like everybody else. The crazy plan of the streets, which zig to the right or zag to the left every few blocks, wears out a walker.

  “Your streets should have names,” I told Martya.

  “If this street had a name and I called to it, would it come to me?” Seeing I had no answer, she laughed.

  After a while I said, “You give names to your houses.”

  “To cats and dogs also. If you call a dog, it will come to you sometimes. Cats will not come. So our houses are cats.”

  I asked the name of Kleon’s house.

  “I do not wish to tell. It is ill luck for me.”

  “Then I’ll ask Kleon. We’re going back tonight, aren’t we?”

  “We must. If he does not let us in, we go to the police and they shoot him.”

  “You’ll be a wealthy widow,” I said.

  Martya sniffed. “He has nothing.”

  “He has his house.”

  She shrugged. “We must turn here, why do you walk straight ahead?”

  “Here” was the little path through the dark, crowding trees to the door of the Willows. We had walked so far that I had nearly forgotten that eventually we would get there.

  When we had gone to the Willows earlier, the sun had been high overhead, and lonely sunbeams had penetrated the crowding leaves. Now the sun was low, and a cloudy sky promised a dark night. Martya’s hand found mine and we walked together, not quite side by side, down a path I could not see that was barely wide enough for one person.

  “You do not have a light?”

  “No,” I said. “Do you have matches?”

  “No. We should have bought a … I do not know this word. To hold in the hand and give light.”

  “Taschenlampe.”

  “Yes, a flashlight, where there were shops. Someone would have them.”

  “We’ll get one tomorrow,” I told her.

  “Tomorrow will be too late.”

  After that I stumbled, she swore for me, and we walked on silently while the trees made fun of us. Their silence was a lot bigger and a lot older than ours. As I tried the most likely looking key in the front door lock, Martya asked, “Are you going to start searching now?”

  “Yeah. I want to look the whole place over and make plans. What to do first, what tools I’ll need, and so on.”

  “It is haunted. This you must know.”

  “I know you said it was.” The likely key squeaked and balked in the lock. “People always say these old houses are haunted. If nobody’s living there, it’ll be a haunted house in a year.” I wrestled with the key. “This lock needs a squirt of WD40, or if we can’t get that a squirt of oil.”

  “We will see no ghosts because the sun is still in the sky.” It seemed like Martya was talking to herself instead of me. “One cannot see ghosts by daylight. Who does not know this?”

  The key turned at last. “Then we won’t see them,” I told her.

  “We will not see them, but they will be there.”

  “So what? So will we. Maybe they’ll tell us where the treasure is.”

  I opened the door and went in. It was dim, but not as dark as I had expected, maybe because the ceilings were so high. The windows, pointed at the top like the ones in a church, rose high above my head.

  “He would not have had willows.” Martya’s voice, hushed and kind of querulous, sounded behind me. “Not the one who builds thus. Fruit trees for him.”

  I agreed without giving her much attention. The foyer we stood in was pretty clearly a preliminary room. Benches stuck out from two walls and there were hooks for hanging coats. Even so, it was big and imposing, with great big fireplaces at both ends. Looking back at Martya, I said, “They didn’t have central heating when this was built, I guess.” />
  She stopped, looking frightened. “What is it you talk of? I do not know.”

  “A furnace to heat the whole building.”

  “Oh, that. Public buildings have these. We do not. Can we go out?”

  “I haven’t even started.” The door to the next room stood open, and I walked into it.

  It was nearly empty but really interesting just the same. A few pieces of furniture were covered with dirty white drop cloths. A dozen or so more, the ones with no upholstery, had none and were thick with dust. You could tell that pictures and tapestries had hung on the walls back when the room was new, but they were gone now. Over the big fireplace at the other end, crooked swords and a little round shield of dark iron and peeling leather had been left behind. I pointed and said, “I wonder why they didn’t take those.”

  “Who would want things from such a house?”

  “We do,” I told her. “We want the treasure, and we’d like to find it. Your friend Volitain does, too.”

  “Perhaps they are fastened to the wall.”

  That made sense. I stepped up onto the hearth, which was a good foot above the floor. The swords and the little shield were higher than that, too high for me to do more than touch them. I got out my pen and my little notebook.

  “What are you writing?”

  “That I’ve got to get a stepladder.”

  “So that you can take those things? Let us go. I do not like this place.”

  “I do,” I said. “Or anyhow I like it so far. And I don’t want the swords or the shield. I want to look in back of them. There could be a hole in the stonework in back. We ought to look.”

  “Volitain will have thought of it.”

  “You’re right. He may have looked there. When you think of a place nobody who searched this place will have thought of, you let me know straight off.” Having finished my note, I snapped my notebook shut.

  “There are mirrors in here,” Martya muttered.

  I stepped down. “I’d think they’d have been taken.”