Chapter Nine
It was a particularly dreary evening in early March. The rain had not ceased to pound all day long. Majole was wrapping up her work, complaining about the long walk home she would have to take in the rain. I, however, was bothered by something else.
Basil had been executed in Bergen-Belsen.
Instead of feeling complete satisfaction, as I had always thought that I would at finally winning the final battle between us, I felt a void. It was as if some of the essence of life had been sucked out of me. I finally realized that Basil had been more than an enemy. He had been an obsession, something to challenge my mind when mathematical equations could not, something worth breathing for and living for each and every day; my own true meaning of life. It was ludicrous; especially when, looking back on all the years he had spent in concentration camps, I had not felt that way.
I tried to imagine that he was still alive, to see if I could still somehow retain a purpose for my own life. But the letter on my desk could not deceive me.
I heard Majole leave by the front door.
I put on a coat and took a walk in the rain.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I came back. Poleck, one of the boys, and Danka were whispering in the kitchen. They stopped abruptly as soon as I walked in, looking guilty of something.
"What are you doing in here?" I demanded.
"I was... was looking for some... lye," he said uncertainly.
"Why would you need lye?"
"I... uh, I... well..."
"Come here, boy."
The boy walked over slowly. I pulled out a pistol and began to toy with it. I could see the boy shaking from head to foot.
I wondered how a Jewish boy and a Danish girl could have the same symptoms of fear for completely different reasons. Poleck feared for his life, Meg for her honor.
I pushed the thought to the back of my mind to examine more closely later. Poleck was still standing before me, as if his own fate hung in the balance. What was I saying? His fate did hang in the balance.
"Poleck, Poleck," I said in a reassuring tone, putting my arm around his shoulders. "There is no need to hide anything from me. Why were you in here, neglecting your duties?"
He took a deep breath, sill afraid, wondering what the right answer would be. Finally he said, "It's Meg."
I was puzzled. "What about Meg?"
"She's distressed, sir. She's locked herself in her room. I was just checking on her."
I was even more puzzled. Poleck was risking a punishment from me to check on an Aryan? It baffled me so much that I dismissed him immediately after that and headed up to the attic.
It was there that I saw her, grieving in such a way that it almost seemed unreal. She had obviously been crying, but now she was pacing back and forth, kicking the bed, the walls, punching her mattress.
"I hate you! I hate you!" She was quietly yelling to herself. Then she started to cry. "Just die, James Ratigan. Die!"
Anger started to build up inside me. How dare the little snot-nosed bitch say anything like that about me!
"Basil, I'm so sorry Basil... Basil..."
It took me a moment before I completely comprehended what she had said. Then I remembered that I had left the letter open on my desk. So she knew.
She threw her pitiful specimen of a pillow across the room. "I hate you!"
She then took a bar of soap and threw it at the mirror.
The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.
Meg stared, dumbstruck, at the falling glass, at the room beyond her little room, at the man she most hated and feared in this world. I stood speechless, the secret witness of her pain and suffering finally revealed. Time itself seemed to stand still.
She came back to reality and fled the room.
Everything after that felt like it happened in slow motion.
I went back down through the trapdoor since I could not fit through the mirror. When I made it out to the hallway, she was already halfway down the stairs. I followed her for what seemed like an eternity. She flung the door open to escape, but I had caught up to her by then.
I pulled from the door violently. She let out a blood-curling cry. I shoved her against a wall in the hallway, wanting to wring her little neck, wanting to kill her, feel her blood on my hands while I squeezed the life out of her.
Instead, I kissed her.
Her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed. I held her up against the wall for support, still kissing her.
I heard someone clear their throat.
I broke away from Meg and looked at the open doorway.
There, standing in the rain, was Majole.
