The Vanishing of Katharina Linden

witches.” He smiled faintly. “You should never judge by appearances, young man.” There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Well, I thought it was a brilliant story,” I cut in defensively, trying to signal my annoyance at Stefan. Who did he think he was, criticizing like that?

But Herr Schiller appeared not to have heard my comment. He raised a hand in the air in an admonitory fashion, his piercingly blue eyes still fixed on Stefan. “Of course,” he conceded, “there is nothing very alarming about an ordinary pussycat, lounging in the sunshine or washing itself on a windowsill. But imagine what it would have been like several hundred years ago, when the night was unbroken by electric light, and outside the little circle of your candle flame everything was endless black. And then if suddenly you were to see a pair of eyes glinting at you, where a moment before there had been nothing… and if you knew that this was not really a cat, but something much, much worse, which had assumed this innocent domestic form so it might slip unnoticed into your house while you slept…” Herr Schiller’s voice had sunk almost to a whisper, so that both Stefan and I involuntarily leaned toward him. “A thing so horrible, so horrible-”

“Aaaahhhhh!” screamed Stefan suddenly, so loudly and unexpectedly that I almost jumped out of my skin. Stefan had gone the sickly color of feta cheese, his face almost blue in its whiteness. He seemed to be attempting simultaneously to climb over the back of the leather armchair he had been sitting in and to point over Herr Schiller’s shoulder at something that was just coming into view.

“Scheisse!” I squealed, forgetting for once that I was in the presence of one of my elders.

Herr Schiller’s house was a traditional Eifel house, dark and gloomy even in broad daylight. It was now early evening, and the corners of the room were sunk in darkness. Out of one of these pockets of blackness there appeared first the silken head and then the sinuous body of an enormous tomcat, blacker than the shadows, and with great yellow eyes like headlights.

I realized later that the creature must have been sitting on the sideboard behind Herr Schiller’s armchair, but at the time it was like some uncanny materialization. My heart thumped wildly, and it was several moments before my eyes connected with my brain and I realized what I was seeing.

“You dope, it’s Pluto,” I almost shouted at Stefan. “Sit down, you idiot-it’s Pluto!”

Herr Schiller, who had been arrested midsentence by Stefan’s scream, pipe frozen between hand and lips, now jumped as though someone had touched him with a cattle prod. He was on his feet faster than I remember seeing anyone of his age ever move before. His face was a mask of horror.

“Out, out!” he was shouting, gesticulating at the cat, which spat derisively, its back a jagged arch. But the street door was closed; there was nowhere for the cat to bolt even if it wanted to. With considerably greater daring than I could have shown, Herr Schiller reached over and grasped the creature by the scruff, hauled it swinging and scratching to the front door, and cast it out into the street. The slam he gave the door afterward must have rattled that old house down to its foundations.

As the sound died away, we all stood there, panting like racehorses. Stefan looked as though he was going to be sick. Poor Herr Schiller looked almost as bad; the sudden rush of adrenaline that had fueled his assault upon the cat had passed like a flash flood, leaving wreckage in its wake. I was afraid he might collapse and so I offered him my arm. He looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then took my arm and allowed me to lead him back to his armchair.

“You are an idiot, Stefan,” I snapped, not adding, as I might have, You nearly gave the old man a heart attack. “It was only Pluto.”

Pluto was a well-known fixture in Bad Munstereifel, at least among those who lived in the old part of the town. A large, foul-tempered, and unsterilized inky-black tomcat, he had once made it onto the front page of the local free newspaper (admittedly during a quiet week as regards other news) after a resident of the town accused him of making an unprovoked attack on her pet dachshund. Describing him as “only Pluto” was rather like describing Baron Munchhausen as a bit of a fibber.

Still, I was annoyed with Stefan, not least because I was afraid that this piece of high drama really would spell the end of my visits to Herr Schiller. That evening my suspicions seemed to be confirmed, since Herr Schiller seemed suddenly tired and quite relieved to see us go. Normally he would stand on his doorstep watching me as I went off up the street, but this evening Stefan and I were scarcely on the cobblestones before we heard the door quietly click closed behind us.

I set off up the street at a fast pace, half wanting to leave Stefan behind. StinkStefan. I might have known he would mess it all up. I considered just running home at top speed without speaking to him, but as I reached the bridge over the Erft I heard him coming up behind me, panting with exertion, and I relented. Still, I was not going to make things easy for him. I stood on the bridge looking down into the shallow but fast-flowing waters of the river, and waited for Stefan to speak first.

“Why did you run off like that?”

Typical StinkStefan question. Like all those others: Why won’t you let me play with you? Why can’t I be on your team? Why won’t you be friends with me? This was not a good start.

“Because you nearly blew it. In fact you may have blown it. He’s never sent me off like that before.”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Stefan, brushing a strand of dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “That monster cat gave me the fright of my life.”

“It’s only Pluto,” I pointed out frostily. “You’ve seen him hundreds of times.”

“He made me jump, creeping out of the dark like that. And, anyway,” Stefan went on, “didn’t you think it was a bit weird, the way he appeared just as Herr Schiller was telling us about Unshockable Hans and the witches’ cats?”

“Not particularly,” I lied. “Pluto gets into everything. Frau Nett said she found him in the kitchen of the bakery once, eating a bit of Apfelstreusel.”

Stefan’s face fell a little. “Well, all the same…” he said lamely. “I think it was creepy.” He looked down at the muddy waters below, thinking. “He certainly gave Herr Schiller a shock,” he said eventually. “Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”

“Well, Pluto’s not his cat,” I pointed out. “He probably wasn’t expecting to see the old fleabag practically sitting on his shoulder.”

“Hmmmm…” I looked at Stefan sideways and could see a familiar expression on his face, one that meant wheels were turning. “Pluto belongs to Herr Duster, doesn’t he?” he said.

“Ye-e-es,” I conceded suspiciously.

“Well, don’t you think it’s odd that-”

“Oh, come on!” I snapped, cutting him off midsentence. “What do you think, that Herr Duster set Pluto on him or something?”

“I don’t know,” said Stefan, but you could see the idea had appeal. “I mean, those two hate each other, don’t they? Maybe Pluto didn’t get in there by himself. Maybe Herr Duster put him in through the window or something, to give Herr Schiller a fright. Maybe he was hoping it would give him a heart attack.”

“Nice idea,” I said untruthfully. “But who’s going to leave a window open in this weather?”

Stefan shook his head, as though he were an inspirational leader frustrated at the inability of his followers to see the bigger picture.

“It didn’t have to be the window. Maybe he put him in through that old chute where they used to put coal and stuff in the cellar.”

“Quatsch,” I said rudely. “That’s absolute Quatsch. And, anyway, how was Herr Duster to know we had been talking about Unshockable Hans and the cats? You think he’s psychic or something?”

The thought seemed to strike Stefan. “Maybe he is.” He pushed himself away from the parapet of the bridge and began to walk slowly toward the Marktstrasse. This time it was my turn to tag along after him. It was almost dark now, and as we passed the red Rathaus the first few flakes of falling snow were dancing in the air.

“Stefan, I have to get home. My mother will go nuts-it’s already dark.”

“I know. It’s all right.”