“‘To farm and plough, to hunt the doe.
My land to guard against the foe.’”
Hartmann smiled, put down the cards and sat back.
“It’s not often these days that I meet a fan of our great poet, Peter Rossegger.”
Speckbauer finished the spoonful of soup.
“What Austrian could not be?” he said.
“Well, Felix,” said Hartmann, and cleared his throat. “You travel our backroads with scholars. A great blessing.”
Felix noticed the beer belly now as Fuchs settled into the booth. He exchanged a thin smile with him.
Then Hartmann sighed, and shook his head once. His expression turned sombre.
“Terrible thing, the Himmelfarbs,” he said. “Terrible.”
He seemed to be staring, unseeing, at something across the room. He sighed again.
“I heard you were there with the boy?”
Felix sensed Speckbauer had begun listening more intently.
“You heard that?”
Hartmann nodded.
“Karl knew your name,” he said. “Oh yes. You and another Gendarme, the one he phoned. A friend of his, maybe?”
“They had met over a family matter before,” said Felix. “But not me.”
“It was your father,” said Hartmann, and paused to clear his throat. “He knew your father. Like half the province, such a fine man — may angels guard him.”
“It was only by chance I was there really,” he said.
“I didn’t know Karl all that well,” Hartmann went on, his voice barely audible. Age seemed to have returned with a vengeance to his features, Felix thought. Liesl made her way across from a door that led to a big kitchen.
“Family Himmelfarb,” Hartmann said to her.
“My God,” she said and clasped a dishcloth to her chest.
“Terrible,” she murmured, and then blessed herself. “But ‘Straight to heaven go the honest and the innocent.’”
Felix caught Speckbauer’s eye as the spoon was taking the last of the soup toward his mouth. Poetry, right off the bat? Speckbauer might not be the cynic about rural piety like this, then.
“The boy — God forgive me,” said Hartmann. “My brain is rusty: but what was his name…?”
“Hans,” said Felix. “Hansi.”
“He was everything to them, that boy,” said Liesl, her voice quavering. “There was a problem when he was born, they say. None followed. But on they went, with just the boy. Such a terrible thing.
Tragisch.”
She took out a paper hanky.
“Karl visited here,” said Hartmann. A game of cards, a coffee.
Never alcohol. Right, Liesl?”
She was crying quietly now. She nodded.
“Not so long ago?” said Felix.
“He was here but a day before this happened,” said Hartmann.
He looked around the table with a slow, baleful stare, as though to find agreement.
Fuchs, whose head was down now also, studying the glass, nodded.
“A ‘friend of the house’?”
“Indeed,” said Liesl between sniffs. “For years… And such a dignified man. I can think of no other word. Oh, but he had a cross to bear!”
Several sobs escaped her. Hartmann’s veiny hand reached up.
Felix looked at the patterned brocade curtains by the windows, the folk art on the walls and behind the counter.
“Did you speak with him, Frau Hiebler?”
She nodded.
“The crops,” she said. “The spring. The government. But so polite!”
Felix could feel Speckbauer’s questions piling up unspoken, but he waited.
“Schnappsen,” Hartmann said. “He played only to be polite.
But I think he enjoyed himself. The way a quiet man would. And now look.”
“Indeed,” said Felix, and he turned to tousle-haired Fuchs.
“Did you?”
Fuchs shook his head.
“Working,” he said. “I only heard from the TV. Then a neighbour. That was after the other thing.”
“The other thing?”
“I thought they’d gotten it confused,” said Fuchs, “Or that I had. We all heard about what they found up there behind the farm.
The two, the two auslanders.”
“The poor man!” said Liesel, her eyes shining. “And his poor family!”
“He must have had a terrible shock,” said Hartmann.
“Did he talk about it all, when he was here?”
“Well, it was one of us, I think brought it up,” said Hartmann.
“If I’m remembering. Let me see, who was by… ”
Then Hartmann’s head went up, followed by the rest of him.
He stared, eyes wide at Felix.
“What am I saying, Meine Gott, I am losing my marbles! Your opa was here! Yes! Of course he was! Speak up there, Toni! You brought him, for heaven’s sake.”
Fuchs nodded bashfully, and scratched at his head.
“Toni here is not one much to blow his trumpet,” said Liesl.
“‘The chauffeur.’”
“You drive people?” Felix said to Fuchs.
“Well, only if they can’t find someone,” he said.
“Now Toni,” said Hartmann, his voice back. “No one is accusing you of being a saint, but come on now!”
He looked to Felix again.
“Toni drives us old geezers about sometimes — yes, don’t be modest now, Toni! We aren’t safe behind the wheel, you see. So Toni steps in. When he can, of course.”
Fuchs gave a shrug, and waved away the compliments.
“And helps out,” Liesl added. “With something they can’t do themselves.”
“Oh yes,” said Hartmann. “Fix a window — ask Toni. Move furniture — ask Toni.”
Fuchs shook his head gently, and scratched it again.
“Lose at cards — ask Toni,” he said quietly. He had not looked up.
The smile returned to Hartmann’s face for several moments.
“Well, have you seen your opa since the memorial?”
“No,” said Felix.
“I think it’s a good decision, no?” Hartmann asked. Felix didn’t get it.
“Moving,” said Hartmann. “It’s hard, but it’s the right thing to do, for him.”
“I daresay,” said Felix.
“He’s out there on his own too long,” Hartmann went on.
“He’ll have his own room now in the village. What could be better?”
He nudged Fuchs.
“Toni will help out when the time comes, right? Moving stuff?”
Fuch’s lazy smile held. He looked at Felix but nodded toward Hartmann.
“I saw that,” said Hartmann.
