section of each finger near the knuckles was a thin whitish line that continued right across each hand.
‘Those are ugly scars. How old were you when you got them? Ten? Eleven?’
‘Twelve. I was practising the piano: Chopin Preludes, Opus 28. My father came over to the piano and without any warning he slammed the lid of the Steinway down as hard as he could. It was a miracle I didn’t lose my fingers, but I was never able to play again.’
The priest gripped his glass and seemed to lose himself in its contents before going on. He had never been able to acknowledge what had happened while looking another human being in the eye.
‘From the time I was nine years old my father… forced himself on me. That day I told him I was going to tell someone if he did it again. He didn’t threaten me. He simply destroyed my hands. Then he cried, asked me to forgive him, and called on the best doctors money could buy. No, Graus. Don’t even think about it.’
Graus had slid his hand under the table, feeling for the cutlery drawer. He quickly withdrew it.
‘That’s why I understand you, Doctor. My father was a monster whose guilt went beyond his own capacity to forgive. But he had more guts than you. Rather than slowing down in the middle of a sharp curve, he stepped on the gas and took my mother with him.’
‘A very moving story, Father,’ Graus said in a mocking tone.
‘If you say so. You’ve been hiding in order to avoid facing your crimes, but you’ve been found out. And I’m going to give you what my father never had: a second chance.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Give me the candle. In turn you’ll get this file containing all the documents that would serve as your death warrant. You can go on hiding out here for the rest of your life.’
‘And that’s it?’ said the old man incredulously.
‘As far as I’m concerned.’
The old man shook his head and stood up with a tight smile. He opened a small cabinet and pulled out a large glass jar filled with rice.
‘I never eat grains. I have an allergy.’
He emptied the rice onto the table. There was a small cloud of starch and a dry thud. Half buried in the rice was a package.
Fowler leaned forward and reached for it, but Graus’s bony paw grabbed his wrist. The priest looked at him.
‘I have your word, right?’ said the old man anxiously.
‘Is it worth anything to you?’
‘Yes, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Then you have it.’
The doctor let go of Fowler’s wrist, his own hands trembling. The priest carefully brushed off the rice and lifted out the dark cloth package. It was tied with twine. With great care he undid the knots and unwrapped the cloth. The faint rays of the early Austrian winter filled the filthy kitchen with a golden light that seemed at odds with the surroundings and the dirty, grey wax of the thick candle lying on the table. At one time the candle’s entire surface had been covered by a thin sheet of gold worked in an intricate design. Now, the precious metal had almost disappeared, leaving only traces of filigree on the wax.
Graus smiled sadly.
‘The pawnshop took the rest, Father.’
Fowler didn’t reply. He took out a lighter from his trouser pocket and flicked it on. Then he stood the candle upright on the table and brought the flame to the top of it. Although there was no wick, the heat of the flame began to melt the wax, which gave off a nauseating smell as it slid down towards the table in grey drops. Graus looked on with bitter irony, as if he enjoyed being able to speak as himself after so many years.
‘I find it amusing. The Jew at the pawnshop has been buying Jewish gold for years, thereby supporting a proud member of the Reich. And what you’re witnessing now proves your search has been completely pointless.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive, Graus. The gold on this candle is not the treasure I’m after. It’s only a distraction for idiots.’
Like a warning, the flame suddenly sputtered. A pool of wax had accumulated on the cloth below. At the top of what remained of the candle, the green edge of a metallic object was just about visible.
‘Good, it’s here,’ said the priest. ‘Now I can leave.’
Fowler stood up and folded the cloth around the candle once more, being careful not to burn himself.
The Nazi watched in astonishment. He was no longer smiling.
‘Wait! What is that? What’s inside?’
‘Nothing that concerns you.’
The old man stood up, opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out a kitchen knife. With trembling steps he made his way around the table towards the priest. Fowler watched him, motionless. In the Nazi’s eyes burned the crazed fire of someone who had spent whole nights contemplating that object.
‘I have to know.’
‘No, Graus. We made a deal. The candle for the file. That’s all you get.’
The old man raised the knife, but the expression on his visitor’s face made him lower it again. Fowler nodded and threw down the file on the table. Slowly, with the cloth bundle in one hand and his briefcase in the other, the priest backed towards the kitchen door. The old man picked up the file.
‘There are no other copies, right?’
‘Only one. The two Jews waiting outside have it.’
Graus’s eyes nearly leapt out of their sockets. He raised the knife again and advanced towards the priest.
‘You lied to me! You said you’d give me a chance!’
Fowler looked at him impassively one last time.
‘God will forgive me. Do you think you’ll have as much luck?’
Then, without another word, he disappeared into the hallway.
The priest walked out of the building clutching the precious package to his chest. Two men in grey coats stood guard several feet from the door. Fowler warned them as he passed: ‘He has a knife.’
The taller of the two cracked his knuckles and a small smile played on his lips.
‘Even better,’ he said.
2
AUSTRIAN HEROD FOUND DEAD
Vienna (Associated Press)
After evading justice for over fifty years, Dr Heinrich Graus, ‘the butcher of Spiegelgrund’, was finally located by the Austrian police. According to the authorities, the infamous Nazi war
