ChronArch

The Angel of a New Age

The Confessions of Captain Stephan Krauss

creative intervention and English proofread by
Cole Eric Edwards

T

HE dampness: pressing on like a nightmare, driving men insane. The mud: the only thing I will never get used to is this cursed, sticky mud. The best military commander in all of human history will not be known by any new weapon, or maneuver on the battlefield. The best will be the one who invents the method to neutralize the mud. It is still raining… not a bit surprising in the midst of autumn… it may even look romantic from a warm room, but like this, in the trench, believe me there is nothing romantic about it, and nothing more dreadful.

When it began in the summer of 1914, we were told we would go up against that one tiny country; we would pulverize it until Christmas; that glory was at hand! And then, the whole of Europe exploded!

This, my fifth autumn in the mud: It took us many beatings before I understood that all grandiose war plans concocted in the woodenheads of our generals of the Imperial Headquarters were bogus, a list of woefully directed strategies and lethal orders; all nothing more than propaganda for their pompous images.

There will be more mud. For God's sake, how much more can we take?

If it doesn't end soon, we'll all finally drown in the mud.

Why did I undertake to write this and prolong my days while the others go to sleep in order to shorten theirs? This monotonous rhythm is killing me, sleeping, keeping the watch, eating, sleeping, keeping the watch, eating… Sometimes I think that the occasional skirmishes are the only thing that keeps men's wits about them. Without clashes, we would've gone mad long ago.

Still, amidst all this horror there are memories of our previous lives, materialized in the form of a letter, family photo, or any other sort of a small trinket. Most of my men, whether young or old, keep them close at hand in the pockets of their uniforms or in their military rucksacks. I see them from afar when they gather under a piece of tent canvas to share these pitiful remains of a happier past.

I also have a memory, one I can never share. Wherever I've gone, whatever I've done, I've been haunted by that long-ago event. Why does it haunt me now, when everything seems so futile? It feels like it all happened in some other life, in some other time. The question is, whether I am still the same person who lived through those events that I will reveal to you, my unknown confessor.

And why am I doing this?

To clear my conscience… should one who commanded so many people to their death care about conscience? Will I be going to Hell? Oh, it almost makes me laugh! Perhaps there is no mud in Hell…

Well then, all of those things that I've done should be told, finally, and even in this odd manner, on the last pages of my officers' notebook, which doesn't have a real purpose anymore. I will leave my story to be judged and dissected by the moral blade of an unknown soul who will read this. I might give myself into the hands of someone who may have been more sinful than me and yet will condemn me for the evil I've done.

There it is, hidden where no one would dare to lurk, between the pages of my diary, just a photograph. On it, a classical armchair surrounded by a dozen silk cushions scattered about the floor. This massive piece of furniture is harboring a casually sprawled beautiful boy wearing only an unbuttoned luminous shirt. There is a rush of light, softening perfectly the areas of half-light and shade on the boy's body; making him almost alive, almost like he could jump out of the picture if he only wanted to. But no, his countenance is a combination of boredom and despise, perfectly set to remind me… and to torment me…

Why in hell's name didn't I burn this piece of paper many years ago? No, no, that was impossible then as it is impossible now. The picture and this story will remain after I'm gone. But nobody will know my terrible secret while I live. Know this: if you are reading my story, I am in the advantage over you, since I already know the punishment that was bestowed upon me.

Soldiers perish like flies, mighty crowns are falling into the abyss, empires are crumbling into dust, and everything disappears in this damn mud, under the rain, under grenades, under the threat of a last offensive that will finally crush us.

I

leap back some two decades to a time that now seems almost unreal. It was the last year of the previous century when I finished the High Academy for Commerce as the best cadet of my generation. I was confident that I would finally convince my father that I could successfully bear the name Krauss. However, my illustrious news was met with a morose expression on his face, that is to say in the same manner he accepted everything else in life. There was no sign of approval, joy, or congratulations: just a cold glance right into my eyes.

"That is behind you now," he told me. "Now is the time to begin to make something of your life."

In a moment, all my pride and joy had gone to ashes, incinerated by my father's acrid remarks. It didn't help much seeing the glow of a quiet happiness in my mother's eyes. Actually, she would be quite content with much less from me. The main thing was that I came back home to partially relieve the misery of her life with a man like my father. The humiliation she had to endure because she was from a poor family, married into wealth, and to a man she had never learned to love. My presence brought her some pleasure, if only for a while, a sense of purpose and meaning to her own life, as her hopes and dreams now rested with me, and my future.

Whenever my father felt it was necessary to complicate and burden my own life, he didn't lose any time. The next day after my return, he spoke to Herr Müller, the manager of his trading enterprise, and ordered him to employ me immediately. In that way, I could go through all the nuances of the trading business from the very basics. I already knew the most important among father's ironclad rules on child rearing: kids should never enjoy the wealth of their parents unconditionally, since a fortune easily acquired leads to vice and wastefulness! That was the mark imprinted on him by his parents, who disinherited him for some trivial childish prank, so he never spared any effort to enforce that principle upon me, even over the most insignificant things. Nevertheless, I could not believe that from the moment of my graduation to my employment there would be less than a week.

So, while my friends and classmates were in a dilemma whether to spend their holidays in Paris, Florence, or somewhere on the Mediterranean, I was searching for a bachelor's apartment and preparing myself to start a tedious job as a low ranking clerk in some godforsaken branch of father's complicated business empire.

That beautiful hot summer, my favorite season of the year, had quickly slipped away in front of my desperate eyes for some enjoyment. During that time, I walked to work every day through the radiant streets of the metropolis, cursing father's senseless decision to put me through this, as well as my cowardly reluctance to oppose him. I cursed, under my breath, all the innocent people around me who were carelessly strolling through town, enjoying the boon of the season. And to make matters worse, while sitting behind a desk in that suffocating office with three of my 'colleagues', I received a never ending stream of letters and postcards from all over the world from my classmates at the High Academy. So, while they enjoyed a youthful break after graduating university, I sat straining my eyes over endless columns of numbers, and feeling detestable.

I had come to know first-hand how our low-level employees were indeed mistrustful little animals frightened by the smallest sound or presence coming 'from above'. They had been working together for a long time in that barren suffocating room completely lacking in any décor, without a single picture on the wall, not even the Emperor's, since my father was a fervent republican. They stood at their tall desks all day long, dipping their pen into the ink well, and updating the books. The oldest among them, to whom they extended particular respect, had been working in that despicable office for more than 14 years. For my part, I had shrewdly decided not to reveal my real identity and worked patiently to accomplish all the menial tasks they put upon me. It was in this setting that I suffered through their daily bickering, along with their petty scolds directed at me, although they were more often the consequence of somebody's ill will than an actual mistake on my part.

After a while, my demeanor started to bear the first fruits: the walls of silence around me gradually subsided and finally fell, letting me into their everyday conversations. It was in the next month or so, I heard a number of funny stories about all the local employees, starting with Frau Hilde, the charlady, to Herr Müller himself. That was the way I obtained some valuable facts for the days that would lay ahead of me.

I had finally been well accepted by the little band of clerks when the inevitable came to pass. One morning our tiny room was honored by the visit of Herr Müller himself. The clerks immediately snapped to attention by the presence of a man who, in their eyes, was the emanation of God Almighty. I was sensible enough not to differ from them, but of course, with much less zeal in the expression of my 'unconditional loyalty'. Herr Müller stepped towards me, tapped my shoulder amicably, and said, "Steph, it's time for you to rise from this dump hole and ascend among us, the real businessmen. Gentlemen, you've had the honor of working for two months with none less than the son or your owner!"

Not even today, when I look into the faces of my soldiers while giving them orders for the most complicated and risky assignments, am I able to see in them the unique mixture of astonishment, admiration, fear, envy, and hatred, that was unmistakably shown by our office workers in the presence of their 'big bosses'. Caught by their expressions, I had remained speechless. I can only guess for how long after my departure, they went on and on, talking about the simple events that we shared, and how they feared the consequences of their indiscretions in my presence.

That 'fear' was certainly founded. It wasn't long after, that I realized that relations between people were not much different whether you were 'up there among the real businessmen' or at the bottom rank, as I was in that dreary office. People grovel up to those above them in order to ingratiate themselves to the proper authority, while at the same time treating those below in a pernicious way. Their stand on any issue was transitory, depending on which way the "divine winds" were blowing, with the goal of the game being to advance oneself at any cost. It was in this theatre of ever-changing masques that I viewed their behavior with a mixture of contemptuous humor and utter disgust. I had watched as they ceased to notice their duplicity a long time ago, for them it became their normal routine. But to me, it was painfully obvious and sickening conduct, despite my inexperience in the matters of life.

As time passed, I was increasingly irritated by their persistent attempts to teach me things, to point out to me one or the other wisdoms of trade that they gathered through a meticulous deliberation. In their most pompous voices they explained what they were doing, with whom they contacted, how they were buying and selling goods… Naturally, none of that differed from hundreds of other similar enterprises doing the same, using similar methods to outsmart, swindle, and ruin each other. It wasn't clear anymore whether they expected me to whisper a few compliments when I returned from 'up there', from the top of their meager world, or were they only playing smart in front of a green youngster. Then again, maybe all of it was simply a part of their trading ritual.

By the end of October, there were rumors that soon one of the greatest 'moguls' of father's firm would take me with him on a business trip to introduce me to his business partners and practices. However, nothing happened over the next few weeks and my attention to it withered, until I finally forgot all about it.

Christmas was now close, and despite all the kitsch and sentiment around it, Christmas time brings a certain tension and mystery. But in that year, 1900, it was a most unusual Christmas in many respects, the tension was especially strong, because the New Age was coming! People lived in the high expectation that something big was imminent! It was almost palpable, the sentiment was that we only had to wait for Christmas to pass and all of this decrepit old world would change by itself to something better and nobler, almost like taking off a dirty shirt and replacing it with a new one, fragrant and snow-white. Young and immature as I was, I couldn't help but share that illusion. I spent many hours planning for those few days of holiday that would compensate me for the months of living in boredom and misery. I annoyed most of my friends tirelessly describing my crazy dreams for my upcoming time away from the office. All those who knew me as a silent and composed young man were rather surprised by my transformation.

Alas, my plans were premature.

Just one day before the holiday, while I was rummaging through my wardrobe searching for the ideal combination that would help me break the hearts of a lady or two, I heard a weak but ominous knock on my door. There was a small boy standing in the corridor, tightly wrapped in a big shawl. I recognized at once the son of Herr Müller's servant who lived in a cramped apartment at the back door of the company building. He bowed his head to greet me and then handed me an envelope with my name on it, written in a casual handwriting.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, but my smile couldn't conceal the apprehension about the letters content. My quaint expression was enough to make the boy feel uneasy.

"Please sir, they gave it to me in papa's office to bring to you."

There wasn't any point in interrogating the youngster any further. I gave him a few coins and wished him luck, so he walked away gleaming with happiness. I sat by the table and increased the light of the oil lamp. I hesitated going further… no, dreaded.

Finally, I broke the seal and opened the envelope:

Dear Sir,

Our enterprise extends you the courtesy of sending you to escort me on a business trip to the Upper Lands in the south of the Empire. You will be my companion and secretary in a negotiation of the capital transaction regarding procurement of timber. We leave by train tomorrow at 6 o'clock in the evening. Please be prompt.

At your service, faithfully,

Otto Heider
Higher Commercial Councilor

I read it again, and again…

I couldn't believe my eyes! If I didn't already know that fatal handwriting, I would've thought it was a bad joke, but the man who wrote these lines was simply incapable of such a thing. Then I glanced towards my holiday suit. The veil of anger clouded my mind as I slammed my palm hard upon the table and cursed:

"God damn! God damn all the merchants and their filthy businesses!"

I was so furious I could strangle Heider without a single thought, if only I could reach him. In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed my suit from the bed, angrily threw it on the floor, and then kicked the door of the closet so it would slam. That entire clamor didn't go unnoticed in the house and moments later there was a knock at the door and a worried voice that said:

"Herr Krauss, Herr Krauss, is everything all right?"

I opened the door finding myself face to face with the landlady.

"Yes Frau Irma, everything is all right," I said, trying to sound as pleasant as I could, but still my voice sounded like a growl. When the poor woman saw my tousled hair flying in the air and my eyes burning in anger she quickly turned around and went away muttering something. For a minute or two, I could still hear her steps going down the stairs. We didn't have much sympathy for each other, probably because in almost every conversation she recited all the illustrious virtues of my father. Maybe she could have been his proper life companion, although I don't believe her hero would remain on his high pedestal for very long. I shut the door and sighed. My rage gradually dispelled and I started to feel sorry seeing my natty cloths laying shapeless on the floor. I had just picked up my jacket and trousers when another knock came from the door, this time sounding as if somebody was hammering a nail into it.

"Who is it?" I asked, but instead of an answer, the knocking repeated louder and faster. I opened the door and saw my father's stiff figure and marble-like face. I felt a knot forming in my stomach. I always felt uncomfortable in front of him, but that moment I remember very well, since my nauseating feeling was particularly strong. Whatever prompted him to appear in my room at that exact moment, the first time since I had left our family house?

"Good evening, father," I greeted him and moved away, giving him room to enter. He marched in like a grenadier captain, taking off his hat and overcoat, his eyes wandering around my quarters.

"Come on boy, shut the door, or maybe you think you should escort me out before I even enter," my father said with a stern glare. I moved much like a doll on a string and quickly obeyed, folding his coat over the bed while he sat at the table continuing to talk in his cold voice:

"It looks clean, but rather untidy."

"Would you like some tea father, should I call Frau Irma?"

"No, no. I came just for a brief moment. I hear you're going on a trip…"

My lips moved to say something neutral but an unsettling thought came to my mind: he didn't come by chance just now, to ask me just that. He knew for a long time that I would be going on that trip, and on Christmas Day. Knew? Like hell, that sort of torture befitted him perfectly. It was he, and nobody else who invented the whole scheme, and he came to gloat in his new little victory over one of his pawns. The rage suddenly came back in full swing. I almost shouted:

"Why do you tell me that just now? You arranged for me to spend the whole summer in that suffocating office… for your merchants to stuff me with their stupid stories about the trade of which I know ten times more than they do. Now you observe me for days as I prepare for the Christmas holidays and come to tell me about the trip one day before… Don't you find that just a little bit bellicose?"

Just for a few seconds, the expression in his eyes was something completely new to me – he was confused, but the confusion quickly vanished.

"How could I have known about it? Do you think I take the time to know about the plans of each and every one of my employees? Do you think I even care? Even if I knew, did you think I would shield you from work, even for some petty holiday?"

"I, sir, do not have to think much to know that you have been taking care about the plans for this employee of yours so that he wouldn't be able to realize any of his own. From the moment I graduated, you didn't allow me to rest for a day, what are you trying to prove to me? That you have power over me? I knew that already. You're merciless to your workers? I realized that during the six months in your firm. Would you like to know a single thing that still puzzles me: why do I put up with it, silently? With the qualifications and references that I have I could find an excellent job anywhere from here to Berlin and everyone would accept me with open arms."

While I was talking, thunderous clouds gathered over father's brows, but I couldn't restrain myself anymore. Quarreling words poured out of me, liberating my soul from the terrible clench in which he had been holding me all my life. For a minute, I was breathing at full capacity; never before had I felt so free.

But father wouldn't listen to rising tones of my rebellion anymore, they were already too high for him to swallow. He had the advantage over me in experience and ruthless character. All of his life he had tied stones around people's legs and enjoyed looking at them as they sank. He slammed the table with the silver head of his walking stick and roared, "That's enough, you ungrateful driveller! Enough! You are a Krauss and you should act like a Krauss, not squeal because you have to work. Holidays were invented by Jews, socialists, and scoundrels, to stop the development of humankind! Krausses work, Krausses produce, always! This is what I want to impress upon you, not that I have power or ruthlessness. But if you should provoke me anymore you will feel just that. So tomorrow you travel or…"

"Or what? Am I going to be fired?"

"Yes that, but also, upon my reference nobody should employ you, from here to Berlin, or from London to Istanbul."

"That is blackmail!"

"You bet!"

"Very well, but know this, I will finish this wretched business if I myself have to cut and carry the timber one by one, but that will be the last thing I do for you. I'll always have enough money to buy a ticket to America, and there your malice won't touch me."

"Oh yes, we shall see that when you feel the whole power of my money!" he exclaimed derisively and picked up his things. He stepped through the door and turned his head to me once more to add calmly as if nothing had happened, "Timber from the Upper Lands is sought-after these days. Observe Herr Heider and the old count negotiating and you will learn something about the business, good things, as well as bad. And afterwards, you will see your timber becoming furniture for Viennese homes. You will sense the triumph, the real triumph of creation! Have a good trip and see you soon."

Real triumph indeed! He triumphed in my debacle. My sudden rebellion ended like storm in a teacup. It didn't scratch the surface of his despotic nature. The whole weight of my anger, humiliation, and weakness pressed upon me when father's steps disappeared down the hallway.

N

EVER before that day and never again had I traveled on Christmas Eve. As I had arrived at the station that day, I took pause to notice that the train station was immersed in a gloomy air of abandonment. Before me was our train, an olive green serpent of steel gradually sinking in wisps of steam, and as I looked along that composition towards the place where the fiery head of the beast stood, it looked almost secluded from the rest of the train by the wafting smoke. Only the soft yellowish light that lit the endless row of windows looked vaguely inviting. Therefore, you can easily imagine the deep sense of misery I was feeling when I began trotting over the almost empty platform behind the man who carried my suitcase, poorly hiding his restlessness. He was polite but obviously keen to take me off his back so he could return to his family for a celebration.

During that day, it had suddenly turned very cold, with a chill in the air that was sharp and quickly found its way through my coat. I had started to shiver before reaching my coach. There, just in front of it, standing on the platform of the opened door was Herr Otto Heider. A short chubby man with a large stomach and even larger head, adorned with a bowler hat slanted in a funny way. It looked like it would at any moment slip down the man's dyed, heavily greased thin hair. You would expect a normal person to wear a more appropriate hat on such a cold night, but anyone who knew Herr Heider would agree with me that, outside the circle of commercial clerks, he was all but a normal person. Before the man said anything, he planted his pince-nez eyeglasses on his nose and theatrically glanced at his pocket watch. I was late a full 48 seconds – intolerable!

"Good evening Herr High Counselor." I tried to be respectful, upon which he returned a glance of just enough contempt that was allowed by our 'double reciprocal' relationship of superior and subordinate.

"Good evening Herr Krauss. With your permission, as I already pointed out in my letter, my title is Higher Commercial Councilor and not High Counselor. As you should already know, in our business it is of particular importance to title a man in the proper way."

To title? Dear Lord, me, in my twenty-second year of life, lost in the Christmas night between two centuries; did I care how to title such a knucklehead? I was roiled enough with this trip and his idiotic remarks only heightened my state of torment. I hadn't even stepped into the coach yet, and I knew this was going to be a long and miserable trip. I needed to keep a level head, so I remained composed and accepted his reproach with remarkable stoicism. Surely, that would be the worst I would have to endure. I decided I would wait patiently for any matters between us to reach their natural conclusion.

The porter loaded my suitcase on the coach and after I gave him a pair of coins, he bowed deeply and ran towards the station building.

"Ah, the wretched scum! How shamelessly he turned his heels on us," muttered Heider in a spiteful voice.

"What was that?" I asked distractedly.

"That porter of yours, did you see how much money he just took from you? Plain robbery! You young people, wealthy without your own merit, give away money too easily. Go on like that and you will be ruined in no time."

Heider seemed like an ugly insect sucking my blood, fully aware I wouldn't defend myself. I had to stay silent. That was for the best. But to my utter horror, my silence didn't bother Herr Heider at all, and he continued endlessly with his rambling. We entered the compartment of the almost empty train. He hurled his carpetbag on the upper shelf, took his coat off, and hung it on the hook with meticulous attention. He added his bowler to it and sat in the middle seat crossing his legs. As soon as he felt comfortable enough, he took a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and started to rub his pince-nez vigorously between his fingers. That ritual didn't stop in all the long hours of our voyage, same as his talk, although I did try to listen for some time:

"You know, young man, when I was your age, we didn't live as easily as you live today. My parents had to send me to a military school in order to receive an education. After which, I joined the military, where I was assigned to the supply unit because my health was not very good. And it was there that I learned this business, and my successful commercial career began…"

My mind drifted as I listened to Herr Heider drone on… Successful my foot! I thought. I had already heard several spicy details about his 'success'. For years, the generations of clerks have been retelling the story about the famous episode of procurement of swine in Budapest. Some shrewd peasant from down south, across the Danube, sold him the same herd twice for a ludicrous amount of money. For that, he was almost court-martialed, but instead of being sent to rot in jail, he was persuaded to quietly abandon military service to avoid any scandal that would be publicly embarrassing to the Imperial Army. By the way, that was an even crueler punishment, because at the time many of the nobler men were using their position in the military to empty the imperial coffers. They enriched themselves without reproach, but not one of them was ever touched. However, they were noblemen and Heider was a 'nobody'. Much later, I found out that most of my father's employees where a bit 'flawed'. By just pointing out their past mistakes, he could impress upon them his superiority. In that way, he would dominate and intimidate them into doing his bidding. I was suddenly brought back by a bellow from Herr Heider:

"… which allowed me to join the chamber of His Imperial and Royal Highness!"

The triumphant expressions of his fleshy face were both ridiculous and disgusting, resembling the head of an inflated frog.

"For a full fourteen years, my dear young man, I had the unique opportunity to personally, with my own eyes, see His Imperial and Royal Highness. Nineteen times, as clearly as I can see you now. For the first time it was…"

Although at that time, I supported the monarchy out of sheer opposition to my father, I was not prepared for what followed. Unbelievably, as God is my witness, Heider began to tell me about all nineteen occasions in excruciating detail. It was after the third of Heider's stories was finished, that I was completely stupefied, floating in some sort of open-eyed slumber. I was in doubt the trip would ever end, but thankfully, the monotonous drone of his voice had put me to sleep. During my snooze, I had the impression that time stood still, that I was trapped somehow: my father, Herr Heider, this trip… my life was not my own.

When I awoke for the first time, we were already close to Laibach. It was the early morning and the frost literally bit our faces. We descended from the train and were directed to the station building. I almost couldn't convince my fellow traveler to settle down and warm our bodies with a cup of tea. He accepted it only when I convinced him that I would pay. The hot drink revived the blood flow in my veins but it seemed to have a very odd effect on my companion. His evil eyes narrowing more and more looking at the drowsy little waitress gathering glasses and plates from the tables all over the inn, undoubtedly left there after last night's celebration.

"Did you grow up in the woods, girl?" he said with a vicious look. I couldn't understand why he asked her that question at all, and it was obvious she did not understand it either.

"Sir…" she said, with raised eyebrows and a perplexed look, as she stepped backwards away from Herr Heider in fear.

"Now, you want to bail out! Who is in charge of you here? Never mind, bring me the proprietor immediately!"

"The gentleman is sleeping, sir. It is very early still. There was a celebration last night…"

"Liar!" shouted Heider and stood up.

"Herr Heider, for God's sake," I said softly, trying to calm down his inexplicable rage. As if my voice cooled his temper, he sat back in his chair. And to prevent Heider from snapping on the distraught girl again, I asked, "Where are we going to obtain our next transport?"

"Ah, where," growled Heider, "presumably somewhere among these lazy, filthy peasants, all of them swindlers and robbers!"

After clashing with the locals, we eventually found our transportation. As you may well imagine the cause of our troubles were not the 'filthy peasants' but Herr Heider himself. Until we settled into the comfortable sledge and headed towards Krainburg, Heider had repeated his quarrelsome circus twice more, each time bringing his victims to the brink of tears. Metropolitan visitors to this remote part of the country were indeed rare, as some considered it the brink of the world. Its inhabitants considered naïve and backwards by the standards set in Vienna, home to the court of our Emperor Franz Jozef I, a man duly revered, and worshipped by some. A refined gentleman from Vienna was always treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. Local peasants being more than eager to impress their guests, and show how they knew the ways of the world, but the smallest criticism could and would shatter these dear people, making them feel they truly were worthless and stupid.

In his defense, Heider was no different from many inhabitants of our metropolis when they find themselves in provinces. He didn't need a special reason for surly behavior, it was easy to explain. At home, in Vienna, he was no more than a fly, while here he was 'his Excellency' and he tended to use that to the point of cruelty. The sense of divine heights intoxicated the old man's brain to the point where he could no longer control himself.

If by any chance it was some other season of the year, it's possible my impression of this tiny country, clenched in valleys between mountain peaks, would have been quite different. However, the virginal whiteness surrounding us as we traveled to the northwest, up the river Sava, constantly uplifted my miserable soul. Everything was covered in immaculate snow, shining in the sun, blinding our eyesight. There was no trace of the ghastly city slush and soot deposited on the cobblestones.

The travelling distance was a little less than 30 km [20 miles] but the voyage lasted the whole day. We took several breaks in places where we found roadside inns to warm up and have something to eat. Bewildered and drowsy from the cheerful Christmas night, innkeepers opened their doors. Just because we came from Vienna they showed us the utmost respect and attention, but their simple minds couldn't hide the feeling of pity towards the two lunatics who were trashing through the snow on the first day of Christmas.

In one of these tiny, sooty inns, I ate my first Christmas lunch in the New Age, accompanied by a coachman, while my travel companion refused any thoughts of such a low-grade meal. The pair of greasy sausages, cooked sour cabbage, and rough peasant bread was not up to his expectations, which would only be satisfied by the masterful cuisine of the nobleman who awaited us.

I

am trying to recollect the name of the village we were going to, but it escapes my memory. In any case, if I were to travel there again, I probably wouldn't recognize it. To us city folk, all of these villages look more or less the same. Whatever its name was, when we reached that place near Krainburg it was already dark, and the coachman brought us to the front of the largest building on the main street. Since it couldn't have been a municipal building, it had to be the inn. Indeed, we entered there followed by our coachman carrying our luggage. The innkeeper greeted us, and when he heard who we were, he bowed, and then led us to the table that had been awaiting us since the early afternoon. While we were settling down Herr Heider took his watch out of the pocket of his striped vest and silently muttered something. I hadn't realized it at first, but it turned out we arrived earlier than planned. He had one less reason to complain.

In less than ten minutes, two men entered the inn together. They were strikingly different. One wore a stylish urban suit, was medium height, and had a dignified and composed posture. The other, lagging two steps behind, was dressed in a rough, though not vulgar suit. He was taller and very lean, to a kind of advantage, and had a broom-like stack auburn mustache that hung under his large bulbous nose. He couldn't have been more than 35 and yet his face was wrinkled and tired. The innkeeper discreetly indicated the place where we were sitting. Arriving at our table, the tall man kept his head down and was constantly crushing his soft hat in his enormous bony hands. He was visibly intimidated in the company of men whom he did not belong with.

"Welcome Herr Heider, I hope your travel was not completely unpleasant?" said the smaller man in perfectly polished German, which instantly gave away that he was not a native German speaker at all. Herr Heider promptly jumped to his feet to greet the man.

"My Lord, I am most honored…" he said with a condescending smile on his fat lips.

The mustache of the larger man moved up and down several times, as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. The expression on his face was so desperate, as if he was the one who blurted stupidity. The smaller man swiftly waved his hands in negation and said:

"No, no, forgive me, please, I am only the estate manager, engineer Karel Marek, at your service. His Lordship rarely descends to the village, that is to say he rarely leaves his estate to go anywhere."

Although visibly disappointed by the level of reception, Heider did not allow himself to be distracted. He shook hands with Marek and then pointed towards me.

"Let me introduce young Herr Stephan Krauss, my assistant."

"Krauss?"

"Indeed, the young gentleman is the son of our distinguished owner, entrusted to me to learn the secrets of the trade."

He said that with a pompous voice to make himself come across as self-important, even inflating his chest to its limit before speaking the word 'indeed'. For the first time since I met him, he had elicited an honest smile from me. And with that smile still on my face, I extended my hand to the estate manager first, and then to his companion, who looked very confused, but returned the gesture. His rough hand was moist with sweat, and having just come in from the cold, the man was palpably uncomfortable in our presence.

"Oh, I didn't introduce you to our village senior, Martinšek… Jozef is his name, although he's not a carpenter, which would be quite convenient at Christmas time," said Mr. Marek in a jovial tone, as he sat down at our table. The bewildered peasant remained standing. Not only did socializing with gentlemen from Vienna not suit him, since he only smattered some German, but he was especially worried, as he was jokingly compared to biblical Jozef. Friar Anton, the local priest, wouldn't at all think such a sinful comparison to be humorous.

We didn't stay long at the inn, just enough for Heider to experience another, this time much harder blow. Mr. Marek diplomatically explained the count's villa was full of guests who had come for the Christmas holidays, and since the rural inn didn't befit such 'exalted persons' as us, the village senior would be our host. The good engineer apologized profusely, with Heider interrupting, that it was nothing and that he was able to understand the situation very well, although his face couldn't hide his deep disappointment. We finally got to our feet and were directed toward Martinšek's home. Mr. Marek left us, climbing up on his beautiful sledge that took him further up along the road, towards the villa.

The house belonging to Martinšek's family was visibly larger and better built than the surrounding homes in the village, however it was still quite modest, and well beneath the expectations of Herr Heider. Exhausted by the trip, I was attracted to the light that shone through the windows and the prospect of a warm, soft bed. We entered into a large room of white walls with a tan wooden floor. One corner was reserved for the cooking space, which was dominated by a strong, helthy looking female figure, puffing in an effort to finish the meal before her guests arrived. As soon as we entered the door, our hostess stiffened her back and greeted us with a clumsy curtsy. The other part of the room was occupied by a massive dining room table made of planks with two benches along its sides and one hefty chair on the end. On a bench opposite the wall, sat a boy, with his back to the door and reading a book. His nice but simple school suit sharply contrasted the peasant cloths of his parents, as well as the fact that reading a book contrasted the atmosphere of that home. He was so engrossed in reading that he didn't even notice our arrival.

Heider's mood had become foul since he learned that we would not be sleeping in the 'castle', so bad that I already knew that our hosts would have to suffer because of his frustration. Indeed, when he saw the boy mesmerized by reading, he sarcastically remarked:

"Rude animals, they don't even know how to greet their guests properly!"

No matter how meager his German was, our host understood the object of Heider's remark. In one long step, he approached the boy and smacked his head mercilessly, causing his yellow hair curls to jump. He barked to him a few angry words in his own language full of consonants and then turned to us:

"Your excellences, pardon please my son. Reading he is. Crazy of reading he is…"

The boy turned to us, his blue eyes full of tears and then bowed, biting his lip. Just one more harsh word and he would burst out crying because of this sudden humiliation before strangers.

"But this is beautiful, reading is the source of wisdom, not madness," I said, trying to remedy the situation. The face of the peasant instantly cleared and he said in triumph:

"Alojz to school going, to Linz boarding school, becoming a gentleman he will. Here only for holiday."

"Tell me Alojz, what is it that you are reading?" I asked the boy. His eyes widened with joy that I spoke to him. He swallowed a lump and said:

"Sorrows of Young Werther, sir."

"Aren't you a little too young for that? How old are you?"

"Twelve sir… well, almost."

"Dining you should, eating. Sit down illustrious gentlemen. My darling Mateja prepare something," interrupted the host, and he then led us to the table. My brief conversation with his son momentarily raised Jozef's spirit to the point where his behavior became almost spontaneous.

Dinner consisted of ordinary peasant dishes, but it was tasty and plentiful. Heider, who had refused to eat as we traveled, was now faced with the fact that he would not be dining at the count's table and started to devour the abundant hot meal with an enormous enthusiasm. As if his appetite gave wings to our hosts, they stuffed his plate with more and more food and his glass with more and more wine…

When he was so full that he could hardly breathe, Heider leaned back in his chair like some sort of priest, his beady eyes gleaming, and said:

"Reading is harmful. It corrupts the youth and distracts them from real enterprise, leading to idleness and immorality. In particular this Werther… some kind of a writer he is."

I was astonished seeing him sitting slumped and triumphing in his stupidity, before the poor semiliterate peasants. He himself probably hadn't read any book in his entire life, except the endless stream of commercial registers. He was the sole picture of men upon which our Empire stood. But before I was able to say anything, the boy innocently exclaimed:

"But sir, it was Goethe…"

Thunderstorms instantly gathered on Heider's forehead. Another humiliation, this time before that vicious peasant snapper… no, he couldn't allow that to himself. Therefore, he didn't even let the boy finish the sentence but croaked toxically:

"Goethe, of course it is Goethe. Are you saying that I cannot tell Goethe from Werther, you little jackass!"

The youth just bent his head and said nothing more. He was not so much struck by Heider's scorn, but his father's terrible glance offended him again. Seeing that the evil will of the sinister alien was hanging over her child's head, and the heavy hand of her husband that started to raise, our poor hostess approached the table and began to collect the dishes. Her sudden movement and loud clattering dispelled Jozef's black thoughts and the whole scene concluded as he expelled the boy to his room with a single slap on the face. A demonic malice radiated from Heider. In his ugly mind, he was already the master of these simple souls. He sickened me!

I was completely immersed in my thoughts for a few minutes, trying to ascertain what the real feelings of this simpleminded father towards his son were, love, pride, and ambition, for sure. All of which I had never seen from my father. Alas, these sentiments combined in Jozef's coarse soul produced the same terrible effect that I felt from my own father: cruelty. It was awful, this willingness to humiliate himself and his child, for the sake of a mean old stranger whom he had seen for the first and last time in his life. The thought came to my mind, probably unjust but very intrusive, that a man ready to do that would be capable of other vile deeds.

When my mind refocused to the situation in the room, I heard the words of our host spoken in his course voice:

"… and so illustrious gentlemen, our problem is this."

"What do you say to that, Krauss? Why didn't he tell us earlier, stupid mule."

"I beg your pardon… ?"

"There's a shortage of rooms here. He didn't understand how many of us were coming, and in all this time he didn't find it in him to tell us, knucklehead. How are we going to settle in now?"

Jozef spoke up, "Very sorry I am. What now? Lojze can sleep here on the bench and you young illustrious gentlemen in his room. Alojz! Alojz!"

There was a dose of primitive shrewdness in Jozef's words: the technique peasants have used since the beginning of time to bring their opponent to a fait accompli.

"Please wait. No, no, we cannot throw the boy out of the bed just like that," I said.

The boy appeared from his room dressed in shorts and a long undershirt, still offended, judging by the expression on his face. He heard that he would be kicked out somewhere and thought it was part of his undeserved punishment. His father spoke to him in their language, probably telling him to bring bedding and prepare to sleep here on the bench. The mother was also saying something and her voice sounded rebelliously, while Heider sullenly muttered, "Veritable confusion."

"Wait, wait," I exclaimed. "How many beds are there in the boy's room?"

"One."

"And in the guest room?"

"Two."

"It is all right then. I will share the guest room with the boy, so let us not fuss anymore," I said calmly. The boy's face stretched into a smile of relief and gratitude, while Heider's expressed a poisonous satisfaction. In his eyes, my 'self-sacrifice' for the sake of peace in the house was unreasonably large. He would never do that. The host didn't dare to argue with me and thus the question was resolved. To leave no doubt of my intentions I rose from the bench and walked toward the room declaring:

"The journey was tedious. I am going to bed now. Good night."

As I entered the room, I heard Heider grumbling:

"To sleep… these young people are so soft, not like us, the old guard."

The hostess was quick to transfer clean linen to the boy's room, and Alojz waddled in the other direction, carrying his clothes and trinkets.

I

heard the sound of a flute, a gentle sound that repeated a harmonious melody for the third time and was slowly turning my dreams to reality. I gradually opened my eyes to see the dull gray light of a chilly morning, which shone through the small window of the guest bedroom. Inside and covered up, it felt nice and warm. The silent roar of the tile stove in the corner, next to the door, indicated it was freshly loaded that morning. I got up and looked through the window. On a cleared plateau near the barn, a boy was standing in an unusual position playing the double wooden flute. When he had finished the melody, he raised one hand in a strange theatrical gesture, took a few steps, bowed, and started to talk. It was impossible to discern the words from where I was. Quickly, the little boy continued his music and dancing, only this time it was a much livelier tune. Playing, the boy dexterously moved back, jumping from one leg to the other. As I shaved and dressed, he repeated his little show twice.

"Good morning to you, illustrious gentleman," our host said to me when I appeared in the large room filled with the pleasant smell of recently baked bread. He looked particularly tired, but he tried to hide it from me. Why? Of course, I was aware that our visit to his home should mean the world to him. His prestige in the village would be secured for many years to come by the sole fact that the count's guests stayed in his house. Still, his poltroon behavior annoyed me and I couldn't talk to him with much regard.

"What happened to you, dear host? It seems you haven't slept."

"Oh yes, I slept, I sleep, but we remain with the illustrious old gentlemen for him to conversation. Him conversation to very, very late. Him now sleeping."

What a perfect description he gave in his jumbled German: 'him conversation!' Indeed, Heider didn't need a partner in conversation, only a victim. It was easy to assume that the subject of Heider's 'conversation' was the lengthy recapitulation of his nineteen encounters with His Imperial and Royal Majesty. Alas, unlike me, the poor peasant was completely overwhelmed and he probably considered the old merchant to be the intimate friend of the Emperor.

I had taken a seat at the table, and was followed there by Jozef. Soon, his wife and son joined us bringing warm milk, some cheese, and fresh bread. The atmosphere was very pleasant until the moment the boy's bedroom door opened and Herr Heider stepped out. The boy's cheerful chatter immediately stopped, and our hostess became very serious. Jozef's calm face immediately contorted, acquiring the ugly spasm of hypocrisy. Without a word or anything, Heider collapsed in his chair. Mateja jumped to serve him and our host turned towards him, as if he expected God's eleventh commandment. I existed no longer. Only the boy's eyes were still fixed upon me as if he expected deliverance. I couldn't resist his silent cry and said:

"I would like to have a little walk around. Nature seems to be particularly beautiful here."

"Oh yes, particularly there, towards the hill," said the boy cheerfully and waved his hand in a vague direction.

"Then I name you my guide."

"Hurray!"

We were quickly ready to go, but before we left the house, Heider muttered his first words that morning:

"I warn you young man: if you are robbed or hijacked by bandits, please know that I cannot take the blame for it upon myself."

I had remained silent, pretending I didn't notice his words; quickly bidding adieu to everyone, and went out. The two of us started to walk down to the river, following the way we came last night, to the point where the road sharply separated from the banks of the Sava River. There, in front of us rose the wooded hill. In a moment, the boy found his way through the seemingly impassible tangle of shrubs to reach the stately woods.

"This place seems to be forgotten by everybody, sir," said the boy, "I like to come here when I want to be alone, especially in the summer when the days are warm and beautiful."

"It is great even now. Where does the old road lead?"

"How do you know about the old road?"

"I can see its remains among the shrubs. So where does it lead?"

"A-a-a… I won't tell you, sir, you shall see," replied the boy mischievously.

It took us a good half hour to get out of the woods to the clearing on the watershed of the hill. From there we could clearly see the river in front of us and the village behind. The boy lifted both of his hands to the gray skies and yelled as loud as his lungs permitted. He was his own master here, free from all the constraints of his life: a strict boarding school, overly ambitious father, an evil guest who torments him, and who knows what else. I flatter myself to this day for the fact that he had no fear in front of me, despite our difference in age or status. However, at last, after all these years have passed, I plainly admit I betrayed his trust in many ways.

We started to descend the opposite side of the hill towards the river and soon reentered the forest. The boy trotted back and forth like a little colt and I followed him. We both laughed out loud. I must say it was not purely by chance that at one point he tripped over my leg and planted his nose into the snow. Although he was startled, he retaliated spontaneously; he made a snowball and hurled it right into my face. I returned with my own, and a veritable little war started. We reached the bank covered in snow, white as polar bears. I slapped the sides of my fur coat several times, took off my hat and shook it against my knee. Then I cleaned the snow from his coat and tightened the scarf around his neck. Two tiny dimples appeared on his rosy cheeks while he gleefully enjoyed my concern. Suddenly, with a lot of confidence, he hurled his arms around my chest, surprising me and himself with his boldness. I returned a few yellow curls under his hat and set my hands on his shoulders.

"Now, you will see what's there," he said, without noticing he forgot to say 'sir', but I didn't protest. He grabbed my hand and led me through the shrubbery until an old watermill appeared in front of us.

"There, my grandfather's brother worked there, and his son after him, until the steam mill was built. Now, nobody comes here anymore, only me."

"Wonderful! Beautiful! If I were a painter I would look for a spot just like this," I had said, and added quietly, "But you know, people say that witches and fairies live in the abandoned mills."

"Oh, that's silly, I hope you don't really believe that," he replied with surprised eyes. I burst into laughter and pulled his cap down to his nose.

"Of course not, I'm just pulling your leg."

The boy giggled and raced me with his hat pulled over his face, hooting like an owl.

When we decided to return to the village, noon had already passed. We traversed the hill quickly and ran to the road as if we were being persecuted by witches and fairies. The first houses were already visible when Alojz suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground as his leg slipped into a hole filled with snow. When I reached him, the boy was in pain.

"Jesus and Mary, how it hurts!"

"What happened?"

"Ay, ay, I surely broke my leg…"

"Wait, wait. We shall see."

I rolled up his left trouser-leg, removed the shoelace, the boot, and his thick woolen sock. His ankle had already swollen. I examined the leg from the knee downwards and was sure that nothing had been broken or dislocated; it was tender to the touch, but I was sure it was only a sprain.

"Come on; stop braying like a donkey," I said sternly, "it's nothing for a big boy like you. We will cool it down and nothing will be visible by tomorrow."

"But… tomorrow… this evening I need to…"

He didn't continue. I recalled his little show in the yard this morning, but I didn't mention it. I covered the aching ankle with snow and we spent the next few minutes in silence.

"All right now," I said finally, "let's see if you can stand on that leg."

The boy slowly got up and stood barefoot on his sock, carefully conveying the weight of his body to the injured leg, until the signs of pain reappeared on his face. He lifted his foot and said:

"It's not as bad as I thought."

"Well then, put on your sock, pick up your boot, and get on my back. We'll be home soon."

"But Sir, you are not going to carry me?"

"What… are we no longer friends?" I said. "I see I became sir again," pretending to be offended.

"Well, I mean… my father, if he sees me… and the old gentleman…"

"I don't see any of them around."

"Well then, let's go," said the boy laughing.

He folded his hands around my neck and leaned on my back while I caught him under his tights and carried him towards the village. Several peasants we met along the way looked at us in astonishment, while Lojze tried to hide his eyes.

We arrived in front of the house, where the boy got off his exalted horse, and hopped into the house with my help and then sat on the bench.

"What is this circus? Where were you all the morning?" asked Heider, still sitting on his throne.

"Oh, the boy sprained his ankle, but nevertheless we had a nice stroll."

"While you were strolling, I have been working!" said the old man with reproach.

"And what was that, if you please?" I asked impudently as it was obvious he hadn't moved once since that morning.

"His Lordship's valet was here to extend an invitation to a business lunch with His Lordship. Afterwards, there will be a celebration… you know… this is the special Christmas reception with a little play that His Grace arranges every year on the second day of Christmas. We must be prepared."

On the mention of the Christmas play Alojz started to wiggle on the bench. The glance he gave me reflected a deep restlessness and discomfort.

"Well," I said soothingly, "let us prepare then…"

"Y

OUR Excellencies, the sledge ready it is. Alojz, bring the warm bricks so the gentlemen's feet will not be frozen," said Jozef ceremoniously. The boy ran to the house to bring a large hot brick on a specially made iron hook. It was quite a burden even without his injured ankle. After he placed the first one, with a barely visible limp he hurried back to the house to bring another. Passing by Heider, he suddenly swayed and fell, moaning painfully. He dropped the brick, which sizzled in the snow near Heider's patent leather boots. It seems that nobody but me noticed the movement of the old man's cane, whose tip hit the boy right in the painful area. The old evil immediately exclaimed:

"Assassination! Help! He's trying to kill me!"

"Forgive me Sir, please excuse me, I didn't want… so help me I didn't want to injure you!" cried the little boy bursting into tears. It was in vain. His father, as if dimwitted, hurled towards him cursing, and gave him two slaps that I thought would rip off the boy's head. He lifted his arm to strike him again, but I caught his arm in my hand, like a pair of pliers.

"Enough man, for God sake, enough! How long are you going to molest your child to satisfy this creature? Don't you see he is insatiable for the boy's and your pain?" I exclaimed. The tall peasant paused for a second and then somehow deflated like a torn balloon. He probably didn't understand my words but the tone of my voice conveyed to him the meaning. Now when he came to his wits, a bit of shame overtook him and he picked the hot brick up from the snow with his bare hands and with a painful cry hurled it into the sledge. Heider had intended to spit out another one of his sarcastic comments when he started to say:

"Herr Krauss why do you interfere in…"

"No more Heider!" I whispered angrily. "I warn you, that was enough!"

He shut up not so much because of my words but because of the expression on my face and my blazing glance. Despite all of his arrogant blindness, he realized that I had seen what he had done and that he went too far. It wasn't very smart to poke the patience of his master's son, so he wisely withdrew.

The count's villa was built on the flat top of the hill whose gentle slopes were covered in scattered trees. Far from being a castle or mansion, upon which Heider stubbornly insisted, it was still a large and luxurious building. No one in the village would have been able to tell you why the exceedingly rich count lived there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by peasants and servants, and not in any of his properties closer to the capital.

There were a few occasions in the year when he gathered his numerous relatives and entertained them in a manner villagers dared mention only in a low voice, and with almost a superstitious fear. However, the presence of their count didn't burden the villagers too much. He gave them the opportunity to work and earn extra money and he also took it upon himself to educate several of their children in a fine boarding school in Linz. Altogether, there had been just enough benefits from his presence so that some other streaks of his character could be kept behind dark shades.

In the moment of our arrival on the doorstep of the villa entrance, we met engineer Marek with his usual hearty smile on his face. When the sledge stopped in front of the staircase, he waved, looking pleased to see us. It felt genuine; in contrast to the many peasants I had seen on our way, who were expected to greet us noblemen with a warm gesture, even in passing. Ultimately, it was quite possible that Marek truly appreciated new faces to the villa, as he was unwillingly condemned to a solitary life, being in the employ of the count. From his perspective, every new face in the villa was very much appreciated. He took us into a spacious hall where servants received our coats and from there we were led up a wide center staircase towards the first floor. On the landing, where the stairs branched left and right, stood a large bronze statue of a naked youth bending the bow, the arrow pointing somewhere up. Next to the archer's legs, there was a figure of a hunting dog with big sad eyes. The composition dominated the space in such a manner that it simply couldn't be ignored.

At the top right wing of the stairs, the master of the house awaited us. His figure had been anything but impressive. If you met him on the street, you would think he was a long retired court scribe. His suit was quite unfashionable indicating he hasn't moved within the Viennese high circles for a long time, but that didn't seem to bother him. Beneath the thick gray 'Franz-Joseph' mustache there was a mouth bordered by livid, thin lips, always distorted in a sardonic smile. From that overly plain face, so tired of life, a pair of brown eyes gazed upon us, every now and then reflecting a gleam of his wild, passionate nature, but these flashes were very short and difficult to discern. The shapes of his eyes were strikingly similar to those of the bloodhound on the sculpture below. Above his low wrinkled forehead fluttered a messy gray hair that had been unruly to tame since his younger years.

"My Lord Count!" exclaimed Heider, his hands held out in a ridiculous apotheosis, and his presentation ceremony lasting an eternity. I couldn't get rid of the unpleasant feeling that the old nobleman didn't take his eyes off me from the moment he saw me, despite my companion's efforts to be the focus of the count's attention. Finally, our host broke Heider's tirade of praise to His Lordship's magnificent home and directed us to one of the lounges.

"Dear gentlemen, even if you feel substantial hunger, I would still recommend that you wait until the evening and the main entertainment, but for now I offer you hors d'oeuvres here in the drawing room," said our host in a leisurely voice. We had little choice but to agree. I was not at all hungry, but seeing those appetizers in front of us, I soon began to wonder how glorious the prospective dinner might be. Heider didn't ask anything. He quickly took bites of each and every appetizer, here and there, stuffing them into his mouth until his cheeks resembled that of a hamster. In the meantime, the count inquired from me about the affairs of the company, about my life, and my plans. During our conversation, he hadn't hadn't missed any of my ironic descriptions of the events during the last six months following my graduation. On occasion, he nodded slightly, and gently drew smoke from his large pipe, all the time watching me intently.

"Shouldn't we get down to business?" Heider grunted, wiping his greasy fingers and mouth with a napkin. The old count glanced at him as if he was some sort of a fat centipede, took the pipe out of his mouth, and said:

"I hope you have been well fortified by our modest offering."

"I enjoyed the offerings intensely my Lord."

"Intensely indeed," muttered the count while nodding; then continuing in a louder voice, "and concerning the business at hand, there is not much to say: I am offering you my forests – you give me your money…"

What followed must have been the most bizarre scene of bargaining I ever witnessed and I was almost grateful to my father for sending me to attend it. Much as he tried with his crude merchant's tricks, Heider was unable to impress his host and reduce the cost of the goods he wanted to purchase. At the same time, the old nobleman answered, reciting selected quotes from the best textbooks on commerce that I had read. Not once giving the impression he was dickering or that he remotely cared for the outcome of the conversation. Like a good predator, he waited for his prey to exhaust. But Heider was a tough old nut, if he had accepted the count's terms the margin of profit would be too low and his employer disappointed or even enraged. After a full two hours, nothing had changed, nothing concluded. The count sat calmly in his chair puffing his pipe and the merchant was mopping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. Finally, they both stopped talking, and after five minutes of silence, the count rose from his chair and said:

"Dear Herr Heider, Herr Krauss, we must adjourn our business conversation for some other time, I'm bounded to prepare for the arrival of my guests. If you didn't bring your evening suits, please feel free to take advantage of my wardrobe and bathrooms, and don't worry, you will find garments much more suitable to modern times than these I'm wearing."

He pulled the silk band by the door, and miraculously a servant appeared seemingly out of thin air.

"Tibor, please help the gentlemen with their wardrobe."

I

entered the main hall more than an hour after my conversation with the count. As far as I could tell, there were about 40 people. Some guests had not yet arrived but the atmosphere in the room was very lively. Certainly, many of those who were present had been placed in the villa so it was not hard for them to show up on time. Others had come from Krainburg where they were staying in the hotel and some were yet to arrive from other more distant places. Guests were mainly scattered in small groups talking quietly; heard from the distance their conversations melted into the undulating murmur of voices, not at all unpleasant to the ear.

"His Excellency, Herr Stephan Krauss, wholesaler from Vienna!"

I was somewhat startled with such a loud announcement of my name but I quickly realized it didn't produce a visible effect on the crowd. Hardly anyone turned to look at me, but in reality, it suited my purpose. As I didn't really know anybody, I took a glass of champagne and stood aside to observe further developments.

There were people of various ages: several very ancient ladies who sat on scattered armchairs observing the movement in the room through thick spectacles, a range of middle-aged to younger individuals, and finally children, some of them very small, who were trailing from one group of guests to another in games known only to themselves.

There was such a fascinating amount of expensive garments, precious stones, and self-absorbed faces: a marked contrast to the real world existing only a few hundred meters away.

At one end of the room, a chamber orchestra started to play popular tunes of the period. Nothing had been omitted. Veritably, the major part of our aristocracy had invented so many ways of enjoyment. Today, while I write this, I have the impression they didn't know anything else, which is why we all ended in disaster.

"Sir, you look so lonesome," whispered a seductive voice to my ear. I turned to see in front of me a round girlish face framed by curls of golden hair.

"Fräulein, my name is…

"Krauss, Stephan, we have already heard," she said smiling.

"Oh, I was convinced I passed completely unnoticed. At your service, Fräulein…?"

"Christine von Baum."

We bow to each other rather theatrically. She was very young, no more than fourteen or fifteen, just starting to acquire the shape of a woman. I wondered… what did that brat want of me?

"Would you be a relative of the count?" I asked her.

"Err, so-so," she replied readily and wrinkled her nose. "I've been here for days and I'm so-o-o bored. And you, how did you get here? I cannot recall seeing you at any of the count's previous ceremonies."

I had thought about inventing some kind of a fairytale, but instead, I decided for the truth, saying:

"In a way, I stumbled in here haphazardly; business, you know."

"Good heavens, on Christmas?"

"Would you call that blasphemy?"

The young girl giggled discreetly at my remark, her eyes acquiring a strangely over-matured expression full of bitterness. She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly decided against it and blushed. I remained silent, slightly distracted by her strange behavior, when she said quietly:

"Blasphemy would be the least thing on my mind in this gloomy house. That would be nothing…" The young girl suddenly stopped what she was about to say as her mother approached, "Maman, I told you I would find me an escort tonight and so I did, could I now remain till the end of the play as you promised?"

This last sentence was directed to a plumpish, but still fine-looking lady, who approached us in the company of a very old gentleman wrinkled like a dry rowan. She measured me with the eyes of a hawk, bowed slightly and said in a croaked alto:

"Young man, you're not a nobleman. What's more, in this moment you despise nobility with all your heart, isn't that so?"

What was the point of that remark? What was I to say? Not that she was entirely wrong: she only said aloud the thought that didn't completely form in my own mind, but plainly visible on my face. If there ever was an opportunity to lie, there it was.

"My dear lady, indeed I'm not a nobleman, but…"

"Ah, don't try to pull out Herr Krauss," giggled Christine, "my mother never makes mistakes in this respect. Perhaps the only good thing about us noble folks is that we know how to recognize each other without… snooping like dogs."

"Very well then, let it be so." I gave up and the lady then replied in a confident voice:

"You know, when I see us like this, you may be absolutely right."

Having said that, she laughed out loud and whispered into her daughter's ear so the old gentleman couldn't hear:

"I envy you for your companion, little one."

The young girl screamed joyfully, grabbed my arm and pulled me to the other end of the hall, next to the large stage where the chamber orchestra was playing.

"T

HANKS to you, for the first time I shall not go to bed with other children. I'll stay to watch the Christmas play. And now, tell me all about yourself, I want to hear everything, everything…"

I had my own reasons why this course of events suited me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Heider standing beside a group of gentlemen humbly listening to their conversations. He didn't utter a single word. His meetings with the Emperor would be a ridiculous topic in such company and there was a distinct danger that he would once again become attached to me and ruin my whole evening. The presence of this chatty little lady will keep him at bay! Oh yes, she mentioned the history of my life and I finally replied:

"I am afraid it will be a short and very boring story Fräulein von Baum…" I started, but in the next moment the ceremonial announcer interrupted me, "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served in the next room."

The dinner resembled something out of oriental tales of magical castles, or a painting made by one of the old masters. We approached without following any strict protocol. Most folks didn't even bother to take a seat at the table, but after they ordered what they wanted continued to stroll around the rooms, holding their plates and nibbling as they continued their conversation. Although it looked strange at the time, such has been the tradition at the count's receptions for many years. Only much later, would this practice become modern in higher circles, the purpose of it being that the chatter, gossip, and flirtations shouldn't be interrupted once they had begun. Satiety from the late lunch still held me, so I ate very modestly, although I must admit that the taste of some dishes remained unsurpassed for many years to come.

T

HE clocks throughout the villa began to chime almost simultaneously, and then strike the hour, ten in all. The wiggling of my young companion indicated she gave some special meaning to it. What it was I realized only when I saw the servants starting to lead the children out of the Main Hall, while most of the guests began to return from the main lounge. Once again, Fräulein von Baum took my hand and dragged me towards the bandstand. The music was no longer playing. The bandstand was being transformed into a small stage with added background scenery made of wonderful white silks, some almost transparent, the others opaque, but altogether giving an unmistakable impression of clouds. On the floor in front of the stage were ordinary chairs, some haphazardly placed, except those in the front row, evidently reserved for our host and special guests. My companion brazenly captured a pair of chairs there, next to the counts armchair, and pulled me to sit beside her. Another quarter of an hour was needed for all those interested in the play to settle around. The others simply dispersed over the spacious halls of the villa.

The old count finally arrived, and everyone's attention gradually focused onto the stage.

"Am I mistaken if I say that the time for children has passed, Christine?" asked the count with a tiny trace of irony in his voice.

"You of all people should know that I'm not a child anymore, dear Uncle. In addition, maman had allowed me to stay if I found myself a companion, and here, I found him," babbled Christine in a seemingly sweet voice, at the same time pointing her little finger at me.

"I see you found your way around here quite well, young man," said the count, hiding in his voice a trace of disappointment.

The play opened with surprisingly strong musical effects, the thunder of timpani wavered in the room, filling the hearts of those present with genuine unrest. The horns joined in, announcing with a solemn sound the introduction of an important character, god Zeus, the patron of the ceremony. What followed was a dramatization of Zeus' kidnapping of Ganymede, played by a most beautiful boy, and like the statues and lithographs that I had seen of this ancient Greek myth, nothing was left to one's imagination. Although I had indirectly been advised of this, my shock was no less.

Then as Ganymede is being whisked away to be the wine-pourer of the gods, six beautiful girls burst onto the scene dancing with bare breasts, to which my youthful imagination began to burn. The eruption of passion that emanated from every movement on stage didn't allow for a moment of peace. The actors-dancers barely clothed and unfettered by consideration of the bourgeois moral, raised my blood pressure to the point of explosion. I will leave it to you to imagine how they affected the souls of more elderly guests.

These stunning vestals continued dancing into the next scene with lustful, vaguely expressed expectations. An indescribable murmur filled the room as the show continued with poetry of Petronius Arbiter – carefully selected decadent passages from Satyricon – pagan celebrations, orgy, and Trimalchian waste made possible by unlimited wealth.

The atmosphere, in which the magic distance between the stage and the audience existed, began to disappear. It was both intoxicating and disgusting at the same time. Yet the audience was accepting it and former flirtations began to take the shape of licentiousness. I was increasingly unable to separate what was going on around me with the individual pieces on stage, returning to advertence only by a burst of laughter coming from Fräulein von Baum that exploded after one particularly unrestrained scene.

The birth of Venus had just unfolded before us in spectacular fashion. This earthly goddess, who inspired humans to physical love, was uninhibited in its presentation. Christine had leaned her flushed forehead against my shoulder and continued to watch what was happening on stage with a slanted glance, torn between a young maiden's shame and childish curiosity.

As it was finishing behind white clouds, clusters of various flowers began to appear miraculously. Venus gradually faded into the dark background of the stage, when two pairs of boys jumped out from the floral arrangements. Draped around their waists were white loincloths, embroidered with golden Greek patterns, and their bare chests revealing their lean youthful bodies. Following the mesmerizing beat of the music, they started a dance that alluded to warming up for a sport. With certain movements, glimpses of their pert butts were revealed; flashes of their groin could be seen as the front cloth flew up during quick movements.

Then, from an unknown distance came the faint sound of a horn, whereby the boys paused for a moment, turned, and looked out along the top of the audience. They paired up, each staring into the eyes of his partner and puffing up their chests, with their arms bent down along their sides resembling a 'strong-man' pose. Then suddenly, in a choreographed unison, two of the boys knelt down on one knee and began removing the loincloth of his partner. This was repeated again, revealing four naked boys on stage.

Reaching into a beautifully painted vessel, they scooped fragrant oil into their hands and began smearing it on each other's bodies, front and back, shoulders to feet, not missing or hesitating to completely cover each part of the other boy.

Slowly the light started to change and the music acquired a stronger rhythm. The boys took their positions: again facing each other, bent slightly at the waist, arms extended out and slightly downward. They moved slowly in a circle, studying their opponent. As the beat of the music reached a crescendo, the boys grappled each other in a stylized wrestling match, reviving the ancient Greek Gymnopaedia. The movement of their shiny slippery bodies caused a storm of approval among the audience and the old count raised his trembling hand to the height of his face and bit his finger frantically. He was obviously at the pinnacle of excitement with this stage piece.

Four naked girls, each bringing a short wooden sword that they handed to the small fighters, joined the boys in the scene. They then sat on the floor, cross-legged, in a semi-circle. The scene thus continued in a stylized fencing. The battling rhythm of the music faded, transforming to gentler passages. It was then, that the girls raised up and started to sing the ode to the upcoming year, the boys joined in, and the naked children's choir started to retreat slowly into the depths of the stage. Only their small slender silhouettes were still visible, outlined by the semi-darkness, with the music of their voices continuing to hover over the heads of the audience.

Then came the sound of the flute… it was a familiar sound. My heart started to race in my throat. From the bundle of clouds another naked boyish silhouette emerged, the silhouette of my young host. All of his body was glistening in golden tones. A thin crimson headband fastened his yellow curls and on his back was a pair of semi-spread white wings cleverly attached. On his feet, he wore small sandals with tiny wings representing the harmonious synthesis of Eros, Mercury, and Pan. From the moment he saw me, his eyes remained firmly fixed to mine. There couldn't be any doubts about it. Only then, I became aware that all the children's faces, deep behind their trained smiles hid the fear and shame. This little boy then bowed deeply to the audience and in the name of Zeus, he announced the end of tonight's performance, reciting a few verses specially written for the occasion. He again struck up his flute and hopped to the back of the stage, joining the chorus.

Ovations! Triumph!

Elated, the old count peeked from behind the back of his chair to look at the auditorium with a broad smile on his face. Despite all of its debauchery, the audience was once again fascinated by his unbridled fantasies. He turned his face back towards the stage and waved to a group of children who were still standing in the back, inviting them to approach. When they reappeared in the light, there were no more smiles on the children's faces: only their fear and shame remained. As each of the children approached the old rascal, he slapped their little asses and handed them a golden piece. Alojz was at the end of the queue. The count stroked his round buttocks, pulled him closer and recited:

Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ.
(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: "Elf King")

He then pressed a long soft kiss onto the boy's chest. The murmur of approval filled the air of the room. However, the golden dye on the little boy's face was not enough to hide the expression of despair and humiliation. He once again turned to me begging for help and protection that I couldn't provide. Desperately, I shut my eyes trying to convey that he had to endure just a little more. Finally, he received his golden piece and ran out.

"What do you say Krauss?" asked the count lifting his eyebrows. His eyes having fully regained that animal expression I had noticed earlier.

"Your nose and chin turned to gold," I answered with a restrained anger. I then jumped to my feet and ran out of the room, leaving him in dismay. I had just one overwhelming desire, to drink something so I could curtail another impulse, to plant my fist in the midst of that voluptuous masque.

In order to alleviate my inconceivable audacity, Christine had hugged him around the neck and exclaimed:

"I am delighted Uncle, thrilled!"

He just shook her off nervously and disappeared into the crowd.

W

HAT happened to you, sir? You have hurt my dear Uncle terribly!" cried Christine. I looked down nervously, emptying the third glass of champagne and said in a broken voice:

"Is it really possible that you don't know? All this… is… this is…"

"Blasphemous? My God, you really are an incorrigible moralist. Come, come with me; let me show you something. Only then will you fully comprehend the evil doom of this home."

For the third time that evening, she had grabbed my hand and made me follow her. My head was spinning. I have a foggy memory of how we walked from one room to another, passing by the couples engaged in decadent laughter and obscene kissing. Christine opened a little side door at the bottom of some auxiliary corridor and lead me into a spacious, oval room.

"Here, look, here is the center of his demonic world. Here all his remaining powers are concentrated; here he charges us with all his blackmails; collects all debts."

On the floor covered by thick carpets adorned with fantastic patterns laid scattered silken pillows, round and square, embroidered sheets, brocade tassels in all imaginable colors, and in the middle of the room stood a large tripod camera.

Seeming to be in a trance the girl continued to speak:

"Twenty years ago when he lost his… ah, power… he ran away from Vienna and hid here. Since then, twice a year, he haunts us like some evil spirit, praying on the daughters and sons of his relatives, equalizing them in shame with the children of his servants and serfs in front of the cold eye of this contraption. After he uses them, he sends them to school to ease his conscience and when he is done with us, he invites us to return here to attend his obscene performances and bring new children before his camera. This is his revenge to God. And what about us? We are vultures, greedily awaiting his fortune. Our parents are offering us to the old miscreant expecting to inherit his damn money. We are all scoundrels and whores, but noble whores!

She stuffed into my hands a dozen photos randomly picked from the nearest box, one among many boxes scattered around the room. I looked at those pictures one by one, partially hypnotized, while she introduced me to the naked "models."

"These are the sons of Erzsebet, the house maid. This is Bela and the other one is Ferenc."

The older of the two boys was sitting in an armchair with his right foot on the floor, and his left leg pulled up to his chest with his foot then resting on the seat of the chair. His younger brother stood to the side of the chair resting his head gently on his brother's shoulder. The younger boy was pushing his brother's exposed and naked member down and towards the camera. His smaller penis no less erected, no less exposed. Both boys as naked as the day they came into this world.

"This is Bela with the daughter of Baroness von Berg."

The girl couldn't have been more than ten years old. She was lying on her side and the little boy was stooped over her, caressing her thigh and flat chest. I realized that picture had been at least two years old, since I saw the girl that evening sitting in the company of her grandmother.

"Hans-Jürgen, son of Frau Kesselman."

Laying on his back and propped on both elbows with an expression of extraordinary concentration, the boy was measuring his stiff penis against a candle taken from a five-pointed candelabrum visible in the background.

"And this is me… two days ago," she said, and her voice choked. I looked into her eyes quite defeated. Her face was beet red. I didn't want to look back at the picture but she almost pressed it against my nose. The girl was sitting on a vanity table in front of a Venetian mirror, her arms embracing her knees. From the picture in my hand, I could see between her legs, her tiny crack, adorned with only a few silky hairs. I couldn't take it anymore, I threw the pictures away. She hugged my neck and pressed her lips to mine. My defense from her tender assault gradually subsided and I started to feel her warmth.

"Save me. You are beautiful and rich… you are rich? Your wealth and my title will save us!" she whispered as if she were mad.

And who knows, I could have been the master and the restorer of the destitute Barony von Baum if it wasn't for a voice raising from the corridor in sheer panic:

"Herr Krauss, please Herr Krauss, quickly, quickly!"

"Don't go now, I implore you!" cried Christine, "If you leave me now you will never see me again."

Gently as I could, and not without hesitation, I removed her hands from my neck and exited into the hall to meet the voice that was calling. As I stopped to look back, tears started to run from the girl's eyes and she sagged on an armchair near to the door. I closed the door and ran down the corridor.

"Here I am; who has called for me?"

"Oh sir, he is sick, so sick, his face turned to green," one of the servants cried when he saw me.

"Who? Speak up man!"

"Your companion, Herr Heider, the gentleman ate and ate and then he suddenly took ill. It must be the bile."

"Ah, here is our Don Juan," the count said mockingly. "While you fascinated my young cousin your companion has been fascinated by the meals of my good cook."

"Not less than ten pairs of eyes watched how I would react. Without taking notice of it I knelt beside Heider and loosened his collar."

"Oh my, Herr Krauss, what has happened to me?" said the old man in a weak voice. The fear speaking from him was almost tangible.

"You went a little too far while tasting all these wonderful meals, dear colleague."

"Ouch I'm dying. The job… Please you must get the job done…"

Was the old man acting or was his brain really conditioned so that he couldn't think of anything else but the job, even in that moment of crisis? One thing was sure: a lot more time would pass before that one parted with his soul; I stood up and told that to the count.

"You, my Lord, surely must be a good connoisseur of bacchanalia. Let us treat the misfortunate gentleman in the way our ancestors from ancient Rome would do. Let someone take him to vomit, he will feel better instantly."

The count enthusiastically applauded to my proposal and said with a laugh:

"Magnificent! You are indeed worthy of this modest celebration. Let it be so! When I come to think of it we never had a vomiting, although some were prone to vomiting when I exaggerated with my play… but never over a meal, never over a meal! I deem it would be prudent to settle the gentleman in until the doctor arrives. I'll give him a room here, so he won't be disturbed until your departure to Vienna."

Hearing these words, Heider instantly regained the color in his cheeks, although a new wave of sweating overtook him. The count's promise was the veritable cure for his condition since he received the present he was dreaming about, even if it came at such high a price. He became the guest of the count's castle!

Heider's predicament was the signal for the guests to start their withdrawal. After half an hour, most of the halls in the villa were empty. I was one of the last remaining guests waiting if I could see what had happened to Fräulein von Baum, but she didn't appear anymore, same as her mother who vanished in some secret corner of the house to share the cuddles and empty the wallet of the wrinkled old gentleman. The second hour after midnight was near when I decided to go. Surprisingly the old host had waited for me, greeting me at the end of the staircase. He said laconically:

"You have broken the heart of that poor young girl. Tomorrow, early in the morning, she goes home and it seems to me that both she and her mother will be very sad and disappointed: Christine because of you and her mother because of your wallet. Maybe you still don't realize the fact that you are a good opportunity, an excellent one. I suspect that you have trouble with your father. Work for me and soon you will be in a position to manage my affairs in Vienna."

"My Lord, I hope I didn't give the impression that I was hunting for a title, I came here to purchase timber, not to sell myself. However disappointed in my person Christine might be, it will affect her much less than some other things I've learned recently."

Not paying attention to my poisonous remarks he redirected the conversation as nothing had happened.

"As for the timber, I suppose you will want to bring that job to an end. Come and have lunch with me tomorrow and we will conclude the arrangement."

"I would first like to see the woods where you cut the timber. Only then would I be able to give a meaningful answer to the offer you made today."

He nodded affirmatively.

"Be prepared tomorrow at eleven, engineer Marek will take you to see what you wish. And one more thing… I almost forgot to tell you that your host from the village departed to Krainburg in a big hurry. Some sort of illness in the family, or whatever. I personally suspect they're after certain money they plan to inherit. They stopped by and raised a lot of noise among the servants. Perhaps it would be better if you stay here tonight."

"And the boy? What happened with him?" I asked.

"Is that really important? From what I've heard he didn't go with them, but returned home in tears. That boy, who, I might say, has some common sense, reproached his father for leaving the house. Amazingly, the brute gave him a beating… indeed, these hayseeds are merciless to their children."

"Merciless, indeed." I repeated and turned to leave. He didn't try anymore to convince me to stay. I just heard him muttering some words to his chin.

I

had wanted to walk back to the village to stretch my legs and settle my mind, well, at least settle it the best I could, but upon stepping outside, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for me. Snow had started to fall, carried by an increasingly strong wind. The sledge, waiting for me, would have taken a quarter of an hour to reach the village below, and although it was pitch dark and snowing heavily, I refused the sledge; the unpleasant feelings I had hastening my pace on foot.

I had been right, and the house was empty. I had wondered: whatever happened between the boy and his parents? Where could he be now? It had flashed through my mind to wake up a few of the peasants in the vicinity and organize a search party, but I suddenly realized that Lojze was probably hiding in that one particular place! 

I quickly changed from my evening suit, lit a lamp, and started to trudge through the new snow towards the old mill, quickly as if all the devils were chasing me. As I was approaching I asked myself what would happen if I made a mistake, but to my relief in front of the entrance I found a pair of small shoes and thrown coat. I picked up all the pieces of his garment that I could find and pushed the handle of the door, which opened without resistance. Swarms of snowflakes swirled around me from the blizzard as I hastily shut the door. My footsteps echoed mournfully, as the weight of my body caused the old floorboards to creak, resonating in the dense darkness of the building.

"Alojz, Lojze, where are you?" I shouted.

Instead of an answer, I heard somebody whimpering in the furthest corner of the room. I lifted the lamp and saw a cowering, crying child, wrapped in a coarse, decaying cloth of an ancient grain sack. As I stepped towards him, he cowered even more and hid his face in his hands.

"Come on; let's go home," I said in a soft voice.

"I don't want to go there. May the lightning strike it! It's not my home anymore!"

"Don't say such crazy things, come on; get up so we can go home."

The boy stood up. The only thing he was wearing was the unbuttoned shirt barely covering the golden gleam of his nakedness. He was shivering from the cold and an inner fever. I handed him his garment and said:

"Please, stop this silly behavior, and put these things on."

He took his garment just for a moment, slammed it once more against the floor, and blubbered:

"I don't want to. It's better that I perish from the cold like this… naked! Nobody wants me anyway, especially when I'm dressed!"

Then, ashamed by his act of defiance, he plunged his face into my chest, and started to weep bitterly. I covered him with the ends of my fur coat and let him relax. Then I took the boy, wrapped him into the coat, and carried him home. He sobbed and shivered all the way. When we arrived, I let him sit by the stove, which was still tepid. I put a few logs in it to revive the fire and placed a large pot of water on top. While we were waiting for the water to boil, I brought the round tin tub used for bathing inside and placed it in the middle of the room. Filling it partially with water, I used the boiling water to get the temperature just right, upon which I commanded:

"Come on, quick, hop in!"

The boy jumped out from his fur bundle and sat in the tub, his knees pulled to his chest. His face reflecting gradual relief while the warmth returned to his body. While he was soaking, I took a scented soap out of my suitcase and said to the youngster:

"On your feet now! We need to turn the golden statue to a live boy once more."

Alojz smiled shyly and stood up. I sat by the table and watched him carefully as he applied the soap and scraped the golden color from every centimeter of his skin. He crouched to dip into the water, and then quickly jumped out like a dolphin, repeating that several times. It was a sign to me to bring warm water and pour it slowly over his head to rinse him. Then I wrapped his slender body in a large white towel, rubbing him vigorously. He huddled in my lap, leaned his head to my shoulder and before he was aware of it, he was fast asleep. I carried the boy to his bed and covered him carefully. His face was calm again, shaped by the enormous power of a deep, invigorating sleep.

T

HE never-ending flow of chaotic thoughts didn't let me sleep. My mind was left to hover above the mystical realm between dreams and reality, the only realm in which you can safely halve your usual 'me' and talk to yourself. Both halves of you can then engage in the debate, using your thoughts and emotions or bringing out pictures from your memory. Both halves are you; still they're different and conflicting. In such a half-sleep, I was harrowed by the nightmare of dilemmas that emerged from last evening's events. One part of me was condemning the profligate golden sludge of the count's home with disgust, and the other was drawn to the seductive dance of naked children's bodies and the erotic imagery in which they offered their innermost secrets to the eye of the beholder. The vortex of blind passion these images instilled in my mind grinded and devoured all the moral principles by which I reasoned hitherto.

I woke up choking in a rush of internal heat. In my gloom, I could hear a soft rattling. I strained my eyes to penetrate the darkness. In front of a massive tile oven, I saw a bended silhouette of a nude boy outlined by a colorful fire. He was carefully placing pieces of wood into the stove that then lit up with playful flames. The silhouette then stood and headed towards me. The boy obviously wanted to curl up again under his warm quilt, but before he reached his bed that was less than a meter from mine, I took him by the hand and he turned towards me with a bright smile.

"Good morning," he said and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Come, let me cover you," I replied and lifted the edge of my quilt. He quickly hopped in, nested for a while in my arms, and finally calmed down. I slipped my arm under the boy's armpit and hugged him over his chest. The front part of his body was still warm from the fire, while his back was cold.

“You woke up early," I said.

"Yes, well, I couldn't sleep much after what had happened yesterday. You know the hardest part was when I realized that I would do that naughty dance in front of you. I didn't care about anyone else! For my parents I am only a piece of wood to be carved into a gentleman in any way they can, for my school colleagues I am the piece of wood that can never be carved into a gentleman, and for those… uh… last night, I am only a naked boy covered in golden paint. I pretend so much and try so hard to satisfy them all that I sometimes forget how to be who I really am. And then came our stroll yesterday morning, our conversation, the warmth – I felt safe with you. For the first time since I was sent to school, I could again be me, Alojz Martinšek. Only beside you could I feel like a real boy, not a figurine in the cupboard."

"And now, what do you feel now, as a naked boy in my arms?"

He had laughed to my mischievous question and reflected for some time before he answered:

"Warmth and safeness: when these things exist, everything else is nice. My naked body then belongs to your arms. But when somebody wants just my body… last night, after the performance ended, when his Lordship grabbed me, I was afraid and ashamed. Now I am not."

The answer was unambiguous, at the same time filled with sensuality and childish innocence. I embraced him even stronger. We slumbered for some time but then I returned to reality.

"Tell me, what had happened afterwards? Where did your parents go? Don't you think it's unusual for the hosts to leave their guests in their home, alone?"

"You tell me… why something so wondrous as your visit must be spoiled with the ugly? Why do you ask about my parents? You see… I remained with you. In spite of them!" muttered Alojz sleepily, but then his voice became clear, "You see, it goes like this: my father has a sister in Krainburg; she complains she is mortally ill every Christmas and Easter; and they rush off to see her."

We both laughed to the boy's concise story.

"But why would they be so worried then? And why did you quarrel?"

"Just because I asked them the same thing: why are you worried? But as they say in my school, they are simple people. My aunt had a very wealthy husband. They are always afraid that this time death might be the real one and that somebody else might scoop the prize. How could they ever make a gentleman out of me if they don't inherit that money? I hate them for this ambition and I hate myself for causing it. Sometimes I feel it would be best if I never appeared here again. Finish school and go somewhere far, far, away, maybe to America."

While he was saying this, he didn't smile. He angrily hit the pillow with a clenched fist as if the pillow was to be blamed for all his troubles.

I was thinking… excessive parental ambition, and oh, how painfully familiar…

America: I thought about it once or twice, but I was sure Alojz would actually go there one day.

My soul was suddenly filled with tenderness and craving. I started to caress the boy's chest, and then my hand slid down his ribs towards his hip and thigh. The slight touch of my hand calmed his jitters and his breathing became deeper. He bent his knee, the one closest to the bed, bringing it almost to his chin and then froze in expectation. My fingers moved to his inner thigh only slightly touching his silky skin. His body shivered with that ticklish touch. He grabbed my hand with his own, pulled it up a bit, and then pressed my hand against his small penis and testicles. I wouldn't have lingered there for long, but under my inquisitive fingers his member started to erect and grow until it reached its full length. Sensing this change the boy rolled onto his back and wiggled out from under the quilt.

"Let me see, I want to see," he was saying repeatedly while gazing at his tool in adoration. Then he asked:

"Why is this happening, it feels so good!"

"Because you are becoming a man," I said, sharing in his elation. "Nature has presented you with a new toy."

A burst of laughter broke from his chest.

"I know… In the boarding school… I saw some boys doing it, but it is strictly forbidden. Their spines will wither because of it."

I chuckled at this habitual explanation. The boy turned to me, his confused face trying to see what was so funny.

"Now, see this," I said, and gently started to pull the foreskin of his penis downwards.

"S-s-s-t! It burns! Uhm, it's…"

Despite the slight resistance, I finished the action and presented a smooth tiny strawberry to his bewildered eyes. His mouth turned to a voiceless 'O' as I took his twig between my two fingers, pulled down to the root, tightening the skin even more, and producing a new wave of shivers in his body. I didn't stop there, I started to stroke rhythmically up and down, completely bewildering the youth. To every new movement he panted like a puppy in the sun. The game lasted for a few more minutes, but seemed like eons. Then suddenly, without much warning, there was the eruption of convulsive movements that shook his frame, followed by hissing sobs of pure joy. I didn't stop until the moment his tool was torn out of my hand by the last powerful swing of the boy's hips. He rolled and slid over the edge of the bed and fell to the floor. The boy's flushed face appeared before me after almost a full minute and was immediately buried in the pillow. A short, strong attack of shame was quite natural after his first orgasm shared with a stranger.

"G

OOD day Mr. Krauss. Did you have a good sleep after last night's excitements? When I had seen for the first time one of the count's fantasies, I couldn't calm down for several days, but I don't have those feelings anymore. Old age young man: old age is the iron that smooths out all interesting wrinkles of the soul," said engineer Marek while I was climbing the sledge.

"Good day. I couldn't describe it any better, sir," I replied briefly.

"Does the boy come with us?"

"Yes you see, since I have advanced from the secretary to certified merchant someone had to fill my vacated position."

We all laughed heartily while the sledge started to move. I didn't bother to monitor the direction of our trip. To the left and right my eyes were drawn to the magnificent shapes that ensued in the game of natural elements, the only proof of God's presence on earth, and no human hand could spoil. I didn't even listen to the engineer's words, which were probably aimed to explain what kinds and how much timber they offered me, how they cut and transported it. Frankly, it didn't interest me at all. I had asked for this excursion in respect of the golden rule of the trade: never buy goods you hadn't seen, unless you already sold them on. I didn't have any knowledge of timber but that also was of no consequence.

We stopped in the middle of a large clearing where a shack was erected to shield the workers during the cutting season. All around, under a layer of snow, laid groups of trunks left there after the first abundant snows started to fall. We left the sledge by the shack and sent the coachman in to prepare tea while we walked by the edge of the forest. I pretended to inspect carefully the centennial trunks and stumps that remained after the cut. I didn't answer Marek's questions, trying his seemingly endless patience. I didn't want to insult the honorable Czech but all of my acting would burst like a soap bubble if I uttered a single word on the subject of timber. Finally, fatigued by his attempts to keep pace with me and the boy, the engineer said:

"All right, please, look whatever else interests you, I am going to join the coachman. Don't forget, tea is ready."

As soon as the estate manager descended the slope, Lojze grabbed my hand and exclaimed:

"Come with me to see something!"

Two hundred meters up the hill, we stomped upon a shallow creek flowing down the forest to the river, resisting the frost that persistently tried to shackle it in ice. Immediately above us, a creek cascaded from the narrow gorge carved through the limestone. The boy ran into the mouth of the gorge and started to climb like a wild goat. I followed his steps proud of my mountaineering talent, one that I never tried previously. The result was worth the effort. We came out of the gorge right into a spacious lime chasm with a little frozen lake on the bottom. The thick stream of fresh water ran out of a crack in the rock to the lake, resembling a liquid crystal.

"Here, this may be the most beautiful spot in our parts. In the summer, after we bring lunch to the loggers, we come here to swim. We compete who will be the first in the spring to open the bathing season. I'm not in competition anymore… because of school," prattled the boy cheerfully.

"Silly kids," I said, smiling, "it's good that no one had caught pneumonia by now."

As soon as we finished the tea, we started towards the count's villa by a shortcut so we didn't pass by the village. As we approached the building, Alojz started to wiggle on his seat not knowing what to do next. I gave him a signal to follow me. It was probably the first time that he had entered the building through the main door and certainly the first time the servant took his coat. We climbed the stairs and ended in the same small drawing room where we had our previous business interview.

The count was waiting for us, standing by the window with a pipe between his teeth. He waved to me informally and then saw the boy by my side. He didn't show any sign of disapproval to his presence. Under his arm, Alojz was proudly holding my notebook in a leather cover where I scribbled some impressions and calculations during the tea break. Encouraged by his post in my employment he didn't look at the floor as usual, but only bowed slightly to the count.

"You have a secretary of pure gold young man. His teacher pointed out his singular brightness a long time ago. But you will admit we are in a strange situation: I pay for his education and he works for you. At least he will prove worthy of the money I invested in him. Please gentleman, take your seats," said the count in good humor and continued, "You know my offer; I await your answer."

"My dear Count, let us be brief and spend no more words than needed. While I was walking along your forests this morning, I made some calculations. If I would go further south to Bosnia, I could buy timber at almost half price. Even if I calculate the elevated cost of transportation and the immense laziness of the Orientals there, my profit would be higher roughly by twenty percent. Therefore, please subtract twenty percent from your offer and you will have mine."

"Is that your last word?"

"I am sure you will not find any objection to my calculations."

"You don't leave me much choice. Despite all opposition to your father, you have the same streak of ruthlessness in you. What you just demonstrated is exactly his style of business. I accept."

We calculated the quantities, deadlines, total price and dictated the contract to Alojz's pen. All the time, the count was peeking over the boy's shoulder seemingly satisfied with the final look of the documents. We signed the contract and moved to another room to have lunch.

"I expected Herr Heider to join us. What has happened to him?" I asked curiously.

"According to my doctor Herr Heider will have to manage his menu very carefully in the future. Besides, he likes much more to be served in his bed. I will extend my hospitality for a few more days until he is fully recovered. Unusual man this colleague of yours…"

"But Sir, I don't have that much time."

"You are of course free to depart whenever you like and inform your company about the business successfully concluded."

His Lordship was quite a different person compared to last night, in that there was no trace of that thwarted passion that consumed him yesterday. However, when I saw how shrewdly he drew in conversation the little boy who thought his troubles were nearing the end, I realized he was still a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"W

HAT do you think, is it possible that I have misjudged him so much?" asked Lojze while the sledge was slowly carrying us to the village.

"Who?"

"The count, of course. Did you see how good he has been towards me today?"

"Was he ever bad towards you?"

The question puzzled him and forced him to think during the remaining time of our short trip. I was also bothered by the dilemma of how to explain to him that no man is entirely good or bad. Depending on what he is doing in any particular situation, and with what motives or expectations and outcome. I was not sure that I would've been able to put it into words, so I didn't try. Today, now that I'm much older, I still don't know what are the exact criteria that differentiates good men from bad? But after all, I am a merchant, not God.

When we arrived home, I sat near the stove and opened the newspaper I borrowed from the count. Ever since I started my studies at the academy, it was my habit to read the newspaper in a quiet corner of the coffee shop. At that time, with the monarchy at the height of its powers, newspapers were the real cure for the restless soul assuring the Emperor's subjects that they were prettier, smarter, and generally better than they really were. Even the robbers and the murderers in the monarchy had a place above the foreign colleagues of that industry. It was at the highpoint of endless self-absorption when this unfortunate war started, and then it was too late to realize that self-absorption was the first nail in the coffin of the empire and newspapers were the hammer.

While I was reading, the boy was crisscrossing the house lighting the fires in stoves, and then went out to milk the cows and feed the goats. All that time he was trying not to let me out of his eyesight for very long, as if he was afraid that I would somehow vanish. Each time as I lifted my eyes from the newspapers I met his eyes that fixated on me with expectation. Each time he penetrated deeper into my soul leaving there roots that I cannot remove even today. Finally, I put the newspapers away and the youngster jumped onto my lap throwing his arm around my neck. He wanted to say something, but he broke up immediately and bent his head. A sobbing sound came out of his throat, and tears suddenly filled his eyes.

"Hey what's with you?" I asked tenderly. He just laid his face on my shoulder. I lifted his chin and saw his eyes turning red from the cry.

"Tell me, what is it?"

"You finished your job, and now? You'll go back to Vienna, I'll go to Linz, and we won't see each other again. Never!"

"Hey take it easy. I didn't go yet, and how can you know that you won't see me again. I am a merchant and it is probable that I will come to Linz quite often. Who knows I may even come here to buy timber again."

A faint smile reappeared on the boy's face.

"… and I'll show you around Linz. When you come here, it will be summer and we will go fishing and swimming down by the mill. I will introduce you to my aunt in Krainburg, to show you how funny she is when she whines, and how she knows how to tell beautiful stories…"

I let his fantasies unwind, trying to imagine the pictures from of his words. I promised myself to visit him in Linz and maybe even here. Did he ever go to the seaside? We will go to the seaside…

"To bed now, I must depart before eleven."

"I need to bring more wood. I'll come right away."

Preparing for sleep, I heard his movement through the door, which was ajar. Finally, he came to our room with an armful of wood. He was wearing a long-sleeved undershirt and cotton pants tied around his waist with a ribbon. He lined the wood near the stove, putting a few pieces in the fire. Then he straightened and infinitely slowly stepped toward my bed. His eyes were burning.

"I wanted to tell you… You know. About the thing we did this morning…"

My flames started to rage again. I wanted to resist my desires and refrain from his call. If there is a God, he is my witness. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I took both the boys hands and clasped them in front of my face. Then I kissed them. He folded them around my neck, and I hugged him around the waist. I stood up from the bed and raised him up onto the edge of the opposite bed. Now his face was above mine.

He kissed me on the forehead; I kissed him on the neck. I passed my hands under his shirt stroking his back. He scrambled from his shirt and stood before me. I pressed my lips to those brown buttons on his chest and he chuckled. The fabric of his pants at the crotch immediately lifted. I touched his swollen penis through his pants; untied the bow of the ribbon and let his pants fall to his ankles. This time he didn't wait, he pulled the foreskin back and pushed his hips towards me as if he was offering me candy. I accepted it in my mouth without hesitation. He shrieked in surprise and without resistance gave himself to the strokes of my tongue. He lifted one leg over my shoulder. Supporting his back in my hands, I laid him on the bed sheets as he spread his knees open all the way, revealing his little secrets to my flaming gaze. My shaft also extended to its full-length and the boy noticed it.

"Let me see yours," he blurted out. In a moment, we were both naked, absorbing each other with our eyes.

"Why don't I have hair down there, like you?"

"Because all of it doesn't come at once, be patient."

Our shafts touched at first and then crossed like a cannon and a rifle. The youngster loved it. He waved his penis producing a new wave of giggles.

"Next time I play in the show I will sting one of the girls with it. Isn't that its purpose?"

"Why do you ask when you already know?"

"Only, today, I would like… to be like a girl…so that you can… I love you so much. And you could…"

I grabbed him in my arms, and that was when he wrapped his legs around my waist tightly. I kissed him mindlessly all over his body, until finally my lips found his and pressed them with a long and wild kiss. I fell to the bed flat on my back and he slipped down my body to where he could take my penis into his mouth. He then crawled back up to lay on my chest. While we were kissing, my hands slid down the boy's back and landed on his firm milk-white buttocks. He lifted his head with a mischievous expression and asked:

"Why is everybody grabbing my ass?"

"Because it's round and beautiful like an apple," I replied, "and sometimes I think your ass is prettier than your face."

"Well then, kiss me on my ass; not on my face!"

Saying this he jumped, turned around, and mounted my chest with his ass fully opened to my face. I suppose he was completely abash when I continued to kiss his backside. I landed my fingers in the valley between his buttocks and finally touched his rosy asshole. It tickled him and he laughed insanely. My eyes were already veiled by a red haze when I directed my finger through the entrance. The boy squealed and his back arched.

"You can sting me, you know," he exclaimed passionately.

"You really want that?"

"Yes, yes, please, I always wanted it."

"Well then bring the wash-bowl and a soap."

He didn't ask why, he just did it. After he laid the bowl on the floor by the nightstand, he jumped back into bed. I softly turned him to a position where my last traces of resistance began to vanish.

"Lojze, do you really, really want it? I can't, I shouldn't…" I stuttered, while I rubbed his ass with the scented soap.

"Please, oh please…" whimpered the boy looking at me across his shoulder. I positioned my glans before his tiny gate and started to push gently and rhythmically. I was surprised to see how lustfully his asshole opened to swallow my penis almost the whole length. He moved to straighten his back, and my shaft moved as well, stabbing into him; producing a hurricane of frenzy. He started to move his butt in all directions, bringing us both to a delirium. As if some higher forces arranged it, the orgasm exploded in both of us simultaneously. Jitters and gasps continued for a few seconds more, and then his body relaxed and drooped aside while my shaft fell out of his warm ass. A few drops of opaque liquid came out of his little cave while it contracted and closed.

For some time we were both bewildered with what we had done. We shared that feeling, tightly hugging in sort of a mesmerizing slumber. I can't say how much time had passed until the boggled boy said:

"Let's do it again."

We fulfilled our desires many times. I never felt that much wild passion and complete surrender like that night with a young peasant schoolboy, not with any woman I've ever had since then. Never again did I dare to seek that passion and surrender. Fearing that my innermost desire might come out, and become known to the merciless world we live in.

W

HEN I arrived to Vienna after a nightmarish train trip, I shut myself in my small apartment for a full week, laying curled in bed. I was overflowing with remorse, anger, and a desire to go to Linz right away to wait for my little lover and continue our passionate affair. Although I knew, if I did it once more, there wouldn't be an end to it. Tides of fear would partially wash away my desire for some time, but then the cycle would start again.

However, Alojz, was not entirely right that evening when he said we would never meet again. No, I didn't overcome my cowardice since I surely would not be able to survive another look at him. Some ten years later, purely by chance, my business brought me to Salzburg. I took it upon myself to refurbish and sell one small mansion on the account of some noble family that inherited it. The first day I entered that gloomy house, and after I was left alone amidst the dusty furniture, out of sheer curiosity, I started to sift through the books in the library. One of the books on the top shelf was pinned transversely between the books and the wall. When I pulled it out, a photo dropped out.

On it, a classical armchair surrounded by a dozen silk cushions scattered on the floor. This massive piece of furniture is harboring a casually sprawled beautiful boy wearing only an unbuttoned luminous shirt. There is a rush of light, softening perfectly the areas of half-light and shade on the boy's body; making him almost alive, almost like he could jump out of the picture if he only wanted to. But no, his countenance is a combination of boredom and despise, perfectly set to remind me and to torment me …for the rest of my life.

The End