The Kindly Ones

In town, I had a glass of white wine at a counter, still thinking back on those things, and told myself that I had seen what I had come to see, even if I still didn’t know what that was; already I was thinking about leaving. I went to the ticket office near the bus station and bought a ticket for the next day, for Marseille; at the train station next door, they sold me a ticket for Paris; the transfer was short, I’d be there by nightfall. Then I returned to my mother’s house. The grounds around the house stretched out calm and still, permeated by the gentle murmuring of pine needles caressed by the sea breeze. The French door to the living room was still open: I approached and called out, but no one answered. Maybe they’re taking a nap, I said to myself. I too felt tired, it was probably the wine and the sun; I walked around the house and climbed the main staircase, without meeting anyone. My room was dark, cool. I lay down and fell asleep. When I woke up the light had changed, it was quite dark: on my doorstep, I saw the two twins, standing side by side, looking at me fixedly with their large round eyes. “What do you want?” I asked. At these words, they stepped back together, and fled. I could hear their little footsteps echoing on the floorboards and then rushing down the main staircase. The front door slammed and it was silent again. I sat up on the edge of the bed and realized I was naked; but I had no memory of getting undressed. My injured fingers hurt and I sucked them distractedly. Then I turned on the lamp switch and, blinking, looked for the time: my watch, on the night table, had stopped. I looked around me but didn’t see my clothes. Where could they have gone? I took some fresh underwear out of my bag and got my uniform out of the closet. My beard rasped a little, but I decided to shave later on, and got dressed. I went down the side stairs. The kitchen was empty, the stove cold. I went out the service entrance: outside, on the sea side, dawn was breaking and was just starting to turn the bottom of the sky pink. Strange that the twins have gotten up so early, I said to myself. Had I slept through di

The trip unfurled like a film, I didn’t think; the methods of transportation followed one another, I held out my tickets when I was asked, the authorities didn’t make any problems for me. When I left the house, on the path to town, the sun now fully risen over the gently booming sea, I met an Italian patrol that glanced curiously at my uniform, but didn’t say anything; just before getting into the bus, a French policeman accompanied by two bersaglieri accosted me to ask for my papers: when I showed him the letter from the Einsatzkommando in Marseille and translated it for him, he saluted and let me go. It was better that way, I would have been incapable of talking, I was petrified with anguish, my thoughts were frozen in place. In the bus, I realized I had forgotten my suit and all my clothes from the day before. At the train station in Marseille I had to wait for an hour, so I ordered a coffee and drank it at the bar, in the hubbub of the main concourse. I had to try to reason things out a little. There must have been cries, noise; how could I not have been awakened? I had only drunk a glass of wine. And also the man hadn’t killed the twins, they must have yelled. Why hadn’t they come looking for me? What were they doing there, silent, when I had woken up? The murderer must not have searched the house, in any case he hadn’t come into my room. And who was he? A bandit, a thief? But nothing seemed to have been touched, moved, overturned. Maybe the twins had surprised him and he had run away. But that didn’t make any sense, they hadn’t cried out, they hadn’t come looking for me. Was the killer alone? My train was leaving, I got in and sat down, still reasoning. If he wasn’t a thief, or thieves, then what? A settling of accounts? One of Moreau’s business deals gone sour? Terrorists from the Maquis, come to set an example? But the terrorists didn’t massacre people with axes like savages, they took them into a forest for a show trial, then shot them. And, again, I hadn’t woken up, I who sleep so lightly, I didn’t understand, anguish was racking my body, I sucked my half-healed fingers, my thoughts flew round and round, set off on insane tangents, caught in the jerking rhythm of the train, I wasn’t sure of anything, nothing made sense. In Paris, I easily caught the midnight express to Berlin; when I arrived, I took a room in the same hotel. Everything was calm, silent, a few cars went by; the elephants, which I still hadn’t gone to see, were trumpeting in the early morning light. I had slept a few hours in the train, a black, dreamless sleep; I was still exhausted, but it was impossible to go back to sleep. My sister, I said to myself finally, I have to let Una know. I went to the Kaiserhof: Had Freiherr von Üxküll left an address? “We ca