NEUMANN LEANT his head against the wall as the urinal swayed in front of him. Or perhaps it was him who was swaying. He was tired, that was his problem – it wasn’t the drink. Had he even drunk anything? Yes. He remembered. Quite a lot.
All the same, he’d been tired for nearly two years now and that must take its toll. He’d been tired since the Commandant had plucked him from the desk job in Kiev and told him there were opportunities for a man like him in the new German provinces that had been taken from the Poles. Kiev was dangerous and unpleasant and only a fool would have stayed there rather than return to Germany, where, even in a newly acquired province, it would be safer and more comfortable. Of course, his childhood friend hadn’t told him the work he was offering. Of course, Neumann should have guessed. Neumann was aware of the Commandant’s involvement with the camps and, by then, everyone knew what went on in them. But he’d been greedy for advancement, of course, and, at the time, he’d thought anywhere must be better than Kiev. All he’d wanted was to be closer to his family, to climb another rung on the ladder – to be somewhere safe. He hadn’t planned to become a murderer, he didn’t think. It had just turned out that way.
Neumann sighed as he fumbled with his buttons. They were more difficult to do up than they had been to undo.
He wasn’t quite sure when he’d first become aware of his presence. Not immediately. About six months after the train, he thought – although Neumann hadn’t looked for him before then. Perhaps he’d been there all along. He had been easy to overlook – a suggestion of a shadow at dusk, a movement out of the corner of his eye in a place where everything should be still. It was intangible except that, once he became aware of it, Neumann had known, almost immediately, who the presence must be.
He’d been picking up the old man’s scent all day – a musty mixture of stale sweat and mothballs. He didn’t remember it from the train, but he supposed it must come from there. What other reason could there be for it? It was growing stronger. He’d noticed it when he’d been lighting the candles – the piney tang of the tree couldn’t smother it. It had been there when the guests had arrived and he’d smelled it all through the meal. And now the odour of fear and age was so pronounced that he was certain the old man was standing right behind him. Neumann took a deep breath and turned.
There was nothing to see – only the flickering candlelight sending strange shadows across the wall. Was he losing his mind? Neumann knew the old man must be nothing more than a twist of his imagination. And yet, perhaps soon, he might forget the difference between reality and unreality. The two would merge.
Of course, it was also logical that, if the old man came from within his own mind, then there was a simple way to put an end to him. But Neumann wasn’t ready to take that step. Not just yet.