Peppi did not mention Anna again. Neither did he refer to his will. At our next reunion the sun was shining bright and the breeze was light and soothing. Shortly after I returned to Singapore I found a concise message on my answering machine. Lucy asked me to return her call as soon as possible.
For a while I stared apprehensively at the telephone. Snippets of conversations and fleeting images from my encounters with Peppi ran through my mind. When I sensed I was in control of myself, I picked up the receiver and dialled the number I had come to know so well.
“Is it you, Cousin Peter?”
“Yes, Lucy. When did it happen?”
“He was dead when I went up with his morning coffee. And, you know, he was smiling.”
“I’ll catch the evening flight.”
“You might as well wait until tomorrow. Anna can’t make it till Monday. The funeral will be on Monday afternoon.”
London was unnaturally quiet that morning. The taxi made excellent progress through the deserted streets. One might have thought that Heathrow was the airport of a sleepy town on the Arabian Peninsula.
“You must be tired, Cousin Peter,” said Lucy as I came through the door.
“I’m alright, honest. I slept a bit on the plane.”
“Come, let’s have breakfast.”
To my own surprise, I was able to eat. The rashers of rosy bacon, the rich Bavarian rye bread and the slices of Swiss cheese cheered me up. Lucy watched me intently and, without even asking, kept my cup topped up with hot coffee.
“He was a very old man, Peter’le,” she said gently when we had finished.
“I know. And he had a good life. But, Lucy, I can’t bear the thought of it; I just can’t.”
“You’ll have to come to terms with it,” she said, averting her eyes as I wiped my tears.
“If he had only lasted just a little longer. I was due to come down in ten days. We were going to have a special lunch at Franz’s.”
“I know. He too was counting the days. But, as you well know, it’s not up to us.”
“True – and I’m being silly. I’m making it more difficult for you.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” she smiled. “Women are far more down to earth than men. I’ve been preparing myself since he started to complain about his hip.”
“Where is he now?”
“They’ll bring the coffin over in the afternoon. A few months ago, Papa told me he wanted to go from home and pass by the shop. I’ve arranged a service in a nearby Roman Catholic church. As you know, he was brought up a Roman catholic.”
“I am sure he would have liked that,” I told her.
“You’d better have a rest now. You look exhausted.”
I awoke to the shuffling of feet treading ponderously under a heavy load. By the time I came down, the coffin bearers were gone. Lucy was securing the door leading to the basement but left the lights on.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How about a cup of tea?”
Lucy made a pot of strong aromatic tea. She took hers with lemon and sugar and smiled wryly as I poured milk into my cup before filling it up.
“Lucy,” I said as soon as she was settled in her chair. “I thought matters over during the flight. Look, I know how well you run the business. But could you do with an extra pair of hands?”
“What’s on your mind, Cousin Peter?”
“I’m fed up with teaching. I’ve been conducting the same courses for over thirty years! I can’t even dream up new jokes and anecdotes.”
“Well?”
“If you like, I’ll come over and give you a hand with the shop. I know nothing about manuscripts, tapestries and the other stuff you have. But I know my porcelain and prints; and I can learn!”
“I thought you had something like this in mind, Peter’le. But how about Pat, your consultancies and your books?”
“I’ve had a dry marriage for years, Lucy. I suspect Pat will be glad to see the last of me. And my consultancy, the opinion work, and my books, they’ve lost their attraction. Getting involved in the promotion of this shop, will give a new meaning and purpose to my life. And look, Lucy, between the two of us we can push the business to even greater heights. You have the customers and the … suppliers. I too have contacts.”
“We certainly have one supplier,” she said, and I saw a shudder pass through her. “It’s very kind of you. If I wanted to keep the business, you’d be welcome, that is if you still felt the same way after you got over your shock. But I have other plans!”
“Other plans? Surely, you’re not thinking of giving up the shop?”
“I am, rather. Actually, I’ve made up my mind.”
“Lucy!”
“Yes, Cousin Peter. I, too, crave a fresh start.”
“But you’ve achieved so much!”
“Haven’t you too? But that’s not stopping you.”
“But I’m close to retirement. You, in contrast, are at the peak of your academic career. You’ve carved a niche for yourself. And the reputation of Theophil’s Antiques is second to none! Why do you want to throw all this away?”
“Because I want to do something useful, Peter’le. The world is full of academics who care for nothing but their pet subjects, their writings and, if they have a heart, their students. And successful antiques dealers are ten a penny. I am fed up and tired – I’m plain disgusted – with my self-centred, covetous and miserly existence!”
“What do you propose to do?”
“I’m joining a hospital on the Ivory Coast as volunteer trainee nurse. It’s run by a Christian charity; and they need people.”
“Has all this been settled?” I asked, downcast and bewildered. “When did you contact them?”
“I met one of their nurses two years ago in Brittany. She had flown back to visit her aging mother. We spent some time together and she told me all about the institution. We have corresponded ever since. I promised to join when I was able to do so.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Pretty soon. Our friendly competitor, Jack Marx, wants to acquire the business. I expect to settle everything in two or three months.”
“Why not put a manager in charge of the shop? Won’t you be sad to see it go?”
“No, Peter’le. It has outlived its usefulness. Even if I remained in London, I’d dispose of it and move into full time academia.”
“But why?”
“I’ll give you just one reason – do you know who it’s named after?”
“I believe I do,” I conceded.
“I’m not one of his admirers, Cousin Peter.”
“Hasn’t he been rather kind to you – assuming that he exists?”
“Don’t tell me you are still in doubt!” her laughter eased the tension. “Haven’t you looked up our Friedrich Duval?”
“I have made enquiries. A Doctor Friedrich Duval used to teach philosophy and theology in Göttingen.”
“When?”
“Around 1745. His nickname was ‘Fra Diablo’.”
“And Doctor Theophilius, who directed my attention to the books I needed for my research, taught at Heidelberg in the middle of the seventeenth century. He was dreaded by young and old!”
“But has he ever ill-treated anybody? My Fra Diablo appears to have been of a kindly disposition. His only faults were his piercing eyes, his ardent sobriety and an acid tongue!”
“Then why did you look so diminished after your encounter with him?”
“An irrational reaction, Lucy. Every time I look at my masked Boulevardier, I feel grateful to him and deeply ashamed of myself.”
“Don’t. I’m telling you again: I wish to put all this behind me and do something for others; something unselfish and – yes – something good!”
“I think I understand,” I said, forlorn. Then unexpectedly an alien voice murmured to me: “I do, too! But you, Peter’le, shall see me face to face before long.”
We had dinner in a salt beef joint in Piccadilly. Lucy savoured the Latkes while I enjoyed the pungent pickles. Just before we left, Lucy mentioned that Peppi had left me his porcelain, a set of prints and some paintings.
“One is a rare Albigensian piece. I think I know who ‘sold’ it to him. You mustn’t refuse, Cousin Peter.”
“I’ll cherish them, Lucy. One day you may want them!”
“I won’t. They are yours; you might as well enjoy them to the full.”
“You will, Peter’le,” said the alien voice.
Back in Hampstead, I asked Lucy whether we should take turns or sit in vigil together throughout the night. To my surprise, she sought to dissuade me, suggesting that it would be better to get a decent rest.
“But I can’t bear the thought of leaving him down there all on his own.”
“I know. But sitting there in vigil in the dark cellar is inadvisable, Peter’le!”
“But why?”
“It could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Lucy!”
“Did Papa tell you the story of a certain event in Munich?”
“Dad told me – long before I wandered into your shop.”
“Yet you feel no apprehension?”
“Peppi wouldn’t harm you or me or – come to think of it – anybody.”
“But how about his … supporter? He is the epitome of evil!”
“I have seen no evidence of this – supposing I accept that he exists!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cousin Peter: of course he exists. You have even talked to him. He is a tricky one – I don’t trust him.”
“You talk like a religious fanatic, Lucy. I thought that, like Peppi, you were a free thinker – a rationalist. I used to think that, in this regard too, you were your father’s daughter.”
“Don’t forget, Peter’le, that my mother was a devout believer. In this regard, I followed in her footsteps. This did not stop me from loving Papa and respecting him: he was my father, and a good one at that. In matters of religion, though, Anna and I adopted mother’s faith. So, you must understand my apprehension towards your plan to sit in wake over Peppi. His supporter – his alter ego – is unpredictable.”
“All the same: my place tonight is down there – in the basement.”
“Well spoken, Peter’le,” applauded the gentle, internal voice. Although Lucy could not hear him, she looked at me with concern. Finally, she gave way, dejected.
“Alright then. But do yell if anything goes wrong. There’s no heating down there. All you can have is a sleeping bag and a few blankets. But please, please, leave the light on.”
Shortly thereafter, I settled into my makeshift bed in the basement. For a while my thoughts centred on Peppi. I had been deeply fond of him and had every intention of keeping my emotion alive. Then, as I luxuriated in the warmth of the well-padded sleeping bag, my eyelids closed.
I awoke to the sound of a discreet cough. What I saw made me rub my eyes in disbelief.
“Peppi, is it really you?”
“I have not been blessed with a twin brother or alter ego,” he responded with a grin. As always, I looked at him with unconcealed affection. He wore one of his three-piece brown suits, a well ironed white shirt and a matching tie. Sitting there, on the edge of his coffin, he looked every inch the well-to-do member of the long extinct mid-European gentry.
“I’ve turned on the heating, Peter’le. You’d better unzip your sleeping bag.”
“I didn’t know there was a heater in the basement.”
“Shall we say that I have attended to it. I command certain extra powers now, Peter’le.”
“Thanks, Peppi,” I said, as I peeled off the blankets and slipped out of the sleeping bag. Moving a chair close to him, I sat down and held out my hand. His grip was as warm and as reassuring as ever.
“You look well, Peppi. Just the way you did when we first met.”
“Thanks. I could have appeared in an even earlier guise. But the apparition might have unsettled you.”
“Strange,” I mused. “You address me in English. We used to converse in Otakring when we were alone.”
“Would you eppes wollen speak Yiddish, or Hebrew?”
“No thank you,” I protested. “English will do. Still, you never told me you were conversant in my People’s tongues.”
“I am now, Peter’le. I am going through a state of transition.”
“But you are still Peppi?!”
“Guilty as charged,” he confirmed.
“In that case, Peppi, I ought to give you a scolding!”
“I’m terrified!” He raised his arms high in mock fear. “Still, it sounds imperative. So out with it, mon cher Pierre.”
“Do you think, Peppi, it was right to leave us – just like that?”
“Bad timing?”
“Appalling! There was I, counting the days to my flight and – out of the blue – I got Lucy’s call. What was the great hurry, Peppi?”
“Peter’le,” said Peppi, reverting to the Otakring slang. “It was bound to come sooner or later. I was, as you well know, ninety-four! Would you have wanted me to linger around endlessly, degenerating into a malfunctioning body with my mind gone – a geriatric monstrosity?”
“No, Peppi,” I exclaimed. “That would have been ghastly.”
“So be a Mensch, Peter’le, be sensible. Your Peppi enjoyed a long and excellent life. He came from nowhere, drifted about for fifty years and then rose from strength to strength. And his last few years were his best. True, he lost a daughter; but he found a son. No, Peter’le, Peppi’s time had come.”
“I know,” I admitted, crestfallen. “But I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to him.”
“You don’t have to! Peppi can materialise so long as you have the will to see him.”
“Even if I am far away – back in Singapore or retired in Sydney?”
“Such small distances do not count any longer. So, Peter’le, stop looking so glum. You are breaking my heart; and that won’t do!”
“All right, Peppi. But it’s not easy for me to smile.”
“Let me cheer you up, then.”
For the next hour Peppi recounted events from his long-gone youth. Dad figured in many of them. Some were recollections of tricks they had played on their schoolteachers, others related to adventures and misdeeds in the Prater, and others still to Peppi’s years in the army. Despite my anguish, I broke into peals of laughter.
“Am glad to have amused you!” Peppi grinned from ear to ear. “But now, Peter’le, I’ve got to ask you to do me three favours.”
“You know I’ll do anything for you if I can!”
“Let’s start with the easiest. You, Peter’le, must not try to stop Lucy! Let her proceed as planned.”
“But she is heading for the worst region in the lousiest place on earth. Don’t you love her any longer?”
“What a silly question! You know I do. But it’s no good stopping her. She has set her heart on her … sacrifice. Giving it up will break her. She has reached the point of no return.”
“Will you … at least … persuade Theophil to … you know what I mean?”
“Poor Theophil, whose existence you stubbornly refuse to accept! Very well, I’ll have a word with him!”
“Thanks.”
“That’s settled then. Next: you must have lunch at Franz’s.”
“That would be like going to a birthday party when there is no birthday kid.”
“For the second time, Peter’le – don’t be ludicrous. Good old Franz went to no end of trouble to get the breast of veal from Innsbruck. And he spent hours perfecting the recipe for the low cholesterol stuffing. If you don’t turn up, he’ll think you don’t like his food!”
“But sitting at our table without you … The food will have no taste, Peppi.”
“Nonsense,” he countered spiritedly. “Just tell Franz to bring two glasses of wine and place one in front of my chair. Drink it to his good health in my name. And enjoy the new diabetic dessert he has dreamt up. I’ve tried it: it’s delicious!”
“Will you be there?”
“I shall; but I won’t materialise: Franz would have a fit if I did.”
“And what is my third errand?”
“It is a delicate task. You’ve got to find out why Anna cut me off!”
“You mean you still don’t know?”
“I’d prefer to hear it from her mouth. This way, there will no longer be room for doubt.”
“I’ll do my best – but how? Shall I give her a good and proper scolding?”
“That would be counterproductive. Anna sulks and clams up when you tell her off. She does not fear rows. Her weakness lies elsewhere. She likes to be liked. If she senses you think badly of her, she may try to explain. It’s her way of gaining your sympathy.”
“Very well then. But I can only try.”
“Of course. And now we have talked enough. You’d better have some rest. Slip back into your sleeping bag. I’ll have to turn the ‘heating’ off. Otherwise, Lucy will call the fire brigade in the morning or, if she suspects foul play, will arrange an exorcism!”
Lucy said little over breakfast. I knew something was on her mind but thought it best to wait. Eventually, she came out with it. Early in the morning Anna had rung to tell her she might be late for the funeral. Her daughter had succumbed to an attack of bronchitis with high fever. They had to wait for the physician.
“What are you going to do?”
“We’ll give her 30 or 40 minutes. If she hasn’t turned up by then, we’ll go ahead. I’ll leave the key to the house with the neighbours.”
The hearse arrived shortly after lunch. A number of people were already gathered in the church. Some were members and office bearers of Artiquar; others were antiques dealers who had done business with Peppi. Certain charities were also represented. Franz and his wife were sitting in one of the back rows. By 2.15 the church was full. By 2.30 it was overcrowded.
The traditional Roman Catholic service was followed by the priest’s balanced obituary. And still there was no sign of Anna. With a shrug of her shoulders, Lucy nodded. I watched sadly as the pallbearers – men younger and sturdier than myself – carried the heavy coffin back to the hearse. Whatever else you might think of Anna, you had to concede that she was consistent!