Blue Glass

The Hangman's Noose

I went to see Manfred the next day, but he told me at the gate that his mother and sister were home and that I ought to disappear before they come out.

He said the same thing the next day. And the next. And the day after that, also. By the fifth day, I was convinced he was simply using the presence of his mother and sister as an excuse not to see me. Who would, after hearing what I had had to say not too long ago, ever associate himself with a girl of such a low background? It didn't make sense.

I decided to take a walk to clear my mind on Sunday. Everyone would be at church in the morning,which meant the streets would be perpetually empty. They were—and I traipsed block after block, the sound of my slightly high shoes clicking on the pavement the only audible sound there was.

I turned onto Striegauer Strasse, my gaze immediately going to the large white house at the end of the street. I had never asked Manfred what religion he was,nor would I dare to ask him. Besides, I wondered what I would say if he directed the question back at me. What was I, anyway? I had been born a Christian, that was for sure, and my mother and father were both Lutherans, but I never went to church, never said a single"Amen," never celebrated Christmas or observed anything like Good Friday or Easter Sunday—but I believed in the fact that God existed, so that didn't make me an atheist—or so I hoped.

"Good morning, Lea." I was so engrossed in thoughts about my religious status that the voice made me jump.

Manfred was standing at the garden gate, clad in his normal field gray uniform minus his Pour le Merite and other medals, his hands clasped before him. Contrary to the sudden lightheadedness that usually occurred whenever I saw him, I was plain out embarrassed this time.

"Good morning, Manfred."I went to the bars of the gate. "It's good to see you."

I couldn't detect anything amiss in his voice—nothing that pointed to him having been negatively affected by our spontaneous conversation last night.

"You don't go to church?"Manfred began to methodically crack his knuckles.

I swallowed. Each pop of his joints was like the slow rhythm of a drum, the kind they beat when a person walked to their execution in the old times.

"No. No, I don't." It was suddenly so ironic how all the skeletons in my closet were slowly tumbling out one by one at Manfred's feet for him to look at almost out of their own free will.

I expected him to ask why, but he nodded instead, fiddling with the lock on the gate. "I would go, but my head hurts me especially badly today."

He swung the gate open with a loud squeak, gesturing for me to enter. "Would you like to come in?"

I might as well have fallen over at that point. I had figured that as a nobleman he would never invite a woman he didn't have family relations with into his house, that that would be too distasteful for him.

You live and you learn, I suppose, one day at a time.

The first thing I noted about the von Richthofen house was that it was huge—and I hadn't even seen the inside yet. The garden was bigger than the one we had at my house in Vienna by a lot more.

For some reason, I found myself suddenly looking for servants as Manfred led me through the garden to the stairs leading to the front door of the house.

A house as big as this ought to have servants...?

"Aren't you worried someone will see us?" I asked as he pulled the door open and moved to one side to let me pass.