The Silence

 The Silence

July 9^th, 1966

Zurich

More than a year after Karl Maria's accident, Konrad still was unable to speak. The visit to his grandmother in Venice had been a total fiasco as he had refused to speak no matter all the tactics his tutor and his grandmother had employed. He would obey and work hard on his studies, yet he would not speak to anybody.

Friederich didn't know what else to do. First, he had tried with rewards, then with threats, afterwards with his own silence and praying, but there were no positive results at all. Konrad remained mute regardless the doctors' opinions that there was nothing physically wrong with him.

“Nothing wrong, dear? Everything is wrong about him,” Friederich's mother had told him once when he had taken the boy for a short visit to Salzburg, in hopes that seeing her would encourage him to talk.

But Konrad had only smiled sadly and shyly at her, not even coming closer for a hug when before he had always jumped on the old lady.

“Your sister Lotte was very affected after your father passed away. She was terrified of strong noises for a long time, and mute almost all the time. She began to recover once we arrived to Salzburg and she went to school. This child needs to be with other children and nothing else.”

'My mother is most probably right, but no school in its right mind would accept him if he doesn't speak,' thought Friederich. 'Only one for children with special needs would do, and that would be the end of Konrad's future as Griffin.

'He has improved a little since Marianne left us, but we don't have the time he would need to be fine again. His father is too stubborn to send him to a psychiatrist, insists it would be perceived as a sign of weakness from the child.

'There should be something we could do. Where do we get children for him to play with? The gardener's sons are too vulgar to be with him.

'I’ll have to speak with Karl Heinz; maybe he could provide an answer.'

* * *

“Excuse me? Are you telling me that we need to bring another child in here, Friederich?” the Duke asked in total bewilderment. He left his glass over the small table and poured himself a second drink once Friederich had finished explaining his idea. His tired eyes wandered around his private living room, and the thought that tonight the young teacher would also sleep under the same roof as him brought some comfort to his loneliness.

“He should be about Konrad's age; having more contact with people his age would certainly help him to overcome his shyness,” Friederich insisted as he approached his chair to Karl Heinz' one, placing his hands over his friend's arm.

“The times when you could go to a Working House and ask for an orphan for your workshop are over, Friederich,” Karl Heinz growled for his pride sake, but quickly caught the hand resting on his forearm. “Fortunately.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a distant relative of his,” Friederich answered a bit irked at his answer. “The parents must be people we know and trust. If Konrad's condition is leaked outside the Council...”

“I know.”

“Do you have any relatives with children his age?”

“Yes, I do. Theodobald, who would be very happy to get rid of Konrad, or Hermann, whose family life is more complicated than mine.”

“I remember the Princess of Battistini. She struck me as a pious and generous woman.”

“Elisabetta tolerates a lot from Hermann. I fear one day she will lose her patience and divorce him. My cousin loses his head with each little vixen he sees.”

“Yet the princess accepted his oldest son, although he was born outside the marriage.”

“That's why I say Elisabetta is a wonderful woman. Imagine, five years after you are married, your husband shows up one day at home with a nine-year-old hanging from the hand and only says, ‘This is my son, Armin. His mother can't look after him any longer.’ She should have killed him,” Karl Heinz shook his head slightly.

“But she didn't, and she respected her marital vows. I remember the lad from when they were here. She behaved like a mother to him.”

“She is like one, according to Hermann. I assume she took pity on him and did more than adopting him. Now, Albert is a year older than Konrad, if I remember well. Yes, that's right; he's on the fourth class.”

“Hermann has always been loyal to you, Karl,” Friederich said, as another idea took form in his head.

“Yes, he is. If I would have to choose who should succeed me were Konrad not to become Griffin, it would be his line.”

“Perhaps we should invite young Albert and his mother for the holidays.”

“Here? To Zurich? Elisabetta has many charity obligations to attend.”

“I was thinking to take Konrad to Italy for the summer. A change of airs would do him good, and he likes to read about Roman history. I think he has read The Last Days of Pompeii or Fabiola over five times.”

“You want to go to San Capistrano?”

“Yes, that would be the ideal place for him. After all, the Order began there.”

After a long consideration, Karl Heinz sighed. “The first Lord Consort, Enrico di Molinari, saved the Lintorffs from becoming a decrepit house in the exile. Perhaps you can save my line from another disaster. Do as you want, Friederich. I'll speak with Hermann and Elisabetta.”

The young man leaned over Karl Heinz' body. Looking into his eyes, his hand touched briefly his cheek in a tender gesture but quickly removed it when the older man leaned his face against it. “You will not regret it, my brother. God will come to our aid,” he said softly. “I promise I will do everything in my power for Konrad to be our next Hochmeister.”

* * *

The silent figure slouched over the workbook, laboriously writing down additions with a sharp pointed pencil, was a horrible sight for Friederich. Nothing remained of the serious, inquisitive boy who could turn everything upside down the minute the young teacher turned his head around. Against his initial judgement, the departure of Marianne had solved nothing at all. Konrad continued to behave exactly as the first time she had accused him of being his brother's murderer.

“Konrad?” Friederich asked as he sat next to him. Blue eyes fixed on him but there was not other sign of recognition. “Your father and I have been thinking about what you would like to do for the holidays...” he trailed, expecting the child would jump in excitement at the mention of it, but nothing happened.

Repressing his disappointment, Friederich continued to speak with a calm voice, doing his best to ignore Konrad's silence. “We thought that San Capistrano would be a wonderful place to go. It is located near Rome, and I think you were never there. Were you?” he asked anxiously.

Konrad just shook his head negatively, and Friederich bit his lips to drown the sigh in his throat. “I also not, but your father tells me it is a wonderful place. Much bigger than your grandmother's house in Venice. It's one of the first family residences your family had,” he informed him and noticed the child looked at him intrigued.

“It is an hour or two away from Rome, and we could visit the city too. I have always wanted to see the catacombs under St. Peter's, and your father knows somebody who could take us there. Can you imagine it? It's where the first Christians were.” Friederich tried to entice him. “There is also the Coliseum, museums, Trajan's Market, the Capitol, and many other impressive things. Like in the books you like so much.

“We will not take the books with us, though” Friederich played his last ace, but there was no reaction at all. “I was thinking to invite your cousins Armin and Albert so you have somebody to play with. Would you like it?”

Konrad only nodded and returned to his homework, noticing one figure not properly aligned with the rest. He frowned when the eraser failed to completely delete the faint shadows of the misplaced cipher.

* * *

July 29^th, 1966

Friederich was on the brink of a nervous breakdown as his frustration, rage and despair threatened to break the dam of his strong will and education. Both Lintorff cousins were wearing his patience thinner and thinner with their permanent mischief and disobedience, as if they were testing the limits of his endurance. Never before had he encountered such a difficult pair of pupils.

Konrad had not improved at all, and his cousins simply ignored him as he did not speak and limited to trail after them as they got into some mischief or another, like setting the chickens free, playing football under the Fabriano or the Lippi paintings, starting a battle with pillows at midnight, scribbling on the walls or simply running away when Friederich was trying to teach something to them.

The idea of visiting the Catacombs with such a pair of savages was inconceivable.

The young teacher's Latin was clearly useless as he couldn't understand a single word the children spoke between them at full speed whenever he was present. By the local servants' faces, he was pretty sure that uttering profanities was a very usual way of communication between the brothers.

'I see now why the Princepessa was delighted to have the children away from Milan for two weeks.

'This has been one of my worst ideas ever,' he thought bitterly as he braced himself for another round with the troublesome cousins.

He took a history book from the shelves before he left his room to catch the boys playing in the large courtyard. He trusted that after chasing each other for two hours their hunger would be enough as to have them sit at the table for tea and behave in a more or less civilised way. 'I only hope they don't ruin Konrad's manners,' he prayed once more as he descended the stone stairwell.

“Mr. Elsässer?” a young maid called him when he had almost reached the courtyard, already able to hear from where he was the boys yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Yes, Maria Domenica?”

“Should I serve apple pastries today? Young Konrad seemed to like them very much, but you were very upset with his cousins this morning,” she asked, remembering the collapse the young Austrian had suffered when the boys had used one of the large Chinese vases to store their marbles.

“We can't punish Konrad for his cousins' actions,” Friederich said after exhaling a long sigh. “With any luck, we return in two days to Zurich.”

“Next time, you should bring him alone. He's most well brought up, sir. As for the others, they have nothing that a good spank can't cure,” she affirmed pressing her lips very thin. “Hitting them with a spoon on the head is like a pat for them.”

“I'm afraid you are right, Maria Domenica,” he sighed. “One cake per child, if you please.”

As usual, both brothers were bitterly bickering in Italian, ignoring Konrad as the boy snuggled his teddy bear against his chest and looked at his cousins with big eyes.

'Yes, I would also be a bit afraid of these two wildcats,' thought Friederich as he called them for tea. Konrad rose from his sitting position and did his best to ignore his cousin Albert, yelling something at him as he nearly ran over him in his haste to be the first to reach the table.

The teacher had to look the other way, embarrassed, when Konrad passed by his side and only stared at him, clearly expressing with a single look his utter annoyance at his cousins' manners.

When tutor and pupil reached the table, the brothers already were devouring their sweets without paying attention to Konrad, who, as it was his habit, waited for his teacher to sit down. The boy kept his poise as he fought against his desire to jump over the remaining apple pastry, slightly concerned that it could be taken away.

Repressing a huff, Friederich took his place at the head of the table, and when he opened his mouth to scold both boys, Armin simply snatched the remaining cake and put it in his dish. Faster than ever, Konrad just brutally pushed his fifteen-year-old cousin's chair, making him fall so as to recover his cake, and placed it back on his own dish.

“Mio, stronzo,¹” the boy growled, ending with his long self-imposed silence under his cousins astonished eyes.

* * *

December 14^th, 1966

Zurich

Since the fatal accident, Friederich had begun more and more to spend the night with Karl Heinz as the man couldn't sleep alone well. The rules had been set very clearly since the beginning, and the Duke had accepted them as he knew there would be no other chance for him to hold or kiss his beloved unless he agreed to a “relationship without any kind of sexual content between us as this is forbidden by our Lord”. After dinning together at the Duke's private quarters, they would spend hours speaking or reading in the living room. When Marianne was gone, Karl Heinz simply ordered to transform the room that adjoined his private studio into another bedroom, and offered it to Friederich in case “you need to stay longer.”

If any of the house staff members was shocked, he or she never showed it, and life continued more peacefully than before. The Duke's permanent brooding or challenging attitude had changed into a lonesome sadness over his son's loss. His depression was so visible that nobody in his right mind would have thought the Duke was having a love affair with the elegant and aloof Austrian teacher. No, they were good and close friends.

To believe otherwise was simply unthinkable.

“We must change the approach Karl Heinz,” Friederich said in the middle of the night, shaking his bed partner awake.

“Excuse me?” mumbled a partly asleep Karl Heinz.

“About Konrad. Pursuing his education here will only alienate him more. He has to attend school and be with children of his age, like his cousin Albert does. That boy's manners have significantly improved since he moved to Zurich with his mother and registered in school.”

“Konrad would only waste his time there. He's far more advanced in his studies than any of Hermann's children. You have seen Albert's study plans,” he complained as he sat on his bed.

“I would reinforce his general knowledge in the afternoons, but he needs to be with people his age; he practically never plays, unless his cousin Albert is here. That he has resumed speaking doesn't necessarily mean everything will be normal again. I have seen him many times speaking with the frogs at the pond and he's too old to continue to do that,” Friederich insisted.

“What do you suggest?”

“I've spoken with the principal of the school Albert attends. He's willing to accept Konrad after the Christmas holidays and put him in the same class with his cousin.”

Dread assaulted Karl Heinz' soul as he was well aware that, once his son went to school, the reason for Friederich to remain in Zurich would disappear. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“He will attend school in the mornings, and both boys will return here to have lunch and do their homework. I will oversee them. I have spoken with the Princess and she believes it is a good idea. She also thinks that, once they are older, they could attend a boarding school in Bern.”

“Are you establishing a school in here?” Karl Heinz asked with genuine surprise.

“Konrad and the others can enlarge their horizons with me. We are speaking of the next Griffin and his possible substitute, if this situation does not return to normal, Karl.”

'If it is only that, maybe he’ll stay for longer. At least until Konrad finishes school.' “Do you really think it is a good idea?”

“Yes, I do,” Friederich answered with certainty. “The child would be happier if he has friends to play with. He still misses his brother very much.”

“And what about you?”

“I will not leave you alone at the mercy of two wild boys,” Friederich joked, but Karl Heinz fixed his eyes on him. “I asked to extend my leave of absence from the Seminar for another five years,” he admitted nervously. “I can't leave you now. I'll go away when you ask me so.”

“Will you stay here the whole night?” Karl Heinz asked very relieved as he embraced his friend.

“Until you start to snore loudly as usual,” Friederich answered with a malicious smile as he returned the embrace.

“I don't snore. I breathe harder than most men,” Karl Heinz chuckled as he closed his eyes to sleep again, enjoying having his friend's body between his arms and feeling a peace he had never experienced before.

January 9^th, 1967

The large building was very impressive in the boy's eyes. The playground was large and filled with boys loudly playing or chasing each other. The fifth class was not so impressive as Konrad had thought it would be, and he was still feeling a bit embarrassed that he had been asked to stand up in front of the whole class and tell his name and age under the merciless scrutiny of his classmates.

The maths lesson had been boring as he already knew the subject, and the break was going to be more boring as nobody paid attention to him. Slouching a bit against the wall, he looked around hoping to see his cousin Albert, but he had disappeared after the bell had rung.

He watched how a group of four children, older than him and perhaps on the seventh class, dragged the lanky boy who had sat beside Albert during lessons to a spot next to his on the wall-—his wall—and then shoved him against it.

“So, you're the new one. See what we do to the teachers' pets,” the biggest child of the group told him as he pushed once more his victim against the wall. “Are you a bookworm too? You look like one,” he said, dangerously leaning over Konrad.

“I like to study,” he answered with haughtiness, and the beaten boy looked at him perplexed at his boldness, bordering on madness.

“A bookworm?” the other repeated incredulously.

“I am not familiar with the term,” answered Konrad, and the other three boys watching the exchange between their leader and the newcomer chanted their delight at the upcoming fight, attracting some other students.

“Then you're a mummy’s boy,” the older boy snickered, pushing the slouched boy on the shoulder.

The mention of his mother enraged Konrad, and he rose to his full height as the other boys noted that the nine-year-old was more like a twelve-year-old and looked as if he could hold his own in a fight. “I'm not an idiot like you are,” he growled, getting ready for the fight as he had been taught many times by his father’s Serbian bodyguards.

The boy closed his fist and tried to punch Konrad on the face with all his strength only to hit the wall as the younger boy easily evaded him and clubbed him on the stomach, knocking his air out. Under the astonished look of the other children, Konrad threw the bully to the floor and jumped over him, using one of his knees to press his chest in a very painful way, forcing him to remain immobile if he wanted to reduce the burning feeling in his chest.

“Offer your excuses,” said Konrad as he increased the pressure, and the other boy wailed in pain. “I don't hear you. Try again,” he repeated with a calm voice as the boys surrounding them remained frozen in their places, shocked at the new boy's behaviour, and how easily he had beaten the strongest boy in the yard.

“Sorry!” the boy shouted partly suffocated.

“Now to my classmate,” he added coldly, and his eyes shone in a way that frightened the boy.

“Sorry!”

“It's all right,” mumbled the other child, partly recovering from his shock. “Let him go, please,” he added. “You'll get in trouble,” he repeated mechanically.

Konrad only said, “Next time you bother me, I'll break your arm,” before he rose and cleaned his hands against his uniform, slightly grimacing as if he would have touched dirt. The defeated boy and the others didn't need to be told twice and hurried away as fast as they could.

“Are you all right?” the boy they had been bullying asked with real concern. He hadn’t left with the others. “You shouldn't have done this. He's the boss around here.”

“He's just an idiot who doesn't know there is always someone meaner than you,” Konrad shrugged nonchalantly. “That's what my father says, and he's right. Do you really like books?”

“Yes, I do. I have the best grades in my class,” the boy answered. “I have a Märklin train too.”

“I also. What's your name? Mine is Konrad.”

“Ferdinand,” the boy offered his hand, and Konrad shook it. “We could be friends. I'm almost ten, already.”

“Sure, and I'll show you how to beat the crap out of bullies like him.”

“Your cousin said you were weird, but I think you're all right.”

“You too, even if you like books,” chuckled Konrad, inwardly wondering what was so strange about liking books and why all the students were so proud of hating them. Perhaps joking about them was a prerequisite to make friends. He observed how a flash of disappointment crossed Ferdinand's face and he returned to his original idea of how he should treat other people: ask what you want to know of them. “Do you like Jules Verne?”

“Sure! I want to build a submarine. I'll show you my drawings,” he answered and took Konrad by the sleeve to walk towards the dorms where he lived. “My parents live in Frankfurt, but I'm here since last summer.”

1“Mine, asshole.”