The Sour Hereafter

Swiss National Bank

The Sour Hereafter

June 4^th, 1980

Friederich saw the priest came out from the room and his eyes watered. “You can go in. He is at peace now,” the old man said as he patted his arm.

“Thank you, Father. We will let you know when the time comes.”

“Yes, thank you. Stay here. I know my way out.”

Alone in the living room, Friederich took several deep breaths before he went into the main bedroom. The image of the lying form of Karl Heinz was a shock for him, but he hid it before he sat on the border of the bed, gently taking the other man’s stiff hand between his own ones.

“The doctor will see you soon,” Friederich said kindly, leaning his body over the bed and releasing the hand to caress his friend's forehead.

“What for? Not much to do,” Karl Heinz growled.

“There is always something to do.”

“Hiding my Armagnac bottle will not save me, Friederich. You have heard that sawbones of Benoit. I don't have much time left. We don't have much time left.” He extended his hand and Friederich clasped it again in his.

“You should not tire yourself so much.”

“I will rest for a very long time soon enough. Once, I thought I would die alone, in a snowy plain far away from home; but I am here, with you.”

“I'll stay with you until Konrad arrives. He should be here soon,” Friederich said moved, refusing to acknowledge what was coming.

“Maybe,” Karl Heinz answered very slowly. “Will you be there for him, like you were for me?”

“Yes, I will. For as long as he needs me.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Karl Heinz said on the limit of his strength.

“You should not speak. It only tires you,” Friederich scolded him with a smile even as he helped his friend to lean his head over his own chest, softly caressing the Duke’s white hair.

“You were the love of my life, Friederich,” Karl Heinz said. “I thank God for letting me have you.”

“Don't say such things. It's just a relapse,” Friederich lied.

“I'm dying and I know it. Don't deny it.”

Friederich’s eyes filled with tears. The series of small strokes the Duke had been suffering over the past three days were going to plunge him into a coma very soon. The doctor had already warned him, “His heart and lungs are in perfect condition. He may not die tomorrow but it is only a question of days. Once he slips into a coma, he will not come back to his senses.”

“I love you too, my brother,” Friederich told him as he pressed his head against his. “Since the first day I saw you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. You were so serious about everything,” Friederich told him with a smile.

“I was very nervous.”

“Me too, and a little upset that I had been sent to look after a four-year-old. My superior didn't give me much of a choice at the time, and now, I will never have enough words to thank him,” Friederich remembered with a soft voice as he watched how Karl Heinz closed his eyes contentedly.

The younger man continued to speak in a quiet tone, telling his companion about their time together, secretly hoping that Karl Heinz was only falling asleep, all the while lovingly caressing his cheek.

At one point, the doctor entered the room, and without moving Friederich aside, he checked on the Duke and slowly shook his head in a negative gesture.

“We should consider moving him to the hospital, Mr. Elsässer.”

“He's just sleeping,” Friederich answered.

“I am afraid he has slipped into a light coma. In the hospital, His Grace would be more comfortable, and we could react better if something happens.”

“He has left a clear will refusing any medical means to extend his life. He also wants to die in his bed.”

“Very well, sir. As you wish,” the doctor said as he began to slowly gather his instruments.

“Do you think he will be able to speak with his son?” Friederich asked.

“I am afraid not. I will be staying in the other room if you need me, sir,” the doctor said sadly. “I am very sorry.”

“Thank you,” Friederich answered mechanically, closing his eyes to hold back the tears watering his eyes. The door softly closed, and once he was sure he was alone, he let them fall down his cheeks.

“Rest well, my love,” he said as he continued to caress the Duke’s head with the back of his fingers, clutching one of the dying man's hands in his other hand. He would stay with Karl Heinz until Konrad arrived from Hong Kong.

* * *

The young man crossed the airport's hallway at full speed, still cursing that his flight had been delayed and he had missed his connection in Paris, thus being forced to waste four precious hours until the next flight to Zurich. He jumped inside the car waiting for him at the entrance and nervously looked through the window all the way back to the castle.

The sombre face of the butler as he took his coat and briefcase from his numbed hands told him that it was much worse than the “Your father is feeling very poorly” his tutor had informed him. Briskly walking towards the stairs, he met his uncle Hermann waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase.

“You must be strong, my boy,” the old man said gently as he patted his arm.

“Is my father...?”

“Not yet, but he's in a coma. Benoit doesn’t think he will recover consciousness,” Hermann said. “The priest administered him the last rites before. he fell asleep. He is with Friederich.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“The Council has been warned. Zu Löwenstein and Pavicevic are in the living room awaiting your orders.”

Konrad looked at his uncle coldly. “Should we not wait a bit?” he growled.

“This has been most unexpected, my son. We must be swift and determined if we want to avoid a schism over your future ruling. You are perfectly aware that your cousin Georg wants your position, and some associates support his plea. He's pressing the Council to name a regent. You're too young to be our Hochmeister.”

“I am twenty-two years old. If I'm old enough to fight in a war or vote, I am old enough as to rule. End of discussion, Uncle.”

Konrad climbed the stairs and walked down the corridor that led to the tower where his father had his private quarters. He passed one of the maids, who quickly curtsied, and he noticed her red-rimmed eyes. He entered the living room and saw the doctor sitting there, writing something in several papers. They greeted each other very formally.

“How is my father, doctor?”

“He has further slipped into a coma, and his heart begins to deteriorate. I am afraid he will not survive the week.”

“Is he suffering?”

“I do not think so, sir. I have given him something for the pain. We cleaned his respiratory tract a few hours ago, and he is more comfortable now.”

“Is he suffocating to death?” Konrad asked horrified.

“As I explained to Mr. Elsässer, His Grace would be better treated at the hospital; however, the Duke refused to be taken there and left a clear will. I believe he will die of a cardio-respiratory failure very soon. His brain is dying faster than the rest of his body.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Konrad said dejectedly.

The young man opened the door to his father's bedroom and saw Friederich sitting on the bed, his father’s head resting on his lap. Konrad involuntary gasped when he saw the devastated expression in his usually reserved aristocratic mentor. He approached the bed silently, and Friederich's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“Your father is resting. I will let you alone,” the man said as he rose from the bed, delicately readjusting the Duke’s head on a pillow.

“Thank you, sir,” Konrad replied with a muffled voice.

“The Duke dictated me this letter some time ago,” Friederich said. “I believe this is the right moment for you to read it.” He took a sealed envelope out of his black jacket and gave it to Konrad.

The young man looked in despair at his dying father and the sorrow washed over him. 'Why? We never had a close relationship. Nevertheless, he is my only real family.' He sat on the border of the bed, clutching the letter in his hand, and briefly touched the side of his father's right arm.

“I am here, sir. I am truly sorry I couldn't return earlier to properly say good-bye to you.”

His sorrow was quickly replaced by embarrassment. To speak to someone in a coma was simply useless; they were almost gone. He felt ridiculous, but strangely moved at the same time. To hide his weakness, as he had been taught so many times by his father, he broke the envelope's seal and immediately recognised his tutor's clear, neat and elegant handwriting.

He cleared his throat to cast away the lump he felt nesting inside it. 'Men don't cry or apologise for what they have done, Konrad. Therefore, all your actions should be carefully evaluated before you move a finger, boy,' he remembered his father's words and automatically rearranged his slightly slouched posture in front of his elder. He unfolded the paper and began to read.

February 15^th, 1980

My Son,

I have known for a few days that my end is near. My time upon this Earth is short and I am confident that I will meet my Creator to explain all my deeds. You have always been a source of pride for me, and I believe you will be a good leader of our people. I have done my best to prepare you for this, and with the Lord's help you will not fail.

The minute I am dead, the associates will surround you like hungry wolves and bite your ankles till you fall on your knees. They will force you to accept a regent but you shall refuse. Do not share your power. Accept your mistakes, but never those from the ones who are not you.

God placed us where we are. We are rulers by His Grace, and we only answer to Him. My father and I did our best to reconstruct all what was destroyed during the War. Your task is to take our Order to new heights for His greater Glory.

With faith in Christ, our Lord,

Karl Heinz von Lintorff

Konrad closed his eyes at the sight of his father's hesitant signature in pencil. 'He must have been in greater pain that he ever admitted if he couldn't use his pen.' At the bottom of the letter there was a sentence, scribbled in a shaky handwriting.

“I beg you; take care of my Friederich. K.”

'So it is as I always thought. They were together.' Konrad folded the letter and put it back in its envelope.

“I will look after Friederich. I swear it, Father.” he said softly, and bent over his inert body to kiss him on the forehead.

“Good-bye, sir.”

He rose from the bed and slowly left the bedroom.

In the living room, Friederich was sitting at the table, softly praying, and didn’t notice as Konrad entered the room and took the chair next to his.

“Thank you for being with my father, sir,” Konrad whispered, making Friederich jump, startled at his voice.

The man smiled dejectedly and took his pupil's hand. “I'm praying for God to take him away without much suffering.”

“I hope He answers your prayers, sir.”

“You don't have to call me ‘sir’ any longer, Konrad. I am not your teacher anymore. Soon you will be our superior; our Hochmeister,” said Friederich with a gentle voice. “We will all follow your lead.”

Konrad gulped and felt his throat dry as never before, a pang of fear biting his heart. “Are you really going to follow me? My father's letter was not so optimistic.”

“You must lean on Pavicevic. He is loyal to your father and will be loyal to you... for the time being. Zu Löwenstein also thinks you are well educated for the honour that will be invested upon you; but don't be lenient, Konrad. You must win their confidence in your abilities, and you only have a one year grace period. No more.”

“I see.”

“When the funeral is over, there will be a Council meeting, and the most prominent associates might be invited too. It is expected that you outline then your strategy for the future. I'm afraid that they will give you no respite at all, as your cousin, Georg von Lintorff, already is stirring the waters against you.”

“He will not be my regent, nor my uncle Hermann. I intend to rule alone, sir... I mean, Friederich.”

“Then, you must start to prepare yourself for what is to come. Go downstairs and speak with your uncle and the Prince zu Löwenstein. In private. Your father was very impressed by your ideas.”

“Very well, Friederich. I'll speak with them.”

“I have warned your mother,” Friederich added hesitantly.

“Tell her to come after the will has been read. She can send her lawyers if she wants.” Konrad answered coldly.

“She is your mother.”

“No, she is not. I left that very clear when I turned eighteen. She has no place in this house nor at my father's funeral. His life was miserable because of her, and you want to have her here? Let only his friends and family say good-bye to him.”

“Konrad...”

“It's final. Tell her to stay in Paris or face to be publicly expelled from this property. I owe her nothing, and since my grandmother passed away, I don't have to endure her presence in my life.” Konrad rose from his chair. “I have to speak with the Prince and my uncle now, if you'd excuse me.”

A week later

As the only concession to the associates, Konrad promised to keep the original council as it was, renouncing to his right to name three new councillors. He had flatly refused to have a regent, but the Summus Marescalus and the Magnus Commendator would oversee his new projects and their positive votes would be mandatory to make any decision.

All seven councillors and some fifteen associates more had been greatly shocked when Konrad had said that they were in front of a new era, where the financial world would soon surpass the traditional industry, and that they should focus on it from now onwards. The idea of investing outside Europe was met with scepticism, but the promise of high and fast returns in Southeast Asia eased their fears, and Konrad obtained their support and a promise to increase the funds at his disposal. His ideas of investing in the new technologies in Silicon Valley, and even begin to copy it in Europe, generated some discomfort, as it was common belief that Europe and Asia would economically crush America in a few years more.

Until his father would pass away, Konrad and the Council would rule together in Karl Heinz's name.

* * *

July 5^th, 1980

Konrad finished lacing his black tie as he prepared himself for his father's funeral. The past month had been strange for him: using his father's office as he worked and met with all the associates on a personal basis, hoping to win their sympathies and support.

On his first day, he had been shocked when his father's old secretary entered the room to leave him a black coffee and two cookies at three in the afternoon, exactly as she had been doing for the past twenty-seven years.

“Oh, I'm sorry, sir.”

“It's all right, Mariette. I was hungry,” Konrad had answered as his eyes fixed on the well-known china, and he took the small dish in his hand, knowing that he was finally accepting his own fate.

'Finally, it's over,' he thought tiredly. 'Friederich suffered more than any of us. He shouldn't have gone through all this. He never left his sickbed during the whole month it took him to die.

'A month to die. I hope I get a faster and cleaner passing.'

He descended the stairs to join the guests who already had arrived and were waiting in the courtyard. He spoke briefly with many of them, shaking hands and allowing some of their women to kiss him with compassionate affection. He remembered how Friederich had brought his father's sword, and lovingly placed it inside the coffin between his father’s inert hands.

'I wish someone would mourn for me one day like he does for my father. I miss him, but I'm not destroyed by his death as he is. Maybe I am as emotionally handicapped as Ferdinand tells me. The only thing I can think of now is how to keep my title.'

He nodded at the Baron von Olsztyn, one of the few old men who had truly supported him and asked about his plans with genuine interest. 'Not all of them are old crocks.' His wife was much younger, and she smiled at him in an oddly motherly way. 'She must be about Elisabetta's age,' he thought. He was surprised when her smile froze and her eyes lost their brilliance, and he turned around to see what she had seen.

Marianne von Liechenstein-Fabourg (as he firmly remembered himself) stood in the middle of the courtyard, proud and impressive as always. Konrad only mumbled an “excuse me” and walked in a straight line towards his mother.

“I don't recall your presence was requested. Please leave my house, madam,” Konrad said without any preambles as he held his mother's furious stare.

“Karl Heinz was my husband.”

“Yes, he was. Now, if you please, madam,” Konrad punctuated the words, barely containing his fury as he showed her the door with a not very discreet gesture of the hand.

“You would not dare,” she growled.

“My Duke,” Friederich interfered. “This is not the moment to remember old grudges. The Princess has every right to be here.”

“Why?” Konrad said out loud, and his voice was well heard over the courtyard. “We will not be reading my father's last will until next week. Or does she come to see if he is really dead? Are you coming to see the results of your work, madam?”

“Konrad, I have my doubts that you are human at all,” Marianne said.

“I am your son, madam. I have inherited all of your traits,” he answered sweetly, and she turned around to leave the place, enraged as a Fury. Konrad, dismissing the scene as if it were nothing, returned to his original place and resumed the conversation exactly from the same point he had left it.

* * *

July 15^th, 1980

What concerned Konrad the most was his former tutor's depression. Since his father had fallen ill, he had begun to call him “Your Grace”, “my Duke”, “sire” or “my Griffin.”

With his father's last will and letter in his hand, Konrad called Friederich to the library and watched how the man sat with slow moves on the chair placed in front of his desk.

“There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you, Friederich,” he said softly. “It's about the future.”

“There is nothing to say, my Griffin. I know my time here is over.”

“Far from that,” Konrad said hurriedly. “Your advise is always welcomed. My father always spoke very highly of your ability to read people. I know you have rejected to be on the Council many times in the past, and I will not ask you once more, but I would feel very sad if you choose to go away.”

“I will do what you need me to do. I promised this to your late father.”

“My father left you twenty million Marks and a property in Austria.”

“I do not want this legacy. You can keep it, Konrad. I was never here because of the money.”

“Friederich, I know that. You are my mentor, and without you, I would be nobody at all. My father asked me to look after you, and I swear I will do it till your last day,” Konrad said as he handed the letter.

Friederich only read the last sentence and closed his eyes in obvious pain. “We...” he started, but his voice broke.

“You were something more than good friends, but nothing else,” Konrad finished the sentence. “I understand that you have every right to go away and continue with your life, but please, stay with me for a little longer. I really need your support, more than anybody else's.”

“My life is here,” Friederich said.

“Then, there is no need to go away.”

“What will I do here?”

“What you used to do. I need someone who can oversee this house and the other properties. I need an advisor and a guide. I know I have no right to ask you this.”

“I will stay until you get your life in order.”

Konrad sighed relieved. “Please, don't call me ‘my Duke’, or I will start to call you ‘Your Serene Highness’,” he joked lightly.

“I renounced to my titles a long time ago, Konrad.” Friederich said in a stern tone. “You are not a child any longer, and the best would be if you start to give yourself your own place. Men will respect you more if you allow no room for mistakes. You are our leader, and you should demand that we all treat you as such. Don't let people become too comfortable around you because they will lose their respect for you. Like your father before you, your life will not be easy, and you will be alone.”

“My father was not alone,” Konrad said softly. “He had your friendship.”

“Friends are not enough to endure the many challenges you will face from now onwards. Only your faith and love will do.”

“You are right, Friederich,” Konrad mumbled impressed.

“When will you move to your new quarters?” the man asked softly.

“I think we should wait for a little longer. A year, at least,” Konrad answered.

“The nursery is not a very appropriate place for our Griffin.”

“Hide the Märklin well, then. But if it eases your concerns, I can move to one of the guest rooms in the tower,” Konrad said. “In a year, Friederich. My father's memory should be respected. We all need some time to mourn him.”

“There is another thing, my Duke.”

“Will you not bring me my breakfast as you used to do?” Konrad asked with sufficiency, but certainly afraid that the only leniency his tutor had ever allowed him would be taken away. To have breakfast at his studio on Sundays, instead of having to go the small dining room, was Friederich’s own way of pampering him; a small compensation for all the strenuous work he was always subjecting himself to. “Good is not good enough; only your best will do, Konrad. This is the way to please our Lord Jesus,” Friederich had told him countless times over the years.

“No, I still will see that you don't eat too many candies,” Friederich answered with a weak smile, and Konrad felt glad that the man had finally smiled after more than two months. The youth answered his smile with a real one, and waited for his tutor to speak his mind.

“It's about your mother...”

“The lawyers should inform her and arrange everything,” Konrad abruptly cut his speech.

“With all due respect, my Duke, will you not rethink your decision?”

“No, the will is very clear. She has the right to use the house at Avenue d’Iéna till her death. Nothing was said about taxes, contributions and its maintenance. I will respect the allowance my father set for her, even though she remarried more than ten years ago, but I will not spend a single cent more in that house.”

“Forcing your own mother to sign a free loan contract is tasteless to say the least.” Friederich said seriously. “I believe your father would have preferred it if you would have given her the house, seeing as you received the one in Venice.”

“I will not support her or her new lover. My grandmother left me that property. It was her decision not to give it to her daughter. My mother can well pay for her service, house and everything with the funds my father established for her. If she wants to be the ‘Queen of Marbella’, she should pay for it.”

“My Duke...”

“As for the rest of this house, I leave it to your discretion. I want no changes at all. There will be enough changes inside the Order to have more at home.”