Chapter 2
Guntram de Lisle's Diary
February 24th, 2014
Konrad and I had one of our “friendly” arguments as he calls them. The reason? Ski week.
Here in Europe, you die if you don't “enjoy” your ski week. Why? I don't know, but people love to tumble down the snowy slopes while they pay a lot of money for the privilege of doing it and getting the most ridiculous photos in your Facebook.
In that sense, I'm glad my father shipped me to Buenos Aires and never considered that it was essential for my well-being to go skiing every winter.
The school organized their annual ski-week and this was the first year Klaus and Karl were allowed to attend. They are almost nine years old and I thought it would be a good idea to ship them to the (more) snow in early January. I signed them up, but Karl Maria caught a pneumonia during the holidays and his brother was also sick two days later. Needless to say, I sent Kurt to my father's house. Only the idea of getting his baby boy sick convinced Konrad of letting me do it because otherwise, Kurt would have never set a foot in Michel's house.
“Why don't you send him to Goran's? Your atelier is on top of his flat. You can look after him during the day.”
“Because Goran doesn't want to play house that much,” I answered. “At the moment, he's on a honeymoon with his girlfriend and honestly, I don't think that having Kurt, yelling at top of his lungs in the middle of the night, is going to do much for his romance,” I answered sweetly.
“You wouldn't dare to repeat that to his face. Besides, I won't ruin his relationship with Maria. She's such a lovely lady.”
“You can say that,” he growled.
“You lost. Your candidate didn't stand a chance,” I retorted. “He got a wife all by himself.”
“He got one because we all pushed him in the right direction.”
As things were going to escalate; me remembering the eight or nine “wife candidates”-living in my flat-I had to cope with; he telling me Goran needs offsprings; I telling him to mind his own business and that he's no Hochmeister any longer; he telling me I'm the most inattentive person in the world-good survival skill-for not realizing that “Goran is making it up with the baker”- and saving him the monumental scold he got from Goran for meddling with his life... and a long so on, I decided to inform him that my father had offered to look after Kurt while both boys recovered.
Fortunately, Fairuza, his housekeeper is there all the time and she can feed my son well. My father can't boil a sausage without calling the fire department.
“No way,” was Konrad's diplomatic answer. “If you're so concerned about a simple virus, go to my Aunt Elisabetta's house. Go to London.”
“I can't leave the boys alone. My father wants to spend some time with him. Kurt is his sole grandchild. I didn't have a grandfather and I would have loved to have someone to spoil me a little.”
“Don't count on that,” he mumbled and I was furious with him. “What?” he told me and I glared. “The Vicomte would have never spoilt you.”
“This is something we will never know, won't we?” I answered belligerently and he sighed tiredly.
“Fine, send Kurt to your father's. Just check he's not forced to eat too much falafel.”
I sighed but said nothing. If Kurt became sick the one time we were eating at my father's, it was because he ate a full box of soan papdi. So much nougat can kill anyone, no matter its origins.
But that was not the ski-week friendly argument. It was later.
The boys were healthy again after two full weeks in bed (and I also got some of it) and eager to go to ski. Impossible. Their class had returned and they should wait for the next season... in a full year.
I felt very bad for them because they were so excited with the school trip, away from the parents and all on their own. I wanted to take them to ski, to Mürren as there are no cars there-yes, I worry about the three of them roaming free- or to St. Moritz or even Gstaad but my bloody doctor forbade it. “You are in no shape to ski, Guntram,” he told me with his “care bear-sargeant” voice.
What is the use of a defibrillator if you have to stay at home? I really tried to get my way but no chance; Van Horn was stubborn as a mule. I should stay at home, warm, painting, reading or watching the Olympic Games at Sochi as that was going to be the nearest I would come close to a ski piste.
Not that I was going to teach the boys.
Klaus and Karl faces grew larger and I asked Friederich for advise. He told me to ask Konrad to go for a weekend to a place near Zurich; that when he was a child, he was going to St. Moritz with Albert and Ferdinand and that it was a very hard time for him. But Konrad knows well how to ski. Friederich didn't want to elaborate any further.
In the meantime, my father got tickets to see the Urmel in Augsburg. Kurt, like his brothers, love these puppets and his German has dramatically improved since he watches them. Michel also invited Klaus and Karl but they declined the invitation with a “the Urmel is for babies.”
What a shame to be seen in the company of puppets!
Michel was a bit disappointed but said nothing. I understand his need to spend more time with Kurt. He loves the baby and treats him exactly as he was treating me. I guess it's his last chance to have a child in his hands. Over the months, I've understood how hard it must have been for him to let go of me. Yes, I was sorely hurt with his lies, but I can't conceive my life without my boys. He never spoke about our time apart from each other and I know the pain must have been great.
I thought that we could have the best of both worlds. Kurt, Michel and I should go to Augsburg to see the puppets and Konrad, Klaus and Karl should go skiing. Knowing that Konrad would be upset to be left “alone” with the boys (five bodyguards plus Friederich don't count at all), I persuaded my cousin Eberhard to go along with them.
As usual, I asked for Jean Jacques help. If I wanted to get him to go skiing and I to Augsburg with my father, we needed Rouladen in the menu.
Konrad smelled there was something amiss the minute Dieter placed the dish in front of him.
“What is it? Today is not Friday,” he said upset and I swear Dieter nearly sighed, more than ready to take it away. “No, leave it,” he said quickly.
“It's your favorite dish. On Friday we are supposed to dine at Ferdinand's. Don't you remember?” I replied putting on my best dork face. Dieter and Marcus had the good idea of running away, closing the door behind them but leaving the platter on the table. Somehow the daily dining room had shrunk.
Konrad began to eat, keeping himself very quiet. I did the same. When he was half finished, he said. “All right, let's hear it.”
“I want to go with my father to Augsburg next weekend. We have tickets for the Augsburger Puppenkiste. We will fly on Friday afternoon to Munich and stay in a hotel in Augsburg.”
“Typical of him,” Konrad snorted.
“I beg you pardon?”
“He's driving a wedge between the boys. Why didn't he ask my sons to go? He hates them.”
“He asked them but they refused to go. Puppets are for small babies, that's what they said.”
“I don't believe it. They love the... lion and Jim Knopf.”
“No, you love the lion and Jim Knopf. They used to like the Urmel and the Blechbüchsenarmee,” I pointed out. “Klaus and Karl are past the age of puppets. Pokemon will visit us soon.”
Konrad watched at me very upset. “When did this all happen?”
????? What? Our twins turning nine years old? When did they start listening to their friends instead of us? When did they realize said friends are way cooler than us? When did Pokemon turn hotter than the Augsburger Puppenkiste? I didn't know what to answer.
“Perhaps you could take them to ski,” I suggested innocently. “They feel so bad for missing their school trip.”
“I'm busy and tired,” he refused without saying it so. Puppy eyes always work on him. “If we do it, we should do it as a family,” he declared shifting a bit on the chair.
“I thought about it and asked my doctor but he refuses to let me go. He told me to watch the Olympic Games on TV.” I said.
“Guntram: No.”
“Konrad, this is impossible,” I said.
“You and Kurt alone with Michel Lacroix? Never. This man has a hidden agenda.”
“Konrad, he has let go of our marriage. Please don't start quarreling with him.”
“Marriage was his idea in the first place,” Konrad bit back. “He bugged you about not being decent enough. I only fulfilled my duties towards you.”
“You didn't forewarn him we were going to marry.”
“I invited him. Next to Friederich, too.”
“You told him you needed to see some papers. It was very hard for him to discover you wanted to marry me and adopt our Kurt.”
“If he doesn't like it, he can move elsewhere. I don't impose myself in his life,” he barked and I knew we were going down the slope... on a sled with no brakes.
“My love, I really would like to go out with him for a weekend. Since we both buried the hatch, I've been feeling a hundred times better. He works for you and has eased Goran's life as Hochmeister. Without him and his information, you would have never achieved your goals. If we are away, you can take the boys to St. Moritz and enjoy some time alone with them. They have almost not seen you since the summer holiday.”
“I work hard and I hate skiing.”
“Really?”
“In the ten years we've been living together how many times did you see me in a ski resort?”
“Never.” I thought he didn't ski because of my illness.
“I hate skiing as much as boats. That should give you an idea. Besides, my back would not survive it. I'm fifty-six now.”
“Eberhard will take the boys to the instructors. He agreed to join you.”
“Eberhard zu Guttenberg Sachsen?”
“My cousin.” Konrad looked like a volcano ready to explode.
“The day your cousin walked the entrance door in the opposite direction, it was one of the happiest moments in my life. He talks the whole day! He's a teacher!”
“The boys like him very much and he's free next weekend.”
“I see it clearly now. That lawyer boyfriend of his needs a holiday from him.”
“Pedro Antonio Lanusse will be working for you in New York,” I pointed out.
“It gets even worse. I have to babysit Eberhard so he doesn't get into trouble while the lawyer's away.”
“Konrad, if I go away, you'll be alone with the boys for the weekend. This way, you can share the burden with Eberhard. Perhaps you can even work while they're at the slopes.”
“Fine! I'll go to Klosters. It's nearby.”
“St. Moritz is also nearby,” I said. “The school was going there.”
“Guntram, my love. You have no idea how intense the après ski can get there. You won't be happy if I go there,” he told me sweetly.
“All right, Klosters sounds fine. Friederich wants to know if you will need him.”
“No, thank you,” he said and served himself another portion and I thought that was all.
“Regarding your trip with Lacroix, where will you stay? What are your plans?”
“We will fly next Friday to Munich and drive to Augsburg. On Saturday we will go to the Museum and tour the city. We return on Sunday morning and be here at four or five p.m.”
“Which plane do you take?”
“Lufthansa, I guess.”
“And who do you plan to take with you?”
“Nobody. If it's the security what concerns you, my father's men will be with us. Thabo and someone else, I guess.”
“Very well. Take the Dassault and fly on Friday. Mirko Bregovic and the people he chooses, along with Brigitte, will accompany you.”
“Konrad, Michel will not fly in any of your planes.”
“My smallest and most vulnerable child will not be in an airline.”
“Konrad, this is too much. Lufthansa is very nice.”
“Kurt is my child. No. If you want to take him to Germany, fine, but with my people and my plane.”
“He has been in public transports before,” I retorted.
“My way or no way,” he said sweetly.
“Are you a poet now?”
“I'm practicing if I have to spend a full weekend with your cousin. I imagine that we have that red fruits sorbet with hot chocolate for desert,” he sauntered.
Yes, we have.
I agreed to all his conditions. What else could I do? This is what he calls a “friendly argument”.
* * *
March 9th, 2014
Sunday
I'm dead on my feet. Let's admit it. My father has more energy than I and Kurt is the Energizer Bunny in human form.
At midday, Eberhard showed up for lunch with a “if I have to survive that grumpy husband of yours, I need something good to eat.” We ate in the family dinning room and spoke long about a book he's writing.
“I'm nearly broke and we want to marry,” he told me. “We need to write a book together and make a lot of money.”
I'm sure Pedro makes good money at the bank and he has a lot of his own. He could pay for a wedding. There must be something else going on.
“If we ever agree on the country, we pay half and half,” Eberhard told me. Am I so easy to read? “The teaching business is not a flamboyant one, you know? Good enough to pay the bills but nothing more. Prices in Zurich are crazy.”
Since I met Pedro back in 2000 (and he was very kind to me), he dreams of getting married in his own hacienda. The problem is that 1. The law for gay marriage in Argentina was passed by the Peronist Party and he genetically hates them. 2. Said hacienda was sold in 2010, I think, shortly before Pedro moved to Switzerland. 3. He doesn't want to set a foot in Argentina ever again.
Konrad told me he risked his neck more than any normal lawyer would do and Fedérico said he spent all his credit trying to find me.
How he and my cousin are together is a mystery. Like the “Goran arranged it” I got from several people.
Eberhard wants to marry in Spain, but Pedro dislikes the country. He would prefer Sweden or Holland. Even France, but Eberhard frowns each time he mentions it.
I feel indebted to them therefore I agreed to check what he had written so far to start working on it. I'm afraid to paint “publicly” again, but a book is something that keeps collectors away. It's so massive. It's all a matter of not showing up for the selling tour.
The Russian Federation government contacted me several times but I refused to speak with them. I can't and I don't want to. The lawyers arranged for me to make a written statement and presented it to the embassy. The Russians have no claims over Kurt and for that I'm very glad. If they had any, I never knew it. I want nothing to do with Constantin.
The Russians wanted to return to me the paintings I made at Khanty Mansiysk but I didn't want them back. I think they're stored somewhere waiting for the mandatory ten years term before they can be sold and the government can pocket the money. I don't care and I prefer it that way. My only concern is that my baby's paternity could be contested but there is no risk of it. Constantin did it the nice and legal way and save by the name of Fyodor Tarasov in the papers, Kurt is a hundred percent ours. The Russians changed the names on the papers and never asked a single question about it.
Coming back to Friday afternoon. We had lunch and Eberhard brought with him some of his preliminary work (what a surprise!) I promised to take a look and get back to him in two weeks. Yes, he's a pushy one when he wants to. I'm beginning to understand some of Konrad's rants.
At three, bearing the face of somebody before his own execution, Konrad arrived home with the whole mambo; cars, bodyguards and servants standing at the entrance to receive him. Eberhard and I went to greet him too.
“Hey you!” That's how Eberhard greeted the almighty Herzog von Wittosck in front of all his people. I swear he did it on purpose because he was truly enjoying Konrad's half barked answer. I think he was repeating several times inside his mind his newly found mantra: “He's Guntram's relative, he's Guntram's relative.”
How on earth did I ever believe that something could be between them? It's impossible.
“Excuse me, I have to prepare myself,” Konrad interrupted Eberhard's happy tale of his school days and ran away. Liar! Your suitcase is ready since this morning.
Milan drove the boys back from school and I guess it was a hard ride for him. Klaus and Karl nearly broke their necks when they jumped out of the car before it stopped. I scolded them, but they were not impressed at all. They ran to the nursery to check if everything they needed was packed. It was a miracle none of the staff members were hurt when the boys ran over them.
“Are you up to it?” I asked Eberhard and he shrugged.
“I've seen worse. Alone with twenty-four in Austria. Don't worry, Guntram. We'll make the homework tonight and tomorrow they can try their luck with the skis. Lessons in the morning and afternoon for these gentlemen. We'll be back Sunday late.”
“I have no words to express my gratitude.”
“Does the old one bring his homework too?” he asked me with a smile-smirk.
“Yes, he does. Laptop included.”
“Do I have to baby sit him too?”
“No, I think he will be able to find a good cafeteria in front of the slopes. Skiing is not his favorite sport.”
“Not surprised. His cousins were very nasty,” he told me nonchalantly.
“What?” I was shocked.
“Long story. Don't know all the details. Ask Friederich to tell it.”
“I certainly will,” I said and saw Michel's car parking at the entrance. The chauffeur opened the door for him, but he didn't make the slightest movement to enter the house or even get out of the car.
“Well, my ride is here, I said to Eberhard. “I'll get Kurt now,” We shook hands. “Once more, I owe you a big one.”
“What are third degree cousins for?” He chuckled. “I'll see that the older one comes back in one piece.” He winked at me and I knew that Konrad's life wouldn't be easy this weekend.
“That would be lovely.”
I had almost no time to kiss the boys goodbye because they were nearly running over me in the corridor in their haste to get to the car. Nobody is going to leave you behind, guys.
“Be nice to your father,” I said to them. I know they will not make trouble to Eberhard. He knows how to keep them “accidents-free”.
“Guntram, you don't know what you're missing,” Klaus said and kissed me.
“Are you sure you want to go out with Kurt? He only makes baby-stuff,” Karl told me in case I didn't know.
“He does things according to his age. He's only three years old,” I replied and kissed him too. “See that papa doesn't work too much.”
“It won't be the same without you,” Klaus whined.
“The doctor said no. Next weekend we will all go to the cinema or to the science museum... or any other place you like.” Judging by their faces, it seems the Science Museum is not so cool as before.
“Then, see you on Sunday,” Klaus said jovially.
“Eberhard has your homework,” I announced them and both began to wail. “No homework, no skiing. Clear as that, young men.”
Yes, they were not happy about that last minute condition, but they walked down the stairs and I watched them from the window, crossing the courtyard, running to Eberhard -who was chatting with my “godfather” as he knows Michel-.
It really makes no sense to tell the truth to Eberhard or to any of the Guttenberg Sachsens. Jerôme de Lisle is dead for them and we would probably give a heart attack to the old Udo if he knew that one of his nephews is still alive.
Michel said hello to the boys and that was it for him. He returned to his car while they jumped over Eberhard. He prefers to keep his distance from them, although his attitude towards them has softened over the months. Who knows, maybe one day, he will accept to attend their birthdays, just for his grandchild's sake.
Klaus and Karl don't think much on him. He's my godfather and that's enough for them. They simply ignore him and vice versa. They told me I should get a better godfather like Ferdinand or Albert; one not so cold.
I entered the nursery and there was Konrad, already dressed with casual clothes, sitting on the floor with Kurt on his lap as he showed him how to operate a puppet; the Lion they both love so much.
“Where are the fluo snow jacket and the headband?” I joked as I sat next to them.
“Well hidden in the eighties' chest,” he answered me. “I'll kill your cousin if he makes a photo of me and publishes it in his Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Weibo or any other kind of internet account he has or might have in the future.” That came out quite seriously and I don't think is a joke.
“Look papa!” Kurt told me as he showed me the strings of the puppet. “Wires. I can move the lion!”
I looked at him clueless and Konrad sorted it out. “Kurt used to think that the Lion was alive, but now, he has learned that he can move it at will and the Lion will do all what he wants. Kurt was afraid that the Lion would not pay attention to him.”
Sometimes the logic of my baby is hard to follow. There he was, totally absorbed, watching how Konrad pulled the strings of the thing.
“Was it not supposed to be my call?” I asked because I'm the dork who's taking him to the puppets. “Monika was working extra-hours?”
“It was hard to get it, but this way, you have something for the trip. Do you like it, Kurt?”
I'm stuck in the middle of Michel Lacroix and Konrad von Lintorff's divorce.
“Michel is here. I think we should drive to the airport and you to Klosters,” I said softly and I noticed how tightly he held Kurt.
“Why the hurry? Your flight is due in three hours.”
“I don't want to keep him waiting,” I insisted even softer than before. “You have a long drive ahead of you.”
“Next year, you will come with us, Kurt,” he told the baby and kissed him, making him laugh. “I'll get you in a slide while your brothers ski.”
“Papa!” he shouted and clung to Konrad's neck.
“Do you have enough warm clothes for him?”
“Birgitte saw to it.”
“No foreign food, Guntram.”
“Only German food and authorized by her,” I assured him.
“Bregovic will be with you all the time. He has two more bodyguards with him. Kurt drives with them. Not in your... godfather's car.”
“All right,” I sighed. If my beloved was in of one his psychotic trips, so be it.
“The hotel he chose is fine. It has been checked already.”
“The Lion too?” I couldn't refrain myself to ask.
“This is my child, Guntram,” he answered back.
“Yes, I'm sorry.”
“It's a huge sacrifice what you're asking from me. I could stay here and spend the weekend with Kurt. In fact, I would love to do it. Instead, I will be bombarded with snowballs and pushed down a slope.”
“Next weekend, my love.”
“Papa, don't you come?” Kurt asked Konrad with his big eyes well wide open and for a minute, I thought he was going to send the boys alone with Eberhard to Klosters'.
“No, I'm afraid not,” Konrad said and hugged him even more. Now we know which one of our children will have a very hard time trying to get permission to get married. Our Kurt should run away as fast as he can, do it and then run some more to avoid his father to lock him up in the highest tower we have.
“Konrad, we have to go,” I insisted but he didn't let the boy go. “It's getting late,” I took Kurt in my arms, but he escaped from me, laughing and grabbing the puppet before leaving the playroom in direction to the boys' bedroom. I had only the time to briefly kiss Konrad on the lips before I had to run after him.
I caught him standing at the stairs (with coat on), waiting for somebody to give him the hand to get down the stairwell. I think, it is still too big for him and he takes good care of himself. No, Kurt will not break his neck tumbling down the stairs like his brothers used to do.
Michel got out of the car the second he saw us and quickly hugged Kurt against his chest. I saw the men putting my luggage inside the “backup car”
“All set?” he asked and Mirko Bregovic took five steps ahead, ready to take the baby.
“Kurt travels with his nanny,” I said mortified and Michel looked at me in a way that made me feel as if I were toddler again.
“I see.”
“His car seat is already there,” I said in a hurry but Mirko's face of deep disgust was very clear to everybody. To him, Michel was-is-will always be a Mason. I’m not sure if he believes Michel’s my godfather or suspects something else. He addressed him once “Consort’s father” but Michel showed no reaction at all so he has not way of confirming his suspicions without colliding with me.
“Guntram, there is no need to concoct any explanations to my benefit. Are you allowed to travel with me?”
No, make it to one-year-old baby.
Clutching his lion, after showing it to Michel, Kurt followed Birgitte and Mirko and I got inside the car with my father; alone. All the others were running to the other car as if we had the pest. Good that my father's chauffeur stayed with us.
“The lion is a nice detail,” Michel told me and I reddened like a paprika. Tomatoes can have a greenish-orange shade that doesn't come closer to reflect that particular moment of embarrassment.
“Kurt is very eager to see the puppets. It was a wonderful idea you invited him.” I answered but it's not so easy to fool your own father no matter the years we were apart.
“Ordering it, travel plus packaging, I would say you informed Lintorff on Monday about our trip.”
“He needed some time to get ready to go to St. Moritz, I mean Klosters. Both of them love the Lion.”
“We also have to use his plane,” he told me with that acid tone he has when he's upset with you but still not on the open conflagration phase. Oh, yes, my father was on a warpath.
“You know Konrad. He's concerned about our safety.”
“Please, do not misunderstand me. I have no complaints if Lintorff wants to play travel agent. My secretary was glad to be rid of the work.”
Thank God that was all. Michel stopped right there and we were quiet till we reached the airport. We went directly to the plane and Michel was finally able to carry Kurt in his arms (and the Lion too).
“Which one is Lintorff's?” Michel asked me nonchalantly when we entered in the cabin. “I don't want to be accused of usurping the throne on Monday.”
I pointed at Konrad's chair and Michel sat as far as possible from it. No, we were already in the open conflagration phase now. Only one stuffed puppet lion was enough for my father to get the artillery out.
“I saw you speaking with Eberhard,” I said jovially while Kurt ran away after the stewardess, more than ready to be shown (again) the plane. “Don't worry, the crew will return him before taking off,” I said to my father as he watched Kurt being picked up by an all smiles Sophie.
“Yes, your cousin seems to be a sensible young man,”
“He wants that we write another book together. Well, he writes, I paint.” I said glad that a safe topic was ahead of us. “He plans to make money and pay for his wedding if they ever agree on the place.”
“He's with that Argentinean lawyer, isn't he?”
“Yes, Pedro Antonio Lanusse. Perhaps you know him from the bank.”
“I've heard about him before that. Despite it was not his field of expertise, Lanusse visited on your behalf every courtroom he could.”
“Pedro was a good friend and still is.”
“A real pity.” Michel looked through the window.
“What?”
“That it didn't work between you two,” he answered as if his words were of no consequence.
“What?” I croaked and there I knew he had put two and two together. “There was nothing ever between us.” I shushed and my father arched a brow. “Nothing but two lunches. I stopped seeing him the minute he offered me a job at his law firm and I realized that he was in love with me. I was not even thinking on that!”
“I would have given you my blessing without thinking it twice.”
“Yes, lawyer, only ten years older and specialized in tax law. What else could you ask for?” I snorted.
“Indeed. A good man with no secrets,” Michel said dreamingly and I wanted to squeeze my own father's throat.
Oh joy, our father-son relationship reached now the teenage age!
“It would have never worked because at that point, one; I was not thinking on men and two; I fell in love with Konrad. Is that clear?”
“Yes, this is very clear for me. Nevertheless, I can have my own thoughts about the matter.”
“Michel, you let it go after the wedding thing, which was your idea by the way.” I started heatedly but he shut me up with one single move of his hand. Mental note: I have to ask him how he does it. Would be good for the future.
“Guntram, let's do not argue over something so trivial,” Michel told me and ignored me because it was the right moment to look for something inside his briefcase.
Thank God that was all as my father got a book out of it and softly called Kurt who came running from the kitchen and jumped to the seat next to him. The book was one of those “see inside machines” type, written in French and soon my baby was very interested on it, forgetting everything about the world as his fingers traced the contours of the things.
We arrived just on time for dinner and as expected, Birgitte took Kurt in her hands. We didn't see him again until his bedtime (I asked for a crib in my room) and my father (staying in the next room) could read some more of the book to him. It was very funny to see how attentively Kurt watched him and how hard he tried to match the sounds he was hearing with the written words my father was pointing out in the text. One would tell he was learning to read.
The next morning I was woken up by two beeps on my mobile phone at 8:10 a.m.
“This is horrible. Full of snow. K.”
“When did I let you talk me into this?”
I knew at that SMS revelation moment that my love was in trouble and in a big one. I dialed his number. One ring only.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I've been in worse places,” he grunted.
“Where are the boys?”
“Out, finally. Skiing with that cousin of yours and a sexy ski instructor who believes we are an item and we should meet with she and her special friend. Are women mad?”
“You two argue like an old married couple,” I chuckled and sat on the bed. “What happened this time?”
“I was thrown out of my bed before 6 a.m.”
“You usually wake up at that hour.” I'm glad that he goes through what I've been suffering since I met him: early morning wake up calls.
“I had not finished my coffee and there she was; a total nightmare with a bronze medal. Your cousin had the idea of booking her services for the whole morning and afternoon. She's some kind of superstar of the German Olympic Team and was fascinated that “we are a modern outspoken new kind of family”. Of course, I refused right there to go anywhere with that liberal witch and I got the “Supportive Parents Make Better Children” speech. Thank your cousin in my name.”
“And the boys?”
“They were away, fortunately.”
“So?”
“So? I am here, stranded in a crowded-yes, at 8 a.m.-bar at the ski to door with no computer or anything to do while the boys are trying achieve some balance with those infernal things. I can't go back to the hotel as they check upon me every ten minutes and I have to wave my hand so they feel “supported” as that teacher-cousin of yours says.”
“It's only for an hour or two. Then, they will stop, have a hot chocolate with you and you can run back to the hotel,” I sighed. “It can't get worse than that.”
“Yes, it can. I'm supposed to entertain the boys in the afternoon, but considering this bar's chairs, I'll get a slipped disc by midday.”
“Konrad, it's only 36 hours more,” I sighed again.
“I found snow inside my bed last night. I had to call room service at 2 a.m. to change the beddings because everything was wet. You do understand the implications of that, don't you? And I'm sure Ferdinand told the boys how to short sheet a bed. He and Albert were doing that to me for two weeks. That one was before dinner. Or maybe it was your cousin, but he's too lazy to remake a bed.”
“Konrad, the boys have internet now. Probably found everything they needed at Pranks.com,” I tried to calm him down.
“This is the last time I let anyone book me a room connected with my children's room. They know I need to work in the living-room! I was a fool to be glad they were turning in without much of hassle!”
“The quieter they are the nastier they turn,” I told him the golden rule for the thousandth time.
“Don't let our Kurt grow up. We have enough with these savages.” He sounded like he was giving up and getting used to the idea of the trials that laid ahead. Mental Note: I have to ask Ferdinand about that holiday.
“Yes, of course my love. I love you for this.”
“Next weekend, I need to have my peace. No theaters, no cinemas, no family restaurants, no zoos.”
“I promise we will all stay at home,” I said in a conciliatory voice. “I'll get the boys in bed early and we'll have dinner alone.”
“Perhaps go to the theatre and dinner. Something for grown ups. I'll think on something so you can make it up to me.”
With his new purpose in life found, Konrad hung up on me. I rose from the bed, washed, shaved myself and got dressed before I woke Kurt at nine. Good for the puppets to start at 11 a.m.!
We had breakfast with Michel and walked to the theatre-museum as the weather was very nice. The play was very nice and the puppeteers showed the children how they were moving the puppets. I caught Mirko watching the explanation with great attention.
Of course, we came home with the Urmel in tow and Kurt was brimming with happiness when we sat at a restaurant in the old part of the city. Very German too. The three of us ate together and Birgitte arrived a few minutes after we were finished to take Kurt back to the hotel for his mid-afternoon nap.
She told me Konrad phoned her to be sure Kurt was still in good hands. I thought he is in good hands with cousin Eberhard.
This is worse than Purgatory. I read a SMS.
Filled them up with cake. Hope they are quiet now, beeped the next SMS not two seconds later.
“Everything all right?” Michel asked me.
“Yes, nothing broken so far,” I replied and put the mobile back in my pocket. Konrad is strong enough as to survive this and more.
“Trouble with the twins?”
“It's just a little problem of setting limits. Too many Lintorffs together in a small ski resort,” I answered.
“I can't complain in that sense; you were like Kurt, always obedient and stayed put wherever I took you.”
“Do you buy me a strawberry ice cream now? I was nice for the whole morning,” I joked.
“Not with this weather.” We smiled and were quiet for a long time, I looking through the window at the street and he lost in his memories.
“There's something I never told you, Guntram,” he said finally.
“Do I want to hear it, Michel?”
“You must. It goes beyond you; it concerns Kurt and it is his legacy. Are we alone here?”
“As much as I know,” I replied quietly already thinking I would not like what he had to tell me. “If it is about what happened in 1989, I don't want to hear it,” I said quickly. “Really, Michel.”
“Let's walk,” my father said and left the restaurant. Swearing, I had to run after him as I fumbled with my coat. He walked very fast till we reached a small fountain with benches around it. The noise of the water was deafening and I sighed.
“Do we need the white noise?” I asked as I sat on the stone seat and he did the same.
“It's for your ears only, and yes, it has a lot to do with what happened in 1989,” he said seriously.
“Save it.” I stood up but my father pulled me down very fast, by keeping a strong grip on my arm.
“You have to hear all what I have to say because it concerns Kurt. This goes beyond the affaire of my brother with your husband. My grandchild has every right to know his own heritage. I thought long before I decided that telling you is for the best.”
Yes, my father knows how to find the right wound and poke it with a stick. I said nothing but I did glare at him.
“I always kept you away from the family, Guntram. The Guttenberg Sachsen are very nice people and my mother was one of them, but they're not the De Lisles'.
“We are the true descendants of King Guntram of Burgundy, one of the four Frankish Kingdoms. Our ancestors were among the first noblemen to be part of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre and as such we are entitled to guard its treasure,” my father told me as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I gaped at him. I guess I blinked a few times too.
“My grandfather was only a Viscount,” I said. “The Merovingian Dynasty ended in the VIII century or so.”
“The male heirs were killed, it is true, but our lineage comes from Guntram's daughter, Clotilde, his only surviving child. The Salic Law prevented her to become an heiress or to receive lands from her father; only a good dowry, but the royal blood runs through our veins.
“As my father told me, Merovingian Kings were known as such since birth; there was no investiture ceremony or proclamation. People and noblemen believed that our blood was sufficient credit to rule.
“It is said that Merovech, the first Franc king had two fathers. When his mother was pregnant she encountered a Quinotauror sea monster and was impregnated a second time. Since then, Merovingian Kings were known to have special powers of prophecy or a keen instinct to know what was right for their people. They also believed their powers were based on their hair.”
“Are you going to recite me one of Dan Brown's books?” I asked incredulously. Of all people, my father!
“No, that book, which I didn't read for God's sake, is a falsehood.”
“So we are not the hidden children of Jesus and Mary Magdalene?”
“No; that's ridiculous. Blasphemous even.”
I was shocked. Then what?
“Aside from that legend of being half mermaid, there is nothing extraordinary about us. The logical thing to assume is that the Queen was taken by her husband's enemy and later, this rape was transformed into a legend. Merovech was an incredible general of the Roman Army,”
Oh, he sounded so innocent but I know better now.
“But?”
“A certain object came to our hands because of who we were before the First Crusade. There is no other reason to believe people acted as they did but our Lord's divine intervention. He wanted us to have it. Our family kept it hidden and the secret passed from one generation to the next. It was kept together with several family documents that prove our lineage. Some were authentic, some others, well, were created for purposes that don't exist any longer.”
“You don't make any sense, father.”
“We need to recover those objects. They are your child's legacy. They belong to no one but he.”
“I would like you to be more specific. What objects? Scrolls, papers, seals?”
“A cup.”
“A cup?”
“It's more like a goblet. It was originally made of two onyx Greek-Roman bowls glued together. I'm not sure if they were used individually and joined at a later date or not. It was recovered from Cairo by one of your ancestors; Guillaume de St. Cyr and brought to Troyes in 1066. The cup was a bit splintered and with the best goldsmiths and gems we could find, it was restored and brought back to its deserved glory.”
I'm glad to have a defibrillator and pacemaker. I watched at my father for a long time.
“Is it the...?” I gulped hard.
“It could be. We believe it is. Radiocarbon tests proves that the object was coeval with our Lord's days upon this earth. There is also a small splint that reads “Josebath, son of Mariann” that was inside the Egyptian wooden box where the chalice was kept. Some people believed that it was a proof of our royal blood, but perhaps Guillaume placed it inside the box without any other intentions. He was in love of the Arabic culture, though this inscription is in Aramaic. The piece is authentic, too.
“I admit we might have flirted (just a little) with this Zion Priory order after the war, but we needed to do it in order to secure our position. There was also a little mistake with the words San Greal and some people believed it was about “la Sang Réal”. That piece of clay was very useful at that time and perhaps we overexploited its meaning or link to our family.
“As you know, the story of the Holy Grail wasn't truly embedded into the Christian tradition until the XI century. There were no significant mentions of this relic before that time and we assume that the object fell into the hands of the heretics after the destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in 1009 by Al-Hakim.
“Guillaume, who was on a pilgrimage to Egypt, trying to reach Jerusalem in 1060-because the Church had been rebuilt in 1048 by Emperor Constantin IX and that there were not too many problems between Christians and Muslims at the time-stopped in al-Qáhira. There, he established a sound friendship with the Fatimid Caliph's Vizier. I mean, they were very good friends and it seems the Vizier was fascinated for Guillaume's ability to see the future or through the many deceptions of that court, though he was very young.
“When Guillaume felt it was time to continue with his pilgrimage, the Vizier gave him the cup as souvenir, saying that it had been ransacked from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Guillaume finally never went to Jerusalem because he preferred to return to France, to Troyes. He had left France with 14 years and at the age of 30, he entered in the Benedictine Order at the Abbey of Lorsch, after adopting and naming his youngest brother's baby as his successor.”
“Did this Vizier clearly say it was our Lord's chalice?” I asked but as usual, my father ignored my question and continued with his story.
“There were some documents found in the Abbey of Lorsch in which Guillaume is described as “a count descendant of Merovech and of the only true blood, worthy of being our Lord, Jesus Christ most humble servant and messenger”. Though the costs of parchment were prohibitive at that time, the monks wrote his story down and the cup was referred as “the greatest treasure brought back to us”. All stories about the Holy Grail began after that time. Rome never accepted its existence; officially, of course. The Parzifal was linked to the Count of Toulouse as Wolfram von Eschenbach wrote it under his guidance. I personally think someone from our family told the story or even dictated parts of it.
“We know that the Carolingian took over our crown and they are nothing but usurpers to the rightful kings our lord named for France. Therefore, the only royal blood is the Merovingian and Guillaume, as a true descendant of Merovech, was entitled by our Lord to find his chalice and bring it back to his chosen people.”
If Charlemagne is a usurper, where does my father place the Bourbons? Wasn't he jumping around in May 68?
“Where is the...?” I had troubles to say Holy Grail. I needed to take several breaths in. “Goblet.”
“Lintorff has it.”
“What?” I yelled and got two old German ladies to really look at me. “Did you lose it?” I whispered furiously.
“I trade it for your life.”
I glared at him. “Where was it hidden?” I preferred to say.
“Troyes, where all began for us. Guillaume kept it there for some years before his adopted son took it to Toulouse. The relic was for several years hidden at Saint Sernin, from 1096 to 1530 when the Huguenots began to pester everything. The family was forced to flee to Poitiers and since then we were established there.”
Is this person really Jerôme, le Rouge?
“How did you come to “trade” the Holy Grail?” I asked and at that point my blood was beginning to boil.
“After your grandfather and uncle Pascal, along with his entire family, were murdered, I knew you were next. I went to Lintorff's house and offered him the chance to adopt you so we could settle the old score between the de Lisles and the Lintorffs.
“Both our families had been quarreling for dominance within the Order since the XVIII century. To us, the Lintorffs were nothing but an obscure house with some links to the Teutonic Order while we were the true spinal cord of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. The Lintorffs were in power because they were the first to start the organization and had more money than us, obtaining their gains from usurious loans. Though we were one of the oldest lineages in Europe, our role as Guardians of the Holy Grail prevented us to look for earthly gains; it was forbidden for us to marry into lesser people or to attend court. Most of your ancestors were running to a monastery or a convent.
“But everything changed when my father took office as head of the family. We went into the banking business -though it was clearly forbidden for us- and looked for any way to take advantage of the Germans relative weakness after the war. We wanted to increase our power within the Order and we funded and supported some of these people who believed that Jesus' blood was passed through many generations. Plantard was a useful fool who planted the idea of this “divine blood rule” well deep inside society. People needed to believe again, especially after the war, and we used this... wish and momentum to our benefit. This strategy helped us to gain more support inside the Order and by 1987 we were sure we could overthrown Lintorff.
“It was a fiasco. There's no need to review all what happened in 1989, Guntram. You already know it and I don't want to remember it. Know that I went to Lintorff's house to offer him to take you as his ward and my life in order to save yours; that's what von Kleist saw.”
“Ferdinand was there?” Why is he always in the middle of everything and nobody knows about it?
“Yes, he was our witness. No pact is valid without a witness. I gave him that letter you read so many years ago along with the necessary documents to name him your tutor. It was the only way to convince him that my intentions were honest. I knew Lintorff would not touch a hair of you if I were totally honest with him.”
“Were you?”
“When von Kleist was away, I offered Lintorff what he really wanted; the documents used by my family to prove our lineage and alleged link to Jesus Christ. I gave him the piece of clay and the parchments where Guillaume's ancestry was established. I believe everything is stored in one of his vaults. I'm sure he would have never destroyed them. It was never really about offering a second chance with someone looking exactly as my brother. I nearly had a heart attack when I heard that you were named his Consort, exactly as he had sworn that day. It was supposed to be a charade Lintorff agreed to play in front of von Kleist. He didn't want him to know about the documents or the chalice. I'm sure of that. Only a few people knew about it; only the men of our family and the oldest Councillors. Lintorff wanted the documents and the Holy Grail, but I didn't give it to him, not at that point.”
I looked at my father in shock. “Where is the cup then?”
“I told him where it was hidden. It was not my original intention to say it,” he confessed and looked ashamed.
“Then why?” I nearly shouted again.
“He had accepted the pact but I was not sure he would respect it. I thought I was going to die the minute I crossed that library's door and I said it. I let myself be swallowed by the doubt our Lord would not protect me anymore. I couldn't let the relic to be lost forever because nobody else but me knew where it was hidden. In a way, I trusted Lintorff to keep it safe.
“When I returned from Perú in 1995, the crypt that protected it had been violated and the box and chalice had disappeared. I'm sure Lintorff took them away. He must return these objects to us. He's not their true guardian.”
“Are you telling me that Konrad... stole the Holy Grail?”
“He was not supposed to take it. I told him where it was but he was not allowed to touch it.”
“How about someone else? Tomb raiders, for example.”
“That small chapel has nothing of value and surprise! The only disturbed altar was St. Sernin's in a burglary that took place in 1990.”
“You lost the Holy Grail... and you want to blame it on Konrad?” I whispered furiously.
I don't know with which one of them infuriated me the most; my father for placing the blame on Konrad for his own bad deeds; Konrad for not telling that everything had been a political move from second one and disguising it as “my never ending love” and the “poor, betrayed and abandoned me” we've heard so many times; my father for being the twisted snake that he is; and all of them for treating one of the most sacred things for Christians as a token (from my grandfather to Konrad).
“How the fuck do you know the bloody thing is for real?” I yelled at him, out of myself. Not proud of it.
“You will know it the minute you hold it in your hands; it is an indescribable feeling, Guntram. It's your duty to find it, protect it and pass it unto your son.”
“Excellent, I have to clean after you.” I snorted.
“No, you are sowing for your child's benefit, Guntram.”
Yes, my father is a very good lawyer.
“You're shameless,” I said and he glared at me. I held his gaze.
“When I see my grandson, I see you when you were a small child, not the man you are now.”
For parricide one must get over 25 years in prison.
“Kurt's intelligence is well above the normal. He, like you were, is gifted and our family always believed that this was our Lord's mark to make us better guardians of his cup.”
“What Am I supposed to do?” Yes, that was an ironic remark, but Michel preferred to take it as my acceptance to do his bid, whichever it was.
“You must persuade Lintorff to return it.”
“What makes you think he has it?”
“Ask him. Didn't you say he swore never to lie to you again?”
Yes, father I can hear the irony in your words. In my book, that is called... oh, forget it.
“Would you believe him if Konrad says he hasn't it?”
“I believe that my son in law would not lie to me or steal his own adopted son's legacy.”
“I'll ask him.” I accepted grudgingly.
“Guntram, when you see this goblet, if you ever do, you will know that everything I've told you is true.”
“With all due respect, Michel, no matter what you say, this chalice could be a falsehood too. I don't doubt the existence of the Holy Grail, but it is very far fetched that one of our ancestors, in over more than thirty generations back, went to Egypt and got it as a present. And more impossible to believe is that the de Lisle family was not running to the Vatican to trade it for St. Peter's Throne.” There I said it.
“The Lord wanted Guillaume to find it. If it is a copy, then Lintorff should give it back to you. It will be nothing more than an antiquity.”
“If he has it,” I clarified. “Where did you hide it?”
“In Troyes; in the church were your mother was baptized before we married. Under the altar of St. Sernin's chapel. In Sainte Madeleine.”
“You do have a funny sense of humor,” I smirked. “Sainte Madeleine?”
“It's very small.”
To say that I was a mess when we reached the hotel, just in time for Kurt's tea time, is a filthy lie. The truth is that I stuffed my poor son with cake to keep him quiet so I could think. Not proud of that too.
Whoever was this Guillaume de St. Cyr, he had screwed me up big time. What was he doing in Egypt at fifteen or sixteen? Didn't he know that Jerusalem was in the other direction? Well, I know from where my own lousy sense of direction comes from. What the hell was he doing with a Vizier that he needed to run to a monastery as soon as he could? Why was he getting such a present? The logical thing would have been to trade it for something more important, considering the Medieval Church love for relics.
But as Kant says -in my own version-, if you lie once, you lie in all. My family could have made that story up too. A piece like the chalice of God should have been “the talk” well before the XI century, not after the First Crusade. The whole “fan thing” started in England with Joseph of Arimathea, King Arthur, Lancelot and the whole lot. In the continent, there's nothing about it from before Chrétien de Troyes' Perceval. The Parzifal (which contradicts the previous one) was written on the XIII century. Almost 200 years is enough time to change the story as much as you want.
What was my grandfather thinking when he “suggested” we descend from the union of Jesus and Mary Magdalene with that little piece of clay? He opened Pandora's box and now we have lots of lunatics believing that the Merovingian carried Jesus' blood and that they're ready to rule the world whenever someone calls them.
I pray he was not excommunicated for that.
What will I tell Konrad? How will I ask about it? “Hi, my love. Do you have by any chance the Holy Grail stored in one of your vaults? Papa says you do.”
I can't ignore all this because this is my son's legacy, but I don't believe a single word of it.
The Holy Grail story was never accepted by the Church and no matter what “conspiranoic” people believe, there must be a reason for that. So many Popes can't be wrong.
Damn, I'm starting to sound like Friederich.
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