Read Online The Eighth Dwarf by Ross Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

printer in Berlin?”
    â€œThere is always work for a printer in Berlin provided he doesn’t care what he prints. I care.”
    â€œSo you came West.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThis morning.”
    â€œAcross the canal?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou experienced no difficulty.”
    Bodden shrugged. “I got wet. And they shot at me.”
    â€œYour papers.” Rapke held out his hand.
    Bodden took out the oilskin pouch, untied the string, and handed his papers over. Rapke studied them methodically. At the third document, he looked up at Bodden again. “So. You were in a camp.”
    â€œBelsen.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œFrom 1940 on.”
    Rapke went back to his study of the papers. “It must have been hard.”
    â€œIt was no holiday.”
    â€œYou look fit enough now.”
    â€œI’ve had a lot of outdoor exercise recently.”
    â€œDoing what?”
    â€œClearing rubble. There is a lot of it in Berlin. I helped clean some of it up. Before that I worked as a printer for the Russians. But I decided I’d rather clean up rubble.”
    Rapke started making notes of some of the information contained in Bodden’s papers. “We have nothing here,” he said as he wrote. “Nothing permanent, that is. Only temporary. One of our employees, a printer, was attacked by a band of DP’s two days ago. Poles probably. They stole his bicycle. And broke his leg. He’s an old man, so I’m not sure when he will return. But if you’re interested, you can have his job until he does.”
    â€œI’m interested,” Bodden said.
    â€œVery well,” Rapke said, handing back the papers. “You will report to work at seven tomorrow morning. I have some of your particulars here, but you should give the rest to my secretary, Frau Glimm. And be sure to register with the police.”
    â€œYes, I will,” Bodden said. “Thank you, Herr Rapke.”
    Rapke didn’t look up from the notes he was still making. Instead, he said, “Please close the door on your way out”
    When Bodden had gone, Rapke reached for the telephone and placed the trunk call himself. It was to a large country house located some fifteen kilometers north and west of Lübeck. A male voice with a British accent answered the phone on the second ring.
    â€œColonel Whitlock’s office; Sergeant Lewis speaking.”
    Summoning up what little English he had, Rapke said, “Here is Herr Rapke. I wish with Colonel Whitlock to speak.”
    â€œOne moment, please,” Sergeant Lewis said.
    The Colonel came on speaking an idiomatic, though strongly accented, German, and Rapke let his breath out. Rapke found speaking English a trying business, one which he did so badly that it made him sweat. He was so grateful to be speaking German that he forgot to elaborate conversational niceties he usually employed when talking to the Colonel.
    â€œHe came,” Rapke said. “Early this morning, just as you said.”
    â€œCalls himself Bodden, does he?” the Colonel said.
    â€œYes. Yes. Bodden. Otto Bodden.”
    â€œAnd you hired him, of course.”
    â€œYes, yes, just as you instructed.”
    â€œGood work. Rapke. Perhaps he will even turn out to be a competent printer.”
    â€œYes, that is to be devoutly wished. Now, is there anything else that I am to do?”
    â€œNothing,” the Colonel said. “Absolutely nothing. You will treat him exactly as you would treat any other temporary employee. Is that clear?”
    â€œYes, naturally.”
    â€œAnd one more thing, Rapke.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œKeep your mouth shut. Is that also clear?”
    â€œYes,” Rapke said. “Most clear.”
    After Rapke had hung up, the Colonel asked Sergeant Lewis to have Captain Richards come in. A few moments later Richards came in, filling his pipe, and sat down in a chair before the