The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [119]
Yergen rose, took his briefcase, and they went out. Yer-gen paused, waited until he heard on the other side of the door the sound of iron sliding over wood, until he knew that his daughter was locked away from the world.
They got into Eddie's jeep. Once during the ride through the dark streets, Yergen said, “You wiU stay with me when we meet?” And Eddie said, “Sure, don't worry.”
But now in Eddie Cassin rose a vague uneasiness. They drove into the light of the Metzer Strasse and the billet. Eddie parked the jeep and they got out. Eddie looked up. There was no light in Mosca's room. “Maybe he's at the party,” Eddie said.
They went into the billet. On the first landing, Eddie said to Yergen, “Wait here.” He went into the party but saw no sign of Mosca. When he went out into the hall, Yergen was waiting for him. He could see that Yergen's face was pale, and suddenly Eddie Cassin felt a terrible sense of danger. Through his mind flashed everything Mosca had said and he felt it was all false. He said to Yergen, “Come on, Til take you home, he's not here. Come on.”
Yergen said, “No, let us finish this. I am not afraid. No more—”
But Eddie Cassin started to push Yergen down the steps. He was certain, almost overwhelmed with suspicious terror, and then suddenly he heard Mosca's voice above them, cold and with controlled fury say, “You fuckin” Eddie, let him go.” Yergen and Eddie looked up.
He stood on the landing above them and in the weak hall light his face was sickly yellow. Two great red fever sores blistered his thin mouth. He stood very still. The green combat jacket seemed to make him bulkier than he really was. “Come on up, Yergen,” he said. One hand was hidden behind his back.
“No,” Yergen said in an unsteady voice, “I am leaving with Mr. Cassin,”
Mosca said, “Eddie, get out of the way. Come up here.”
Yergen held on to Eddie's arm, “Don't leave me,” he said. “Stay here.”
Eddie held up his hand to Mosca and said, “Walter, for Christ's sake, Walter, don't do it”
Mosea took two steps down. Eddie tried to pull free from Yergen, but Yergen clutched his arm and cried out, “Don't let me stand alone— Don't, don't—” Mosca took another step down. His eyes were black, opaque, the red fever sores on his mouth burned in the hall light. Suddenly the pistol was in his hand. Eddie flung himself away from Yergen, and Yergen alone, with a despairing cry tried to turn, tried to run down the stairs. Mosca fired. In his first step Yergen fell to his knees. He raised his head, the faded blue eyes staring upward, and Mosca fired again. Eddie Cassin ran up the steps past Mosca and kept running to the attic,
Mosca put the gun back in his pocket. The body rested fiat on the landing, the head dangling over to the descending steps.
From the rooms below came a great wave of laughter, the phonograph began a loud waltz, there began a great stamping of feet and loud yodeling cries. Mosca ran up the stairs quickly to his room. Dark shadows stretched through the window. He waited and listened He went to the window.
There was no alarm, but the ruins of the city, the great hills of rubble crawled with a mass of brilliantly hued caterpillars, bobbing lanterns that lit the coming winter night with long tracers of green fire. A great rash of sweat poured over his face and body. He began to tremble, a great circling blackness sickened him and he pushed the window open and waited.
Now, in the street below, he could hear the children singing. The lanterns he could not see swung in his mind and heart, and as the choral died away, he felt an extraordinary release from fear and tension. The cold air rushed over him and the sickness and blackness left his body.
He picked up the packed suitcase and ran down the stairs, over Yergen's body, past the party noises. Nothing had changed. Out of the billet he started walking across the back plateau of ruins, then turned for one last look.
Four great stages of light cast a burning shield against the