The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [64]
Honny murmured, “And that is too high a price to pay.” He winked at Wolf. “Every man to his tastes, eh, Wolfgang?” Wolf nodded, continuing to chew on the enormous sandwich he had made for himself.
They ate and drank. Mosca, watchful, ate more and drank less. He felt fine. There was a long silence, then the woman snapped out of her moody trance and said with sudden verve, excitement, “Honny, shall we show them our treasure? Please?”
Wolf's face appeared alertly, comically, from behind his sandwich. Honny laughed and said, “No, no, Wolfgang, there is no profit in this. And besides it is very late and perhaps you are too tired.”
Trying not to sound eager, Wolf said cautiously, “Tell me what it is.”
The blond man smiled at him. “There is no gain involved. This is a curiosity. In our back yard I am building a little garden. The house from the other side of the street is destroyed and part of it flowed over my property. I started to clear it away and I was enjoying the exercise. But then I found something very strange. I found a hole in the rubble and underneath it the basement is intact and the rest of the house has fallen into it. Now. This is interesting. By some freak some beams have fallen in such a way as to hold up the building and form a great room underneath.” He smiled and the red freckles stood out like blood on his face. “I assure you it is unique. Would you care to go?”
“Sure,” Mosca said and Wolf nodded his head with indifferent consent.
“You won't need your coats. It is just across the garden and once underneath it is very warm.” But Wolf and Mosca took their belongings from the other room, not wanting to go out defenseless and not wanting Honny to know they carried weapons. Honny shrugged. “Wait till I get my flashlight and some candles. Will you come, Erda?” he asked the woman.
“Of course,” the woman said.
The four of them went through what was to be the garden, the blond man using his flashlight to show the way. The garden was a square piece of hard ground bordered by a brick wall so low they could step over it with ease. TTiey climbed a little hill of rubble and could see over the top of the house behind them, but a cloud hung veil-like before the moon, the city below was invisible. They descended into the valley formed by two mounds of shale and fragmented brick and came to the wall which supported and hedged in another heap of ruins.
The blond man crouched down. “Through here,” he said, and showed a hole in the wall that looked as dark and opaque as a deep shadow. They entered in single file, the blond man first, then the woman, Wolf, and Mosca.
Unexpectedly, when they had taken a few steps inside, they wore going down steps. Honny called out a warning behind him.
At the end of the steps Honny waited. The woman lit two candles and gave one to Mosca.
By yellow candlelight they could see before them, below them, breaking away from the concrete on which they stood as the sea breaks away from cliffs, a great subterranean room, three candles lighting it as a lighthouse the ocean, leaving great depths of shadows. There was a shifting floor and sloping walls of rubble. Another staircase in the middle of the room led upward and disappeared, blotted out by the ruins which had fallen into it, as if someone had built stairs running blindly into a ceiling.
“This was an SS billet when they made a hit, your bombers. Just before the war ended,” Honny said. “They have been buried now over a year. How glorious.”
“There may be something valuable,” Wolf said; “have you searched?”
“No,” Honny said.
They dropped off the ledge, their feet sinking into the floor. The woman remained by the wall, resting against the end of a huge wooden beam, one end of which had fallen and jammed into the floor, the otto: end wedged against the ceiling. She held the candle high, and the three men spread out into the enormous room.
They moved cautiously, their feet dragging through a treacherous shale of glass, dirt, and pulverized