The forgotten writer E-Book

Friedrich S. Plechinger

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 326

Beschreibung

A forgotten writer who was once a Stasi agent and who provoked the world with his books was trying to find peace and quite by buying an old farm in a mid sized city in southern France so at least it seemed to everyone, but the reality told a different story and Francine Autem who sold him the farm through her little agency was suddendly confronted with many strange and unregular occurences which involved her in a world of sinister and life threatening secrets and a journey began that changed hers and other people`s life completely. Who was this man and why did their path cross?

Leseprobe

Contents

How it all started

The new kid in town

Regular life unavailable

Who let the dogs out and why?

The sound of silence is loud

Karl Friedrich Becker

Men in black are not always bad guys

Bertrand the prior

You reap what you sow

The Cessna

Cherbourg

Klaus Becker tells a story

The world is changing

The dragon awakes

Finding a publisher

Can we come for coffe?

A world of sins

Back to Becker

The rolling thunder has started

Leaving Alet de Bains

The book of disturbing truth

The devil at work

The higher the climb the deeper the fall

Sing the deadly song canary

This was my story

Introduction

Greetings:

My name is Friedrich S. Plechinger a travelling German author who started writing in his late fifties. Having written already a couple of books in my native language, novels most of them, I am herewith giving it a shot to write my fisrt novel in English all by myself without using the assistance of a translater like I did with one of my projects titled „Albrecht`s Diary/ Road of a Templar“. As a self-publisher I do my own lectoring. Mostly for economic reasons but also not to be influenced to much by foreign opinions. Not that I don´t appreciate a hint here and there but every story written has to be put on papper through the consciuosness and the writing hand of the author himself. Everyone has an own story to tell whether it`s done by a novel or a personal biography and foreign influences, as well meant as they would be, could change the meaning of one´s particular intention. Explaining it would take a book of its own. Anyhow, I hope I will not implement many mistakes in this novel and rest assured I will let one of my English/ American friends go through the manuscript before publishing it. The novel itself plays in the region of southern France a village not far south from Carcassonne at the feet of the Pyrenees. Worth to mention that all names are fictional and randomly chosen and that this novel is just a novel and not a true story. But I don´t want to tell too much since it will be the reader`s journey. Page for page.

Enjoy.

How it all started

I barely remember how it all started since it has been twelve years ago. All I can recall was the terrible weather on that particular day when I entered the boulangerie of monsieur Patris and me, soaking wet from the rain, exhausted from running and out of breath. The smell of fresh baked croussants still tingling my nose as I am telling this story today. Two customers were standing infront of me being served by his wife Marie. A friendly lady in her mid fifties as she finally cashed in the few coins for the two baguettes just being bought by the butcher`s wife by the name of Claudine. Marie greeted me with a friendly smile and we began our unconventinal small talk.

„Bon jour madame Autem. Terrible weather we have today, don´t we? What can I do for you?“

„Yes indeed Marie. Typical weather for this time of year. My apologies for wetting your floor, but my car is parked at the other side of the street...“

„Don´t you worry my dear. You are not the only one that has been surprised by the sudden storm....“

And stormy it was since the wind was blowing outside so loud that one could hear the trees rattleing their leaves right through the little shop´s walls.

„ Can I have two baguettes, three croussants and two brioches?“

„Certainly. How is business going for you these days? I heard Jean Luc´s farm has been finally sold successfully. Job well done after all this years. Poor Madleine is certainly looking for a new place to live I reckon.“

„Well, she moved to her daughter´s house in Toulouse as far as I know. All these years living with the memories after Jean Luc`s passing. Must have been a torture for the poor woman knowing they were inseparable. Sad but at least someone is finally taking care of her.“

„May I ask who bought the farm?“ inquired Marie carefully knowing all to well that the answer will lead to nothing. I never gave away my customer`s details to someone not related to the deal.

„I can´t really tell you Marie. It was bought by the new owner´s direct relative. His daughter I believe since the farm will be registered on her name. Her Father will most probably move in also because my first impression of her was not of someone that was made for a life in a remote village like ours. Who he is I really can´t tell. We will find out soon I guess.“

„That´s eight Euros fifty madame Autem. Hope you will not catch a cold on your way to the car.“

The rain outside did not weaken a bit so I ran just to get to my car as fast as possible and fortunate as I was I crossed the road unharmed since I did not look left nor right. But the exercise was not just finished yet. The car keys were burried deep in my hand bag covered with all the utils a woman thinks to need and after desperately dredging through all the cigarettes packs, lighters, paper-napkins, asperins, lippstick, powder-box, wallet, pepper-spray, tampax-etuis, cherry-candies and three small parfume-bottles I finally could get a grasp of the key chain. Water was pouring all over me and thousands of dropletts were dripping from my eye lashes.

Serves me right not bringing an umbrella along knowing all to well that this could happen in this time of year. I let my body fall on the driver`s seat whispering little courses while trying to insert the key into the ignition lock and while still shaking from the cold a loud „Eureka“ escaped my lipps as the old, faithfull engine of my Peugeot started screaming. Not two seconds later passed as I drove the car away from the parking spot to reach my little real-estate office which was located on the „Rue de la Republique“. I took over my father´s business after his so called „retirement“. He left this Village with the medevial name Alet-les-Bains right after my mother got divorced from him which was not a big loss really. They were unhappily married for as long as I can remember and the moment she left him he transfered the entire ownership of his business over to me making sure that she would not profit a dime together with her new lover boy. Was I angry at her? No.

I love them both equally even though it was not easy at times.

It was an experience anyway and I learned a lot from it. The rain finally stopped as I reached my little office. The mail-box was filled with big and small envelopes and dripping wet as they were, since most of them were hanging out of the slot, I carried them along with my bags of bakeries inside the unlitt room. It took a while to get myself systemized but after a few minutes my little realm was filled with the intriging smell of fresh brewed coffee and the usual noise coming from the coffe-maker brought tranquility on this grey cold day. With a hearty bite in my brioche and a sip out of the hot coffee mug nothing could go wrong anymore and so I dived highly motivated deeply into my work starting by opening the envelopes one by one just to find bills and more bills. No doubts, selling a farm is good but almost half of the profit already evaporated right infront of my eyes. As I opened the last envelope I gladly got a brake from all the bills that seemed to drown me. It was a written set-up-date from the local notary regarding Jean-Luc`s farm and its transfer of ownership. It was about time as life in a village like this one can be hard and customers were rare as white truffles.

The new kid in town

The date for the notary appointment came on a sunny Tuesday and I decided to put my ususal business dress on which consisted of a two pieces grey costume and a white silk blouse underneath it. My hair style and the brown reading glasses enhanced the appearence of a strict and timid secretary which was my intention so not to awake the impression of an successful, happy and rich individual who was selling a flat in Monte Carlo. This deal was filled with pain for I knew Madleine since childhood. She loved the farm and she loved Jean-Luc and the last thing I wanted was to show her how happy this deal would make me since I needed the commission badly. My past experiences showed that customers where very particular in making decisions regarding the purchase of real state never mind if it was a cottage, a castle, land or in this case a farm and especially if that object was located remotly as this one. Appearing dressed like a millionair could have been right in places like Monaco, Beverly Hills or New York, but not in Alet-les- Bains, where the locals knew you and never missed an opportunity to tease you behind your back. Not much was happening here so any kind of sensation was a welcome variety.

I parked my Peugeot just outside a white old building that belonged to Monsieur Dupont who was not only the local notary but also the lawyer and the honorary judge for minor cases and yes, it seemed to me that the client, who ever he or in this case she was, came from better circles since a black Bentley Coupe and a Porsche Cayenne were parked adjacent to my humble little middleclass car. „But why were they already here?“ was what came to mind and looking at my wristwatch I arrived way ahead of time. Better early than late for both of us so I thought. Getting rid of the farm and getting my cut as soon as possible was the target so one last look at the mirror and one little outfit adjustment here and there and off we go. I usually never showed any signs of nervosity when dealing with agreements and contracts but on this day my hands felt sweaty for some reason which could be an embarrassment during a hand shake. A quick whipe on the skirt before I rang the door bell did not bring the wished effect so I took a deep breath and tried to bring my heart rate down. Dupont`s assistant opened the door an greeted me friendly before he asked me to take a seat in the waiting room where I noticed a group of people in dark suits with exception of a woman in her mid thirties being dressed in casual outfit and the widow Madleine sitting petrified in a corner together with her daughter. „They must be it“ I thought and yes after a shy „Bon jour“ and a short introduction the ice was broken.

The younger woman introduced herself as the daughter of the actual new owner who did not wanted to be mentioned by name in any case and who was not present for obvious reasons. She did introduce herself though as Ingrid von Battenberg which immediately caused a surprised reaction in my facial expression. The name did not sound English nor Irish because the caller who asked to purchase the farm as I recalled was an English lady by the name of Eva Lyons. This name though was German. Trying to hide my confusion I replied with a smile.

„Avec plaisir Madame von Battenberg.“ and that was it.

The other three persons who were men dressed in very expensive dark suits looked more like body guards. At least two of them and as I found out during our small preliminary talk the older one turned out to be a lawyer. A Herr Rudolf Berger. Naturely also German.

„Nice to meet you Madame Autem. You had already the pleasure to talk with our secretary Mrs. Eva Lyons. She sends you her regards.“

„Thank you. Please return her my regards as soon as you see her as well.“ I replied as honest as I could since I did not know that woman other from a few phone calls and postal correspondence.

Claudine, Jean Luc`s wife, was accompanied by her daughter who came from Toulouse to assist her mother on this day and both of them did not speak a word but rather looked sad and melancholic through the room. I greeted them as friendly as I could knowing that today I will close the last chapter of their painful memories and hoping to give them some peace by having helped them to sell the object.

„Monsieur Dupont is now ready for you Mesdames and Monsieurs. Please follow me.“ the clerk said with a friendly and calming voice while leading us to the office. A very enthusiastic and overmotivated notary greeted us and I tried not to laugh when I noticed that the sash around his body was just about to burst with every breath he was taking. His belly was huge. A sign of to much Calvados, Chablis, Fromage of all sorts and other local delicacies but never the less he carried the tricolore with an undoubtful pride.

„Let us begin then. We are gathered here today to officially notarize the delivery and transfer of ownership of Jean Luc Sornier`s farm to Madame Ingrid von Battenberg. As agreed the purchase amount of 350.000,-- US Dollars, according to Madame Claudine Sornier`s wish, will be transfered from the escrow account to the beneficiary`s accout after everyone has signed. The notary costs are borne by the buyer. Do we all agree on these terms?“

Evereybody nodded except of me of course since I just appeared to sign as a witness. Monsieur Dupont spread a couple of pages which were carrying his seal carefully over his desk and showed every single one where to sign and when this step was completed he asked the clerk to make copies.

„I will send you the originals via mail to you as soon as possible. The Transfer is now completed. My congratulations Madame von Battenberg and my congratulations to you Madame Sornier.“

We left the office silently and I could observe how Madame von Battenberg shaked hands with Claudine and her daughter knowing all to well they will never be seen again in this village. Claudine then turned around and looked at me with a thankful smile and left without a word. I felt her pain and it was hard to keep my tears under control but apparently this is part of life for everyone. Letting things go is sometimes the hardest thing to do.

„Madame Autem...“ came suddendly from my right disturbig my thoughts as I was looking how the door closed behind the leaving party. Ingrid von Battenberg looked at me seriously and looking into her eyes I understood that she expected my full attention.

„Once again thank you for everything and rest assured that your commission will be transfered today. Our deal is now completed but I need you to understand that my father´s arrival must be kept confidential by all means. He is a very particular man and can be very difficult so do not be concerned or surprised if he appears in a grumpy and maybe unpolite manner. Just show him around the farm, give him the keys and I don´t know how to say this....forget him. I will take care of all running costs like electricity, water, etc. and also his mail. He wants to be left alone so I would appreciate if you remain discrete after giving him the keys. I am sure you will be bombarded with curious questions from the villagers....“

„Do not worry Madame. I will do as you say but what if he needs medical assistance in any way...“

„I have everything under control since I am the only person he trusts. Should he require medical assistance he will contact me directly. I will visit him as much as I can but I know that he wants his privacy. Thank you again Madame Autem.“

We shook hands, she turned arround and was immediately surrounded by the three men. The lawyer and herself drove off in the Bentley and the other two took the Porsche Cayenne. What shall I do with that information I asked myself wondering. A strange and uncomfortable feeling came over me and a little taste of fear that I could not explain kept my brain busy as I drove my little Peugeot back to my office. The only thing that I forgot to ask her was when this gentleman of hers would arrive. Immages of that „Lector“ from the movie „The Silence of the Lambs“ floated right infront my eyes and a short burst of scream escaped my lips. How silly of me. I laughed when I got my senses together after opening the door of my little real estate shop at the „Rue de la Republique“.

The days past by and I almost forgot the events of the last five days as the phone rang out of the blue when I was checking my business mail. It was Monsieur La Rousse the clerk from my local Bank who rarelly phoned and only when problems occurred regarding unsolved payments etc.. But that hardly ever happened because my bills were always payed on time.

„Madame Autem? Do I speak with Francine Autem?“

„Oui, it´s me Monsieur La Rousse. What can I do for you?“

„I just wanted to confirm with you a transfer that arrived today on your account and since it is quite a respectful ammount I just wanted to know if you accept the transfer.“

„Since when does a Bank ask such questions? As long as money is flowing in an account it should be in the interest of the istitute as well, no?“

„Of course Madame, please forgive me my impertinence for asking but the amount is coming from a suspicious source that is blacklisted by a few Banks. Not by ours, but still I have the obligation to ask you if you accept this transfer advising you that if law inforcement will come back to us asking we have to divert them to you.“

„Well, I am expecting a commission transfer for the sale of Jean Luc Sornier`s farm....so yes I accept the transfer.“

„Very well. The amount will be placed on your account as we speak. Alway at your service Madame Autem.“

He hang up and I noticed how upset this call made me. I was just a regular hard working business woman living out of commissions from sales or rents that by god did not happen so often and now I was told that this transfer came from a sinister source. What should I have answered? No? I don`t accept this commission? The wage of my work? In what world do we live these days. The moment I catched my breath and was about to continue my work the phone rang again.

„Good afternoon Madame Autem. Eva Lyons speaking. How are you today? I don´t want to keep you from work my dear and just wanted to advise you that the owner of the recently bought farm will arrive this evening around 9 PM. If you please could be there, show him around and present him the keys. That would be marvelous dear. He will arrive alone bringing only his two dogs.“

„9 PM.? So late?“ I answered still angry from the previous call.

„Yes, I am afraid so dear. This gentleman is very particular and does not want to be seen. I know this sounds strange but trust me I will make sure you will be compensated for your duties outside your working hours. Does five hundred US-Dollars sounds right to you?“

„Yes. This sounds right by all means Mrs. Lyons. I will wait for him infront of the farm`s gate at 9 PM tonight.“

„Splendid darling. I will transfer the amount on the same account then. Good day dear.“

What a friendly woman and her high pitch feminine voice could have been the one of an angel. I wonder how she looked like were my thoughts the moment I hang up the phone in a more relaxed manner. A look outside the window promised a rainy day with the possibility of a thunderstorm.

Grey clouds were exploding upwards towards the heavens, their tops shaped liked anvils, thretatening to release god`s anger any moment but hopefully not this night. I was sitting there sipping out of my coffee mug and wondering what kind of man this guy could be that everyone is warning me about.

Particular as he might be he could kiss my ass at this very moment. Grumpy old men who want to hide from the outside wolrld and don´t want to be seen. I did not even know his name. Was he also a „Von Battenberg?“ Then it fell like snowflakes infront of my eyes. Battenberg, Battenberg. The little German I had in school was not enough to make a rhyme out of it but translating it in English I could not believe what I just noticed. Mountbatten. That was it what it meant in English. A direct link to the English Royals. Let´s not forget, that they all came from German roots no matter how it was and still is objected. Ingrid von Battenberg was his daughter so he must be also be a „von Battenberg“. At least he had this familly name so I thought. Nothing surprised me anymore in that moment then of course these sort of people did not wanted to be seen, known, spoken to and needed to remain totally incognito. It suddendly all made sense. I leaned back on my chair, took another sip from my mug and smiled to fullest satisfaction thinking to know the secret of all this mystery surrounding these people. What made no sense was why rich people like they were buy an old farm that is desperatly in need of repair like the one I just sold. Why not something in Montana where you get millions of acres for the same price and where no one would find you if you did not wanted to be found. Why not somewhere in the Swiss or Italian Alps? Stranger things happened before and with this logic I ended my thoughts. Appearing at 9 PM, showing this man around and handing him the keys are the easiest earned five hundred dollars. At least for me.

As I feared before on that day a thunderstorm developed caused by warm air rising out of the still hot French summer soil. Lightning strikes and thunder accompanied me on my drive to the farm on that night and my Peugeot had difficulties to climb the muddy and swampy uphill road towards the gate of this forsaken place. The surrounding became more and more spooky with every lightning strike that hit and yes, fear was the consequence that came ou of it especially as my car started to swing left and right the more I pushed the pedal. The wheels were sliding and overturning in this thick an deep mud and what I needed now was a Land Rover or better a tank. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the mud in these conditions. My prayers were heard and by god I was five minutes late because as I reached the gate, a car was standing there already. One of these Japanese Land Cruisers but to my surprise an older model which could be bought cheap these days due to the screaming high gasoline prices. Getting ot of my car I sank knuckle deep in swampy soil and I stupidly found out that I had the wrong type of shoes on. What I needed here were rubber farm boots because I risked to loose my shoes with every step I made since they were sticking in these masses of wet clay and dirt. A look at my car and I was close to tears. How the hell should I get out of here again? My thoughts were suddendly interrupted as I got screamed upon by an old and very commanding voice.

„I thought we said 9 PM. It is now seven minutes past nine....“

„My apologies Monsieur von Battenberg but my car was stuck multiple times on the way up here and...“

„How did you call me? That´s not my name you fool. That´s my daughter´s name. She married one of these posh bastards so don`t conclude that I am one of them. My name is not yours to know now hurry up and let it get over with.“

Two dogs were barking their souls out giving me the impression that this very bad mooded individual was on the road for hours and that man and biests were hungry, thirsty and tired. Without reacting to the insult calling me a fool and most probably standing under shock from such disrespectful rudeness, I obbeyed, hoping that my five hundred dollars transfer would not be at risk after beeing seven minutes late and calling him von Battenberg. I also noticed that his English had hardly an accent. It sounded almost American with little exceptions. As I walked towards the gate, wet as I was, I surched for the keys that were digged deep in my hand bag and as usual I had to dredge through the amount of rubbish that I was constantly carrying along. In the meant time he and his dogs also got out of their car and were standing right behind me and nervous as I was I did not hit the key hole fast enough due to the heavy rain that was streaming down may head and my face obscuring my sight and my concentration which made this brute of a man more uncomfortable and impatient.

„Oh by Jesus`s balls give the keys to me woman.“ he ripped of the keys from my still shaking hands and opened the gate within seconds

„Get in your... whatever that piece of crap is and follow me. Try to stay on my path OK?“

He climbed back in his car and so did I in my little Peugeot. I cursed this man with every step I did because my shoes were sticking in the mud and getting them out of it was difficult. Finally I sat in my car and thanks god it started right away since my car hated this kind of weather and as soon as humidity was surrounding the distributor, that was it. With a screaching and crackling sound I managed to set the first gear in and it made me, nervous as I was, apologise to my car for my barbarian handling. But the problem was not over yet because the moment I stepped on the pedal the rear wheels were digging themselves in the dirt and with some additional prayers to the holy virgin, even though I really neglected church the last few years, my little car screamed and fought itself through the passage just to find a graveled road after passing the gate. My joy was endless and I thanked the heaven for its mercy. Maybe there is a God after all I rejoiced and stepped on the pedal since that SUV infront of me, driven by that lunatic personality, was way ahead of me. After approximately two kilometers we reached the main building and the first thing that the dogs did as they left the car was urinating on the tires. Not his but mine. „Good dogs!“ he laughed loudly and it made me furious but loosing it would have cost me five hundred bugs and so I took a deep breath and apologised again thelepatically to my little car.

„Do you know where the master switch is or do you need a GPS for that?“ He asked looking at me like I was a cheap peasant of his. So I showed him where it was and from there I took control. I showed him the kitchen with all appliencies, the bedrooms, the bath rooms the living room and the chimney but also the stable that was converted into a garage for heavy machineries. He surprisingly listened and did not interrupt and when I was finished he just nooded and said.

„Ok, before you leave help me with the stuff outside. It`s not much just a couple of suit- cases and two or three boxes.“ As I wanted to protest I noticed that his right leg was stiff. He used a stick for walking and with every step he did he tried to hide the pain that was caused by whatever happened to him in his past. I helped him and carried his stuff together with him inside. The dogs became friendly with me but not him and as I brought in the last box he just grouled:

„Well have a good drive home and make sure no one bothers me. Including you. Understood?“

He slammed the door leaving me outside in the rain. I was outraged.

„What an asshole..“ was the only thing I could think and believe you me when I say I never use such words lightly. Not even by thought.

Regular life unavailable

Days past by untill I could forget and diminish my anger and my disgust of how I have been treated by a stranger but most probably I was just angry with myself that I allowed this monster of an old man to treat me that way. Yes, he showed signs of handicaps but still this is no excuse to be an utter and complete moron towards people that try to help. I did receive my five hundred dollars just two days later by the way and maybe that was a major part for letting my anger slowly disappear. My daily and boring routine continued and my life was just all about paying bills, working from nine to five, grocery shopping, watering the indoor plants in my appartment, feeding my tom-cat Napoleon and last not least preparing myself for the same daily routine over and over again. Months just flew away without me noticing how my life has become my own prison. My commission that I earned from the sale vanished for repairs on my car, my appartment, allowing myself to indulge a few new dresses but most of it was used to pay all kind of fees where one should wonder why not just disappear in a world of pleasure and adventure instead. Working for peanuts because that was in fact what I was doing since selling objects in the surrounding area was a difficult and a rare event. Also because I was not the only real estate agent which is worth mentioning. Just few blocks further down the street one could find my competitor who made my father´s life a living hell when he was still around.

Being born rich, Olivier Ginestet belonged to one of the most influential families in the area. From Perpignan to Narbonne and down to this little city which I like to call village. His father knew my father well. Infact they went together to school and were enemies already since childhood. The constant social mockery which my father had to indure as a young boy caused regular fist fights in school, in the streets and behind dark yards and all because they were teasing him for his social lower status. Yes, my dad came from a poor family and had to work very hard for his, as he called it, success of which he was very proud. But his greatest victory was when he won Olivier`s sisters`s heart who fell in love with the rugged rascal and who deared to fight her big brother. Against all odds, protests and warnings she married my father a couple of years later and became my mother. The positive thing that came out from this marriage was that peace finally set in. Not that the Ginestet clan loved or even liked my father but to keep my mother quiet since she herself was a rebell they decided to set a few steps back and concentrate on the business only. My father though was not an easy going man.

He was a complicated charakter and only because my mother´s patience was as big as her loving heart their marriage lastet that long until she finally had enough and left him. Sad but it is as it is. At the end they were two very different people and all I know is that they still love each other without admitting it. My father disappeared after that and once in a while I do receive a postcard from him which makes me very happy but also melancholic. Being rich Olivier used a tactic that only money made it possible. He bought everything that he could get. From land to houses, to flats, to abandoned factories, farms and even airfields. I only got lucky with Jean-Luc´s object because he himself hated Olivier and his wife Claudine always respected her husband`s decisions that should the farm be sold one day it would only happen through our agency and that what happened at the end of the day. To keep things working to my advantage I had to knock on Olivier´s door once in a while since like or not, he became my uncle through marriage. Little objects that did not interest him as much where then passed to me believeing that he made me a huge favour. He once tried to buy my little real-estate shop which I categorically refused. So here I was, hoping for some British or German tourists who fell in love with the area and the possibility of buying something cheap for their retirement plan. Depending on world-economics and income my success varried. It was just enough to survive and try to live a happy and modest life. My biggest worry was how long could I keep my little Peugeot going since it had already 220 000 kilometers on the clock. I loved this car so much since my father bought it for me when I turned twenty years of age and now I am already 38, unmarried and not knowing where my life will lead me. Not that I didn`t receive offers and even proposals but to be honest I could never decide for myself what is good or bad for me. A dilemma that I still live with today. Saturday and Sundays I do visit some friends outside this city (I really consider it a village, even though I get strange looks when I openly say that) and we then visit a cinema or hang out in brasseries and chat. But nothing really serious happened sofar regarding finding an appropriate mate.

Looking out of the window and being burried in my thoughts I noticed a black Bentley and this time a Range Rover passing by. Could it be that after all this months, seven I guess it was, Madame Ingrid von Battenberg came to visit her biestly father? I already forgot completely about him but just at this moment my attention transfered from the work laying on the desk to the farm out there and the mystirious old man who did not wanted to be known. Who was he if not a „von Battenberg“? He strongly opposed when I called him by this name so who was he really and what was his story? My curiosity was eating me up from inside and by all saints in the heavens life here was just to boring not to find out more about this individual. He was hiding from what? What moves a man to isolate himself in such a self destructive way and how does he get his shopping done? I never saw him in the market, nor in the bakery or the butchery. How does he supply himself with the necessaties for survival? Sure, the forest arround that area has games such as deers and boars and also seasonal types of mushrooms but for all that you do need a license and I knew for a fact that he did not possess such documentations because if he had his name would have been disclosed. Also people in the village were slowly getting curious, especially the mail man, who in the past was a good friend of Jean- Luc. He always bragged about how Jean- Luc offerd him his newest home made calvados and other delicacies but now he never drives there since there is no mail to be delivered to that strange man. I did remember Ingrid mentioning that she would take care of all administrative things including the mail which meant she was the only recepient. In the meantime all kind of rumours started to spread in the village (pardon me) and especially the older generation were inventing all sorts of things.

„He must have been a spy...oh a German...maybe an ex Stasie..a criminal...an outlaw...an ex SS-Nazi“ and so on and so on. But according to a friend who was my old school-mate of mine and who became a gendarm in the local police station, this old man´s shirt was as white as snow. No crime records, no traffic convicts, no information what so ever. But of course I was not stupid and none of that was true since no one knew his name so there was no way to find out. Asking him why he did not bother to pass by and do a routine check he just turned his eye-balls and said: „On what grounds? This man wants his privacy and that is it.“

„Yes, but you are the police Maurice. You could ask for some identification....“ and this is when he looked at me and said:

„Believe me Francine we tried and got a disciplinary warning from our superiors in Paris when his daughter complained about our..how did she called it?...INTRUSION.“ Maurice said this word with wide opened eyes that made him look like a chameleon.

„So this man has secrets. No doubts about it.“

„For Christ`s sake Francine go and stick your nose in your own problems and miseries and leave this man alone. We all have secrets mon Cherrie. He is an old guy and wants to have his peace and to be honest I can`t blame him. If I could I would escape this place and hide from all the bullshit I have to deal with every day. I envy him for his courage to just hide from human beings.“

„Maurice. I did not know you feel this way...“

„Well I do or do you think I am a happy man with my 40 years, still being alone, unmarried and worst of all still living at my mother`s place. People talk no matter if you`re a gendarm or a priest. People are poison because they create their own theories about others when bored to hell and I have the impression that you my dear are becoming like them. Don`t waste your time living other people`s life. Let the old man be.