The Kammersee Affair Page 22

  “Right,” she said. “What needs to be done?”

  Just like her mother. If there was something to be done Emily just got on with it, no matter how unpleasant a task.

  “Well firstly, there’s mum’s clothes,” Kadowski said. “I thought that we could give the red coat to Mrs Murray. She always admired it. What do you think?”

  Lucy placed her hand on to his arm. “That will be fine, Dad,” she replied. “Mum would have liked that.” Kadowski nodded. Yes she would have. “I would like her cream jacket, and the pink floral dress. You know the one I mean?”

  Kadowski knew the one she was talking about. It had been one of his favourites. “What about the rest of the clothes?” he asked.

  Lucy did not hesitate to reply. “The Salvation Army,” she said. “That would be what mum would have wanted.”

  Kadowski had to agree. Emily was always giving items to the Savvy Army, as she called it. Kadowski was always correcting her. “It’s Sally,” he would say. “The Sally Army.” She would nod her agreement. “I know,” she would say. “I just prefer Savvy.” The conversation was over.

  “Okay, that’s agreed,” Kadowski said. “We’ll get some sacks, and take them down tomorrow, all right.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Lucy.

  “Next,” said Kadowski. “Are her ornaments, grandma’s figurines.” He stopped and looked toward the cabinet where they were proudly displayed. “True to the tradition of passing them down through the female line, they now belong to you, Lucy.”

  Lucy looked at the cabinet. Mum loved those figures. She had been very proud of them. “Those figures are over one hundred and twenty years old,” she had said. “I hope I look as good when I’m that old.”

  “Finally,” Kadowski said. “There’s her jewellery.” He stood up and walked over to the sideboard. He opened one of the drawers. He reached inside, and took out a small leather jewellery box. He took it back to his seat, and sat down. “She didn’t have a lot,” he said, as he opened the box, and looked inside. “There’s some nice pieces here though.” There was nothing of any great value. They could never afford the real expensive items. He picked up a three strand pearl necklace. “I bought her that on our tenth wedding anniversary,” he said. “We went to Tiffany’s. She was over the moon.” He placed it back into the box. “They are all yours now, Lucy,” he said, handing her the box.

  She opened the box, and reached inside. A few moments later she took out a small butterfly brooch. “Aunt Bess gave that to mum. Do you remember?” He remembered. Bess was Emily’s sister. Years before she had married, the two sisters had gone on a little holiday together. The brooch had been given as a memento of the occasion. “I think mum would like Hannah to have that.”

  Kadowski looked toward Lucy. Hannah was Emily’s niece – Bessie’s daughter. “That’s a great idea,” he said. “Would you send it to her?”

  “No,” said Lucy. “We’ll take it over to her.” Kadowski nodded. That was fine by him.

  * * *

  Further misfortunes were waiting for Kadowski. He suddenly began feeling ill himself, sick, faint, lethargic. Something he had picked up probably, a virus of some kind at work maybe. These cargo ships quite often carried some disease, or virus from a foreign shore. It would probably clear up in a few days. Take some anti-biotics that should do the trick. Or maybe it had been brought on by the anguish and stress associated with the death of his wife.

  Lucy made an appointment for him to see the doctor. The doctor was puzzled, and arranged to have some tests carried out. No it wasn’t anything simple like a virus. It was more of a mental problem. “Frank you’re bringing this on yourself,” said the doctor. “You know that. You really must pull yourself together.” He prescribed a course of tablets. “Take two of these, every day for a week,” the doctor said. “Come and see me again, a week today.”

  For a short while the medication appeared to be working, and gradually he began to recover. The doctor was right. It was a mental problem. He stopped taking the tablets. He didn’t need them anymore. He was well on the road to recovery. Then quite suddenly, without any warning, the symptoms returned. This time, however, even more pronounced. He went back on to the medication. But this time the tablets had little effect.

  “I’d like to admit you into hospital,” the doctor had said. “It wouldn’t be for too long, just a few days. I’d like to carry out some tests, and generally keep an eye on you.”

  * * *

  Kadowski wasn’t convinced that there was any point but agreed nonetheless. He was taken into City General. Lucy took leave from her office, and returned home for a short time.

  More hospitals, more tests. The cause could not be identified. The tests were either negative or inconclusive.

  “It’s almost as though he was willing himself to be ill,” one doctor had commented.

  “A reaction to the death of his wife,” said another.

  He was sent to see more specialists. There were ever more tests. He was kept in hospital for observation. He gradually became weaker and weaker. Eventually he was forced to stop work. He was unable to walk, and was confined to a wheel chair. Then they discovered the cause. It was Polio. It was due to something picked up at the docks. The doctors prepared a course of treatment, and prescribed various drugs. “Keep taking the medicine, Frank, and that will control the problem, and you should start to improve.”

  The medication had a limited effect. He didn’t seem to be getting worse, but he certainly was not getting any better. The doctors concluded that his mental state was acting against him. In other words, he really didn’t want to get better. He wanted to be with Emily.

  At that point, Lucy insisted that he went to live with her, and her husband.

  * * *

  Lucy had married Roger Grady toward the end of 1951. He worked as a reporter on the newspaper with her. They would be happy to have him with them. The house was plenty big enough. He would have his own room, and a garden to relax in. It wouldn’t be a problem, so there was to be no argument. Besides she was expecting her first child in a few months time. Kadowski would shortly be a grandfather. Lucy had made up her mind, there was really nothing more to be said. Just like her mother, headstrong and determined. How he missed Emily.

  He knew then that he no longer had a choice. It had been obvious that this day would come, sooner or later. He had hung on as long as he could, but now things were different. He could no longer manage on his own, not anymore. He didn’t want to be a trouble to anyone, a burden.

  But it was either moving in with Lucy and Roger, or to be taken into one of those residential care homes. That’s what Lucy had said, hadn’t she. “I’ll put you into a home if you’re not careful,” and shook her fist at him. He smiled at the thought. Okay, she was only joking, but he knew deep down that she was probably right. It was getting more and more difficult to cope. Some days he couldn’t be bothered cooking. More and more he needed help from the neighbours. He knew that he would have to leave, and that was that. He had to admit that without Emily it wasn’t the same anyway. It would never be the same again. Those happy times were over. It was now time to move on. His home did not exist anymore. It had gone the day that his Emily had died. So on 23th February 1952, he packed his belongings, said goodbye to his little Brownstone house, and left the Bronx for the last time.

  He knew then that if there had ever been any possibility of returning to Austria, and recovering that hidden gold, it had now gone forever. He also knew that without his Emily by his side, it did not matter anyway. The gold and the promise of wealth meant nothing to him, not now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Private Antonio Bartelli

  Chicago June 1945

  As Bartelli walked out of Rooney’s bar he suddenly felt completely and utterly alone. It was not a nice feeling. He shivered, and drew his coat tightly over. He felt vulnerable, defenceless. He realised that without the guys to keep an eye on him, he was totally lost. He relied on them completely. H
e would miss them all, even Scott. No, that wasn’t being entirely fair. Scott was okay. Yes, he was a little reckless that was certainly true. Sometimes he could frighten the life out of you. But he was always there if you needed help. He always looked out for you. He would never let you down. He could be a bit odd sometimes, a little strange, even. Moody was probably a better description. Nonetheless, he was a good man to have on your side. That had been proved a number of times on the road through Italy. Scott had received a citation for bravery hadn’t he? That took a special kind of person.

  He began to go over the events that had happened in the bar. The Sergeant was certainly worried. That much had been plainly obvious. But Scott was always a bit headstrong, a bit wild. You might describe him as being a little unpredictable. That wasn’t anything new, was it? And yet Bartelli knew that this had, in fact, been a whole lot different. Sure Scott was a hard case, tough and impulsive. That was okay in certain circumstances. It wasn’t a big problem, normally. But, he had to admit that he had never seen him quite like this before. He was really stressed, paranoid almost. “Now he’s back home, he’ll probably settle back into his old routine and gradually calm down”, thought Bartelli. At least that’s what he certainly hoped would happen. Bartelli then put the matter out of his mind, and quickly walked toward the station to catch his train.

  When he arrived at the station the train was already waiting at the platform. He checked his watch. It was exactly five forty-five, the time the train was due to depart. “Cutting this a bit close,” he mumbled. “Better get a move on.”

  He quickly walked up to the barrier, and showed his ticket. The ticket collector hurriedly checked the ticket, and waved him through. “You better hurry,” he said. “She’s just about to leave.”

  Bartelli retrieved his ticket and ran toward the train. He quickly mounted the short flight of steps and started to walk along the train corridor. The train whistle shrieked loudly, and the train pulled away from the station shortly after ten minutes to six.

  Bartelli was gratified to see that the train was fairly empty, and he found a comfortable compartment. He placed his bags on the overhead rack, and settled down for the long journey home. He knew that he had to change trains a number of times, and didn’t expect to arrive in Chicago, until about twelve o’clock the following morning, which meant that he should be home just about twelve thirty.

  He made himself comfortable, and started to read his newspaper. He found it very hard to concentrate on the news. His mind kept roaming on to other things. Those things that Scott had been saying were very frightening. Mind you he was just rambling, wasn’t he?

  “No, that’s not right,” Bartelli mumbled. “What he said sounded crazy, but there’s no way that George is insane, that’s for sure.”

  The words went round and round in his head. “Tom didn’t seem that worried though did he? So it’s probably okay, then.”

  Bartelli thought very highly of Bannister, and respected his opinion. He’s a very clever man, he knows what he’s talking about. On the other hand, though, the Sergeant had seemed very concerned. Maybe he was worrying for nothing. In any event, that’s exactly what Bannister had said. “I just hope that he’s right,” he said to himself, as he returned to his newspaper.

  A few moments later he again put the newspaper down by his side. He looked out of the window at the fields rolling by. The sky was beginning to cloud over, and it was beginning to get quite dark. He checked his watch. It was just after seven fifteen. There’s a storm brewing he thought, as he looked toward the horizon. The forecast had certainly warned of the possibility of a storm. From what he saw through the window it threatened to be a major one.

  He picked up the newspaper, and once again tried to read. It was of no use. Every time he tried to concentrate other things invaded his mind. He looked back through the window. The sky had now clouded over completely. The thunderclouds had formed, and it had just started to rain. The rainfall was quite light to begin with, gradually increasing in intensity. In the distance there were lightning flashes. Then he heard the first faint rumblings of thunder. He shivered involuntarily. It was still some way off, but that storm was definitely heading his way.

  He looked away from the window. He was still thinking about Scott. Then, suddenly, another thought came into his head. This time it was about himself, and his uncertain future. “What am I going to do with myself?” he asked. “I’m completely alone now. I have absolutely no one. No friends and no family.” The only family he knew was the army. The only friends he had were the other soldiers in his unit. Naturally he could speak to them on the telephone. Then twenty minutes later it would all be over. That wasn’t enough. He needed much more than that. They had their own lives anyway. They were on leave. They certainly didn’t need him bothering them. They were happy to be going home. They had wives, girlfriends, mothers, children, and just plain friends. They had somebody to go back to. Who do I have? “No one,” he said in a whisper. . “I don’t have anyone to talk to, to ask their advice, or their opinion.”

  He wondered why he was even going home. Then he realised that it was only because of the ten days leave that the army had given him. If it wasn’t for that he would still be with the other guys.

  “Terrific, even the Army doesn’t want me.” At least that brought a smile to his face. “Of course I could try to get my old job back, for what it was worth.”

  Bartelli had worked as a metal cutter in a small factory, producing tin cans, and boxes. It was a dead end job, with very little pay, and no prospects. Bartelli had hated it.

  He shook his head. “No way, there’s no way that I’m going back to that. There has got to be something else. Something better, somewhere.”

  The rain was now getting heavier. The sound of it, beating hard onto the carriage window, startled him. Then there was a loud clap of thunder, then another, and another. He looked out of the window. Lightning could be seen all around. Then there was another clap of thunder. The noise was so intense, the windows rattled, and the sound reverberated through the compartment.

  At that moment he made a decision. He realised that everything that he ever needed had been supplied by the army. He had friends, he had food and shelter, and he had no worries. The army supplied him with everything. The army did everything for him. The army provided training, and education, if required. The army provided medical treatment if needed. At the base he had movies, dance halls, shops, and any type of sport he cared to name. Anything that he was unsure about, the army told him what to do. Outside of the military he had nothing. Obvious conclusion was, therefore, to stay in the army.

  “That’s it, simple. I’ll sign on as a regular soldier, a twenty year man. I’ll train to become a corporal, or even a Sergeant like Frank.”

  There it was then, he would stay in the army, decision made. He sat back, more relaxed now. The feeling did not last long. He suddenly sat forward. No, hang on, just a second, not so fast. Despite everything, still there was a doubt in his mind, an uncertainly. It wasn’t the army, not really. It wasn’t as simple as that. It was the guys in his unit, a particular group of guys. Then he realised that both the Sergeant and Tom Bannister had already stated that they would be leaving as soon as they could. Terry Roberts, Reynolds, Chandler, and Morris were all dead. That left Scott. Well, who knew what he would do. I doubt if he even knows himself.

  “I need to think this out. Things are going to be a lot different now. The old times have gone for good.”

  Deep down he knew that a particular chapter of his life was now over. He had to turn the page. His future plans were still un-decided. Bartelli turned away from the window. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

  * * *

  With a loud shriek of the whistle, and a great hissing of steam, the train pulled into the station, gradually, noisily, grinding to a halt. With a final blast of the whistle the train stopped. Bartelli gathered up his belongings, and prepared to leave the carriage. He opened the carriage door, got down fr
om the train and stepped on to the platform. He placed his bags down in front of him, and looked around him, taking in the old familiar sites. It had been a long, long time. Chicago Central Station didn’t look any different. Was it four years, he couldn’t believe it. It seemed like only yesterday that he had boarded a train here, and made his way to Fort Bragg, in Texas, for his induction into the United States Army. He had felt so proud that day, in his uniform. He was proud that he was a third generation Italian immigrant. He wished that his family had been there at that final parade. They would have been so happy, so proud. Everyone would have cheered and waved flags. Maybe there would have been both American and Italian flags. That would have been a sight to see. If only they had been there. But there had been no one there to wish him well. There was no one to cheer loudly, and no one to congratulate him.

  There was no one to welcome him home now. There was no one waiting on the platform. No cheering crowds. No welcome home banners, nothing. There was never anyone. At every major event throughout his entire life he had been alone. Bartelli thought of his large family. First and foremost was his momma, a large jovial woman, always happy and laughing. Then there was poppa, hard working, happy to be an American. Next were his brothers, sisters, and cousins. There were two uncles, Uncle Guiseppe, and Uncle Julio. And finally there was his special favourite, Aunt Julia. He couldn’t remember whether she was his momma’s sister, or sister in law.

  Then Bartelli started to weep. They were all imagined. They were all a dream, a dream that he had tried so hard to keep alive. The truth was that he didn’t have any family, large or small. His mother had died when he was ten years old. He could not remember his father; he had left the family home when Bartelli was quite young. He had gone to California or somewhere with another woman.