Chapter 2. Haakon Finds a Wife in a Beer-Hall
Sovant strode into town. For a few awkward moments he wondered if he was a ghost, and he speculated it was his shade which was striding into town. He could feel that his euphoria was beginning to fade. Only cars and barflies stirred on the streets. Soon enough Sovant found himself standing before the portals of an enormous beer-hall. This building, constructed with massive stones and huge timbers, reverberated with amplified music emanating from deep within it. The beer-hall was owned by his boss, the man with the Castle and the mountain, Wolfgang Von Hellemann. Wolfgang had quaintly named his beer-hall Wolf's Lair. It was incapable of containing the tumult raging inside itself. Sovant didn't fail to see the similarity between it and his condition two hours earlier.
Haakon Sovant entered the portals of the beer-hall and proceeded down a tunnel. He came to a cavern adorned with murals - Viking and Teutonic scenes - the haunts of the Valkyries - there were frescos full of Nordic lore - warriors and goddesses, elves and maidens, wolves, stags, streams, forests, trolls guarding treasure troves of gold and precious gems. In one rendition, warted hags were in cahoots with some goblins to boil their witches' brew in a cauldron atop the Brocken on Walpurgisnacht. Moving onwards he came to a second cavern the walls of which were ornament with frescos revealing voluptuous nymphs in attitudes worthy of Michelangelo: they lounged in their half-naked splendor beneath the burning Etruscan sun. Hard by the girls were scenes of Grecian temples and Roman porticos, rivers and lakes below precipitous mountains.
Sovant descended a stone staircase. The walls were here adorned with the protruding heads of boars and stags. When he was halfway down the stairs he could behold the source of the pandemonium. A sea of people filled a vast underworld. A throng, in something of a controlled riot, surged to and fro under the influence of intoxicating spirits and highly amplified music. When they were thoroughly intoxicated, Sovant seemed to recall, the people in these parts were fond of beating their fists upon the tables and pounding their boots upon the stone floor, shouting at the top of their lungs even, at least until the tardy barmaids brought them more beer.
Just before Sovant reached the bottom of the staircase he was confronted by a face vomiting up a gusher of fluid. The face was also spewing curses as it hung suspended in mid-air, cut off from the body which was concealed by a cloud of cigarette smoke and misty fumes from a fire in a hearth. The face vanished almost as suddenly as it had appeared as the man moved on up the stairs. Most likely he was intent on nothing more than finding a hole to crawl into, but, nevertheless, Sovant in his confusion, thought this might be the man who had shot him. Sovant debated whether to follow or confront him. A few seconds elapsed before he decided to hold to his earlier intentions, which were, after he lost his phone, to warn his friends and colleagues in person that some extortionists had launched an offensive. The other bodyguards knew that gangsters had written threatening letters to their wealthy boss - pay up or else being the theme of these notes - but they were just as careless as he was in disregarding these threats, and they probably did not know some sort of war had begun in earnest.
Sovant was soon navigating his way through the surging underworld. He was plying a course past flames in a second hearth. He was pushing his way through hordes of people guzzling beer from huge masses of glass. Haakon arrived at last at a place with some peace and isolation, an alcove where he could put his back against the wall, where he could watch and listen and observe the crowd all round him.
Despite the fires in the hearths the cavern was cool enough for him to find it necessary to keep his coat on. He held his Smith & Wesson .357 in his right hand, with his right hand hidden in his coat pocket. The highly amplified music was hurting his ears a little and annoying him no end with their blaring. He seriously thought about firing a few shots from his .357 into the nearest speaker. That would give these people something new to talk about. His euphoria had certainly faded away completely.
Sovant was having a terrible time recognizing any friends of his, though people were smiling at him once in awhile, and some at least seemed to recognize him. Searching the faces of both the itinerants as well as the habitués of this beer-hall, though Sovant couldn't seem to tell one from the other, he saw so many strangers guzzling beer or gnawing on turkey legs or chickens or slabs of beef when they weren't pouring beer down their throats. At last Haakon recognized some local fisher-folk, or perhaps he only recognized their woolen garments bespattered with fish-guts. There were also a few farmers with manure still clinging to their boots, and some loggers with sawdust in their clothes and hair. The establishment didn't cater exclusively to the working classes. Mingled among the farmers and mechanics were artistic paupers: starving poets and hungry musicians. Every now and then the barmaids brought drinks to rich Canadians, wealthy Japanese tourists, elegant Chinese businessmen etc., etc. If one had been hit with a poisoned bullet one's inflamed imagination one might think the place was full of beautiful women and peasant wenches, along with rustic louts and perhaps some brigands and barbarians with leonine manes; elegant women in cashmere and taffeta, glamour girls and rich sophisticated youths. Usually there were more proletarians than bourgeoisie in the beer-hall, more wide-bellied truck drivers than delicate gentlemen with soulful eyes and wan, emaciated complexions. Tonight the working-class proliferated in numbers far surpassing the delicate aristocrats.
A blonde serving girl handed Sovant a beer as he was about to decamp from his position against the wall. She gave him a startled look as she scrutinized at his vacant gaze. Sovant was angry with himself because he could not remember her name, though he seemed to recall that he had conversed with her often enough.
`Sorry for forgetting your name,' said Haakon. `An assassin tried to kill me - I got a slug in my gut - no lie - and now I can't even remember my own name, or yours.'
`It's Haakon Sovant. And I'm Kim. I'll call an ambulance for you,' said the bar-maid after a long pause to assess if he was drunk or sober.
`No, don't bother. I have my own doc and I'll see him soon enough.'
Sovant opened up his coat and showed her all the blood on his sweater to prove to Kim he wasn't joking, to prove to her that he had a good excuse for forgetting her name.
`You're not going to die are you?' asked Kim.
`I'll need to get to a hospital tonight but I have to find some people first.'
Sovant drifted past an enormous beast that was rearing up on its hind legs. Along with waitresses in mini-skirts and décolleté the fangs and claws on the 10-foot tall grizzly were only more ways that the establishment's décor sought to create some enchantment for the customers. Sovant continued on until, at last, he located one of his friends. The man was facing away from Sovant but he was easy enough to recognize. A big crowd of people suddenly rushed in and prevented Haakon from approaching his friend. He was hiding his bloody wound from these people while listening to their conversation.
Haakon Sovant maneuvered through the crowd until he found his old friend, who he slapped on the back - Sovant couldn't remember his name. The man and his drinking mates could hardly miss the blood which had coagulated on the front of Sovant's sweater. Sovant thought about improvising a tale about being ventilated by a careless hunter. Poachers were always blasting animals hereabouts out of season. But then he confessed that a gangster had got him. Sovant was listening to these fine people, listening to their words of kind concern. He insisted they were over-reacting, that you had to be tough to be to wage war against gangland terror. Sovant was insisting that they were acting like pampered suburban people, acting is if they never had the exhilarating experience of fighting in hand-to-hand combat before, and probably had never even seen a man covered with blood from a bullet wound before. Sovant was saying all this while smiling and trying to make a joke about all the blood that he was covered in.
Sovant was trying to be funny but no one was laughing. Turning round to jest with
more of these solicitous people, he found a striking brunette staring at him. She was another bar-maid with a name that Sovant couldn't remember. As with Kim, he suspected he had spoken to her at least a thousand times. But there was something about her face that was alien to him. Maybe, he wondered, he had never actually seen her before. He thought she was very striking and beautiful. He didn't wonder how he forgot such an arresting face, assuming he had seen her face before, as there was always the poisoned bullet to explain everything that was wrong with his mind and memory. Sovant could hardly help but notice that she was staring at him intently. Now Sovant was certain he was not sure if he had seen her before or not. He knew for a fact he had no chance at guessing her name. Her eyes had locked on to his for a few seconds and Haakon didn't mind that too much. Haakon then watched her as she started to tug at his arm. She was pulling him toward the stairs. Sovant was listening intently to the woman - she had a rather soft voice that was hard to hear - listening intently as the beautiful stranger was telling the people all round them that she would get him to a hospital with or without an argument from him.
`Get him out of here, Maria,' Haakon heard someone say.
`Get him out of here, Maria,' said Haakon in a mocking tone.
`Darling, don't antagonize my boss,' said Maria.
`Her name is Maria and she calls me darling,' thought Haakon to himself.
`I thought he was too sharp with you,' said Haakon.
`Yeah, but he is my boss and you and me and him are all friends so I really wish you won't mock him. It's almost seems like you don't know who he is.'
Maria saw clearly enough that her husband was suffering from some sort of drug. His eyeballs were glassy, the pupils hugely dilated, and they lingered for seconds on every new object that they met. Anyone could see he needed a doctor's care, with his crazy eyes, and with all the coagulated blood on the front of his sweater. Sovant didn't appear to Maria to be weakened from loss of blood. He wasn't sluggish; he didn't look about to slump over and die. He wasn't rocking back and forth. He was still so strong that Maria found it practically impossible to budge him. Sovant had half a mind to stay a little longer to make sure that a man - whose name he also couldn't remember - but one of his comrades-in-arms - was warned that a sniper was on the loose. But, on the other hand, the beautiful brunette was trying so sweetly to drag him out of the beer-hall to get him some medical attention. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he ought to get patched up; someone else could warn his associates. For some reason Sovant remembered that he had associates, friends of some sort, but he certainly didn't remember they were other bodyguards employed by Von Hellemann.
Still tugging on Sovant's arm, Maria led the way to the stairs. Not that Sovant remembered, but in public they usually tried to pretend they weren't married - as Maria was another soldier in the rich man's clandestine army. With her right hand on her Glock 9mm in her coat pocket, with her left hand pulling on Sovant's arm, Maria proceeded up the staircase and then down the corridor toward the portals. At one point she stopped at a pay phone to talk to a colleague of theirs. Evidently she too had lost her cell phone.
`Gaston,' Maria began, `Haakon has been shot…It doesn't seem like he is in any danger of dying….OK…OK….Right… Talk to you later.'
Gaston, another bodyguard, thought it was best to avoid the local hospital, as an assassin might be waiting there to finish the job. A doctor would be sent round to their apartment. Maria rang off and then she and Haakon exchanged the pandemonium of the amplified music for the tranquility of the deserted streets.
They struck out down the main avenue leading north. Then, making sure they weren't being followed, they darted down an alley and then across someone's back yard. That seemed wise at the time but now a dog barred its fangs at them. It didn't lunge but its barking soon alerted other hounds. And in another minute the call of the wild was universal, with the din of howling dogs echoing over the little city.
After another five minutes of hiking they halted and took refuge behind a garage. They watched and listened and remained perfectly still while concealed in the shadows.
`I remember your face vaguely, at least somewhat, but I can't remember your name,' said Haakon.
Maria searched her husband's face.
`Are you serious?' she asked.
`To be perfectly honest I don't even remember your face,' said Haakon.
`You don't know who I am?' asked Maria.
`I was shot by someone. Then I had the most horrible convulsions. And the hallucinations! I was seeing these crazy horrible images while I was convulsing on the snow for more than three hours. I got hit by a poisoned bullet. I couldn't remember my own name, or Kim's name, until Kim reminded me.'
`I'm your wife. I'm Maria!'
Haakon stared at the woman.
`Like I said that was a terrible ordeal that I just had.'
`I bet.'
`So fill me in a little. Tell me about us.'
`You and me were married in Mexico 20 years ago. We used to work for the CIA. Now we're body guards for an industrialist named Wolfgang Von Hellemann. Do you remember someone named Sergio?'
`No.'
`What about Pamela?'
`No.'
`You and her were close. You and her always had a lot to talk about.'
`Is that right?
`She was in the CIA with us. You worked with me, her, with Sergio too - Sergio is Pamela's husband. We worked in South America: Columbia, Brazil, Argentina. There was also Mexico.
`Who's Sergio again?
`Sergio Molina is Pamela's husband. I can't believe this! You don't remember any of this?'
`No.'
`Amazing. Sergio writes scholarly articles for academic presses that no one reads. He works fulltime along with us as a bodyguard. Pamela and Sergio are our best friends. Don't you remember Amanda? Al? Johann? Gaston?'
`I remember Spain. And I remember Michigan State.'
`East Lansing! That's where we first met. We were undergraduates there at the same time.'
`I don't know you.'
`Your memory will come back. Just give it some time.'
`Where am I from?'
`Michigan. Grand Rapids. Your real name is not Haakon Sovant. It's…'
`Don't tell me,' interrupted Sovant. `Let me see if I can remember it.'
`Everyone knows you as Haakon. You're wanted under your real name in several countries for espionage and conspiracy, so you just stick with the alias nowadays. Even your parents call you by your alias.'
`Do we have any kids?'
`No,' said Maria.
`No kids, and we've been married for 20 years, that seems strange,'
`A lot of things are strange,' said Maria.
Maria was starting to think that Haakon was losing the vacant stare on his face; and perhaps his dilated pupils and glassy-eyes were getting a little less dilated and glassy than they were when she first saw them in the beer-hall. Maria thought it best to make sure he wasn't still bleeding. She lifted his sweater and had a look at his wound.
`We love each other?' asked Haakon.
`Of course.'
`I believe that,' said Haakon rather awkwardly, but not without sentiment and honest emotion. `So we must have a good marriage then, right?'
`Yeah, sure.'
`How's our money situation?
`We're doing ok.'
`Any creditors after us for cash?' asked Haakon. `I'm not a deadbeat am I?'
`No.'
`I'm not an alcoholic, am I? I don't beat you, right? Or for that matter, you don't beat me do you?
`Everything's fine.'
`What's my mother-in-law like?'
`You like her.'
`You'd have to admit it would be very unusual, and rather suspicious sounding, if everything was absolutely perfect between us,' said Haakon.
`We're doing all right except that you are terribly bored with your job. You really hate it. All
you do is sit around, or walk in the woods all day or all night by yourself. You watch for trespassers, for goons and extortionists. You walk all over and up and down Von Helleman's property. You remember that he get's extortion letters from mobsters, right? Until tonight we were not really sure if these letters were even serious.'
`I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes.'
`What do you mean?' asked Maria.
`There are these wonderful North Woods. I have a beautiful wife. You say we both want to have kids. I don't see why I would let a dull job interfere with my wonderful situation here.'
`You're making a million times more sense after you got shot than before. Come on. Let's go home.'
Having whispered in the shadows for a few minutes, and still finding that they hadn't been followed, they struck out again, making a quick dash over a garden, then across a street, then across a public park, then down a back alley until they arrived at their apartment.