Blind Date WithA Wood Frog?

a novelette

by

Niko Zinovii

Santa Monica, California

chalkos

Blind Date With A Wood Frog?Copyright © 2010, 2012 by Niko Zinovii

Though some characters, incidents, and dialogues are based onhistorical record, this story is a work of fiction, the product of theauthor’s imagination. All places referenced are either fictitious or

actual but used fictitiously.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may bereproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, orby any information storage and retrieval system, without

receiving written permission from the author and publisher,except in the case of a reviewer using brief quotations embodied

in a critical article or a review.

Published by: Zinovii Art StudioSanta Monica, Californiawww.zinoviiartstudio.com

ISBN: 978-0-9852230-4-5 (trade paperback)ISBN: 978-0-9852230-5-2 (eBook: ePub)ISBN: 978-0-9852230-6-9 (eBook: mobi)ISBN: 978-0-9852230-7-6 (eBook: pdf )

LCCN: 2012912025

Cover art by: Leonardo Ariel Ariza Ardilawww.reyrojo.com

Cover art Copyright © 2012 by Niko ZinoviiCover concept & design by: Niko Zinovii

Frog chapter symbol Copyright © 2012 by Niko ZinoviiMap illustration by: Leonardo Ariel Ariza Ardila

Map illustrations Copyright © 2012 by Niko Zinovii

First Edition, 2012Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To those who look deeper

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Contents

Opening Quote

Map

1. An Arranged Accidental Meeting

2. Dinner

3. The Goodnight Kiss

4. Telling Father About Her Date

5. Which Outfit to Wear?

6. The Greatest Picnic of All Time

7. To Meet the Parents

8. Honeymoon at the Wolf ’s Den

9. Reasons Why It Didn’t Work Out

Acknowledgements

A Note from the Author

“My life shall not end in the mere form of death. It will, onthe contrary, begin then.”—Adolf Hitler, 1945

T he near future

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1. An Arranged Accidental MeetingBonn, Germany

Geli, young and blonde, straightened her elegant gown asshe nervously stepped into the banquet hall. The soothing

classical music slowly put her more at ease, even though shefound herself at once overpowered by the surroundingsplendor of 19th century romantic landscapes, pastoral scenes,and erotic nudes.

As she walked, Geli only half listened to the womanspeaking over the microphone: “… represents only a fractionof the 6,755 paintings and 6,037 books which were foundhidden in the salt mine at Alt-Aussee, Adolf Hitler’s largestcache yet recovered. Rumors still persist regarding Hitlerhaving truckloads of gold bars driven out to the salt mines atboth Alt-Aussee and Berchtesgaden. Seekers of these hiddentreasure troves, however, have met only disappointment,unable to prove these stories true.”

The crowd suddenly opened before Geli, revealing a hugecanvas, a disturbing painting of piles of greenish-yellow humancorpses. She stopped, stunned.

“Plague in Florence,” came a rich, vibrant voice from behindher, “by Hans Makart.”

Geli turned to find the man she had come here secretlyhoping to meet. He was an incredibly thin man of mediumheight, in his late 50s, dressed in an expensive suit of whitesilk. His long, dark hair was tied in a tight ponytail, and hisface looked unnatural, perhaps the product of recent plasticsurgery. His lashless eyes were an extraordinary light blue,

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compelling, startling, unforgettable, completely dominatinghis countenance.

Clapping twice with vigor, he moved up to the canvas,exulted, entranced. “Rembrandt himself couldn’t have paintedit better. I must have it. Or I’ll make an end of it all in threeminutes.”

“But, it’s so… macabre,” Geli found herself commentingaloud.

“Art demands fanaticism,” the man snapped back. Calmingalmost instantly, he continued emphatically, “Forgive me. I’man artist, you know. Plagues, wars, they come and go. But whatremains, what remains are the values bestowed on us byculture; hence my love for art. Music, architecture. Surely thetrinity that points the way for the future of humanity.”

Geli just stared at him. He was so utterly different than shehad imagined, so oddly captivating.

“Forgive me for my lack of manners,” he apologized,introducing himself, “Frederick Wagner.”

“Geli. Geli Kipp,” she responded.Jolted by her name, he whispered it aloud, “Geli.” “Yes, Geli,” she repeated.Wagner’s eyes dropped to her bandaged left wrist and

hand. “Oh,” she explained, “I cut myself.”“Accidentally?” he asked. She nodded, hesitantly, feeling the discomfort of her lie.Wagner’s strangely penetrating eyes considered her.

“Geli,” he smiled, “You’ve suddenly become very interesting.Would you please walk with me?”

Why she did so without question she could not answer.Was it because of her assignment? Or perhaps it was thosecompelling eyes of his, or his authoritative bearing, or his oddmagnetic charisma. Regardless, she walked alongside him ashe next admired paintings of wild stallions.

“Often,” spoke Wagner, “when one’s nerves break down,one sometimes feels that there is nothing to do but say, ‘I can’tgo on.’ Don’t you agree?”

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Unsure how to respond, Geli refrained from answering,something he took no exception to.

“I once heard of a very attractive woman,” he went on,“who was abandoned by her husband for another woman. Shefelt that she couldn’t go on living without him, in spite of herchildren. So, she went off, wrote a letter of farewell, and thenshot herself. Bang! Just like that. That’s what a woman can do.The strength women have. ”

Wagner’s critical eye caught a nearby gallery of modern art.“Anyone who sees and paints a sky green and pastures blueought to be sterilized.” He glanced about at the peopleexamining the contemporary canvases. “Filthy necks. Beards.”

Geli, for the first time, noticed the young neo-Naziskinheads dispersed throughout the crowd, watchfullymirroring Wagner’s movements. They were clean-shaven,standing tall, shoulders thrust back, dressed in the finest Italiansuits. Wagner’s watchdogs no doubt, she recognized, stillamazed at how much this once-unkempt fringe group hadchanged over these past few months. United, organized,disciplined, they now resembled a civilian, non-uniformedarmy; young men under authority, their hate and misguidedenergies being purposefully directed.

Wagner couldn’t help but overhear a conversation as he ledGeli through a group of women gathered before them. Onewoman was saying: “—expanded the consciousness of allmankind. What was it that Albert Einstein said about Gandhi?I memorized it once. Ah, ‘Generations to come will scarcebelieve that such a one as this, ever in flesh and blood, walkedupon this Earth.’”

“Unfortunate that he walked for as long as he did,” Wagnerinjected, with a compelling earnestness so piercing that it wasmore disturbing than the comment itself. “They should haveshot the little brown man right at the beginning. And if thatdidn’t bring an end to things, they should have shot a dozenleading members of Congress. And then a hundred more ifnecessary, and so on, until order was established.”

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Wagner looked at the startled faces staring at him;psychologically, he suddenly appeared to be on the battlefield,alone and surrounded by the enemy.

Taking Geli by the arm, he abruptly pulled her away. Walking off, he thrust out his right hand. “Look at my

hand,” he moaned. “Trembling. Wait, there, see, it’s lessened,I can hold it almost completely still now.”

“Yes,” Geli said softly, bewildered. “Very still.”“There.” Wagner stopped and pointed out a lone woman

on the far side of the room. “A quiet woman. That’s what Ienjoy. When you don’t have to hear a woman telling you whatshe thinks. I’d much rather tell her what to think. I have enoughideas for both. That’s why I read, to confirm my ideas.”

Two old men shuffled by them, talking, one saying: “Alt-Aussee. Hiding everything, stashing it away. Like he wasgoing to take it all with him. Greedy bastard. Just like whenhe killed himself, taking his wife with him. And having hisremains cremated to keep his body from others. As if anybodywanted it.”

The second man added, “Afraid they’d do to him what theydid to that buffoon Mussolini and his whore. Shot, hungupside-down in the public square, spat on, cursed at. So he shothimself. Took the coward’s way out.”

Wagner, disturbed, glanced at a distant clock. “It’s gettinglate. We never have enough time, do we? Miss Kipp, wouldyou join me for dinner? I realize we’ve only just met, but I canassure you, I’m absolutely harmless. Please, I enjoy talking toyou. Did you come alone?”

“Yes,” Geli forced herself to respond. “Yes to bothquestions.”

Wagner waved to several young skinheads standing on theother side of the room, ordering them to bring his car around.

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2. The Dinner

Wagner absentmindedly whistled, softly, “Who’s Afraid ofthe Big Bad Wolf?,” as he seated himself across the table

from Geli. Taking the menu offered by the waiter, he losthimself in it, as if forgetting that he was entertaining anattractive young lady.

Finally, he glanced up, by chance, and noticed Geli, sittingquietly. Only then was he drawn back into this world,becoming aware of his momentary absence and of hiswhistling, which he abruptly discontinued.

“I don’t need to be afraid of wolves.” Wagner stumbled,breaking the odd silence. “I am the wolf.”

His eyes flickered with an indescribable brightness as hefocused on her. “Your accent, you were born and raisedoverseas? In the States?”

“Yes. Florida.”“Florida,” Wagner responded, “the Sunshine State.

Protestant?”Seeing that Geli was puzzled, he explained. “The eastern

states, they’re mostly Protestant.” “True, but no, I’m Catholic. And you? Catholic?”“Born, but not practicing,” he sighed. “But that was a

lifetime ago. In fact, it sometimes seems as if it were all a dream.My past. Like smoke. Geli, it’s been said that one truly doesn’tknow another until one learns his or her dreams. What do youdream of?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Geli answered evasively, “Food right now,I guess. I’m starving. I was thinking about the kalbsschnitzel.”

Wagner’s smile disappeared, and his eyes changed theirexpression entirely.

“What is it?” asked Geli. “Is something wrong?”“No, nothing,” rumbled Wagner. “Go ahead, have the veal.

It’s just that, I didn’t think you wanted to devour a corpse. Theflesh of a dead animal. A cadaver. Perhaps you should considerthe smoked eel; I hear it’s very good. Fattened with dead cats.Or maybe I should have blood sausages made for you from myexcess blood. A special culinary treat. Why not? You like meatso much!

“Look there,” Wagner continued, pointing to a nearbydining party being served suckling pig. “That looks exactly likea roasted baby to me, perhaps you’d prefer that instead!”

Geli gripped the arms of her chair. I have to be careful, shethought; I need to make this date work out, otherwise mymission ends here.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, measured. “I didn’t mean tooffend you. Perhaps you can help me order something moreappropriate. Less offensive.”

Nothing from Wagner, only a piercing stare.“You’re a vegetarian?” she asked.“Since early youth.”“That’s very interesting. What made you choose to become

a vegetarian?”Wagner’s anger had not abated. “Elephants,” he explained,

“they outlive tigers. Horses, they outrun dogs that pant anddrool. Caesar’s soldiers wouldn’t dare eat meat. That’s whythey had such magnificent teeth.”

“Well,” responded Geli, “then that settles it.”Wagner did not understand.“I’ll have a Caesar salad,” she explained, forcing a smile.Wagner transformed instantly, utterly amused. “A Caesar

salad,” he laughed with a sort of barking gurgle. “You have awonderful sense of humor, Geli. You must get it from yourmother.”

Geli tightened. “That—that’s a strange thing to say.”

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“I don’t understand?” “No, I’m sorry. Again,” stammered Geli, her discomfort

increasing. “It’s just that, my mother, she passed awayrecently.”

Wagner’s eyes swelled with genuine and deep sympathy.“I’m terribly sorry. I had no idea. You were close?”

“Yes. We were.”“I can tell. Please, tell me about her. What was she like?”Geli found his strangely compelling eyes searching her

through and through. “What eyes you have,” she couldn’t helpbut comment.

“Please,” he insisted. “I really want to know. Please, really.Tell me.”

Geli fought her reticence, understanding that if perhaps sheopened up a bit it might help her learn what she needed to findout. This was breaking a fast rule in her profession, she knew,but she considered it worth the chance.

“Well,” she started, “she was kind, caring. And yes, she hada good sense of humor.” Slowly, her guard dropped as shefound herself becoming lost in the moment, under the spell ofthis odd man’s hypnotic eyes.

Wagner leaned forward, listening with intense interest.“She, um,” continued Geli, “she was always there for me,

even when I didn’t want her to be. Like a mother should be.Even though I didn’t always realize it at the time. I rememberwaiting for her to come home from work, when I was young.I’d sit at the window, looking outside. Just waiting to see her.To make faces at her, to see her smile.

“Sometimes… Sometimes when I smell a certain smell,or hear a certain sound, like footsteps coming up thedriveway, it instantly brings her to my mind. And I feelwarm inside, safe. And then I think about calling her, talkingto her, just to hear her voice. But, that’s when I suddenlyrealize… I remember that she’s gone. Really gone. At night,when I’m alone, or when I’m frightened, I usually find myselfsitting on a windowsill, staring outside. Thinking back to

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what it was like to see her face. Her smile. To feel loved, safe.I really miss her.”

“Your relationship with your mother, it was very special,”Wagner offered, deeply touched.

Reaching into his breast pocket, he removed one of thethree pens that were there. The pens were red, green, and blue.With the blue pen, Wagner began drawing on a napkin.

“What are you doing?” Geli asked, coming back to reality.“Patience,” he whispered.After several moments, he finished and handed the napkin

to Geli. On it was a beautiful, single-line drawing of her lookingout a window.

“There, for you. A gift,” said Wagner. “To remember yourmother by. When you can’t find a window to sit by.”

Now Geli was touched. “Thank you.”“I told you I was an artist,” he smiled, pocketing his pen.Shaking her mind clear, Geli reminded herself of her

assignment. “Why the three pens?” she questioned.A smile curled up Wagner’s lips, and he answered slowly,

after deciding to open up, quid pro quo. “The red one,” he said,“I only use the red one when I write to someone I disapproveof. An enemy. Green, when I make notes to a friend. And blue,blue when I feel I should be… cautious.”

“And you used blue for the drawing,” Geli observed. “Doesthat mean you don’t trust me, Mr. Wagner?”

“Frederick, please.”“Does that mean you don’t trust me, Frederick?”“No,” Wagner stumbled, “I used blue because, well… I

could have used green, but then you’d look like one of thecorpses in Plague in Florence.”

Wagner chuckled in his distinctive barking gurgle, amused.“Oh.” Geli forced a smile.