The Traveller

The Traveller

No one knew where he came from and no one had thought to ask.
Innesville was not that sort of town, as a rule. Innesville people were
usually curious, and downright nosey. Every stranger was the subject of
speculation and gossip. How strange, therefore, that he should have
escaped it. But the traveller behaved in such a way as to minimise any
social contact. He booked into the small hotel on Friday 11th August,
and had been allocated a room on the second floor, near to the lift.
When asked his name by the hotel receptionist, he gave it as being Dr T
Conroy. The bellboy offered to take his suitcase to the room, but the
doctor had insisted that he would manage it. Dr Conroy was adamant, and
so the bellboy lost his chance for a tip.
I first became aware of the traveller when I attempted to gain access
to his room, believing it to be my own room, which was next door to
his. He opened the door slowly. "Yes", he said curtly. "Vot do you mean
by this intrusion", he said, in a heavily accented German accent. "I'm
sorry, it was my mistake", I agreed. "Please, don't disturb me again",
he said. "I'm vorking". I turned away, as the doctor closed the door,
impatiently. The doctor had aroused my interest by his reaction. But I
wasn't going to waste a good day on my suspicions. I returned to my
room, and fetched my sunglasses, after which I left the hotel and drove
around for a while, meaning to stop off at a restaurant. However, I was
diverted when I noticed the doctor's car parked on the corner of
Wiltshire Boulevard. The brakes screeched as I brought my vehicle to an
impromptu stop and got out. The coast was clear, so I proceeded to
cross the road, to where the doctor's old Buick was parked. He had
omitted to turn the car's headlights off. Being something of a fan of
veteran cars, I couldn't resist peering through the Buick's window. The
plush interior looked almost new. On this front passenger seat, he had
a volume entitled 'Genetic Engineering' and next to it, a history book
on the 'Rise and Fall of the Third Reich'. I wondered what Conroy's
doctorate had been in.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around quickly,
rehearsing my excuses. The doctor was shaking his fist, and his face
was red with rage. "You again", he observed. "Um, let me explain. My
name is Michael Rosen. As you know I'm staying in the room next to
yours at the hotel. When I saw your car, I thought that this might be
an opportunity to get to know you". The doctor half smiled. "Your name
is Rosen. Are you a Jew?" "Yes, I am, are you?" I countered. "Not
exactly", he said. There was an uneasy tension. "I have not desire to
get to know you. Go away, or else I shall call the police". "Relax, old
man", I replied. "I'm going".
A week passed, and I never so much as saw the doctor once. And then
one evening, I heard chanting coming from my neighbour's room. The
walls were not very solid, and the sound carried through the corridor.
A little old lady from a room down the passage knocked on Dr Conroy's
room. "Keep it down will you! Some of us are trying to catch some
sleep". The chanting abated, but I could still hear the hushed whispers
of Dr Conroy, addressing another person. "You will be rewarded," said
the man. "Throughout the fatherland, your name will be revered". "Thank
you," said the doctor. Conroy left the hotel shortly after, taking with
him the other man. I watched them leave through my window. Although it
was dark there was sufficient light to discern that the doctor's
companion looked vaguely familiar. I couldn't see his face clearly, but
something was nagging me, and I knew that his clean-shaven, short hair
was something of a clue. Conroy drove off in an ebullient mood, and
that seemed out of character too.
I opened my door and wandered into the corridor, intending to buy a
newspaper from hotel reception. I was intrigued to find that the doctor
had left his door ajar. I couldn't resist the temptation of peeking
into my neighbour's room. He had left the lights on. My first
impression was that there was nothing much out of the ordinary about
the doctor's room. It contained a pine bed, a formica wardrobe, and a
sturdy old dressing table. In the back of the room, near the window, I
could see a small formica desk, on which lay a computer. As I glanced
at the VDU screen, I was puzzled to find a programme, code named
'Revive'.
As I searched through the programme, and came across references to
'Genetic Engineering', 'the Tibetan Book of the Dead', 'Witchcraft and
Voodoo spells' and 'Adolph Hitler'. I tried to find a thread that
connected all these subjects. As I was working on this problem, I heard
voices in the corridor. It was the doctor and a companion. I ducked
under the bed and carefully concealed myself as Conroy entered the
room. "Someone's been here," said Conroy. "Fool," said the other man.
"You left the door open, and risk everything. Look, how the intruder
has been scanning through your computer," he bawled. There then
followed a heated conversation in German, in which the doctor was
lambasted.
I could see that Conroy's companion was wearing a pair of jackboots.
This alarmed me as I formed the impression that whoever was wearing the
boots might be a Nazi, and the same, presumably, might be true of the
doctor too. When they had left the room, and were well out of sight, I
crawled out from under the bed and let myself out of Conroy's room. I
sauntered into the hotel lobby to have a think. Whilst I was there, I
got talking to one of the hotel's other guests, a retired grocer from
Idaho, called Pete West. "That guy's a bum", he said authoritatively.
"Who are we talking about?" I asked. "That quack, Conroy", he replied.
" I don't know what he's into, but I'm picking up bad vibrations". "He
is kind of aloof", I suggested, without disclosing what I knew thus
far. "You know I tried talking to him at breakfast", said West. "But he
snubbed me". "Not the friendliest guy," I said sarcastically.
"Friendly, my eye. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd hiding something
nasty", he speculated. I resolved that I would find out for myself,
what really went on.
I jumped onto my Harley. It roared into action and soon I was hitting
town. There was a very light amount of traffic on the highway. A couple
of delivery vans made itinerant stops throughout Innesville. A group of
youngsters were engaged in a game of baseball. A dog was running
through town with a bone in its mouth, wagging its tail furiously. But
I could find no trace of the doctor, until I left the main street and
drove into New Mexico. The south west winds blew tiny grains of sandy
white gypsum onto the dunes. As I absorbed the splendour of the White
Sands National Monument, I had no real idea what I was likely to find
when I caught up with Conroy, but my inquisitive nature would not allow
me to leave the mystery unsolved. However, I realised that my fuel tank
was low, so I searched for a garage to refuel. As I pulled into the
garage, I caught sight of Conroy's Buick, which had overturned on a
patch of swampy wasteland five hundred yards from the garage site. I
quickly refuelled my motor bike before going to investigate the
deserted car.
Conroy and his companion had left no clues as to their whereabouts.
The car seemed undamaged, with the exception of a smashed headlight. I
was at the point of returning to the hotel when I spotted Conroy
walking in my direction. He seemed unaware of my presence and I took
refuge behind the trees. I watched him for five minutes as he took out
a map of Los Angeles and studied it.
Shortly, he was visited by the man I had seen wearing jackboots in the
hotel. Conroy addressed him as the 'Fuhrer'. It was at that moment I
recognised where I had seen Conroy's companion. I had seen him in film
footage of the Second World War. It was none other than the infamous
Adolph Hitler.
I couldn't believe my eyes, but I was able to understand the meaning
of Conroy's computer programme, 'Revive', I had seen back in the hotel.
Something incredible and frightening had transpired. The good doctor
had somehow managed to revive Adolph Hitler. I thought that I might
have gone insane. I couldn't accept what my own eyes showed me, and yet
I felt a tribal instinct rise in my blood. It was incumbent on me to
avenge the deaths of countless millions, slaughtered by a twentieth
century personification of evil. I owed it to my uncle whose family had
perished at Auschwitz. But how could I exorcise this ghost? If it were
true that the doctor had called on the devil, then I, for my part,
would call on God. And God would send his angel of death.
I impulsively emerged from behind the foliage, and confronted the man
I took to be Hitler. "Scum," I shouted. "Now, you die". He shouted at
Conroy who took out a .52 calibre shotgun. "Jew", he ranted. "How
unfortunate you will miss the rebirth of the Nazis". "You will never
get away with this," I screamed. "Ah, but Mr Rosen, you are wrong,"
said Conroy. "There are over one million American citizens who will
support us. There are twice as many supporters in Europe," he added
proudly. "The Mossad will wipe you out", I insisted. "No, ve have many
powerful friends," said Conroy.
The rejuvenated dictator snatched my arm, intending to disable me.
However, I remembered my Shen Chi Do training, and was able to kick
Hitler to the ground. There was a crack of thunder as Conroy clicked
his weapon and pointed it at my temple. I jumped to the side and landed
on Hitler's chest, grabbing hold of his neck as I fell. As we wrestled,
Conroy's bullet grazed my shoulder and then penetrated the Fuhrer's
heart. Conroy cried out in shock as he realised that his dream of a
Fourth Reich was over. As Hitler bled to death, I sprinted across the
highway in the pouring rain, meeting a police patrol car on the way. I
head another crack of thunder and gasped in amazement as Conroy
collapsed to the ground. He had been struck by a rush of
lightening.