his engagement with Clara Weiss—the daughter of one of Mendel's oldest and closest friends.
“Did he mention… ?”
“Clara? No.”
Leah offered Max a slice of
“I hear that she's met someone. A cavalry lieutenant.”
“Good. I hope they are happy together.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you met anyone special yet?”
Liebermann paused long enough for his sister to raise her eyebrows.
“Who?”
Liebermann smiled and shook his head. “No one… not really.”
Leah drew her head back and looked at him askance. It made her appear just like their mother.
Daniel's shrieking became louder. His head was thrown back, only the whites of his eyes were showing, and his cheeks were turning puce.
“That's enough,” Leah called. “Really!”
Hannah withdrew her hand and looked up guiltily. “We're only playing.”
“You're supposed to be reading!”
Liebermann stood up and walked across the room. He sat down next to Hannah and took Daniel, bouncing him a few times on his knee.
“He's getting so heavy!”
“I know,” said Leah, sighing wearily.
“What have you got there?” Liebermann asked Hannah.
“Daniel's klecksography book,” Hannah replied.
“Klecksography?”
Hannah opened the book and held it in front of Daniel. The child leaned forward, stretching his hand out toward a striking image—a large symmetrical pattern: as if ink had been spilled on a page, and then the page had been folded along a central vertical crease. It was accompanied by a fanciful verse about a troll, which Hannah read out in a theatrical contralto. The later pages were filled with similar images—symmetrical inkblots, all vaguely resembling the spread wings of a butterfly.
“Are the patterns supposed to represent the characters in the verses?” Liebermann asked.
“Yes,” said Hannah. “You look at the shapes… and try to see things. Trolls, fairies… it's like… like a game.”
“How very interesting,” said Liebermann. “What's it called?”
“Klecksography.”
“Leah?” Liebermann's expression became oddly serious. “Where did you get this book from?”
“Oh, I don't know, Max,” Leah replied. “But you can get klecksography books anywhere—they're very popular. Why?”
“It's an interesting concept, that's all.”
Leah looked at Daniel and shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder whether your uncle has spent too much time with mad people.”
13
AFTER LEAVING LEAH'S APARTMENT Liebermann traveled into town to collect a long-standing order from Schott's—Schumann's
On the streetcar home, Liebermann became engrossed in the prefatory notes. He discovered that Justinus Kerner, a physician and poet from Ludwigsburg, was also the author of a posthumous work,
Rheinhardt arrived shortly before eight o'clock, and the two friends began their music-making immediately. They performed Franz Lachner's
“Excellent, excellent,” he cried. “What a pleasant surprise!”
The
Rheinhardt clasped his hands in front of his chest and sang the poetry with tender grace:
k
Yet at this hour I realize
How nothing can part friend from friend.
on
The glass stands empty! The sacred sound
Still echoes in its crystal depths.
As Liebermann played the final cadence, he could see that the deeper meanings of the text had affected Rheinhardt. A detective inspector would appreciate, even more than a physician-poet, perhaps, how the dead—in some sense—are never truly departed. They always leave something of themselves behind.
When Liebermann and Rheinhardt retired to the smoking room, they took their customary places, lit cigars, and contemplated the fire.
“So,” said Liebermann, reaching for the brandy. “You are still preoccupied by the death of Thomas Zelenka.”
Rheinhardt continued to look at the flames.
“Yesterday I went to Saint Florian's and interviewed—with one exception—all of his masters.”
“Why one exception?”
“His mathematics master has had an accident. He fell down the stairs and injured his leg.”
“How unfortunate.”
Liebermann handed Rheinhardt a glass of brandy.
“When I went to see Zelenka's parents, they said he was a strong, healthy boy. Yet his gymnastics master
