A narrator, watching an angler, hopes that a trout will not get caught. However, when the writhing fish is lifted from the water, he is sent into an impotent rage.
Did the poet mean to show how human beings encroach upon and disturb the natural world? Or was he suggesting that freedom is so treasured by human beings that even a landed fish can find sympathy in a poet’s heart?
After an agitated final verse, the burbling theme reappeared in the piano accompaniment and the music progressed to a tranquil pianissimo ending.
Liebermann looked up and saw that Rheinhardt was pleased with his performance. However, when the inspector noticed Liebermann’s troubled expression, he said, “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Not at all… Your voice was relaxed, expressive, and beautifully resonant.”
“Then why do you look so perplexed?”
Liebermann lifted his hands off the keyboard but allowed the final chord to continue indefinitely by keeping his foot on the pedal.
“What’s it about?” Liebermann asked.
“Die Forelle?”
“Yes.”
“A man-watching an angler-watching a fish,” said Rheinhardt flatly.
“With respect, Oskar, that isn’t a terribly penetrating analysis.”
“It’s what the poet describes,” said Rheinhardt. “It’s what the words say.”
The young doctor considered his friend’s riposte, and conceded, “Yes, I suppose so.” He released the pedal, terminating the gentle hum of the fading chord. “Sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be, and nothing else.”
“A difficult concept for a psychiatrist to grasp, admittedly,” said Rheinhardt.
They retired to the smoking room, lit some cigars, sipped brandy, and stared into the fire. In due course Liebermann broke the silence. “I suspect that your choice of Die Forelle represents a form of wish fulfillment.”
Rheinhardt roused himself, cleared his throat, and replied, “I chose it because I wanted us to end our music-making with something cheerful.”
“Yes, but a song about a man catching a fish? Come now, Oskar, the parallels are blindingly obvious! The very idea of catching has positive connotations for you, a detective inspector. Your raison d’etre is to catch criminals. That is why you find Die Forelle so uplifting. It fulfills-at least symbolically-one of your deepest wishes. When the trout is caught, instead of raging with the poet, you experience nothing but satisfaction. You were beaming with pleasure when the song came to an end.”
“I thought we’d agreed that sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be, and nothing else.”
Liebermann shrugged. “You have certainly been fishing this week, and I must suppose from your good humor that you are pleased with your catch.”
“All right,” said Rheinhardt. “You’ve made your point! I would be most grateful if we could now continue this conversation without any further reference to fish.”
“Of course,” said Liebermann. “Perhaps we should begin with the autopsy?”
Rheinhardt nodded, poured himself another brandy, and said, “Decapitation was achieved through clockwise cranial rotation.” He traced a circle in the air with his finger. “Professor Mathias said that the last time he’d seen anything like it was when he was in the army doing his national service. An infantryman stumbled across a bear and her cubs. She attacked him and ripped his head off.” Rheinhardt swirled his brandy. “The monk had no other injuries. Except some superficial damage to the facial skin, some small cuts and grazes, which could have been caused when the head was rolled away from the body. However, Professor Mathias did find a laceration about here…”
Rheinhardt tapped his crown.
“Caused by a blunt weapon, no doubt,” Liebermann interrupted, “which is why there was no evidence of a struggle. The monk was unconscious when they set about removing his head. Did Professor Mathias express an opinion regarding the handedness of the perpetrator, based on the direction of cranial rotation?”
“No. He wasn’t prepared to say anything conclusive. Given that the phenomenon of manual decapitation is so rare, he advised caution in this respect.”
“That is reasonable.”
“I went back to the Maria Treue Kirche on Wednesday,” Rheinhardt continued, “to question the abbot. He spoke very highly of Brother Stanislav and was completely mystified by the monk’s murder. So much so that he was inclined to blame the devil.”
“Ha!” Liebermann scoffed.
“I waited outside the school and talked to some of the parents as they arrived to collect their children. Some had brought wreaths-costly for people of their class, and yet it was like a flower market! They described a kind, compassionate man, a teacher with a gentle manner, particularly evident in his dealings with the younger boys and girls. Brother Stanislav’s good works were not confined to the classroom. He made it his business to help the most disadvantaged families and frequently arranged alms and housing. He was, as far as they were concerned, nothing less than a saint.”
“Then you have discounted my suggestion that he might have been murdered by former pupils seeking vengeance.”
“It isn’t a conjecture that I currently favor, given what has since come to light.” Rheinhardt paused to light a cigar. “I returned to the church the following day and overheard two monks saying disparaging things about Brother Stansilav. One of them ran off. The other, a Brother Lupercus, was willing to talk a little, although he was eager not to be seen talking to me. He urged me to read some articles written by Brother Stanislav for Das Vaterland, a conservative Catholic newspaper.”
“Not a publication I can claim to be overly familiar with.”
“Nor I,” said Rheinhardt, smiling. “Haussmann dug some back issues out of the library, and we were able to find two articles by Brother Stanislav. They were supposed to be about education, but in fact, they were more like political tracts. Some heinous sentiments were expressed with respect to Jews.”
“Clerics are always saying such things.”
“They can be outspoken, I agree, but it is not customary for them to express their prejudices in such colorful language. He likened the diaspora after the pogroms to the spread of vermin, a plague.”
Liebermann turned to face his friend. “You think there is a connection here, with the column?”
“There could be.”
The young doctor considered this possibility for a moment before gesturing for Rheinhardt to continue.
“We learned that Brother Stanislav had become associated with a conservative political group, an odd amalgam of anti-Semites. A few months ago they held an unofficial rally in the old ghetto area of Leopoldstadt. Brother Stanislav gave an inflammatory speech, and there was some fighting. By the time the constables arrived, the crowd had dispersed, but later the body of a young man was found on the Prater. Chaim Robak, an orthodox Jew. He had been beaten and stabbed.”
“The agitators killed him?”
“We don’t know that for certain, but it’s very likely. Thus, one could argue that Brother Stanislav was responsible for the young man’s death.”
“Have you spoken to Robak’s family?”
“I see that you are already considering revenge as a motive. Yes, I have spoken to them. Robak senior is in his late sixties and walks with a stick. He married a much younger woman and they have three daughters, all under twenty and still living at home. None of them could have killed Stanislav. They are physically incapable of performing such a violent act.”
Liebermann inhaled the sweet, fruity fragrance of his brandy.
“I wonder why Brother Lupercus told you about the Vaterland articles.”
“Even monks are prey to the usual human frailties-rivalry, envy, spite. He was probably resentful of Brother Stanislav’s saintly reputation. Or perhaps Brother Stanislav was always getting preferential treatment from the abbot. Who knows?”
“Do you think the abbot knew about Brother Stanislav’s political activities?”
“Perhaps. The sad truth-as I’m sure you’re only too well aware-is that, for most devout Christians, Jews are-
