Self's Punishment

statement in front of Nagelsbach?

Most of the time I was easy in myself, fatalistic, and enjoyed the last days of the year, including coffee and plum-with-flourybutter-crumble-cake at the younger Schmalzes’. I liked little Manuel. He tried valiantly to speak German, accepted my morning presence in the bathroom without jealousy, and hoped staunchly for snow. To begin with the three of us went on our expeditions together, visiting the fairytale park on Konigstuhl and the planetarium. Then he and I set out on our own. He liked going to the cinema as much as I did. When we came out of Witness we both had to fight back tears. In Splash he didn’t understand why the mermaid loved the guy although he was so mean to her – I didn’t tell him that’s always the way. In the Kleiner Rosengarten he figured out the game Giovanni and I played, and played along. There was no teaching him a sensible German sentence after that. On the way back from ice skating he took my hand and said, ‘You always with us when I come back?’

Brigitte and Juan had decided Manuel should go to high school in Mannheim, starting next autumn. Would I be in prison next autumn? And if not – would Brigitte and I stay together?

‘I don’t know yet, Manuel. But we’ll certainly go to the cinema together.’

The days passed without Korten hitting the headlines, either dead or missing. There were moments when I wished things would come to an end, no matter how. Then once again I was grateful for the time gained. On the 27th Philipp called. He complained he hadn’t caught a glimpse of my Christmas tree yet this year. ‘And where have you been these last few days?’

That’s when I got the idea about a party. ‘I have something to celebrate,’ I said. ‘Come round on New Year’s Eve, I’m having a party.’

‘Should I bring you round a squeezable little Taiwanese something?’

‘No need, Brigitte is back.’

‘A-ha, Come with the Wind! But may I bring a little something for me to the party?’

Brigitte had followed the phone call. ‘Party? What party?’

‘We’re celebrating New Year’s Eve with your friends and mine. Who would you like to invite?’

On Saturday afternoon I dropped by to see Judith. I caught her in the midst of packing. She was planning to travel to Locarno on Sunday. Tyberg wanted to introduce her to Tessin society in Ascona on New Year’s Eve. ‘It’s nice of you to come round, Gerd, but I’m in a terrible rush. Is it important, can’t it wait? I’ll be back at the end of January.’ She indicated the open suitcases, and the packed ones, two large moving cartons, and a wild confusion of clothes. I recognized the silk blouse that she’d worn when she’d shown me to Firner’s office. The button was still missing. ‘I can tell you the truth about Mischkey’s death now.’

She sat down on a suitcase and lit a cigarette. ‘Yes?’

She listened without interrupting. When I’d finished she asked: ‘And what happens to Korten now?’

It was the question I had dreaded. I had racked my brains over whether I should only go to Judith once Korten’s death was public knowledge. But I mustn’t make my actions dependent upon Korten’s murder, and without it there was no reason to hush up the solving of the case any longer. ‘I’ll try to put him on the spot. He’ll be back from Brittany at the beginning of January.’

‘Oh, Gerd, you can’t believe that Korten will break down in mid-sentence and confess?’

I didn’t answer. I was reluctant to enter into a discussion about what should happen to Korten.

Judith took another cigarette from the pack and rolled it between the fingertips of both hands. She looked sad, worn out by all the to-ing and fro-ing that had accompanied Peter’s murder, also aggravated, as if she wanted finally, finally, to put the whole thing behind her. ‘I’ll talk to Tyberg. You don’t mind, do you?’

That night I dreamed that Herzog was interrogating me. ‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’

‘What could the police have done?’

‘Oh, we have impressive possibilities these days. Come on, I’ll show you.’ Through long corridors, via many stairs, we came to a room that I recognized from castles of the Middle Ages, with pincers, irons, masks, chains, whips, straps, and needles. A hellfire was burning in the grate. Herzog pointed to the rack. ‘We’d have made Korten talk on that. Why didn’t you trust the police? Now you’ll have to go on it yourself.’ I didn’t struggle and was strapped to it. When I couldn’t move, panic surged through me. I must have cried out before I woke. Brigitte had switched on the bedside lamp and turned to me with concern.

‘Everything’s fine, Gerd. No one’s hurting you.’

I kicked myself free of the sheets that were stifling me. ‘My God, what a dream.’

‘Tell me, then you’ll feel better.’

I didn’t want to and she was hurt. ‘I keep noticing, Gerd, that something’s wrong with you. Sometimes you’re hardly there.’

I snuggled into her arms. ‘It’ll pass, Brigitte. It has nothing to do with you. Have patience with an old man.’

It was only on New Year’s Eve that Korten’s death was reported. A tragic accident at his holiday home in Brittany on the morning of Christmas Eve had caused him to fall from the cliffs into the sea while out walking. The information gathered by the press and radio for Korten’s seventieth birthday was now used for obituaries and eulogies. With Korten an epoch had ended, the epoch of the great men of Germany’s era of reconstruction. The funeral was to take place at the beginning of January, attended by the president, the chancellor, the economics minister, as well as the complete cabinet of Rhineland-Palatinate. Scarcely anything better could have happened for his son’s career. As his brother-in-law I’d be invited, but I wouldn’t go. Nor would I send condolences to his wife.

I didn’t envy him his glory. Nor did I forgive him. Murder means never having to say you forgive.

21 I’m sorry, Herr Self

Babs, Roschen, and Georg arrived at seven. Brigitte and I had just been putting the finishing touches to the party preparations, had lit the Christmas tree candles, and were sitting on the sofa with Manuel.

‘Here she is, then!’ Babs looked at Brigitte with kindly curiosity and gave her a kiss.

‘Hats off, Uncle Gerd,’ said Roschen. ‘And the Christmas tree looks really cool.’

I gave them their presents.

‘But Gerd,’ said Babs reproachfully, ‘I thought we’d decided against Christmas presents this year,’ and took out her package. ‘This is from the three of us.’

Babs and Roschen had knitted a wine-red sweater to which Georg had attached, at the appropriate spot, an electric circuit with eight lamps in the shape of a heart. When I pulled on the sweater the lamps started to flash to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Then Herr and Frau Nagelsbach arrived. He was wearing a black suit, complete with stiff wing-collar and bow tie, a pincenez on his nose, and was the spitting image of Karl Kraus. She was wearing a fin-de-siecle dress. ‘Hedda Gabler?’ I greeted her cautiously. She gave a curtsy and joined the ladies. He looked at the Christmas tree with disapproval. ‘Bourgeois nonsense.’

The doorbell didn’t stop ringing. Eberhard arrived with a little suitcase. ‘I’ve come with a few magic tricks.’ Philipp brought Furuzan, a feisty, voluptuous Turkish nurse. ‘Fuzzy can belly-dance!’ Hadwig, a friend of Brigitte’s, had her fourteen-year-old son Jan with her, who immediately took charge of Manuel.

Everyone streamed into the kitchen for the cold buffet. Dusty Springfield’s ‘I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten’ played unnoticed in the living room. Philipp had put on Hits of the 1960s.

My study was empty. The telephone rang. I shut the door behind me. Only muffled jollity from the party reached my ears. All my friends were here – who could be calling?

‘Uncle Gerd?’ It was Tyberg. ‘A Happy New Year! Judith told me and I read the newspaper. It appears you’ve solved the Korten case.’

‘Hello, Herr Tyberg. All the best to you for the New Year, too. Will you still write the chapter about the trial?’

‘I’ll show it to you when you come to visit. Springtime is very nice at Lake Maggiore.’

‘I’ll be there. Until then.’

Tyberg had understood. It helped to have a secret ally who wouldn’t call me to account.