What was it like?
I must remind you that I am disadvantaged by language. There are no words that can express what I have experienced — and continue to experience. How can I expect you to understand? You, for whom this world is a sealed container, for whom the horizon and the sky are an absolute boundary.
Yes, there was satisfaction. But it was a communion once removed.
How can I explain?
It was like being intimate with a woman whom one does not love but who has recently brushed against the woman with whom one is infatuated. You detect a hint of the beloved’s perfume on her skin — and it is maddening.
Are you familiar with Faust?
The poet’s words describe me well: a man discharging into a void while clutching a garter!
Yet I could not stop myself. When opportunities arose, I took them. Such was my desire for Her.
You cannot imagine how I suffered. The anguish and agony. Lying there upon the mortuary table: yearning, wanting, desiring. The inadequate comfort of a cold embrace — my virility reduced to a shrivelled
It was never going to be enough. I knew that even then.
Two months ago I travelled to Paris. The western facade of the great Cathedral of Notre Dame has three portals, one of which depicts Mary as the Bride of Christ. The Virgin in Majesty is transformed from Mother to Empress.
I don’t know why I have written this …
You said that I should write down whatever came into my mind — without any attempt to censor thoughts and memories. Well, there it is. Notre Dame. What of it?
No, there is a connection. I see it now.
I was at my lowest ebb. I thought that I could not endure separation from Her a moment longer and resolved to end my suffering. It would be easy enough. A sleep followed by eternal, blissful consummation.
On returning to Vienna I prepared a lethal tincture of opium. But I did not drink it.
As I sat in my bedroom, glass in hand, I began to doubt the wisdom of my actions.
37
RHEINHARDT HAD ARRANGED TO meet his assistant outside Ronacher’s variety theatre. He had given Haussmann an hour to discover Liebermann’s whereabouts. During that time, he had searched for — and found — a cafe, discreetly situated in a back street, where he could revive his spirits with a favourite prescription of strong Turkische coffee and a slice of poppy-seed cake. Emerging from the shadowy interior into the broad bountiful light of a crisp morning, he felt better prepared to face the day. When Haussmann finally appeared, however, it was clear from the young man’s expression and gait that his mission had been unsuccessful.
‘Herr Doctor Liebermann is not at home, sir. I telephoned from the Post Office. And the hospital said he wasn’t expected until this afternoon. I even tried the little coffee house by the Anatomical Institute.’
‘And did you get something to eat while you were there?’
Haussmann’s eyes slid to the side.
‘Yes, sir. But I was only there for a few minutes.’
‘In which case, you made excellent use of your time. We have a busy day ahead of us and it is difficult to work on an empty stomach. Come now. Let us see if anyone is inside.’
They found the stage door, rang the bell, and were admitted by an attendant wearing a shabby uniform. Rheinhardt showed his identification and asked to see the manager.
‘You’re lucky,’ said the attendant. ‘He’s not normally in this early.’
They ascended several staircases until they came to a door. The attendant knocked and opened it without waiting for an invitation to enter.
‘Not now, Harri!’
‘It’s the police,’ the attendant called into the room.
‘What — for me?’
‘Yes, Ralf.’
Rheinhardt repositioned himself and saw a balding man in a colourful waistcoat and shirtsleeves sitting behind a desk. In front of him, on wooden chairs, were two gentlemen with long black hair and shaggy fur coats. Their shoulders were massive.
‘I’m sorry, gentlemen.’ The manager addressed his guests. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’
‘When shall we be returning?’ The voice was deep, rumbling, and strangely accented.
‘Later. I’ll have the new contracts ready for you by then. I promise.’
The two men stood, and as they did so their extraordinary height became apparent. They were immense: identical twins, with brown skin, black eyes, and wide features. The first stooped to get through the doorway and Rheinhardt was obliged to tilt his head back to greet him.
‘Good morning,’ said Rheinhardt, looking up into the round moonlike face.
‘Good morning, sir,’ the giant replied in stilted, grammatically compromised German. ‘I am very glad to be having seen you.’
His brother followed, but as the second giant ducked beneath the architrave he glowered back at the manager and uttered something in a strange tongue — so venomous and sibilant that it was clearly meant as an insult.
Rheinhardt and Haussmann entered the manager’s office. The balding man shooed the attendant away, rose from his chair, and bowed.
‘Ralf Grosskopf. At your service.’
‘Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt and my assistant, Haussmann.’
‘Please sit down, gentlemen. I’d offer you some tea, but my secretary hasn’t arrived yet. Forgive me.’
As Rheinhardt lowered himself into the chair, he could not stop himself from glancing back at the closing door.
‘Yes,
‘Where are they from?’ asked Rheinhardt.
‘Tibet. Well, that’s what they claim — but who knows, really.’ The manager laughed. ‘They were a real draw last year. They can lift seven men above their heads, break iron bars in two, and juggle with three-hundred-kilo weights.’
‘They didn’t look very happy,’ said Rheinhardt.
‘Oh, they’ll come around — a little misunderstanding over the terms of their engagement, that’s all. It’s their agent’s fault. Nestroy. He’s an honest man but not very good on detail. Now, how can I help you?’
‘Cacilie Roster … ’
‘Zilli? Dear Zilli? What about her?’
‘When did you see her last?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘She performed here?’
