‘Yes. She sang some songs between The Osmond Troupe and Bastian Biedermeier, the illusionist.’
‘Did she go home after the performance?’
‘No. I think she said she was going to Loiberger’s. He stays open late, you see. She often goes there after shows.’
‘Was she meeting someone?’
‘Probably.’
‘Do you know who?’
Grosskopf shook his head.
‘It’s hard to keep track of her admirers. She’s a popular girl.’ The manager winked before leaning forward and lowering his voice. ‘Last week I found her in The Two Darlings’ dressing room. They were throwing her across the table as if she was a ball. She said she was developing a new stage routine with them …’
Grosskopf raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.
The thought of the young chanteuse abandoning herself to the eccentric pleasures of the two giants robbed Rheinhardt temporarily of the power of speech. He imagined the arc of her trajectory: hair in disarray, skirts billowing — Cacilie Roster, manhandled into the air by arms capable of shearing iron. It was some time before the image receded, with its troubling erotic implications.
‘You are not painting a very ladylike picture of Fraulein Roster.’
‘True. But I haven’t said anything that would offend her. She abhors convention, its part of her charm.’ Grosskopf wiggled his fingers in the air. ‘She’s a fascinating woman.’
‘Does she have a following: gentlemen who always attend her performances?’
‘Not just gentlemen,’ said Grosskopf, producing a burst of suggestive eyebrow movements.
Rheinhardt produced a weary sigh.
‘Would you recognise any of these … supporters?’
‘Yes, some of them. There’s a fellow who wears a fur coat and carries a cane — and another who looks a little like the mayor.’ Grosskopf leaned back in his chair. ‘Has Zilli done something wrong? If so, I sincerely hope you don’t intend to arrest her. She’s still under contract.’
‘Tell me more about Fraulein Roster’s supporters.’
‘There’s not much more to say. They come to see her sing and then they leave. Sometimes they wait for her by the stage door.’
‘What do they want?’
‘We sell postcards of our artists in the foyer. They like to get them signed. And some of them give her small gifts: bunches of flowers, jewellery.’
‘Do you know if she was given a hatpin recently?’
Grosskopf shrugged.
‘Look, my friend, if you want to know what Zilli gets up to after shows, I’m not the person to ask. You should talk to Loiberger.’
38
BLACK SMOKE WAS RISING from a factory chimney that towered over the roofs of a begrimed terrace. Further down the road and in front of some railings a group of children, barely out of infancy, were playing on a pile of rubble. One of the urchins noticed Liebermann’s approach and stood up, observing the stranger with earnest curiosity. Liebermann acknowledged the boy’s interest with a smile; however, this was not reciprocated. Instead, the boy’s expression became more intense. Liebermann turned a corner and found himself in an avenue of better- maintained larger properties. A few trees added a splash of colour to the prospect, but not enough to relieve the atmosphere of pervasive gloom. The trees swayed in a breeze redolent with the dank fetor of the Neustadter canal.
In due course, Liebermann arrived at his destination — a two-storey house with four windows. The simplicity of the building reminded him of a child’s drawing. The curtains on the ground floor were drawn and Liebermann could not see anything through the upper windows. He crossed the road to get a better view but gained no benefit from the change of vantage. Liebermann became conscious that he was standing under a gas lamp — presumably the very same gas lamp under which Erstweiler had seen his doppelganger. The young doctor touched the cast-iron post as if to confirm the reality of its existence.
Liebermann returned to the other side of the road and knocked on the house’s front door. He waited. No reply. He knocked again, knowing that there would be no answer.
A cart loaded with barrels passed by.
The young doctor stepped backwards and glanced at the upstairs windows one last time before deciding on which of the neighbouring houses he would try. The presence of a window box made him veer to the right.
As soon as he had struck the knocker, a dog started barking. He heard the sound of a woman’s voice: ‘Quiet. Be quiet, Prinz.’
The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who was accompanied by a lively Dobermann pinscher.
‘Yes?’
‘Forgive me for disturbing you. I am a doctor and need to speak with Herr Kolinsky, who I believe lives next door. He is not at home. Do you have any idea when he will be back?’
‘I haven’t seen him or his wife for weeks. I think they must have gone away.’
‘Do you know them?’
‘Not really. He’s not very friendly … and
‘They have a lodger — is that right?’
‘Yes. Herr Erstweiler. A very pleasant gentleman.’
‘You are acquainted with him?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. We met a few times when I was walking Prinz. I haven’t seen him recently, either. He may have found somewhere else to live. It wouldn’t surprise me. They can’t expect to keep lodgers if they’re going to carry on like they do.’
Liebermann smiled.
‘Thank you for you assistance.’
‘Shall I tell them that you called — if I see them?’
‘Yes. If you see them.’
‘And your name is?’
‘Herr Doctor Liebermann.’
The woman nodded and closed the door. The dog started barking again.
Liebermann gazed at the street lamp on the other side of the road.
His conversation with Freud came back to him. It was possible for material offensive to the ego to be projected outwards onto something foreign. But such material could not be completely disowned.
The object into which this undesirable material is incorporated might take the form of another self …
Liebermann knew the answer. Herr Erstweiler’s dream of the English fairy tale had been so very revealing.
39
