Knives, Forks, Scissors, Flames

by Stefan Kiesbye

  Cautiously he strode towards the tree, whose branches appeared even more massive and majestic than usual. A second sound, this time a crash, made Benno stop once more, and this time he crouched and knelt down in the snow. Was someone hiding in the branches? Or crouching behind the huge trunk? Yet as much as he stared, trying to discern any shadows or movement, no one seemed to be near him. But something hung from the lower trunk, and Benno hoped that it wasn’t horse placenta again.

  At first he could not even make out what had been tied with barbed wire to the tree, but as he approached, his stomach turned. Two dead ravens hung there with spread wings that moved in the wind. Over their heads hung a simple cardboard sign. Benno wiped the snow away and read: The King Must Die.

  “The king must die?” he asked, as if the tree or the ravens could give him an answer, but all he heard was the faint whistling of the wind. He ripped off the cardboard sign, and then tried to untie the barbed wire, but only managed to cut his fingers. He took a picture of the ravens, but without a flash the pictures would probably only show black night.

  With the cardboard sign in hand, he headed for Strathleven’s lights. The snow stabbed his right cheek and temple. From somewhere came the rattle of a motorcycle.

  He had slid off the road while trying to avoid a deer—that would be his story, he decided as Carolin opened the door.

  “You’re finally here,” she said, and pressed herself against him.

  “Yes, finally.” He seemed to melt in the warmth of the house.

  “You want something to eat?” she asked.

  He shook his head with a smile. “We need to call Friedrich.”

  A short time later, a tow truck drove up to the house. The driver, who introduced himself as Günther, was very young, maybe in his early twenties, wore his hair short in front, long in back, and was working on a mustache.

  “You’re in luck. I just came back from another job. And a few seconds after your call the next two came in. It’s going to be a busy night with all the snow. People underestimate the weather or overestimate their driving skills.”

  Benno nodded.

  “Are you related to Friedrich?” he asked.

  Günther laughed. “No, he has enough to do with his three daughters. When he comes home, four women are waiting for him. No, I am the son of Rudolf Dithmann. If you drive down the state road, you can see our farm on the right side. You’ve probably met my old man in church.”

  “Oh, yes,” Benno said, but couldn’t remember a face to fit that name. “Sure thing. Your mother too, right?”

  Günther shook his head. “She died four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Benno and wished himself far away. What a pathetic liar he was.

  “It’s alright. We miss her. My old man especially. I don’t think he would have joined the church otherwise. Couldn’t stand the pastor at first.”

  “The old pastor was different.”

  “Yes, he was good friends with everyone. Often dropped by for a schnaps. You should wear a hat.”

  Benno had left the house without a hat. Gunther, however, wore a cap lined with fake fur.

  “Yes, probably.”

  “I even wear a hat in the summer,” the driver said with emphasis. “Read that the brain works better when it’s kept warm. You just have to keep it warm . . . Is that yours?”

  They had arrived at the Miracle Oak and Günther opened the door. The diesel engine rattled like a can full of pennies and Benno got out too and walked over to his car. He handed the young man his key.

  Günther unlocked the driver’s door and swore under his breath. “You landed right in the water.”

  “Is it bad?” asked Benno.

  “Could be worse, I think. But you didn’t dodge a deer, right?”

  Benno could feel himself blushing in spite of the cold.

  “You put on the handbrake.”

  “I couldn’t see the shoulder clearly,” Benno mumbled in reply.

  “What were you looking for? In the middle of the night?” But Günther wasn’t looking for an answer. He released the brake, then ran back to his truck, made a U-turn and brought it into position.

  After a few minutes, the Escort was back on the road.

  “Can I drive it home?” Benno wanted to know.

  “You’d probably be safe,” Günther said and walked a second time around the car. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. The axle could be bent, you could possibly make matters worse. I’ll take it to the dealer, and in the morning a mechanic can look at your car.”

  Benno nodded.

  “What did you want out here at the Miracle Oak?”

  “I didn’t realize I was at the Miracle Oak,” Benno lied without thinking. He couldn’t explain it, but it seemed inappropriate, even dangerous, to mention what he’d been after. As if he had discovered something that hadn’t been intended for him to see.

  “Not a good place to stop.”

  “Why is that?”

  The young man looked at him thoughtfully, scratching his mustache, which was now full of snow. “You haven’t been here all that long . . . but if you have to take a leak, or want to smoke, you’d better stop behind Johannsen’s store.” He laughed. “Everyone else smokes and pisses there.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea. It’s just the right spot.” With a push of a button, he lifted the front end of the car, and secured the wheels with chains.

  “No,” Benno said. “Why shouldn’t I stop here?”

  Günther stood up, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s not a good time to hang around here,” he finally said. “Today is the first of the Twelve Nights.”

  12

  “Nothing bent, just scratches in the paint and a small dent in the door. The side mirror is gone, but we need to order it.”

  The snowfall from last night had given way to gray clouds and a fine rain, and the road to the garage was slippery and full of puddles. Carolin had asked Benno to take her to the city—it was Tim’s last day of school, and she wanted to go shopping in Lübeck. Mrs. Schmied had promised to warm up the boy’s food.

  Carolin’s chin looked wrinkled from gritting her teeth. Ever since the alarm had sounded earlier that morning, she had avoided him.

  “What do we owe you?” Benno asked the car dealer.

  Friedrich shook his head. “We can do the repairs under warranty. Not quite legal, but it’s Christmas, for crying out loud. Bring the car after the holidays, when we’re not swamped. You only have to pay Günther.”

  Benno thanked Friedrich and shook his hand. Carolin said nothing, only nodded briefly at the car dealer on her way out and walked next to Benno toward the car.

  “He just wanted to be nice,” he said.

  “I was nice.”

  “You didn’t even look at him. What has he done to you?”

  “What do you want from me? He only does what’s good for his business.”

  From the left, the car still looked like new, but the dents on the right were not quite as small as Friedrich had said. Benno felt saddened when he looked at the damage. He didn’t want to be reminded of last night’s misadventure.

  Carolin stared at the passenger side, at the black stump, where the side mirror had once been. “We haven’t even paid it off yet,” she said and slid her fingers over the jagged plastic. “Good thing nothing happened to you.”

  In silence they drove to Lübeck. Benno suppressed the impulse to tell Carolin that the dead woman had been identified. Irina Sobieski was now associated with the Christmas party, with Torfrock, Hanne and her witchcraft, and he didn’t want to give himself away. Nothing had happened, but how could he explain that to Carolin? It was better not to mention last night.

  At his desk, several packages and bags were waiting for him, gifts from business people and sports clubs. Pennants and jerseys that he would give to Tim, a bottle of rum, and a lot of marzipan.

  The premises of the Strandkurier hadn’t been cleaned yet, the bins were overflowing, and
champagne bottles and glasses stood on the photocopier and in the restrooms. Holger told him with bleary eyes that Margit Scholl hadn’t gone home at all, and that instead she’d eaten breakfast with him and two others at six o’clock in the Hotel Störtebeker. “Well, we didn’t have much to eat,” he added, and opened one of Benno’s marzipan bars and took a bite. “You can have one of mine,” he mumbled.

  Benno waved his offer aside. “Do you have any plans for the holidays?” he asked.

  “Visit my folks in Schleswig, let my mother cook for me.” Holger grinned broadly. “And do my laundry. And you?”

  Benno shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “No parents?”

  “Not exactly. Say, do you have Twelve Nights in Schleswig?”

  “Do we have what in Schleswig?”

  “Rauhnächte. Twelve Nights. The Wild Hunt? Wotan and his un-dead companions riding through the night?”

  “Zombies?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Never heard of them. Does it have something to do with Strathleven?”

  Benno shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Hey, they have identified your corpse.” Holger had finished the marzipan, crumpled the golden paper and threw it toward the trashcan. He missed by half a meter.

  “I know,” Benno said. All of a sudden he wished Holger far, far away.

  “Have you actually wondered whether the killer might be one of your new neighbors?”

  “She was naked.”

  “And?”

  “She wasn’t killed there. The murderer probably took her from the trunk and dragged her into the bushes.”

  Holger pushed back his glasses with his index finger. His nose shone greasily. His wavy hair stood up in all possible directions. “He could have killed her there and then pulled off her clothes and stuffed them into a garbage can somewhere else or he could have burned them.”

  “He?”

  “The murderer? She was raped.”

  “Why would someone from the village put her in the trunk and unload the corpse almost at his own doorstep? That’s nonsense,” he hissed.

  Holger didn’t seem to notice Benno’s mood change. “Maybe that was his intention.”

  “What?”

  “To make it look stupid.”

  “Do murderers really think around that many corners?”

  Holger ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed a second marzipan bar, and said, “Probably not. If the dead had been found in Schleswig, who would ever dig around in Strathleven?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But have you ever thought about it?”

  Benno shook his head and reached into the box of marzipan himself. “How should I know how someone who is stabbing women with knives and forks thinks?”

  Carolin came at half past four into the newsroom. Her face was red, her eyes shining, and her arms were hung with bags and packages.

  “The others are already in the car,” she chuckled and beamed.

  “Did you leave anything for the other shoppers?”

  She shook her head happily. “Want to see?”

  “Later,” he whispered, “I need to look busy for another hour.”

  “Should I wait for you at a coffee shop?”

  “Nonsense!” Margit appeared behind them and smiled at Carolin. She looked rested, as though she hadn’t stayed up all night. Her hair was perfect, and she even wore fresh clothes—she had to have stored them in her office. “Would you like a glass of champagne? We still have a bottle or two.”

  Within a few minutes, a group had gathered around Benno’s desk. After five, Holger also joined them, and even Jochen Hecht, who had appeared late in the afternoon, came over.

  “I’ve met Tim. He looks exactly like you,” Holger said and looked suspiciously at the glass of champagne that Margit handed him.

  Carolin smiled. “We have to get back soon. We left him in the care of our neighbor.”

  “The one with the mongo?” asked Holger.

  Carolin turned around to Benno. “Are you talking like that about Manfred?” she asked heatedly.

  Benno sighed, and Holger, who had noticed his mistake immediately, said, “No, I didn’t mean . . . that was just . . .”

  “Manfred is a wonderful boy . . .” Carolin’s anger vanished quickly. “He can’t help it. And he’s not a mongo.”

  “He collects knives,” Benno interjected, without quite knowing why.

  “We really should get going.” Carolin smiled at Margit. “And maybe if you are interested,” she opened her purse and took out a stack of photocopied handouts, “we have a wonderful Christmas service in Strathleven.”

  “Yes, we must go,” Benno said a little too loudly, a little too cheerfully. He was glad to have his hands full of packages. Holger gave him a meaningful look, but fortunately kept his mouth shut.

  “How nice,” Margit Scholl exclaimed after she had inspected the flyer and hugged Carolin. “You have to stop by again.”

  “That was so nice,” Carolin said in the car. They bumped over the cobblestones, the streets still wet and muddy. A few snowflakes could be seen in the headlights. “Your colleagues are really nice. Even Holger.” She sighed. “I miss work.”

  “At least you have the pastor. Or rather, the pastor has you,” Benno said.

  “That’s not the same.”

  “It’s not,” Benno admitted. “Did you carry around that flyer all day?”

  “Cornelius asked me to.”

  Benno nodded. “I think they have enough churches here in Lübeck.”

  “Did I embarrass you?” Carolin asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  “I want to work again,” she said.

  “And you will.”

  “But how?”

  Benno looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “We’d need two cars.”

  Benno thought about that. “You’re right,” he finally said. “Unless you can get a job in the village.”

  “As what?”

  “Milkmaid.”

  Carolin didn’t laugh at his joke and for the next few minutes said nothing more, before she suddenly burst out, “You’re not taking me seriously. You think that you can make fun of me because I don’t work and only sit around at home. And because you think I’m sick.”

  “I . . .”

  “Crazy. Just because I don’t want to take my medication. Because they numb me. When we sleep together, I can feel almost nothing.”

  They had reached the main road, and the traffic declined steadily. The asphalt was almost dry here, but the snow fell heavier again.

  “And now? That you don’t take them anymore?”

  “Do you want to hear what a great lover you are?”

  Benno moaned softly. After the first three months of their relationship, Carolin had tried to quit her drugs for the first time. “You’re better than drugs,” she had said, and he had been flattered. Benno, the great lover, the savior, the one and only. But after a few weeks, Carolin broke into a thousand pieces, and only when she slapped Tim several times and yelled at him, did she return to her doctor.

  “You’re insanely great,” she said now, and licked her lips. “You fuck like a god.”

  Benno slowed the car, ready to stop. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “You want to work again. If you can’t find a teaching position, where else are you going to apply?”

  “Don’t pretend you’re interested. You like the way things are: the woman stays at home, and you can drive around in the area and watch handball games and then get drunk with friends. What happens to me, you don’t give a shit about. Cornelius is right.”

  “What?” Benno could feel anger rising up in him.

  “There are people who are not good for you, who want to steal everything from you, everything that’s dear to you. I feel safe at church. It feels so good to live with people who believe in something, but for you it’s all just a joke. A hoax. You should have seen your face when I distributed the
flyers. Hatred. Pure hatred. Your wife embarrassed you.”

  “Stop it,” Benno said. “This is complete nonsense.”

  “Oh yeah? Do you think I didn’t see Holger rolling his eyes? Oh, poor Benno, he is married to a Jesus-lover.”

  “You’re imagining that.”

  “That’s exactly what Thomas and Cornelius have said. Once you tell people the truth, they say you’re crazy. Once you commit to something, others want to destroy it.”

  Benno took a right into a dirt road, and hoped fervently that he would not end up back in a ditch. “When did you see Thomas again?”

  “Jealous?” Carolin laughed. “Of a pastor? Because you know that you could never keep me if I weren’t damaged goods? Because my husband can only hold on to me by stuffing drugs down my throat? Because he can’t satisfy a woman without drugs?” Her voice was pure fire. For a second she paused before she stated with shining eyes, “You’re a hyena, Benno, a cowardly, misshapen soul. Too cowardly to believe in anything in this world. You’ve got to hold on to soccer results, that’s all you’ve got. You’ve stolen my family because you could never raise and keep your own. No real woman would even look at you. You don’t dare approach a real woman.”

  Benno put on the hand brake and got out, leaving the engine running. He ran aimlessly along the small path until he stepped out of the headlights and into the night. Then he ran, ran farther and farther into the darkness.

  13

  He stopped only when the cold night air began to hurt his lungs. He bent down with his hands on his knees and stared at the woods in front of him. He had no idea where he was.

  Behind him he could see the headlights of cars along the county road, white lances racing toward one another.

  “Shit,” Benno cursed. He’d acted stupidly. What was he thinking running toward the woods? Did he really think Carolin would run after him and ask for forgiveness? His wife was probably already home.

  The night sky was opaque, only to his right a single star peeked through a hole in the clouds. Snow cooled his face, and now that he had exhausted his anger, Benno noticed how wet his feet were. He wore simple dress shoes, and the leather was completely soaked. Slowly he stumbled back along the dirt road. Yet even when he had come within a few hundred meters of the county road, he still couldn’t make out the headlights of his car. Carolin had really left him.