The Book of Lies

by Agota Kristof

  The child asks, "Is he leaving because you don't love him anymore? Yasmine and me, we'll leave too if you don't love us anymore."

  Yasmine says, "Be quiet, Mathias!"

  The child cries out, "She's the one who said it! But you do love us, don't you, Lucas?"

  Lucas takes him in his arms. "Of course, Mathias."

  At Clara's house the fire is burning in the living-room stove. The bedroom door is open.

  Lucas goes into the room. Clara is in bed, with a book in her hands. She looks at Lucas, shuts the book, puts it on the bedside table.

  Lucas says, "I'm sorry, Clara."

  Clara throws back the quilt covering her. She is naked. She continues staring at Lucas.

  "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

  "I don't know. I really don't know, Clara."

  Clara switches off the bedside lamp. "What are you waiting for?"

  Lucas lights the desk lamp, points it at the bed. Clara closes her eyes.

  Lucas kneels by the bed, opens Clara's legs, then the lips of her vulva. A thin trickle of blood comes out. He bends forward; he licks and drinks the blood. Clara moans; her hands grasp Lucas's hair.

  Lucas gets undressed, lies on top of Clara, enters her, cries out. Later, Lucas gets up, opens the window. Outside it is snowing. Lucas returns to the bed. Clara takes him in her arms. Lucas shivers. She says, "Calm yourself."

  She strokes Lucas's hair, his face. He asks, "You're not angry with me about him?"

  "No. It's better that he left."

  Lucas says, "I knew you didn't love him. You were so unhappy last week when I saw you in the bar."

  Clara says, "I met him at the hospital. It was he who took care of me when I had another depression during the summer. The fourth since Thomas died."

  "Do you often dream of Thomas?"

  "Every night. But only of his execution. Never of Thomas happy, alive."

  Lucas says, "I see my brother everywhere. In my room, in the garden, walking beside me in the street. He speaks to me."

  "What does he say?"

  "He says he is living in mortal solitude."

  Lucas goes to sleep in Clara's arms. In the middle of the night he enters her again, softly, slowly, as if in a dream.

  From then on, Lucas spends all his nights at Clara's.

  The winter is very cold this year. The sun doesn't appear for five months. An icy mist lies stagnant on the deserted town. The ground is frozen, the river too.

  In the kitchen of Grandmother's house, the fire is on all the time. The firewood runs out quickly. Every afternoon, Lucas goes into the forest to find wood, which he sets to dry next to the stove.

  The kitchen door is left open to warm the room of Yasmine and her child. Lucas's room is not heated.

  When Yasmine sews or knits in the room, Lucas sits with the child on the large rug made by Yasmine that covers the kitchen floor, and they play together with the dog and the cat. They look at picture books; they draw. Lucas teaches Mathias to count on an abacus.

  Yasmine prepares the evening meal. They all sit on the corner seat in the kitchen. They eat potatoes, dried beans, or cabbage. The child doesn't like this food and eats little. Lucas makes him jam tarts.

  After the meal, Yasmine washes up. Lucas carries the child into the bedroom, undresses him, puts him to bed and tells him a story. When the child falls asleep, Lucas goes off to Clara's house on the other side of town.

  4

  On Station Road the chestnut trees are in bloom. Their white petals lie so deep on the ground that Lucas can't even hear the sound of his footsteps. He is coming back from Clara's house, late at night.

  The child is sitting on the corner seat in the kitchen. Lucas says, "It's only five o'clock. Why are you up so early?"

  The child asks, "Where is Yasmine?"

  "She's gone to the big city. She was bored here."

  The child's dark eyes open wide. "Gone? Without me?"

  Lucas turns away, he lights the fire in the stove.

  The child asks, "Is she coming back?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  Lucas pours some goat's milk into a pan, which he sets to boil.

  The child asks, "Why didn't she take me with her? She promised to take me with her."

  Lucas says, "She thought you'd be better off here with me, and I agreed."

  The child says, "I'm not better off here with you. I'd be better off anywhere else with her."

  Lucas says, "A big city is no fun for a child. There are no gardens or animals."

  The child says, "But my mother's there."

  He looks out of the window. When he turns around his little face is contorted with sorrow.

  "She doesn't love me because I'm crippled. That's why she left me here."

  "That's not true, Mathias. She loves you with all her heart. You know that."

  "Then she will come back to get me."

  The child pushes away his cup, his plate, and leaves the kitchen. Lucas goes to water the garden. The sun is rising.

  The dog is asleep beneath a tree. The child approaches him with a stick. Lucas watches the child. The child lifts the stick and hits the dog. The dog runs off howling. The child looks at Lucas.

  "I don't like animals. I don't like gardens either."

  With his stick the child starts thrashing the greens, the tomatoes, the pumpkins, the beans, the flowers. Lucas watches him without saying a word.

  The child goes back to the house, he gets into Yasmine's bed. Lucas follows him, he sits on the edge of the bed.

  "Are you so unhappy about staying with me? Why?"

  The child stares at the ceiling. "Because I hate you."

  "You hate me?"

  "Yes, I've always hated you."

  "I didn't know. Can you tell me why?"

  "Because you're big and handsome, and because I thought Yasmine loved you. But if she's gone, it's because she didn't love you either. I hope you're as unhappy as I am."

  Lucas puts his head in his hands.

  The child asks, "Are you crying?" "No, I'm not crying."

  "But you're sad because of Yasmine?"

  "No, not because of Yasmine. I'm sad because of you, because you're sad."

  "Is that right? Because of me? That's nice." He smiles. "However, I'm just a little cripple, and she's beautiful."

  After a silence the child asks, "Where is your mother?"

  "She's dead."

  "Was she too old? Is that why she died?"

  "No. She died because of the war. She was killed by a shell, together with her baby, who was my little sister."

  "Where are they now?"

  "The dead are nowhere and everywhere."

  The child says, "They're in the attic. I've seen them. The big bone thing and the little bone thing."

  Lucas asks in a low voice, "You went up into the attic? How did you get up there?"

  "I climbed. It's easy. I'll show you."

  Lucas is silent. The child says, "Don't be afraid, I won't tell anyone. I don't want them to take them away. I like them."

  "You like them?"

  "Yes. Especially the baby. It's smaller and uglier than me. And it will never grow. I didn't know it was a girl. You can't tell when it's just those bone things."

  "Those things are called skeletons."

  "Yes. Skeletons. I've also seen some in the big book on top of your bookcase."

  Lucas and the child are in the garden. A rope hangs from the attic, just within the reach of Lucas's outstretched arm. He says to the child, "Show me how you climb up."

  The child pulls the nearby garden bench under the window of Lucas's room. He climbs onto the bench, jumps and grabs the rope, stops it swinging by pressing his feet against the wall, and uses his arms and legs to hoist himself up to the attic door. Lucas follows him. They sit on a mattress, looking at the skeletons hanging from a beam.

  The child asks, "Didn't you keep your brother's skeleton?"

  "Who told you I had a brother?"

  "No one. I'
ve heard you talking to him. You talk to him, and he's nowhere and everywhere, so he must be dead as well."

  Lucas says, "No, he's not dead. He's gone to another country. He will return."

  "Like Yasmine. She'll return too."

  "Yes, both my brother and your mother."

  The child says, "That's the only difference between the dead and those who go away, isn't it? Those who aren't dead will return."

  Lucas says, "But how do we know they aren't dead when they're away?"

  "We can't know."

  The child is silent for a moment, then asks, "What did you feel when your brother went away?"

  "I didn't know how to go on living without him."

  "And do you know now?"

  "Yes. Since you came here, I know."

  The child opens the chest.

  "What are these notebooks in the chest?"

  Lucas closes the chest.

  "It's nothing. Thank God you can't read yet!"

  The child laughs. "Oh yes I can. I can read if it's printed. Look."

  He opens the chest and takes out Grandmother's old Bible. He reads words, entire phrases.

  Lucas asks, "Where did you learn to read?"

  "From books, of course. From mine and yours."

  "With Yasmine?"

  "No, on my own. Yasmine doesn't like reading. She said she'd never send me to school. But I'll be going soon, won't I, Lucas?"

  Lucas says, "I could teach you everything you need to know."

  The child says, "School is compulsory from the age of six."

  "Not for you. You can get a dispensation."

  "Because I'm a cripple, you mean? I don't want your dispensation. I want to go to school like the other children."

  Lucas says, "If you want to go, you can. But why do you want to?"

  "Because I know I'll be the best at school, the most intelligent."

  Lucas laughs. "And the most vain, no doubt. I always hated school. I pretended to be deaf so I wouldn't have to go."

  "You did that?"

  "Yes. Listen, Mathias. You may come up here whenever you want. You may also go into my room, even when I'm not there. You may read the Bible, the dictionary, the entire encyclopedia if you wish. But you must never read the notebooks, you son of a bitch."

  He adds, "Grandmother called us that: sons of a bitch."

  "Who's 'us'? You and who else? You and your brother?"

  "Yes. My brother and me."

  They climb down from the attic, they go into the kitchen. Lucas prepares the meal. The child asks, "Who'll do the dishes, the washing, the clothes?" "We will. Together. You and I."

  They eat. Lucas leans out the window, he throws up. He turns around, his face bathed in sweat. He loses consciousness and falls to the floor of the kitchen.

  The child cries, "Don't do that, Lucas, don't do that!"

  Lucas opens his eyes. "Don't cry, Mathias. Help me to get up."

  The child pulls him by the arm. Lucas clings to the table. He staggers out of the kitchen, he sits on the garden bench. The child stands before him, looking at him.

  "What's wrong, Lucas? You were dead for a moment!"

  "No, I just felt faint because of the heat."

  The child asks, "It doesn't matter that she left, does it? It's not so serious, is it? You won't die because of that?"

  Lucas doesn't answer. The child sits at his feet, hugs his legs, lays his head with its dark, curly hair on Lucas's knees.

  "Maybe I'll be your son later."

  When the child goes to sleep, Lucas goes back into the attic. He takes the notebooks from the chest, wraps them in a jute cloth, and goes into town.

  He rings at Peter's.

  "I'd like you to keep these for me, Peter."

  He puts the packet on the living-room table.

  Peter asks, "What is it?"

  Lucas pulls open the cloth. "Some school notebooks."

  Peter shakes his head. "It's like Victor said. You write. You buy huge quantities of paper and pencils. For years now, pencils, lined paper, and large school notebooks. Are you writing a book?"

  "No, not a book. I simply make notes."

  Peter feels the weight of the notebooks. "Notes! Half a dozen thick notebooks."

  "It accumulates over the years. Even so, I reject a lot. I only keep what's absolutely necessary."

  Peter asks, "Why do you want to hide them? Because of the police?"

  "The police? Of course not! It's because of the child. He's beginning to learn to read and he gets into everything. I don't want him to read these notebooks."

  Peter smiles. "And you don't want the child's mother to read them either, do you?"

  Lucas says, "Yasmine is no longer living with me. She's gone away. She has always dreamed of going to the big city. I gave her some money."

  "And she left her child with you?"

  "I insisted on keeping him."

  Peter lights a cigarette and looks at Lucas without speaking.

  Lucas asks, "Can you keep these notebooks here, yes or no?"

  "Of course I can."

  Peter wraps up the notebooks, carries them into his bedroom. When he comes back he says, "I've hidden them under my bed. I'll find a better hiding place tomorrow."

  Lucas says, "Thank you, Peter."

  Peter laughs. "Don't thank me. Your notebooks interest me."

  "You intend to read them?"

  "Of course. If you don't want me to read them you should take them to Clara."

  Lucas gets up. "Certainly not! Clara reads everything there is to read. But I could give them to Victor."

  "In which case I would read them at Victor's. He can't refuse me anything. Anyway, he's leaving soon. He's going back to his hometown to live with his sister. He intends to sell his house and the shop."

  Lucas says, "Give me the notebooks back. I'll bury them somewhere in the forest."

  "Yes, bury them. Or better still, burn them. It's the only way of preventing people from reading them."

  Lucas says, "I have to keep them. For Claus. These notebooks are for Claus. For him alone."

  Peter turns on the radio. He fiddles with the dial until he finds some soft music.

  "Sit down, Lucas, and tell me, who is Claus?"

  "My brother."

  "I didn't know you had a brother. You've never mentioned him. Nobody has, not even Victor, and he's known you since childhood."

  Lucas says, "My brother has been living on the other side of the border for several years."

  "How did he get across the border? It's supposed to be impossible."

  "He got across, that's all."

  After a silence, Peter asks, "Do you keep in touch with him?"

  "What do you mean, keep in touch?"

  "What everyone means. Do you write to him? Does he write to you?"

  "I write to him every day in the notebooks. Undoubtedly he does the same."

  "But don't you get any letters from him?"

  "He can't send letters from over there."

  "Lots of letters arrive from the other side of the border. Your brother hasn't written since he left? He hasn't given you his address?"

  Lucas shakes his head. He gets up again.

  "You think he's dead, don't you? Well, Claus isn't dead. He's alive and he will return."

  "Yes, Lucas. Your brother will return. As for the notebooks, I could have promised not to read them, but you wouldn't have believed me."

  "You're right, I wouldn't have believed you. I knew you wouldn't be able to prevent yourself from reading them. I knew when I came here. So read them. I'd rather it were you than Clara or anyone else."

  Peter says, "That's something else I don't understand: your relationship with Clara. She's much older than you."

  "Age doesn't matter. I'm her lover. Is that all you wanted to know?"

  "No, that's not all. I knew that already. But do you love her?"

  Lucas opens the door.

  "I don't know the meaning of that word. No one does. I didn't expect tha
t sort of question from you, Peter."

  "Nevertheless, you will be asked that sort of question many times in the course of your life. And sometimes you will be obliged to answer it."

  "And you, Peter? One day you will also be obliged to answer certain questions. I've been to some of your political meetings. You make speeches, the audience applauds. Do you really believe in what you say?"

  "I have to believe it."

  "But in your deepest self, what do you think?"

  "I don't think. I can't allow myself the luxury. I've lived with fear since I was a child."

  ***

  Clara is standing in front of the window, looking out into the garden engulfed in darkness. She doesn't turn around when Lucas comes into the room.

  She says, "The summer is frightening. It is in the summer that death is closest. Everything dries out, suffocates, comes to a standstill. It's already been four years since they killed Thomas. In August, very early in the morning, at dawn. They hanged him. The disturbing thing is that they start again every year. At dawn, when you go home, I go to the window and I see them. They are starting again, but you can't kill the same person over and over."

  Lucas kisses Clara on the neck.

  "What's wrong, Clara? What's wrong with you today?"

  "Today I received a letter. An official letter. It's there on my desk, you can read it. It exonerates Thomas, proclaims his innocence. I never doubted his innocence. They write: 'Your husband was innocent. We killed him by mistake. We killed many people by mistake, but at present everything is being sorted out. We apologize and promise that such mistakes will not be allowed to happen in the future.' They murder and they exonerate. They apologize, but Thomas is dead! Can they bring him back to life? Can they wipe out that night when my hair went white, when I went mad?

  "That summer night I was alone in our apartment, in Thomas's and my apartment. I'd been alone there for several months. Since they had imprisoned Thomas no one wanted to visit me, no one could, no one dared. I was already used to being alone, it wasn't unusual that I was alone. I didn't sleep, but that wasn't unusual either. What was unusual was that I didn't cry that night. The previous evening the radio announced the execution of a number of people for high treason. Among the names I clearly heard Thomas's name. At three o'clock in the morning, the time of the executions, I looked at the clock. I kept looking at it until seven o'clock, then I went to my job in a large library in the capital. I sat at my desk. I was in charge of the reading room. One after the other my colleagues came up. I heard them whisper, 'She's come!' 'Have you seen her hair?' I left the library, I walked around the streets until evening, I got lost, I didn't know which part of town I was in, even though I knew the town well. I came home in a taxi. At three o'clock in the morning I looked out the window, and I saw them: they were hanging Thomas from the front of the building opposite. I screamed. Some neighbors came. An ambulance took me to the hospital. And now they say it was just a mistake. Thomas's murder, my illness, the months in the hospital, my white hair were just a mistake. Well, let them bring me Thomas alive, smiling. The Thomas who took me in his arms, who stroked my hair, who held my face in his warm hands, who kissed me on the eyes, the ears, the mouth."