by Martin Suter
When he returned the following day the clothes were gone.
And a day after that the cave had been cleaned.
On this occasion Pellegrini was waiting for him and he asked Kaung what he’d been looking for down by the Limmat.
After the show Kaung packed a bag and said goodbye to each of his elephants. ‘Little sacred elephant alive,’ he told them. ‘Must find her.’
2
Circus Pellegrini
18 June 2016
Kaung’s disappearance was a problem for a number of reasons.
It was a problem for the circus because the elephant act had to be improvised. Pellegrini came into the ring in his tailcoat and stood there in the spotlight, arms outstretched, until Ben and two other circus workers managed to coax the elephants in.
They put their legs up on a podium only with reluctance and if Willi, the long-serving circus clown, hadn’t been inspired to make a comic routine out of the director and his disobedient elephants, they’d probably have been booed off. But at least this way they got some applause and a few laughs when the elephants ignored Pellegrini’s commands, while little Willi fruitlessly scolded the huge animals and grovelled his apologies to the director for their insubordination.
The circus orchestra improvised too, accompanying the act with crashing and spinning sounds, and Laurel and Hardy music.
For Roux and Tseng the problem was that Kaung’s disappearance had severed their last connection to the mini elephant. They’d hoped that Reber might have given it to someone or hidden it somewhere before he’d gone into the river. And that the oozie could lead them to it.
A pretty unlikely scenario, maybe, but Reber had taken a phone call before embarking on his mad swim. From Kaung, perhaps?
To check this, during a performance Tseng had stolen Kaung’s mobile from his caravan and scrolled through the caller list and text messages. Or that had been his intention, but Kaung had deleted all his calls and messages.
The move had not been entirely in vain, however. He’d installed a geolocation app on Kaung’s phone, which allowed them to discover where he went in his few hours out of the circus. He’d gone to the banks of the river, where Reber had drowned.
But Roux and Tseng had failed to tell Pellegrini this, which was a silly mistake. Because he’d received the same information as them, albeit from a different source, when his secretary told him that Kaung had asked what ‘allotment’ meant.
And that oaf Pellegrini only went and asked Kaung what he was looking for in the allotments by the river!
A few hours later Kaung had vanished. He’d left his mobile behind.
3
Zürich
The same day
Valerie Sommer had dealt with alcoholics too often to be bothered by a relapse.
The moment she entered the kitchen she could see what was wrong. Dirty dishes in the sink, Sabu’s droppings on the floor, empty wine bottles on the table in the staff area where they tended to eat.
Schoch wasn’t obsessive about order, but nor was she. Still, for a homeless alcoholic on the wagon he’d been surprisingly neat and tidy up to now.
Valerie put the shopping down on one of the sideboards and took the lift.
When the lift door opened she could hear him singing: ‘The moon has risen high, stars glitter in the sky, the night is clear and bright.’ His voice was remarkably tuneful.
As she entered the room, a comic scene greeted her: Schoch beside the bed on all fours, singing to Sabu, who was presumably curled up beneath it.
When he saw Valerie he got up uncertainly and slurred, ‘I’m singing my lap elephant a lullaby. What do you think of “lap elephant”? I’m going to trademark the term and sell it to those who breed Sabus. Lap elephants.’
Valerie didn’t reply.
Schoch started singing again and Valerie started tidying up.
It had been a mistake to believe that he’d manage it without help. The most dogged alcoholics were those who claimed they weren’t. Not for nothing did you have to start off at Alcoholics Anonymous by announcing your name and saying, ‘I am an alcoholic.’
What hope did she have of protecting Sabu from the genetic engineering industry if she left her in the care of a homeless alcoholic?
While deliberating what to do she stumbled across the dark-blue suede bag that her mother had bought for Sally, her chihuahua. Sally used to bark incessantly, lived to almost sixteen years old and lost all her hair by the end. Inside the bag was some of Sabu’s dung and her mother’s black Persian stole.
She knew at once what that meant. And now she was going to make an issue of Schoch’s relapse.
‘Have you already gone for a stroll or is that still to come?’ she yelled at him, holding the bag and stole under his nose.
‘Both,’ was his laconic answer.
‘Did anyone see you?’
‘Yes. Me and my dwarf poodle.’
Sabu, who by now had crept out from under the bed, looked faintly terrified. Valerie had never been this loud.
‘Where were you?’
Schoch’s answer sounded defiant: ‘At home.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘I was homesick.’
Valerie shook her head, sighed and slumped into an armchair.
‘Plus I wanted to check if my things were still there. But they weren’t.’
Valerie paused to compose herself, then asked, ‘Do you plan on making any other excursions?’
‘It was spontaneous. I don’t plan spontaneous things.’
‘You just do them when you’re pissed enough.’ She was getting annoyed and now she sounded like an alcoholic’s wife.
‘I drink spontaneously too.’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to modify that in future. I don’t give a shit how much you drink and when. But you can’t do it spontaneously any more. You have to coordinate it with me first. Someone has to look after Sabu. Is that clear?’
She got up from the armchair and left the room, hopping mad. With him, but also with herself.
4
Zürich
19 June 2016
It took Schoch quite a while to realise where he was. From the dry mouth, sticky eyes and thumping heart it felt as if he were at home in the River Bed. But the air was muggy and it smelled of dust and stables.
He was in a dark room. The only light came from a tiny pink elephant.
Now fragments of his memory returned and assembled themselves to give the whole picture. The most irksome detail was that yesterday he’d been completely smashed.
He lay fully dressed on the carpet with Sabu standing beside him, swinging her trunk. He checked the time. Almost nine. Her breakfast was overdue.
Schoch pulled himself together and as he got to his feet the door opened and the light went on. Valerie was holding a tray with a full baby bottle, two cups of coffee, a bottle of water, a basket of croissants and another with pieces of carrot.
‘Good morning, you two,’ she said with slightly strained cheerfulness. She put the tray on the chest of drawers, filled a large glass with water and handed it to Schoch.
Now he recalled that she’d been angry yesterday. He also remembered why.
‘Morning,’ he replied, downing the glass in one.
She picked up the bottle and gave Sabu some to drink. ‘You can’t go downstairs, there are people there,’ she said.
‘What sort of people?’
‘My father’s wine dealers.’
‘Why are you buying wine?’
‘I’m not buying it, I’m selling it. There’s quite a tidy sum to be made getting rid of his old vintages. Especially the clarets.’
‘I see.’ Schoch picked up the cup of coffee, hoping he wasn’t coming across as too remorseful.
Maybe he would have managed it if he hadn’t asked, ‘Do I need to apologise?’
‘Nonsense. If anyone does it’s me.’ After a pause for thought, she added, ‘But we do need a plan.’
Bo
th of them fell silent as if searching for one.
Schoch poured himself another glass of water and drank it. ‘Got it. I simply won’t drink any more.’
Valerie smiled. ‘I mean a good plan.’
Having finished the bottle Sabu went over to Schoch and lifted her trunk. He took a few pieces of carrot from the basket and began feeding her.
After a while he looked up. Valerie was smiling at him. Only now did he realise that she must have been smiling the whole time he’d been feeding Sabu.
‘If you think you can’t cope, please let me know beforehand, would you? No more spontaneity.’ Valerie drank up her coffee and went downstairs to see how the wine men were getting on.
5
The same day
It was a day like they hadn’t had in a long time: blue sky, 23 degrees and a light summer breeze rustling the plane trees of Freiland Park. Mothers were chatting away at the sandpit, a jogger with headphones was doing his laps, lost to the world, and two uniformed workers from SIP – Security, Intervention, Prevention – ensured that the harmonious scene wasn’t disrupted by the alcoholics, junkies and homeless people celebrating this long-awaited summer’s day.
Among them was one-eyed Bolle, drawn to anywhere he could hope to meet others of his ilk.
He had two six-packs of litre beer cans that he generously offered for general consumption. Yesterday was the day he’d collected his weekly benefits from the Stadtkasse.
They’d mobbed two park benches and Bolle had to keep talking louder to drown the others out. Which wasn’t particularly hard since on the way to Freiland Park he’d had a few pit stops – as he liked to call them – to refuel. Lilly had already knocked back the first beer and was now begging him for a second. She sat on Bolle’s lap and started groping him.
‘If you like I could come and visit you in your new cave,’ she whispered, sticking her tongue into his ear.
‘I’m not living in Schoch’s cave, he’s come back,’ Bolle replied, rubbing his ear dry with his sleeve.
‘Rubbish, Giorgio says Schoch hasn’t been seen again. Can I have the other half?’
Bolle loosened a can from the six-pack and passed it to her. ‘I saw him with my own eyes.’
‘Where?’
‘In the cave.’
‘Did he say where he’d been?’
‘Didn’t ask.’
‘Why not?’
‘Bugger off and drink your beer.’
Lilly trudged off in a sulk.
By the late afternoon their spontaneous summer gathering had grown into a party. Word had got round all the usual hangouts that there was a bash in Freiland Park and so they arrived with their beer, wine and hooch. Even the dog lovers turned up; they usually stuck faithfully to their own patch.
Bolle’s beer supplies were running low and now he had to rely on the generosity of others. That of the dog lovers, for example, who’d set up camp on the edge of the park and were cheering on their frolicking dogs.
‘I brought twelve big ones. All necked,’ Bolle said to Giorgio.
‘Not by me,’ Giorgio protested.
‘You should’ve come earlier.’
Giorgio handed him a can. ‘Right then, you saw Schoch in his cave, did you?’
Bolle opened the can and nodded.
‘When was that?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Why should I, given the crap you spout?’
‘I’m not forcing anyone to believe me.’
‘Funny. I live a hundred metres away and I’ve never seen him. Always empty.’
‘I’m only saying what I saw.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him where he’d been, then?’
‘Didn’t want to intrude.’
‘Because he would have realised you were after his sleeping place.’
Bolle got up. ‘Thanks for the beer.’
Giorgio waved him away. ‘I’m regretting it already.’
No longer completely sure on his legs, Bolle rejoined the other drinkers.
Nobody had noticed that a black bank of clouds had gathered in the west. Only when there was a rumble of thunder and the first gusts shook the plane trees did the raucous company look up at the sky and seek shelter under the canopy of Café Freiland.
Soon afterwards the raindrops fell heavily and noisily.
Bolle’s voice could clearly be heard above the general racket: ‘I’ve got to stop anyway or I’ll start seeing little pink elephants again!’
6
The same day
On the way from his cave to the dog lovers’ hangout, Giorgio had once counted 463 puddles, which is why he was keen to have the leptospirosis boosters done a few months earlier than planned. Although his dogs had learned not to drink out of puddles, thirst was sometimes stronger than reason. Nobody knew that better than Giorgio.
Access to the street clinic’s waiting room was via Just a Second, Cynthia’s second-hand clothes shop. This was the only drawback of the clinic, for Cynthia didn’t let anyone pass without a ‘natter’, as she called it. Cynthia was American and had cultivated her accent since her arrival in Switzerland almost thirty years earlier. After embarking on a further education course at the art college, she was hooked. On a painter and performance artist.
It felt as if the main purpose of the shop was to satisfy Cynthia’s own desire for clothes. She helped herself without restraint to the stock and wore the most outrageous combinations and garish items in her collection. Those things she’d worn and discarded after a while were sold in a corner of the shop marked ‘Third Hand’.
It was said that Cynthia had a small annuity that an aunt had left her in her will. She never confirmed the rumour herself, but it was obvious that she couldn’t make a living from Just a Second alone.
Cynthia, her hard-to-tame hair currently bright blonde with a slight hint of raspberry, was arranging the hangers on a clothes rack. She greeted Giorgio with the question, ‘Has Schoch turned up again?’
‘Not that I know of,’ he replied.
‘Strange. He was here just a few days ago.’
‘Everyone’s somewhere before they disappear,’ Giorgio said, trying to get past her.
‘Valerie had already closed up for the day, but she still saw him. And treated his dog.’
‘Schoch doesn’t have a dog.’
‘Well, it may have been a cat. I didn’t see the animal; he was carrying it in a bag. But …’ She held her nose and rolled her eyes.
‘What did Valerie say it was?’
‘Vet confidentiality.’
Giorgio and his dog managed to get past Cynthia into the small waiting room. Ahead of them in the queue were three other dogs and a rat.
7
20 June 2016
Not drinking was going pretty well. The tremors improved and with enough distractions he sometimes forgot for a whole quarter of an hour that he was desperate for a drink.
Sabu was an excellent distraction. Schoch took short videos of her on the mobile and played with her when she demanded it. Or he simply watched her carry out her peculiar rituals: the one where she stood there motionless; when she mechanically took a step forward and then a step back; when she fanned her ears; when she put her ears forward, raised her trunk and launched mock attacks on the furnishings; when she withdrew under furniture as if seeking the darkness to glow more beautifully.
Occasionally Sabu just lay there without sleeping. Her eyes would be open but her gaze didn’t follow him.
‘She looks melancholy to me sometimes,’ he once remarked to Valerie.
‘Maybe she’s missing someone. Elephants are very affectionate.’
‘Maybe she was happy where she was. I’ve never thought about that.’
‘I have. It can’t have been easy to rear her from birth.’
‘But why did they abandon her?’
Valerie shook her head. ‘I expect that will remain a mystery for ever.’
Increasingly, it was Sabu who determined Schoch’s daily routine. Which wasn’t always easy for him, because without any booze he got tired much more rapidly and needed the occasional lie-down. Sometimes she let him sleep, but mostly she woke him up. If he was sleeping on the floor for old times’ sake she’d use her trunk. When he lay on the bed out of her reach she’d trumpet. Although her noises were more like whistles and beeps, it was enough to wake him.
When Valerie wasn’t on call she came twice a day. In the morning she’d have coffee with Schoch and give Sabu her first bottle, while in the evening she’d make something for them to eat. Schoch, whose appetite had returned now the ethanol had been discontinued – as Valerie put it – remarked, ‘If you go on cooking like this I’ll soon fit into your father’s suits,’ and pointed to his stomach.
‘I can’t talk,’ Valerie said, indicating her own tummy.
‘Nothing to see,’ Schoch replied gallantly.
‘It all goes straight to my arse and thighs.’
‘More comfortable for sitting.’
Valerie laughed. ‘I’ve never looked at it that way.’
‘I have. I used to sit very comfortably. Back in the day your father’s things would almost have been a little too tight for me.’
‘He was a bit of a yo-yo. In his wardrobe you’ll find clothes in at least three sizes.’
It took Schoch a while to realise that Valerie didn’t cook any meat. He watched her make lasagne. She spread two spoons of béchamel on a baking dish, covered this with sheets of cooked pasta and then a thick layer of ragout that she’d prepared at home. ‘Don’t get too excited – I’ve left out the wine.’
‘But not the mince this time.’
‘That’s not mince, it’s soya granules.’
‘Are you a vegetarian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘For the same reason I’m a vet.’ As far as she was concerned the subject was closed.
One evening during the second week of his stay at Valerie’s parents’ house she arrived earlier than usual, looking edgy and flustered.