Elefant

by Martin Suter

  She didn’t need to think long about her reply. ‘Out of respect.’

  ‘For the animals?’

  ‘For life.’

  Sabu, who’d been lying beneath a chess table, stood up and walked sedately across the Persian carpet. Valerie and Schoch watched her.

  ‘Out of respect for life, however it may have come about,’ Valerie added.

  ‘Creation or evolution, you mean?’

  ‘Sometimes I think they’re one and the same. The only difference is the time span. Seven days or a few million years – time is relative. Everything’s a question of perspective. How long does a mayfly think its life is?’

  Valerie paused and Schoch sensed that there was something to follow.

  ‘But there’s a volition, a plan behind it. I don’t believe in chance.’ Another pause. ‘How about you?’

  Schoch laughed. ‘Talking philosophy with a tramp.’

  ‘Diogenes was homeless too.’

  Sabu was standing by the open window, feeling with her trunk the gaps between the slats.

  ‘Yes,’ Schoch said, ‘I do believe in chance, coincidence, whatever. For example, it was pure chance that we met.’

  ‘That’s a minor coincidence. I’m talking about major ones. This bunch of flowers, for example,’ she said, pointing to the rather crude still life of some Michaelmas daisies in a clay vase, which hung in a gilded plaster frame and bore a huge signature. ‘Just assume that those were real flowers in a real vase. Can you imagine the vase appearing of its own accord by chance?’

  Schoch shook his head.

  ‘But its contents, five Michaelmas daisies, highly complex creations – they’re supposed to be a product of chance?’

  Schoch poured them both some more tea. ‘So that’s why we’re fighting against genetic modification. Because it’s interfering in creation.’

  ‘And/or in evolution.’

  ‘Even if you can use it to cure or prevent disease?’

  Valerie shrugged.

  ‘When you look at it like that, your job is interfering too.’

  ‘I don’t agree. Treating and curing is just restoring the natural state, which is to be healthy.’

  Sabu turned away from the slats, spread her ears and plodded over to them.

  ‘If you believe in creation,’ Schoch said warily, ‘you believe in God too.’

  Valerie sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Up till now those who believe in him still haven’t given us any proof of his existence,’ Schoch pointed out.

  ‘Nor has the other side come up with any proof that he doesn’t exist.’

  Sabu was now standing beside them, raising her tiny trunk.

  ‘Maybe she’s the proof.’

  ‘That he exists or that he doesn’t exist?’ Valerie asked.

  Schoch thought about this for a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps both.’

  13

  22 June 2016

  Valerie was there for a long time the following evening as well. And once again they chose the grand drawing room over the kitchen staff area. They’d eaten Gschwellti – potatoes in their skins with cheese – and although dinner was long finished, they hadn’t yet tidied away the plates and were still picking at the cheese.

  ‘Fritz as in Friedrich?’ Valerie asked.

  ‘No, just Fritz. My parents christened me Fritz because you couldn’t shorten it.’

  Valerie tried the name out. ‘Fritz Schoch, Fritz Schoch. Two monosyllables. Like a Chinese name.’ Then she said it again, this time very slowly: ‘Fritz Schoch.’

  ‘How long is it since you lived here?’ Schoch asked, to change the subject.

  ‘Twenty-two years.’

  ‘Has the house been standing empty that long?’

  ‘It’s been empty for nineteen. But I moved out twenty-two years ago. On the day I turned eighteen.’

  ‘When your parents died you could have renovated the house and moved in yourself.’

  ‘There are certain memories you can’t just paper over. Nor certain other things either. I can still smell the stench of the venison, partridge and pheasant, which used to hang downstairs in the cold store until they were putrid enough for my father.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Have you got brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No, I’m an only child.’

  ‘Why did you keep the house?’

  ‘Legal stipulation. The house couldn’t be sold for twenty years and there was an executor to make sure of that.’

  ‘You could have let it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Legal stipulation.’

  ‘I’m gradually realising why you don’t like your father.’

  ‘That’s not the reason.’

  ‘Why then?’

  ‘I don’t feel I know you well enough to say.’

  There was silence for a while until Schoch said, ‘What about the money? I mean, you’re not exactly living the high life, are you?’

  ‘There wasn’t much left; he lost most of it in the Asian currency crisis.’

  ‘Ah yes, 1997.’

  Valerie looked at Schoch in surprise.

  ‘And the money that was left?’ Schoch asked before she could get her question in.

  ‘Went into the Sommer Foundation.’

  ‘Another legal stipulation?’

  ‘No, it’s something I set up.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Animal protection.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It funds the street clinic, for example.’

  ‘And pays your salary.’

  ‘I don’t draw a salary, which is why I work 60 per cent of the time in the animal hospital.’

  ‘When can you sell the house?’

  ‘In a month.’

  ‘What will you do with the money?’

  ‘Put it into the Sommer Foundation.’

  ‘Are you an idealist?’

  ‘No. I just don’t want any of my father’s filthy money.’

  ‘Money has no smell.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  Schoch said nothing for a while. Then he muttered, ‘Nor am I.’ He scraped some of the overripe Camembert from the plate and spread it onto a piece of black bread.

  ‘How did you end up on the streets?’

  ‘I’ll tell you another time.’

  ‘You know so much about me and I know nothing about you.’

  Silence.

  ‘Come on, talk.’

  ‘It’s not something I like to talk about with a woman.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it concerns a woman.’

  ‘Interesting. Tell me.’

  Schoch paused, then said, ‘I used to be married.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Why’s that important?’

  ‘It’ll help me get a better picture of her.’

  ‘Paula.’

  ‘Fritz and Paula Schoch. Sounds terribly middle class.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Was she pretty?’

  ‘An absolute stunner.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘What always goes wrong?’

  ‘You or her?’

  ‘Three guesses.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘One. From the other guy.’

  ‘Why didn’t the two of you have any?’

  ‘She didn’t want them.’

  ‘Ouch. And then you chucked the whole thing in?’

  ‘I no longer saw any reason to earn so much and work so hard. I let her have everything I had.’

  ‘And made sure that no more came in,’ Valerie said with a knowing smile.

  ‘I’d have had to give her most of it anyway.’

  ‘With another man’s child?’

  ‘She said it was mine.’

  ‘You can do paternity tests these days.’

  ‘I didn’t want a huge row about it,’ Schoch said.

  ‘Better just to chuck it all in. I understand
.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I chucked all of this in, didn’t I?’ she said, pointing at the room they were in.

  ‘That’s true.’

  Valerie cut off the last bit of a rind. ‘Did you never feel the urge to get back in the game again?’

  ‘Not till now.’

  Their eyes met then immediately looked away again.

  ‘It was the big catastrophe of my life.’

  ‘What about now? After … how many years?’

  ‘Almost ten.’

  ‘After almost ten years, are you over it now?’

  ‘I was long ago. But I thought it was too late.’

  ‘But you don’t think that any more?’

  Schoch didn’t reply.

  Through a chink in the curtains they could see the horizontal strips of the twilight in the blinds that weren’t quite closed.

  ‘What was your job?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘I worked in a bank.’

  Valerie laughed. ‘A banker!’

  ‘A bank employee.’

  ‘A big beast?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘That’s why you’re so comfortable in my father’s suits. Which bank?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten.’

  14

  23 June 2016

  A morning like in the tropics: still fresh from the night, but already heavy from the humidity that would soon fall as rain. Roux had a cool bag over his shoulder and was struggling up the embankment to the bushes that concealed the entrance to the cave.

  The one-eyed man was awake, but probably only just. He was rolling up his sleeping bag and cursing quietly to himself.

  The cave reeked of alcohol, stale smoke and urine.

  ‘May I come in?’ Roux said.

  The man got a start. It took him a moment to recognise Roux. ‘Oh, it’s you. I’m not geared up for visitors.’

  Roux crept into the cave.

  ‘What do you want?’ the one-eyed man said.

  ‘To see you.’

  ‘Are you from social services or the police?’

  ‘Neither. I’m a researcher.’

  ‘Ha! A researcher. What are you researching?’

  Roux took his mobile from his pocket, fiddled about a bit, then stuck it under the man’s nose. ‘That’s a skinny pig. A naked guinea pig.’

  The tramp stared at the photo. ‘It’s pink,’ he declared.

  ‘That’s what I’m researching.’

  The man laughed, then his laugh turned into a coughing fit and it took a while before he could talk again.

  In the meantime Roux had opened the cool bag, taken out two glasses and one of the two bottles and was uncorking it.

  ‘Prosecco?’ the one-eyed man gasped.

  ‘Champagne,’ Roux corrected him. ‘Veuve Clicquot.’

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I drank champagne. Maybe never.’

  Roux carefully allowed the gas to escape from the bottle, then poured two very unequal glasses. Raising the less full one, he said, ‘Paul.’

  The other man raised his, said, ‘Bolle, everyone calls me Bolle,’ toasted Roux and drank it with relish. ‘Mmm,’ he said, smacking his lips. ‘Does it get you pissed, too?’

  ‘Happy,’ Roux corrected him.

  ‘Great.’ Bolle grinned. ‘I can’t remember when I was last happy – certainly longer ago than since I was last pissed.’ He finished the glass. ‘But small glasses.’

  Roux filled it again. ‘Large glasses take too long to drink and the champagne gets warm.’

  ‘Not if it’s my glass,’ Bolle said, triggering another laughing and coughing fit that prevented him from drinking.

  ‘So you’re researching pink guinea pigs?’ he finally said.

  ‘Among other things.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Small pink elephants.’

  This shut Bolle up. He downed his glass and held it out to Roux, who refilled it and asked, ‘Ever seen one?’

  Bolle took a large gulp. ‘You’re having me on, Paul.’

  ‘I’ve heard you sometimes do see them.’

  ‘White mice too. This is what’s responsible.’ He lifted his glass and necked it. ‘Not from having too much of it, but too little.’

  Roux refilled. ‘Were you already in this cave when a man drowned down here?’

  ‘No, just heard about it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Totally.’ He finished his glass. ‘I could get used to this stuff. Anything left in the bottle?’

  Roux poured the last of it.

  ‘What about you?’ Bolle said, pointing to Roux’s glass that still contained most of the dribble he’d allowed himself.

  ‘I’ve still got some, thanks.’

  Bolle grinned. ‘Still got some research to do, eh?’

  ‘How long have you been sleeping here?’

  Bolle finished his glass. ‘Good stuff, isn’t it?’

  Roux nodded.

  ‘How long have you been sleeping here?’

  ‘Wanna know why everyone calls me Bolle?’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Bolle started singing, ‘Bolle left for Pankow, at Whitsuntide one June …’

  With a sigh, Roux took the second bottle from the cool bag and uncorked it.

  Bolle stopped singing. ‘That’s what I call a gentleman. Always with a second bottle on him. I mean one of them could have been corked.’

  Roux poured him some.

  ‘… His left one looked like slime. With me it’s the right eye, but it looks like slime all the same.’

  ‘How long have you been sleeping here, Bolle?’

  ‘Since Schoch.’

  ‘Who’s Schoch?’

  ‘The guy who slept here before me.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he sleep here any more?’

  Bolle shrugged and held out his glass.

  ‘He vanished all of a sudden.’

  ‘When was that?’ asked Roux, holding back the bottle.

  ‘Fourteenth of June.’

  Roux filled Bolle’s glass. ‘How can you be so precise?’

  ‘Giorgio says so.’

  ‘How come he knows?’

  ‘He says it was five days before his dogs were vaccinated. Schoch just disappeared, but then he turned up at the street clinic and was never seen again.’

  Roux’s heart was pounding. So the former inhabitant of this cave disappeared two days after Reber drowned.

  ‘Or almost never,’ Bolle held out his glass again.

  15

  The same day

  On the pavement outside Just a Second was a single parking space. A sign said ‘Private’ and showed a registration number. Parked there was a Peugeot estate, dull red in colour.

  Kaung had come to take a look earlier, but the street clinic was in the back rooms of the second-hand shop and it was closed. He’d made a note of the opening times and returned at the next opportunity.

  Twenty metres in front of him a man Kaung thought he recognised was walking along. He slackened his pace and ducked behind the cars parked by the kerb.

  A sensible precaution, for the man suddenly turned around.

  Dr Roux.

  His destination seemed to be the same as Kaung’s. Outside the entrance to Just a Second, behind the parked car, he turned around again. Then he bent down as if to tie his shoelace, but for a moment it looked as if he’d done something to the car. He stood back up and went into the shop.

  Kaung had to wait until Roux left before paying his own visit.

  16

  The same day

  Valerie put down her shopping. ‘Someone’s looking for you.’

  ‘What kind of person?’

  ‘Someone from social services. Kellerberger, Kellerman – Keller something. He said it was a routine matter. When someone who’s registered and regularly receives payments suddenly stops collecting them, they run a search for that person.’

&n
bsp; ‘Did you ask for ID?’

  ‘I’ve never asked anyone for ID in my life.’ She gave him the bag from a shoe shop. ‘Try these. Those that don’t fit you I’ll have to take back tomorrow.’

  ‘You asked for a selection of men’s shoes?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How did you explain that the customer wasn’t there himself?’

  ‘He’s not good on his feet.’

  ‘Why does he need shoes then?’

  Both of them laughed.

  Sabu announced herself with a high-pitched noise that sounded like a piccolo.

  They dutifully started preparing her meal. Valerie chopped up the fruit, Schoch mixed the formula milk.

  ‘How did he find you?’

  ‘On the streets they know that you came to see me before you disappeared.’

  ‘Then you’d better glance over your shoulder before you drive here.’

  ‘In case I’m being tailed by social services you mean?’

  ‘Assuming the guy was from social services.’

  ‘He looked like he was.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Thickset, almost completely shaved head, red-haired.’

  ‘But you could still see the hair colour?’

  ‘From the hair on the back of his hands. Women look at men’s hands.’

  Schoch gave Sabu the bottle. ‘Let’s assume the guy isn’t from social services, but he’s one of the people looking for Sabu.’

  ‘So why is he looking for you?’

  ‘Why has he linked me to her?’

  ‘Because Bolle talked.’

  Schoch grimaced. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m quitting at the animal hospital.’

  ‘Why?’ Schoch said, surprised.

  ‘To give me more time for this,’ she said, pointing at Sabu, him and everything around them.

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘It’s practically a round-the-clock job. And I’ll keep going at the street clinic.’

  ‘I thought that was voluntary.’

  Having finished her bottle, Sabu now lay beside Valerie, who started stroking her neck.

  ‘The foundation is paying me a small salary now.’

  ‘And you can live off that?’

  ‘The foundation has just increased it slightly.’

  ‘I thought you were the foundation?’

  ‘I am,’ Valerie said with a smile.

  17