His eyes lock with hers, as though somehow he can latch on to her and haul himself up. They are small, sad eyes, as unimpressive as everything else about him. Briefly, the monster is calm, briefly the kindliness is back, for a moment she even pities him for being who he is. But only for a moment. She tries to remind herself of the old times, when the world was still intact. There is a wild beast slumbering behind those eyes, prowling up and down, scraping its hooves in the sand, ready to bite. It would pounce and rip into her throat without hesitation.
• • •
But he knows the beast cannot attack; he sees in her face that it makes no difference what he says. It’s over. He hears the resolution in every word she speaks. Blum wants him to die. In her cold, hard stare, he sees there is no way out. So the wind changes again and the storm inside him rises. The wild beast of his fury returns.
• • •
“What happened to the others?”
“They’re dead.”
“I don’t believe you’re capable of that, Blum.”
“That was precisely your mistake.”
“You killed them?”
“I got them ready for their funerals.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You think you’re any better than me?”
“I do.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“You hit and kicked the girl until she lost her baby. She bled to death. And then you just threw her away.”
“And you decapitated a priest.”
“Yes, and now I’m going to burn you.”
“You won’t go through with this.”
“I will, for Mark.”
“Blum, this is ridiculous.”
“You were the worst of them all.”
“That’s what your little friend told you, did she?”
“Yes.”
“If she’d only kept her mouth shut she’d still be alive. I wouldn’t have had to hold her head underwater. She wouldn’t have ended up in the River Inn like the boy.”
“You bastard.”
“It’s a shame we had to close our little club. Your husband and that little cunt insisted on trying to save the day.”
“Stop.”
“I had a lot of fun with Dunya, the little slut. We were very fond of her. It was silly of her to run away.”
“I told you to stop.”
“I was very surprised to see her in the girls’ bedroom after I’d fucked you. There was no keeping that little whore down.”
“I said—”
“She was really good in the sack, believe me. I’m sure Mark would have told you the same.”
“Stop!”
“Oh no, that’s not all—”
• • •
She doesn’t want to hear another word, she doesn’t want to know a thing more, she wants to be rid of him. Her finger depresses the button and he begins to scream. The furnace door opens and the casket slides in, feetfirst. Massimo roars but no one can hear his curses, no one can come to his aid. Blum and Reza stand side by side, fingers intertwined, watching the spectacle unfold. They don’t move; they do nothing to stop what is coming next, they just stand hand in hand watching the furnace door. How Massimo screams, but only for a moment. Then everything is still, and suddenly it’s just the two of them.
• • •
It is the middle of the night and they are getting used to the feeling that everything will be all right. He burns for two hours. They sit on the floor in front of the furnace, waiting. They don’t talk but they are still holding hands. From time to time Blum gets up and looks through the window to get a glimpse of Massimo’s disintegrating body. As she watches the fire rage at 750 degrees, she gets the sense that life will become easier. They reemerge into the night and drive along the highway. Nothing is left of Massimo but ashes in a plastic bag. By the time they stop at the service station, she is convinced that she will survive. She drops him into the dirty toilet and flushes him away.
Eight years earlier
“Blum?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Anything you like.”
“Afterwards, we don’t ever have to talk about it again.”
“About what?”
“You know I’m on your side. Always have been, always will be. But you’ve got to tell me the truth.”
“You’re scaring me, Mark.”
“Everything’s all right, Blum.”
“Is it? You sound odd. What is it?”
“I want to know if you had a reason.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Whether they deserved it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your parents.”
“What about them?”
“Did they deserve to drown?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just want you to tell me that it had to happen. That they deserved to die. Tell me. That’s all I want to know.”
“Please stop this, Mark.”
“I love you, Blum. You know that. But you must answer me.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to feel afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Yes, of you. And if you tell me there was a reason then I can understand. Understand you. And what you did. Please tell me, Blum.”
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve known all along. I could read it in your eyes.”
“You’re a police officer.”
“I’m going to be your husband. And that’s why I have to know. I promise, I’ll never mention it again. But just this once tell me why.”
“They drowned.”
“I want to live with you, Blum, and someday I want us to have children.”
“And first you want to be sure I’m not a monster.”
“Correct.”
“I had a hundred reasons, Mark. It had to happen.”
“Did it?”
“They deserved it. It’s better that they’re dead. Believe me.”
“That’s okay, then.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, Blum.”
“You’re not going to leave me?”
“I’m not going leave you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
About the Author
© FOTOWERK AICHNER
Bernhard Aichner is an award-winning author and photographer living in Innsbruck, Austria. His books have been translated into twelve languages. Woman of the Dead is his first book to be translated into English.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Original title: Totenfrau, by Bernhard Aichner © 2014 by btb Verlag, a division of Verlagsgruppe Random House GmbH, München, Germany
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ISBN 978-1-4767-7561-6
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Woman of the Dead Page 21