Petra Hammesfahr, born in 1951, wrote her first novel at the age of seventeen. She has written over twenty crime and suspense novels and also writes scripts for television and film. Her book The Quiet Mr. Genardy was her first bestseller and was made into a film. It was soon followed by the critical and commercial success of The Sinner. She has won numerous literary prizes, including the Crime Prize of Wiesbaden and the Rhineland Literary Prize, and lives near Cologne.
Petra Hammesfahr
Translated from the German
by John Brownjohn
It was a hot day at the beginning of July when Cora Bender decided to die. Gereon had made love to her the night before. He made love to her regularly every Friday and Saturday night. She couldn't bring herself to refuse him, being only too well aware how much he needed it. And she loved Gereon. It was more than love. It was gratitude and utter submission - something absolute and unconditional.
Gereon had enabled her to be a normal young woman like any other. That was why she wanted him to be happy and contented. She used to enjoy his lovemaking, but that had stopped six months ago.
It was Christmas Eve, of all times, when Gereon had taken it into his head to install a radio in their bedroom. He had wanted it to be a special night. They'd been husband and wife for exactly two and a half years and the parents of a son for eighteen months.
Gereon Bender was twenty-seven, Cora twenty-four. A slim five feet ten, Gereon looked fit and athletic, although lie played no games, he never had time. His hair, ash blond at birth, had darkened little since then. His face was neither handsome nor ugly. It was an average sort of face, just as Gereon himself was an average sort of man.
Cora Bender was just as unexceptional in outward appearance, discounting the scar on her forehead and her scarred forearms. The dent in her skull had been caused by an accident, the gnarled skin on the inside of her elbows was the result of a nasty infection transmitted by hypodermic needles while she was being treated in the hospital - or so she'd told Gereon. She had also said she didn't remember any details. That much was true. The doctor had told her that lapses of memory were common in the case of severe head injuries.
There was a hole in her life. She knew it concealed some dark, squalid episode, but her memory of it was missing. Until a few years ago she'd fallen into that hole innumerable times, night after night. The last occasion had been four years ago, before she met Gereon, and she'd somehow managed to close it. She had never expected to fall into it again since her marriage to him. And then, on Christmas Eve of all nights, it had happened.
Everything was fine at first, what with the soft Christmas music and Gereon's caresses, which gradually became more urgent and passionate. Her mood didn't sour until lie slid slowly down the bed, and when he buried his face between her thighs and she felt his tongue, the music swelled. She heard a rapid roll on the drums, the throb of a bass guitar and the shrill, high-pitched notes of an organ. Only for a fraction of a second, then it was over, but that brief moment was enough.
Something inside her disintegrated - or rather, burst open like a safe being attacked with an acetylene torch. It was an unreal sensation. As if she were no longer lying in her own bed, she felt a hard surface beneath her back and something in her mouth like an outsize thumb that depressed her tongue and caused her to gag unbearably.
Cora's response was purely instinctive: she wrapped her legs around Gereon's neck and squeezed it between her thighs. She was within an ace of breaking his neck or throttling him, but she didn't even notice, she was so far away at that moment. It wasn't until he pinched her in the side, gasping and panting and driving his fingernails deep into the soft flesh of her waist, that the pain summoned her back.
Gereon fought for breath. `Are you crazy? What's got into you?" He massaged his throat and coughed, staring at her and shaking his head.
He couldn't fathom her reaction. She herself was equally at a loss to know what it was she'd suddenly found so repulsive and distasteful - so terrible that she'd momentarily felt his tongue was the touch of death.
"I don't like it, that's all," she said, wondering what it was that she'd heard. The music was still playing softly: a children's choir singing "Silent Night" - what else, on such a night?
Her unexpected onslaught had quenched Gereon's desire. He switched off the radio, turned out the light and pulled the covers over his shoulders. He didn't say goodnight, just growled: "That's that, then ..."
He fell asleep quickly. Cora wasn't sure later whether she had also dozed off, but at some point she sat bolt upright in bed and lashed out with her fists, yelling: "Don't! Let go! Let go of me! Stop it, you filthy swine!" And her ears rang with the wild beat of the drums, the throb of the bass guitar and the shrill strains of the organ.
Gereon woke up, grabbed her wrists and shook her. "Cora! Stop that!" he shouted. "What is all this shit?" She couldn't stop, couldn't wake up. She sat there in the darkness, desperately fighting off something that was slowly bearing down on her - something of which she knew nothing, only that it was driving her insane.
She didn't recover her composure until Gereon had gently slapped her face several times. He asked her again what the matter was. Had he done something wrong? Still too bemused to answer right away, she merely stared at him. After a moment or two he lay back. She followed his example, turned on her side and strove to convince herself that it had just been an ordinary nightmare.
But it happened again the following night, when Gereon tried to make up for lost time, even though there was no radio in the bedroom and he made no attempt to do what he regarded as the supreme expression of love. First came the music, somewhat louder and longer lasting - long enough for her to realize that she had never heard the tune before. Then she fell into the dark hole and emerged from it yelling and lashing out. She didn't wake up. That she did only when Gereon shook her, slapped her face and shouted her name.
The same thing happened twice the first week in January and once the week thereafter. Gereon was too tired that Friday night
so he claimed, at least - but on the Saturday he said: "I'm getting sick of this." That may also have been his reason the night before.
In March he insisted on her going to a doctor. "It isn't normal, you must admit. Something's got to be done. Or do you plan to go on like this indefinitely? If so, I'll sleep on the couch."
She didn't go to a doctor. A doctor would have been bound to ask if she had some explanation for this curious nightmare, or at least for why it happened only when Gereon had made love to her. A doctor would probably have begun to rake around in the dark hole - to persuade her to become aware of things. A doctor wouldn't have understood that there are things too terrible to become aware of. Instead she tried a chemist, who recommended a mild sedative. This cured the yelling and lashing out, so Gereon assumed that all was well again. It wasn't.
It got worse every weekend. By May her fear of Friday nights was like a wild beast gnawing away inside her. The first Friday afternoon in July was sheer hell.
She was sitting in her office, which was just a cubbyhole partitioned off from the rest of the storeroom. There was a light over the desk, and standing on the outskirts of the glow it shed was a fax machine displaying the time and date.
Four-fifty pm, 4 July ... Ten more minutes to the end of office hours. Only another five hours or so, and Gereon would be reaching for her. She yearned to go on sitting there till Monday morning. As long as she was sitting at her desk, she was a smart, efficient young woman, the heart and soul and motive power of her father-in-law's firm.
It was a family firm: just Cora, her father-in-law, Gereon, and an employee named Manni Weber. They were plumbing and heating engineers, and nothing functioned without her. She was proud of her position, having had to fight hard
for her place in the hierarchy.
Her father-in-law had asked her to take over the office-work the day after her marriage. He wouldn't take no for an answer. "What do you mean, you can't? You've got a pair of eyes in your head; look at my books, you'll soon pick it up. You didn't think you were going to twiddle your thumbs in idleness, did you?"
Twiddling her thumbs had never been her style, and she told him so. The old man nodded. "That's settled, then."
Until then he'd had to handle the paperwork himself after hours. Her mother-in-law could just about answer the phone, which was little more than Cora herself could do to begin with.
The old man never offered her any tips or advice on how he'd done things hitherto. As for being guided by his books, they would have had to be better kept for that. There were times when he seemed to relish her helplessness, but she didn't remain helpless for long.
She quickly grasped the essentials and persevered. Nothing was handed to her on a plate - she'd even had to fight for the wooden partition that separated her miniature office from the rest of the premises.
For the first year she'd sat at a discarded kitchen table in the corner of the big, unheated, eternally grimy room. She dared not complain, although the old man didn't even pay her a wage. Gereon himself earned nothing but pocket money plus their board and lodging, and his car was registered in the firm's name. If they needed anything else, he had to ask.
Even Cora's pregnancy brought no concessions - not even a modicum of comfort. She continued to sit in the corner of the storeroom until the very last minute. When she went into labour she was working out an estimate for a gas central heating system - standing at the table because she couldn't continue to sit any longer, her back was aching so much. Her mother-in-law got hysterical because everything went so quickly. A few fierce pains, then her waters broke, and she felt intense pressure in her lower abdomen.
She hadn't wanted to go to hospital at first, but in the end she called out: "I need an ambulance! Call an ambulance!"
Her mother-in-law just stood there, pointing at the table. "You aren't through yet, finish it first. No one gives birth in ten minutes; I was in labour with Gereon for a whole day. Father will be furious if that isn't finished by tonight, you know what he's like."
She knew it only too well, having lived under the same roof since her marriage. The old man was a tyrant, an exploiter, and her mother-in-law a submissive creature who bullied anyone in a weaker position than herself. Gereon was just a follower of orders, and Cora a slave. She'd sold herself cheap, almost for nothing, in return for the illusion of a well-ordered existence.
And suddenly, as she stood hunched over the old kitchen table, watching the puddle spreading around her feet with one hand clamped between her thighs and pressed against her bulging belly, she'd had enough. Finish it first? No!
In the hospital she found time to reflect on her life at leisure and grasp that a well-ordered existence also had its drawbacks. In such an environment, any hope that her dreams would come true by themselves was futile. The only question was, how much of a risk could she afford to take? Still, she told herself, it would be easier with a baby in her arms. Those seven or eight pounds of humanity would be enough to support any demand she made.
She proceeded to put her ideas into effect when she came home a few days later. This earned her the reputation of a brazen, ruthless creature - a hussy with hair on her teeth, as the old man often called her. She certainly wasn't that, but she could act like one if necessary. Besides, asking his permission would have achieved nothing.
She fixed up the office, complete with desk, filing cabinet and heating. She also took other liberties, like paying herself and Gereon a salary. The old man flew into a rage, accusing her of barefaced rapacity. "Where did you learn to pick other people's pockets?" he demanded.
Her heart was in her mouth, but she stood firm. "Either we get paid like other people or we go and work elsewhere, it's up to you. Ask around, find out what other firms are paying, then you'll see what a good deal you're getting. Me, pick your pockets? Never say that again! I earn my money!"
It was an arduous business, getting her way with the old man, but she managed it. She had even, well over a year ago, squeezed a house of their own out of him. More than once she'd been afraid he would chuck her out, child or no child. "Go back where you came from!" Gereon had merely stood there, looking hangdog. He'd never once backed her up or uttered a word in her defence.
To her chagrin, Cora had realized soon after their son's birth that her husband would be no help to her. That had ceased to matter now Gereon was simply like that. He did his work. That apart, he liked a quiet life - and a bit of lovemaking on Friday and Saturday night. She couldn't baulk at this because lovemaking was something good, something wholly normal and natural.
Eight minutes to five on 4July ... Cora still had another invoice to make out. She'd kept putting it off so as to occupy her mind for those last few minutes. A new central heating boiler. Gereon and Manni Weber had installed it on Wednesday, and there were two more scheduled for next week. The new anti-pollution regulations were compelling people to scrap their old boilers. The regulations had come into force several years ago, but many householders had jibbed at the expense and waited until the district chimney sweep threatened to put their old boilers out of action.
It was funny in a way, that attitude. You knew exactly what you were in for and did nothing. You simply waited, as if an old boiler's emissions would conform to the stricter standards overnight, entirely by themselves and of their own accord - as if a hole inside you would close up from one minute to the next.
It had closed up four years ago, although not from one minute to the next. The process had taken a month or two. That was before she met Gereon, whose raids on her body kept dislodging the scabs that had formed in the previous few days.
Three minutes to five on 4 July ... Nothing left to do but that invoice. Last Friday she'd been able to devote some time to the wage slips. Although only an illusion, it had kept her panic at bay. It wasn't just fear or a simple sense of unease; it was a reddish-grey mist that filled her brain, pervading every cranny and jangling every nerve.
Five pm! Stiff-fingered, she removed the sheet of paper from the typewriter and carefully checked the individual figures. There was nothing to correct, just a bit of desk tidying to do. Last of all she turned the calendar over to next week. Monday! Till then two eternities loomed like a double death, and she was half-dead already.
Her legs refused to obey her. Walking like someone on stilts, she emerged from her tiny office and made her way across the storeroom, then out into the yard. It was very hot outside. The baby-faced sun was smiling down out of a cloudless sky. It was so bright, her eyes started to water, but not, in all probability, because of the glare.
Her parents-in-law lived in the house overlooking the street; her own home occupied the former garden. It was a sizeable house equipped with all mod cons, the fitted kitchen a dream in bleached oak. As a rule she felt very proud of it all. At the moment she felt nothing in the way of pride or self-assurance, just this terrible fear of going mad. To her, going mad seemed worse than death.
She busied herself with housework until just before seven. Gereon wasn't home yet. On Fridays he regularly repaired to a bar with Manni Weber for a beer or two - never more than two, unless he switched to alcohol-free. They joined his parents for supper at seven on the dot.
At eight they returned to their own house, taking their son with them, and put him straight to bed. Cora's mother-in-law had already dressed him in his pyjamas and a nappy for the night.
Gereon sat down in front of the TV and watched the news, then a movie. At ten he developed his nervous expression. He smoked one more cigarette. Before lighting it he said: "I'll just smoke one more."
His manner was tense and uncertain - he hadn't known how to behave for weeks now After a minute or two he stubbed out the cigarette and said: "I'll go up now." He might as well have brandished
a whip or done something equally atrocious.
"Coming, Cora? I'm through." It was all she could do to get out of her armchair when she heard him call her from upstairs.
He'd showered and brushed his teeth, run the razor over his cheeks and neck and dabbed himself with aftershave. Clean, fragrant and good-looking, he was standing in the bathroom doorway in his underpants, his erection all too apparent beneath the thin material. He gave a sheepish grin and stroked the nape of his neck, where his hair was still damp from the shower. "Or don't you feel like it?" lie asked hesitantly.
It would have been easy to say no - in fact she briefly considered doing so - but that would merely have postponed the problem, not disposed of it for good.
She wasn't long in the bathroom. Her sleeping pills were on the shelf above the basin - stronger ones than the first batch, and the packet was almost full. She washed two down with half a toothmug of water. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she swallowed the remaining sixteen in the hope that they would be enough to finish her off. Going into the bedroom, she lay down beside Gereon and forced a smile.
He took little trouble, being eager to get it over quickly. His hand located the objective and checked its condition with a finger. The outlook was unpromising, and had been ever since the night he'd tried to kiss her there. Having become inured to this, Gereon had acquired a tube of lubricant, which he gently applied before mounting her and thrusting his way inside.
That was when the madness began. Absolute silence reigned, except for Gereon's breathing. Restrained at first, it became ever louder and more hectic. Not a sound to be heard but his breathing, yet hear it she did, like the strains of an invisible radio. After six months the rhythm was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat: the rapid roll on the drums, the throb of the bass guitar and the highpitched piping of the organ. The faster Gereon's movements, the more the tempo increased until she felt her heart must burst. Then it was over, cut off at the very instant Gereon rolled off her.
The Sinner Page 1