Common assault, eh? Aloud he said: "Have you got something against doctors?"
Out of the corner of his eye lie saw her shrug. After a few moments she said: "I wouldn't go that far. I just don't think much of them. They tell you some nonsense and you have to believe it because you can't prove the opposite."
"Do you know what Georg Frankenberg's profession was?"
It didn't escape him that her voice was swimming in a puddle of despair. "How would I, if I didn't know the man?"
That was the truth, the unadulterated truth. A stranger, but his wife had had that tape! "I'll wind it on a bit ..." In her head something was winding back. The chief wasn't giving her time to reflect on how, when and under what circumstances the tune on the cassette could have found its way into her head. It would have been important to know that.
"Do you often get headaches?" he asked.
"No, only when I've slept badly."
"Would you like an aspirin? I think we've got some here." He oughtn't to give her anything even as harmless as aspirin - she could say he'd fed her something that had impaired her will. He'd only asked to make a change from saying yes or no.
"No thanks," she said. "Kind of you, but aspirin doesn't help. My mother-in-law has some tablets. I take one occasionally, but you can only get them on prescription. They're very strong."
"Then your headaches must be bad," he said, spooning coffee into a paper filter. He inserted the filter, pressed a button and turned to face her.
"Yes, sometimes, but not now" She shook her head. "I'm all right, honestly. Hey, would you turn off the machine and clean the jug first? It's dirty. See that film on the bottom? You must wipe it off. It's no use just rinsing it out with water."
Her look of distaste was unmistakable. House-proud young woman, Grovian thought with a trace of sarcasm that didn't match his mood. "I bet you rinse out the jug every time," he said quietly.
"Of course."
`And everything else in your home is spick and span as well."
"I don't get much time for housework, but I do my best to keep everything clean."
"Your private life included?"
Although she was feeling so wretched she could hardly think, she grasped what lie was getting at. Instinctively, her hands closed around the scars on her forearms. Her voice was hoarse and defensive. "What do you mean?"
"What I say. You don't like talking about the past, but your husband can't have been the first man in your life. Were you happy with him, Frau Bender?"
She merely nodded.
"So why did you tell him, only a few hours ago, that he should never have married you?"
She shrugged, put a hand to her mouth and started to chew her thumbnail.
"He beat you up," Grovian said, indicating her face. "Did lie often hit you?"
"No!" The hoarseness in her voice had gone without her having to clear her throat. "Gereon never hit me," she said firmly. "Today was the first time, but put yourself in his place. What would you do if your wife suddenly jumped up and stabbed a stranger with a knife? You'd also try to get it away from her, and if she resisted, you'd hit her. It was quite understandable."
Grovian rubbed the bottom of the jug clean with his fingertips, replaced the jug under the filter and pressed the button again. "I can't put myself in your husband's place, Frau Bender, because my wife would never do such a crazy thing."
Her reaction was fiercer than he'd expected. She stamped her foot and shouted: "I'm not crazy!"
Her earlier outbursts hadn't been lost on him. He took her renewed insistence on this point as a positive challenge to continue along the same lines. "Maybe not, Frau Bender, but that's what people will think if you provide no explanation for your actions. No normal person kills a stranger just because some music has got on her nerves. I spent a long time talking with your husband, and
She muttered something he didn't catch, but it stopped him in his tracks. "Leave my husband out of it!" she said fiercely. "He's got absolutely nothing to do with this." In a rather more moderate tone she went on: "Gereon is a decent man. He's hard-working and honest. He doesn't drink. He isn't violent."
She bowed her head, and her voice lost strength. "He'd never force a woman to do anything she didn't want to do. He never forced me to, either. Only yesterday he asked if I felt like it. I could have said no, but I ..."
Grovian was feeling rather mean and couldn't understand why. Cora Bender had attacked a defenceless man like a maddened beast. She'd gone berserk with her little knife and was showing no hint of remorse or sympathy for her victim. Yet to see her sitting there with her lips trembling, enumerating her husband's good qualities, anyone would have thought she was the victim.
But then she smiled a self-assured, supercilious smile and exasperated him yet again with her habitual, introductory "Look. . ."
"Look," she said, "I've no wish to discuss my husband with you; it's enough if he's made a statement. He has, and he'll have to repeat it in court, but that'll have to do. We can settle the rest between us. I don't see why any outsiders should be dragged into this."
More harshly than he intended, Grovian said: "Plenty of outsiders will be dragged into this, Fran Bender. I'll tell you how matters stand: you suddenly lost control of yourself, and you either can't or won't explain why."
She opened her mouth to speak, but lie went on quickly: "No, don't interrupt me again. I didn't say you were mad - no one has, to date - but you did something incomprehensible, and it's our job to find out why. We're obliged to do so by law, whether you like it or not. We shall have to interview a lot of people. Your parents, your parents-in-law - everyone who's close to you. We shall question them all, and
He got no further. She made to jump up, gripping the seat of her chair with both hands as if that were all that could keep her in her place. "Your parents ..." The words reverberated in her head.
"I'm warning you!" she snarled. "Leave my father alone. You're welcome to interview my parents-in-law, they'll tell you what you want to hear: that I'm just a shameless, money-grubbing floozy. A floozy - my mother-in-law called me that from the outset. She can be an absolute bitch - she's always finding fault with me."
Grovian was unaware that she'd said her parents were dead. He saw Werner Hoss make a sign but construed it as a recommendation that the interview be discontinued, and that didn't suit him. Why stop just when he was getting somewhere? The glacier was melting, he could already hear its waters gurgling in his ears. Her parents, her father ... He swiftly grasped that he'd touched a nerve. When she went on, lie realized that more than one sore point was involved.
Hoss scribbled something on a piece of paper. Parents dead, Grovian read. Well, well, he thought, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Her voice had lost its stability and was fluttering like a leaf in the wind.
"I didn't lose the child. It was a precipitate birth - the doctors said it can happen to anyone. It's nothing at all to do with whether you've slept with one man or a hundred. I haven't slept with a hundred men. As a child I used to imagine their things rotted off in due course."
She was gripping the fingers of her left hand in her right and kneading them as if she meant to break them. Grovian watched her with a mixture of fascination and triumph. Staring at the floor, she went on quietly: "But it was nice with Gereon. He never forced me. He was always kind to me. I shouldn't have married him because I ... because l ... I used to have this dream, but I hadn't had it for quite a long time, and I ... I only wanted to ..."
She broke off, raised her head and gazed into his face, her voice hoarse with panic. "I only wanted to lead a normal life with a nice young husband. I wanted what other women have, can you understand that?"
He nodded. Who wouldn't have understood, and what father wouldn't have wanted his own daughter to pursue the same aim: that of leading a happy, contented life with a nice, respectable husband?
That was the moment when a change occurred in Rudolf Grovian's attitude. He didn't notice it at the time; in fact, he sti
ll considered himself impartial days later, a conscientious policeman entitled to feel pity when confronted by the misery of an offender. Pity wasn't forbidden as long as you didn't lose sight of your objective, and that he never did for a moment. The aim of his work was detection and elucidation, rooting around in dark corners and searching for evidence. It made no difference whether those dark corners were located in a building, a patch of forest or a human soul.
Grovian did not aspire to usurp the role of an expert in the latter field, nor was it his intention to prove, by hook or by crook, that his initial assumption was correct. He was just a man who had been faced with a challenge, who failed to spot the preliminary alarm signals emitted by a mind on the brink of derangement, who was tempted and succumbed.
Cora Bender shut her eyes tight. `And that's the way it was at first," she said haltingly. "It was all quite normal. I enjoyed it when Gereon made love to me. I liked going to bed with him. But then ... it started again. It wasn't his fault, lie meant well. Other women like it - they're crazy about it. He wasn't to know what he was starting when lie did it to me. I didn't know myself till it happened. I ought to have discussed it with him, but what should I have told him - that I'm not a lesbian? But it wasn't that, I think. I don't know, but ... I mean, I realize it isn't just women that do it with their tongues. Men do it too, and everyone enjoys it - everyone but me. And it never stopped. I thought it would be best if I went for a swim. It would have looked like an accident. Gereon needn't have felt guilty. That's the worst of it when someone dies - people blame themselves. They can't rid themselves of the feeling they could have prevented it. I wanted to spare him that. If the child hadn't stopped me, nothing would have happened. I'd have been long gone by the time she wound that tape on ..."
Still with her eyes shut, she started to thump her chest with her fist. A note of hysteria came into her voice. "It was my tune! My tune, and I can't stand hearing it. The man didn't want to hear it either. Not that, he said, give me a break! He knew I fall into a hole when I hear it - lie must have known. He looked at me, and he forgave me. I could read it in his eyes. Father, forgive her! She knoweth not what she doth.
"Oh, my God," she sobbed. "Father, forgive me! I loved you all. You and Mother and ... Yes, her too. I didn't want to kill anyone. I wanted to live, to lead a normal life."
She opened her eyes again, glared at him and shook her finger in his face. "Remember this: it was all my fault. Gereon had nothing to do with it, nor did my father. Leave my father in peace. He's an old man, he's suffered enough. You'll kill him if you tell him."
In his own way, Father tried hard throughout those years. Even though I disappointed him a hundred times and gave him a thousand reasons to despise me, he never stopped loving me. And he did something for me that no other father would have done.
I don't mean what he did on my birthday that time, when I was lying in bed feeling hungry and he came in swearing to himself. Although even then he did something for me. When he saw I wasn't asleep yet, he perched on my bed and stroked my head. "I'm sorry," he said.
I was furious with him. If he hadn't given me that stupid bar of chocolate I'd have had a bowl of soup. "Leave me alone," I told him and turned on my side.
But he didn't leave me alone. He took me in his arms and rocked me to and fro. "My poor little girl," he whispered.
I didn't want to be a poor little girl. I didn't want a birthday either, just to be left in peace. "Leave me alone," I said again.
"I can't," he whispered. "One unhappy daughter is enough. I can't do anything for her, that's the doctors' responsibility, but you're mine. If you hold out for another half-hour, Mother is bound to go to sleep. Then I'll bring you something to eat. You must be as hungry as a wolf."
He sat on my bed for more than an hour, holding me in his arms, and this time he didn't tell me anything about the old days. Mother was still down below, praying for the last time that day. It seemed an eternity before we heard her climb the stairs at last. She went to the bathroom. Soon afterwards the bedroom door closed behind her. Father waited a few more minutes before he stole downstairs.
He returned with a bowl of soup. It was only lukewarm, but that didn't matter. When the bowl was empty he put it on the floor, then felt in his pocket for something: the rest of the chocolate.
I didn't want to take it, honestly not, but he broke some off and stuffed it into my mouth. "Go on," he said. "Don't worry, you can eat it. You can if I say so. It isn't a sin. I'd never encourage you to commit a sin. You needn't be afraid that Mother will notice. She thinks it's outside in the dustbin." So I couldn't help it.
The next day Magdalena was worse, and the day after that her condition deteriorated still more. Father insisted on taking her to the hospital. Mother didn't agree, but this time Father got his way. They set off very early in the morning.
I'll never forget that day. Mother returned at lunchtime - alone, in a taxi. Father had remained at Eppendorf with Magdalena to have a quiet word with the doctors. I was next door at Grit Adigar's. Father had told me to go there if no one was in when I came home from school. Grit had given me a good lunch and later some sweets for doing my homework properly.
I hadn't meant to eat them until Magdalena came home, but I told myself it wouldn't matter, not after the chocolate episode, so I was still sucking away when Mother came to collect me. She spotted I had something in my mouth, naturally, but she didn't tell me to spit it out.
Mother wasn't her usual self. She might have been made of stone, and her voice grated like the white sand in which nothing can grow The doctors had told her that Magdalena was terminally ill. She had laughed at death often enough; now her time was finally up. No treatment, they'd told her. It would only be cruel.
Her various ailments had been joined by yet another. It had nothing to do with the cold I'd brought home. It was called leukaemia - cancer, said Mother, and I pictured Magdalena being devoured from within by a creature armed with crablike claws.
Mother fetched two suitcases from the basement: one for her and one for Magdalena. I had to accompany her upstairs and stand beside Magdalena's bed while she packed them. "Take a good look at this bed," she told me. "This is how it's going to stay, and you'll see your sister lying there for the rest of your life. To the end of your days you'll ask yourself. Was it worth it? How could I let my sister die such a terrible death for the sake of a moment's pleasure?"
I believed that. I genuinely believed it, and I was terribly frightened. Until then I'd never given any thought to how life would go on when Magdalena wasn't there any more. Now I did. I looked at the bed as Mother had bidden me, and I thought she was going to lock me up in there so that I could see Magdalena's empty bed for the rest of my days.
Mother took a taxi back to Eppendorf, leaving me alone in the house. She hadn't locked me up in the bedroom, so I was in the living room when Father came home that evening. I'd lit the candles and spent the whole afternoon kneeling on the bench, promising our Saviour that I'd never covet anything ever again. I begged him to make me drop dead and leave my sister in peace. When I didn't drop dead I thought I must show Mother what a great sacrifice I could make. I planned to burn my hands like the blue dress with the white collar, so I could never again touch anything sweet. But when I held my hands over the candle flames and the pain became unbearable, I took them away. The only result was a few blisters.
Father was horrified when lie saw them and asked what Mother had said to me. I told him. He flew into a rage and swore terribly "The stupid bitch! She's sick!" and things like that. Then he went to Grit Adigar's to call the hospital and tell the doctors that he'd changed his mind: they must treat Magdalena after all. If they weren't prepared to do so, he would report them and take Magdalena to another hospital.
He was very quiet when he came back. He made supper for us - string beans from a preserving jar, which was all there was in the house. Then he put a smaller saucepan on the stove and poured some milk into it. We always had some milk for Magdalena'
s benefit. I didn't want any. I found it easy to go without milk, but I always pretended it was a great sacrifice. That shows you what a deceitful, hypocritical child I was.
Father produced a little paper bag from his trouser pocket and smiled at me. "Let's see if I can do this," he said. It was custard powder - he'd begged it from Grit. "I must make her understand she can eat what she likes," he'd told her. "But what am I going to do about Magdalena? It would be best to let her die in peace. The treatment is sheer torture; the doctors explained that to me in detail. She won't survive it, and I'll have to live with the thought that she was tortured to death at my instigation. But I have to do it for Cora's sake."
Grit didn't tell me that until much later, but I always knew Father loved me. I loved him too - very much.
We were alone together for a long time after that. Those six months were the best time I'd ever had. Before Father went off to work in the mornings he'd make me a breakfast of cocoa, boiled eggs and bread and sausage, and he always gave me a nice big apple or banana to eat at break.
When I came back at lunchtime I went to Grit's and spent the afternoon playing with Kerstin and Melanie. They were always nice to me at home, in fact they sometimes said they were sorry for ignoring me during break.
The best thing was when Father came home at the end of the afternoon. He'd clean the windows and wash the curtains while I dusted and swept the kitchen, so everything looked neat and clean. When we'd done the housework he cooked for us. There was meat or sausage and a dessert every day. After supper we sat in the kitchen. Father assured me that Magdalena's condition would neither improve nor deteriorate if we had some blancmange. He also promised to urge Mother to allow me to grow up a normal child.
"It's enough," he said once, "if the person responsible for this evil practises self-denial. I'm firmly resolved to do so. God grant I manage it."
The Sinner Page 8