that he knew led up to Müller-Voigt’s home.
It was just as Fabel remembered it: massive, imposing, modern, all angles and glass. And what wasn’t glass seemed to be faced with blue marble, although Fabel knew from his last visit that it was actually a façade made up entirely of solar panels.
It was the kind of place that the architects would use on all their publicity. A mixture of masterpiece and pension fund.
Müller-Voigt was dressed in chinos, a blue long-sleeved corded shirt with a white T-shirt underneath and canvas deck shoes. It was the most casual of outfits, but Fabel reckoned it had cost more than some of Fabel’s best suits.
‘Thank you for coming,’ the politician said as he opened the door. Fabel had the same feeling that he had had when the Senator had spoken to him in the Presidium’s elevator: that he was looking at a troubled man. Which was a disconcerting sight: Fabel had never seen Müller-Voigt troubled. In fact, he’d never seen him anything other than calm and relaxed. And totally in control.
Like a million other Germans, Fabel had seen and heard Müller-Voigt in many stressful situations. Hamburg’s Environment Senator was the kind of guest live TV and radio producers loved: he had an innate knack of being able to make statements that were both provocative and combative while maintaining a relaxed outward calm. It was a style that was simultaneously nonchalant and aggressive. And it made for great media interviews. Müller-Voigt seemed to thrive in an environment of conflict and his value to broadcasters was the adroit way he could light the fuse of other politicians. Interviews would end with his opponent seeming to lack self-control and self-assurance. Müller-Voigt made full and effective use of the truism that whoever loses their temper loses the argument. Müller-Voigt never lost either.
But tonight Fabel was seeing something different. Someone different.
Müller-Voigt showed Fabel into a huge living room, pine-lined with a double-height vaulted ceiling and a banistered gallery above. Just as he had the last time he had been here, Fabel was annoyed at the vague pang of petty jealousy he felt looking around the politician’s elegant home. Elegant but totally environmentally friendly. The house was making a statement: it was cool to be green.
They sat down on a large corner sofa facing the two-storey picture windows. The sun seemed tinged a different colour through the glass.
‘I can adjust it at will,’ said Müller-Voigt, as if he had read Fabel’s mind. ‘It’s the latest technology: energy-capture glass. It doesn’t just insulate and prevent the escape of warmth from the house, it actually captures solar power and converts it to energy.’
‘I see,’ said Fabel. ‘Very impressive.’
‘I know that many people – and I don’t know if you’re one of them – think this is all a bit of a gimmick with me. That I’m really more interested in the political than the natural environment. Normally I wouldn’t care what you or anyone else thought, but I need you to understand something, Herr Fabel: I am genuinely, completely and irreversibly committed to changing how mankind treats the environment. It’s more than a political belief; it’s how I see life.’
Fabel shrugged. ‘I have no reason to doubt that.’
‘Well, as I said, some do.’ There was a hint of bitterness in Müller-Voigt’s tone. ‘As a race, as a species , we’ve lost our way, Herr Fabel. And it’s going to be the end of us. In fact, we’ve lost our most basic capability to read Nature, the geography and climate around us. Take where we are right now.’ He waved a hand vaguely at the landscape beyond the windows. ‘I built this house on a geest – an island of sand and gravel dumped as moraine by the last ice age, in the middle of a flat sea of heath, marsh and moor. If you look around this whole area you’ll see that almost every town is built on a geest, Stade included.
‘When
It was just as Fabel remembered it: massive, imposing, modern, all angles and glass. And what wasn’t glass seemed to be faced with blue marble, although Fabel knew from his last visit that it was actually a façade made up entirely of solar panels.
It was the kind of place that the architects would use on all their publicity. A mixture of masterpiece and pension fund.
Müller-Voigt was dressed in chinos, a blue long-sleeved corded shirt with a white T-shirt underneath and canvas deck shoes. It was the most casual of outfits, but Fabel reckoned it had cost more than some of Fabel’s best suits.
‘Thank you for coming,’ the politician said as he opened the door. Fabel had the same feeling that he had had when the Senator had spoken to him in the Presidium’s elevator: that he was looking at a troubled man. Which was a disconcerting sight: Fabel had never seen Müller-Voigt troubled. In fact, he’d never seen him anything other than calm and relaxed. And totally in control.
Like a million other Germans, Fabel had seen and heard Müller-Voigt in many stressful situations. Hamburg’s Environment Senator was the kind of guest live TV and radio producers loved: he had an innate knack of being able to make statements that were both provocative and combative while maintaining a relaxed outward calm. It was a style that was simultaneously nonchalant and aggressive. And it made for great media interviews. Müller-Voigt seemed to thrive in an environment of conflict and his value to broadcasters was the adroit way he could light the fuse of other politicians. Interviews would end with his opponent seeming to lack self-control and self-assurance. Müller-Voigt made full and effective use of the truism that whoever loses their temper loses the argument. Müller-Voigt never lost either.
But tonight Fabel was seeing something different. Someone different.
Müller-Voigt showed Fabel into a huge living room, pine-lined with a double-height vaulted ceiling and a banistered gallery above. Just as he had the last time he had been here, Fabel was annoyed at the vague pang of petty jealousy he felt looking around the politician’s elegant home. Elegant but totally environmentally friendly. The house was making a statement: it was cool to be green.
They sat down on a large corner sofa facing the two-storey picture windows. The sun seemed tinged a different colour through the glass.
‘I can adjust it at will,’ said Müller-Voigt, as if he had read Fabel’s mind. ‘It’s the latest technology: energy-capture glass. It doesn’t just insulate and prevent the escape of warmth from the house, it actually captures solar power and converts it to energy.’
‘I see,’ said Fabel. ‘Very impressive.’
‘I know that many people – and I don’t know if you’re one of them – think this is all a bit of a gimmick with me. That I’m really more interested in the political than the natural environment. Normally I wouldn’t care what you or anyone else thought, but I need you to understand something, Herr Fabel: I am genuinely, completely and irreversibly committed to changing how mankind treats the environment. It’s more than a political belief; it’s how I see life.’
Fabel shrugged. ‘I have no reason to doubt that.’
‘Well, as I said, some do.’ There was a hint of bitterness in Müller-Voigt’s tone. ‘As a race, as a species , we’ve lost our way, Herr Fabel. And it’s going to be the end of us. In fact, we’ve lost our most basic capability to read Nature, the geography and climate around us. Take where we are right now.’ He waved a hand vaguely at the landscape beyond the windows. ‘I built this house on a geest – an island of sand and gravel dumped as moraine by the last ice age, in the middle of a flat sea of heath, marsh and moor. If you look around this whole area you’ll see that almost every town is built on a geest, Stade included.
‘When
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