hands, “so I’ll go in. But I’m not doing it for that bastard, OK?”
“OK,” says Kris.
“What shall I say?”
Kris tells him about the piece of paper in the woman’s pocket. He takes the digital recorder from the paper bag and hands it to Wolf.
“After this we will talk,” says Wolf, stepping into the living room.
Tamara and Kris don’t move. They hear Wolf’s footsteps, the crunching of dirt under his shoes. The rustling of paper. A throat being cleared. Silence. And then:
“I need forgiveness, I beg forgiveness for what I had to do,” Wolf says at last. “The pain and the fury are paid for now. It …”
Silence. Tamara looks at Kris, Kris shrugs helplessly, Wolf goes on reading:
“It’s over. Past and present are cleansed. You …”
Wolf breaks off. Tamara wants to go to him. Kris tries to hold her back, she dodges him. Her footsteps echo through the hall.
“ STAY OUTSIDE !” come the words from the living room.
Tamara stops in the corridor. Wolf goes on talking.
“Past and present are cleansed. You’ve made me what I am. So I will take from you what you took from me. Lars Meybach. PS: Of course—”
A long silence follows, then Wolf comes out of the room. He holds the letter out to Tamara and Kris like a manifesto. A PS is added at the end of the page:
OF COURSE I’M ASSUMING
THAT YOU WILL TAKE CARE OF THE CORPSE .
Tamara suddenly explodes with laughter, then she bites her bottom lip and falls silent. Wolf and Kris look at one another. Tamara says quietly:
“We’re not going to do that, are we?”
“Of course we aren’t,” Wolf says, crushing the piece of paper. “We’ll get out of here and find Frauke and … What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Kris thinks about the photographs in the paper bag. He can’t stop thinking about how innocently Jenni is kneeling there and tying her shoelaces.
How close did Meybach get to her?
He thinks about his father, about Frauke’s mother. And then there are all the clues that they’ve left here. The blood from Wolf’s wound. The fingerprints.
We can’t simply get out of here. Meybach knows who we are
.
“Kris, please say something,” Tamara pleads.
Kris says what he’s thinking.
THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE
H E KNOWS HOW DANGEROUS it is to be here, but he goes into the house anyway. He crosses the courtyard to the rear and looks up fora moment. Above his head the rectangle of sky glows like a window into the void. He lowers his gaze again, his eyes are uneasy. He knows how dangerous it is to be here, and still he goes up the stairs. Hastily, because he’s in a hurry. He is familiar with each individual step. The worn wood of the banister slides away under his hand. He walks to the top floor, and stops by the door. He knows that if the door is locked he will go back down again. He won’t try anything. He will go and—
The door is open.
He steps inside. He walks down the corridor. He looks into the kitchen. How many times has he stood in this kitchen?
Squalid, it’s all squalid
. He walks on down the corridor and steps into the living room and stops. He sees her. On the wall. He sees her and bursts into tears. He walks over to her and touches her face.
Too late
. He is suffering. He feels the pain. He can’t stop touching her face. His heart contracts. His heart pauses, then starts beating again. He turns away, takes a deep breath and looks at her again. The way she hangs there. Her staring eyes. He wants to close them, he must close them. So he steps forward and stretches. Her eyelids feel like parchment.
He leaves the apartment. He feels ancient. He walks through the courtyard and stops in front of the building. Ancient and burned out. He crosses the street. The traffic flows around him, he hears no car horns, he sees no danger. He considers what he should do. He can’t just let it happen. He can’t. He bears responsibility. So he decides to wait till they come back. How does he know they
“OK,” says Kris.
“What shall I say?”
Kris tells him about the piece of paper in the woman’s pocket. He takes the digital recorder from the paper bag and hands it to Wolf.
“After this we will talk,” says Wolf, stepping into the living room.
Tamara and Kris don’t move. They hear Wolf’s footsteps, the crunching of dirt under his shoes. The rustling of paper. A throat being cleared. Silence. And then:
“I need forgiveness, I beg forgiveness for what I had to do,” Wolf says at last. “The pain and the fury are paid for now. It …”
Silence. Tamara looks at Kris, Kris shrugs helplessly, Wolf goes on reading:
“It’s over. Past and present are cleansed. You …”
Wolf breaks off. Tamara wants to go to him. Kris tries to hold her back, she dodges him. Her footsteps echo through the hall.
“ STAY OUTSIDE !” come the words from the living room.
Tamara stops in the corridor. Wolf goes on talking.
“Past and present are cleansed. You’ve made me what I am. So I will take from you what you took from me. Lars Meybach. PS: Of course—”
A long silence follows, then Wolf comes out of the room. He holds the letter out to Tamara and Kris like a manifesto. A PS is added at the end of the page:
OF COURSE I’M ASSUMING
THAT YOU WILL TAKE CARE OF THE CORPSE .
Tamara suddenly explodes with laughter, then she bites her bottom lip and falls silent. Wolf and Kris look at one another. Tamara says quietly:
“We’re not going to do that, are we?”
“Of course we aren’t,” Wolf says, crushing the piece of paper. “We’ll get out of here and find Frauke and … What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Kris thinks about the photographs in the paper bag. He can’t stop thinking about how innocently Jenni is kneeling there and tying her shoelaces.
How close did Meybach get to her?
He thinks about his father, about Frauke’s mother. And then there are all the clues that they’ve left here. The blood from Wolf’s wound. The fingerprints.
We can’t simply get out of here. Meybach knows who we are
.
“Kris, please say something,” Tamara pleads.
Kris says what he’s thinking.
THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE
H E KNOWS HOW DANGEROUS it is to be here, but he goes into the house anyway. He crosses the courtyard to the rear and looks up fora moment. Above his head the rectangle of sky glows like a window into the void. He lowers his gaze again, his eyes are uneasy. He knows how dangerous it is to be here, and still he goes up the stairs. Hastily, because he’s in a hurry. He is familiar with each individual step. The worn wood of the banister slides away under his hand. He walks to the top floor, and stops by the door. He knows that if the door is locked he will go back down again. He won’t try anything. He will go and—
The door is open.
He steps inside. He walks down the corridor. He looks into the kitchen. How many times has he stood in this kitchen?
Squalid, it’s all squalid
. He walks on down the corridor and steps into the living room and stops. He sees her. On the wall. He sees her and bursts into tears. He walks over to her and touches her face.
Too late
. He is suffering. He feels the pain. He can’t stop touching her face. His heart contracts. His heart pauses, then starts beating again. He turns away, takes a deep breath and looks at her again. The way she hangs there. Her staring eyes. He wants to close them, he must close them. So he steps forward and stretches. Her eyelids feel like parchment.
He leaves the apartment. He feels ancient. He walks through the courtyard and stops in front of the building. Ancient and burned out. He crosses the street. The traffic flows around him, he hears no car horns, he sees no danger. He considers what he should do. He can’t just let it happen. He can’t. He bears responsibility. So he decides to wait till they come back. How does he know they
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