The Method by Juli Zeh Page A

Agamben, also from Moritz. I haven’t read it.’
    ‘You’re not a woman,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘A woman knows she’s a woman without checking between her legs.’
    ‘Only 120 kilometres to go,’ says Mia from the stationary bike. ‘The backlog will be cleared in a couple of days.’
    ‘Did they take out your brain so your thoughts could go round in circles?
Cut from the same cloth
… He’s your enemy, Mia! Call yourself human?’
    ‘Fine,’ says Mia from her desk. ‘I’m not human and I’m not a woman.’ She examines the papers that Kramer inspected earlier. ‘But I’m not a terrorist either.’ She picks up Moritz’s picture and holds it to the light. Behind her, the ideal inamorata blends into the dusk; she keeps perfectly still, as if she weren’t there.
    ‘I’m just the one who was left behind,’ says Mia softly, while outside the sky darkens with memory.

Without the Tears
     
    MIA WAS STILL at her desk when the doorbell rang. Startled, she looked at her watch: a few minutes after midnight. This was no ordinary ringing: more the sound of a breakdown.
Shriek, shriek
, it screeched, at regular intervals, relentlessly, as if it would never end. Mia hurried to the door. Moritz was on the landing. He was watching his index finger on the doorbell, as it rang and rang. Mia grabbed his hand. Silence at last. We have a few seconds to work out who is standing at the door. The Murder Night, waiting to be let in. Past tense, of course.
    ‘What’s the matter with you? Don’t just stand there, Moritz!’
    Moritz didn’t answer. He took a single step towards her, only to stop in the doorway and stare. He seemed to be seeing the apartment for the first or last time. We can confirm it was the last. Mia took him by the arm and steered him to the sofa.
    ‘Well? Tell me about it. Tell me about
her
. What was her name again?’
    ‘Sibylle.’
    ‘Did you like her? Was she nice?’
    ‘She was dead.’
    Mia and Moritz looked at each other. For a few moments, it seemed as if the last scrap of meaning had been emptied out of language, as if what Moritz had said to his sister had no possible meaning in her mind. Time passed, the Earth turned a little further on its axis, a few more people died across the globe, and a few more were born. Then Mia gave Moritz a little shove, and he crumpled.
    ‘What – what do you mean?’ she asked.
    ‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘If she were alive, there’d be a million things I’d want to tell you, but now … well, there’s practically nothing left to say.’
    ‘Pull yourself together and tell me what happened!’
    ‘Fine,’ he said wretchedly, ‘I’ll tell you what happened – but don’t expect me to cry. I couldn’t cry. Not even at the police station. Promise you’ll believe me, even without the tears?’
    ‘Of course,’ Mia assures him.
    ‘The girl with the silky eyes. You remember? The one I wanted to go to jail with; freedom paired. She’s still here.’ He clutched his head. ‘She’s
in
here. There isn’t much else to say.’
    He fell silent again. Mia was so upset she had to swallow three times. This was the worst possible time to prove to Moritz that she wasn’t the cold-hearted rationalist he thought. No, Mia would have to be strong – to weather anything, like a rock in the storm.
    ‘You’d arranged a place to meet …’ she said.
    ‘Beneath the South Bridge. That’s where I met them all. When a train goes by you can feel the earth shake and you can cling to each other. I was excited and took a detour so as not to arrive too early. At first I assumed she was late or she’d left. But she was lying on the ground. She was naked from the waist down. I took her by the shoulders, lifted her up and laid her back on the ground. She was warm and soft. After a while, I thought to feel her wrists, her neck. I’d forgotten that humans are supposed to have a pulse.’
    ‘Oh, Moritz.’
    ‘The police showed up much later. I had plenty of