Blum wanted to understand him. Why he liked and needed that sense of speed. She wondered why he was prepared to die. Every time he accelerated, every time he broke the speed limit, he must have felt he was flying. But he had a family, children, love. A moment would have been enough, a brief moment of inattention. I love it, he said. It’s like a song, like dancing, like champagne. You must try it, Blum, just once. I’ll look after you. He’d been trying to persuade her for years to get on the bike and share that sensation with him. She’d said no for so long. Now she has felt what he felt. It was like falling, like nothing else mattered, nothing existed but herself.
• • •
She has been riding for an hour. No one has stopped her; no police, no speed camera. She has been gambling with her life for an hour, has imagined her head striking the median strip, crashing into the windshield of an oncoming vehicle. She pictured her death as she rode. She died in full color, and came home uninjured. The world is in order. Karl is putting the girls to bed, Reza is unloading a body from the van.
• • •
“Thank you, Reza.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“Yes, I do, Reza. Nothing here would work without you.”
“Who do you have there?”
“A woman from the nursing home. We had to carry her out through the kitchen.”
“Why through the kitchen?”
“They didn’t want the other inmates to see that someone had died.”
“Inmates?”
“Residents.”
“Why through the kitchen, for God’s sake?”
“Because they didn’t want to remind the inmates that their days are numbered too.”
“We agreed on residents, right?”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Her family?”
“Coming tomorrow. They want to see her one last time. The grave’s booked, the funeral’s organized.”
“Reza, you’re the best. If you need more help, just say so.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Is it really?”
“Well, no.”
“You don’t talk about how you’re feeling.”
“Mark was my friend. It’s like a cake without candles.”
“A cake?”
“Mark was the candle on the cake.”
“I know.”
“He was just blown out.”
“I know. It’s dark without him. But today Karl said that we’ll get through this.”
“Did he? That’s good. Very good.”
“We will, Reza. We’ll get through it together, you, Karl, the girls, and me.”
“It will get better.”
“When?”
“Soon, Reza, soon.”
• • •
Blum goes upstairs. She almost believes it herself; for a moment something positive flares in her, something like hope. Riding the motorcycle was an intoxicating sensation. She has survived, she has felt what he felt, she has challenged her fate. She knows she is meant to live, not die. The decision has come down in favor of life, of the children, of everything that hasn’t happened yet. And in favor of Dunya. She is going to find out what happened, find out about that woman and what terrifies her so much. Blum wants to know; something tells her that it is important, that it is not delusion but truth. Mark believed that, so she believes it too. He wanted to help the woman, and so does she. She has no alternative, she has heard what happened to Dunya, and she can’t pretend that it didn’t. She pressed Play. There’s nothing else she can do; she will listen to everything again. She looks in on the children, lies down with them for a little while, kisses them, and disappears into his study.
• • •
She sits in his chair, the cell phone in her hand, listening to that incredible story. The abduction of three people, rape, imprisonment, horror for years on end. It had all begun harmlessly enough; they were supposed to start a new life working in the mountains, escaping an impoverished country. She had been smuggled into Austria, and wanted to leave her native Moldavia far behind. There were no prospects for her there, even her degree was no help; there was no work for an interpreter. She had no future; the only thing she could do was speak German. It seemed like a good idea to go to Germany or Austria. The people-smugglers promised her a good life, work in a nice hotel, first as a chambermaid, maybe later at the reception desk. The pay was good, everything seemed perfect, she had gotten into the country with no difficulty, and all their promises had come true. The money she had paid them was a good investment.
• • •
Her new home was the Annenhof designer hotel in the ski resort town of Sölden. A hostel for the staff, good food. It didn’t bother her that she wasn’t insured, wasn’t officially in Austria, so the hotelier could save a lot of money. She would have been happy for everything to continue as it was; she had made a new life for herself, had even found new friends among other illegals on the staff. They were busy hands working unseen in the kitchen, the laundry, the rooms; no one set eyes on them, and they were forbidden to go out. The hotelier didn’t want any problems, so no contact with the local villagers was the rule, and Dunya kept it. She went for walks first thing in the morning or late in the evening. When everyone else was asleep, she was out and about, breathing the mountain air, and enjoying it. When she had saved enough money she planned to go to a big German city, Hamburg or Berlin. She wanted a residence permit and a proper life, and for a little while she believed that it was possible. That the world was good, there was something outside Moldavia, something better. For a few months she believed that.
• • •
She had come to Austria almost exactly five years ago. Mark wanted to know the whole story, from beginning to end. He had won her confidence, and so she talked. Mark didn’t want her to overlook a single thing, he wanted to be sure that the story fit; he listened, asking questions now and then. Again and again he soothed her fears, assuring her that nothing would happen to her, that she was safe. He gave her his word. And she told her story, which had begun on a minibus. Nine of them had crouched there, perched under the loading area; they had been on the road for over a day and a half, with nothing to eat or drink. They hadn’t seen daylight again until they arrived in the Tyrol. Mark wanted to know the names of the people-smugglers, which of them had made contact with the hotel, who had met them when they arrived, where her eight companions had gone. Mark pressed her, but gently; he didn’t want to frighten her off, he went cautiously. He was looking for leads; he had to begin somewhere, and something in what she was saying must help him. But it was all so vague. Dunya didn’t know the answers to many of his questions, and there was a good deal that she couldn’t remember. What had happened five years ago was so far in the past, and between then and now there was so much suffering, so much pain, she had been given so many narcotics. Nothing she said led to people Mark could question, however hard he tried, Dunya couldn’t help him, not in the way he would have liked. She sat beside him in the car as he tried to find out more.
• • •
“Please, Dunya. You must remember.”
“I really did think I’d gotten lucky at last. My parents practically starved so that I could study at college. They wanted my life to be better than theirs.”
“Your life isn’t over yet.”
“No, it’s over. Nothing can happen now to make up for—”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“I don’t know. I was going to bring them here later. I really believed that would happen. I promised them it would.”
“We’ll find those men, Dunya. They will be punished for what they did, and you’ll get your life back, I’ll make sure of that. You’ll see your parents.”
“You shouldn’t be giving me false hope.”
“It can only get better now, Dunya, but you must tell me everything—everything, you understand? Every tiny detail, everything that seemed strange about the hotel. Tell me about the evening before it began. Until I have something concrete to go on I can’t investigate officially. I’m doing this off the books. Officially you don’t exist. So come on, Dunya, give me something, anything.”
“Ilena and I played cards that evening. It was all the same as usual. We’d finished work, the staff hostel was lovely. We even had a little pool there. It mattered to the hotelier that we were happy, he said.”
“What was he like?”
“Nice.”
“Johannes Schönborn?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in politics these days. The hotel doesn’t belong to him anymore. He sold it four years ago.”
“Then why are we driving there now?”
“To help you remember.”
“There’s nothing, however often you ask me. I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was in that cellar. I went to sleep in the hostel and I wasn’t there when I woke up. It was the same for Ilena and Youn.”
“The other two.”
“Yes. Ilena was in the minibus with me.”
“In the minibus taking you out of Moldavia?”
“That’s right.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“She bled to death.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She had a baby. We were on our own—Youn and I tried to help her, but the blood wouldn’t stop.”
“She died in my arms. Youn was holding the baby.”
“Dunya?”
“Yes?”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Please, you must tell me whether this is really true.”
“How often do I have to say it?”
“You are telling me that your friend had a baby and died in your arms. In a cellar somewhere, a cellar where you were all locked up.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I believe you. But you know how it sounds . . .”
“Why would I make it up? Tell me why.”
“What happened to the baby?”
“They took it away.”
“Where?”
“How would I know?”
“What about Ilena?”
“They shouted and swore, they were beside themselves. They didn’t like having blood all over the place. Or for her to have died just like that. The huntsman gave us something to knock us out, and then it went dark. I don’t know what happened to her.”
“The huntsman?”
“How many more times? I’ve told you and all the other officers before you.”
“I know, I’ve read the records, but I’d like to hear it from you. Just once more, please. This is important, Dunya.”
“He was the one who shot us with the tranquilizing darts. He hunted us down, we ran round the cellar and he shot at us. Like animals. He found it fun.”
“What about Youn?”
“I don’t know. He was still in the cellar. He’s probably dead as well. I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t he go with you?”
“He hadn’t come round yet. I shook him, I tried to drag him away with me, but he was too heavy. I couldn’t wait. I had to get out of there, the door was open, don’t you understand? I wanted him to come with me. I really did try everything. They hadn’t locked the door, it was open, and I had to go—had to run for it.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you see when you reached the road? Did anyone meet you? Can you remember any building? Did anyone speak to you, did you call for help? What did you do? Please, you must remember.”
“I just ran.”
“Where to?”
“A long way away.”
“There must have been something there. A place name on a sign, a mountain with a particular shape, a shop, a factory, something that you can remember?”
“I told you, I just ran. I wanted to get away. I don’t know what was there or where I was. And then I was in that truck.”
“Had you been trying to stop cars?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where was it, Dunya? Where? We have to find Youn. You must remember something that will tell me where that damn cellar is.”
“I don’t.”
“Were there a lot of people around? Was it somewhere in the countryside?”
“There was only that stinking truck driver.”
“He wanted to help you?”
“No, he said he just wanted a bit of fun. I remember that.”
“Couldn’t he see that you needed help?”
“I don’t know.”
“He must have noticed there was something the matter with you.”
“Yes, that’s why he threw me out of his cab.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of truck was it?”
“No idea.”
“Please, Dunya, give me something.”
“There’s nothing to give. He was just a sleazy man making jokes. I was dazed, I wasn’t right in the head yet, I kept tipping over. All I remember is the road, and the way he laughed. I’d gotten away after five years. Five years, do you understand? And then there was a hand on me again, on my thigh. I screamed and I didn’t stop until he opened the door and threw me out, just like that.”
“At the service station where my colleagues found you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, they brought you in from there.”
“Yes, maybe.”
“I really want to know where to look for that cellar, Dunya.”
“It was such a lovely feeling.”
“What was?”
“Being alone at last, just lying there. On the tarmac in some shitty parking lot. I was free again and none of them were there. Not a single one of them. Only me, do you understand? There was only me.”