10

He considered making a trip to the mortuary to see if they’d recently added the body of Arno Hiller to their vaults. He also considered trekking through the wards at Potsdam’s main hospital in case Arno was an inpatient there. His third thought was to go to the police and snoop for news of a possible murder case. Instead, Thomas approached a line of newspaper-sellers with the dailies pegged to their chests and bought a copy of every edition on display.

Next, he went to see a doctor. ‘I can’t find anything wrong with you,’ the doctor said, already growing irritated by Thomas’ persistence. The doctor threaded himself into a long charcoal-grey overcoat, single-breasted, with six large black buttons arranged in rows on the front. Thomas had taken the last appointment of the day; now the doctor had to rush off for his wife’s birthday.

‘But can’t you do more tests?’ Thomas asked.

‘Come back to me in a month, if you’re still feeling the same.’

‘But these dizzy spells. They’re not usual for me.’

‘As far as I can tell, you’re in perfect health.’ The medic buttoned up his black buttons. With his bowler hat and necktie he appeared smart and sombre, yet a pair of purple velvet gloves gave his look an uncommon verve. ‘Try to rest. See how you feel in a week or two,’ he said.

Thomas walked with him as he left the surgery. ‘And what if I have another dizzy spell?’

‘Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I’ll try to rest. Oh, before you go, could you answer me one more thing? It’s an odd question I suppose, but have you ever dealt with a fall?’

‘A fall? Why, of course. A broken wrist, a sprained elbow?’ The doctor rubbed his gloved hands together.

‘What about a fall from a height? Have you ever seen somebody fall from a great height?’

‘I once treated someone after a fall from a second floor window.’

‘Really? And did they survive?’

‘A broken leg, as I recall. Nothing more serious. In my opinion they were lucky.’

‘And how high do you think the window was?’

‘How high was the window? I really couldn’t tell you. What’s your purpose here?’

‘I’m curious, that’s all. I don’t mean to be rude. Perhaps you could tell me this: have you ever seen somebody fall from a height of say, six or seven floors?’

‘Six or seven? It depends on the conditions. Onto what surface?’

‘What about onto cobblestones?’

‘These are not the sort of questions… I suppose you’d have to be exceptionally lucky.’

‘But it’s possible?’

‘To survive? Of course, anything is possible.’

‘You really think somebody could survive?’

‘No I don’t. I’d say it’s extremely unlikely. But not impossible. Herr Strack, what is the meaning of your questions?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Please. Get some rest now. Go home and go to bed. Come back to me if the dizziness returns.’

Thomas returned to his apartment with his bundle of newspapers and spent the next two hours hunting through the pages on the lookout for a death notice or an obituary or anything else that might relate to Arno Hiller. Plenty of people had died or been attacked across the city, but none of them answered to the description of the boy in the wire-rimmed spectacles.

With newspapers strewn all over the floor, he paced around in circles. Just then, he heard his door unlock., and into the room came a young man.

‘You must be Thomas,’ the new arrival called out loudly.

‘And you must be my new roommate,’ Thomas said, perfectly begrudgingly.

‘Oh yes. That is I. My name is Malik. Malik the Orphan. You may have heard me wailing across the city. I’m in utter shock. All I have to say is this: It is a disgrace to our society!’

Thomas began to gather up the newspapers from the floor. ‘A disgrace? What happened to you?’

‘I was left on the street to rot like a dead rat.’

‘Why?’

‘My last landlord washed his hands of me. I was a month or two behind in my payments. So what? There are worse crimes out there, you know?’ He pointed out through the window, then advanced to tell a lengthy tale of how his fortunes had turned upside down thanks to the venal-minded city. It was a sorry tale, and yet the boy seemed wholly invigorated by the turn of events. His large circular face held a big set of grinning teeth, which appeared to be bursting out of his mouth, offering a picture of surest happiness. He was one of the oddest people Thomas had ever met.

The boy fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a bent cigarette, then in an amateurish way, gripped the cigarette between his large teeth, lit a match and began to smoke it. His appearance reminded Thomas of a child dressed up in man’s clothing. Like Beenken, there was something of the actor in him, and something of the innocent schoolboy too. He smoked as if he’d never smoked before in his life. He didn’t appear to enjoy the experience as the first puff was followed by a coughing fit that he tried his best – but failed – to contain.

‘How long will you stay?’ Thomas asked, surprised at how cheerfully he framed his question. Perhaps having a new roommate wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘Who can tell?’ the boy beamed. ‘I am the victim of a tremendous injustice, that’s the only thing I know for certain. I’ve not been sleeping well recently – I knew something bad was about to happen. How can a young idiot like me make it on my own, out there? The world prefers strong men, which means I am destined for a life with the cats. Thank God for people like you and Herr Beenken.’

Malik began unpacking his belongings across one side of the apartment: a small collection of books, including volumes by Nietzsche, a heavy fur-lined overcoat, a silver wristwatch, a newspaper called Die Rote Front, and a tea set made of English porcelain. As he set out his things, he talked about being a student at the university. Thomas noted the broad range of his interests, everything from Buddhism to boxing. For Malik, the great metropolis presented itself like a diamond with endless facets. ‘This city has enough life to fill a million novels,’ he said. ‘Tragedies most of them. But let us act now and reflect later. That’s what my dear mother used to say, anyway.’

Surprised at how at ease he felt in his presence, Thomas suddenly had the urge to reveal everything about the events in Potsdam. Could Malik’s unreal perception throw some light on them? Deciding it could, Thomas released every detail, and enjoyed a great sense of relief with the unburdening. The only thing he left out was the notion of who the boy might in fact be.

‘And you found no body?’ Malik questioned, nodding his head with overdone sensitivity. He seemed to enjoy being confided in.

Thomas confirmed the absence of a body.

‘What time did this all happen?’

‘It was about five in the morning. Yes, exactly five. I remember the church bells ringing.’

‘Had you been drinking?’

‘Yes. But I remember everything clearly.’

‘You think you remember it clearly.’

‘I do. There was no body to speak of.’

‘Let me understand this correctly. You say a thief broke into your girlfriend’s apartment?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘But you are fond of her? Quite obviously you are.’

‘That’s not relevant.’

Malik eased into a smile. ‘You say a thief broke into an apartment belonging to a beautiful woman? Then you say you wanted to tie him up for revenge.’

‘Not revenge. And I didn’t say she was beautiful.’

‘I’m getting awfully confused,’ Malik said. ‘Is she not beautiful then?’

‘Yes, but the point is…’

‘The point is that she is a beautiful woman. Why deny it? Thomas, relax. I’ve known beautiful women.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes indeed. I was once engaged to a beauty from Hamburg… Ah, but that is another story. So you say, you went to get some rope to tie him with?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then, when you returned, you say you saw your friend – Erich was it? – push him over the railings? And he fell? He fell down to the ground?’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I saw.’

‘You saw him hit the ground?’

‘No, but he fell from the other side of the railings. There is not other conclusion.’

‘Does your friend deny it?’

‘No. He accepts it. He is proud. He believes in the experience of such things.’

‘He is proud? He is proud of depraved actions? Is he a monster?’ Malik shook his head moralistically.

‘He believes justice has been served. But he doesn’t understand the full implications.’

‘Then you are guilty of nothing,’ Malik pronounced, ‘whereas your friend is guilty of everything. I know how cruel this world is. Thank God for men like you, who at least show some degree of conscience. Criminality must be punished. You must see to it that your friend gets what he deserves.’

‘Then I should report him?’

‘Immediately.’

‘Then I will be guilty. Of betrayal. Besides, I still have no proof.’

‘Proof? You have your own eyes. That should be proof enough. Now, onto other matters. I want to give you this.’ A hand came forward holding a business card of some sort. ‘Why don’t you come to one of our meetings?’

Thomas felt annoyed. He wanted to stick to the Potsdam topic. ‘What is it?’

‘There are some extraordinary people there. The most original thinkers.’

Thomas read the card: Roter Frontkämpferbund – Alliance of Red Front-Fighters. ‘So you’re a Communist are you?’ he concluded.

‘I’m very interested in new ideas,’ Malik said. ‘And I hate old ideas just as strongly.’

Thomas didn’t say anything. He’d always treated politics with a pinch of salt. Whenever he thought about the forces at play – the Communists, the Nazis, the shambles of a government – he wanted to laugh with derision. The reality was too frightening to do anything else.

‘Come along some day,’ Malik said. ‘There is to be a rally outside Berlin Cathedral next week. There might be violence,’ he added with a sparkle.

‘Are you a member?’

‘I’m looking into it. Except, one has to proclaim an oath to join the movement.’

‘Then you’d best decide if you truly believe.’

Thomas was eager to return to the topic of the Potsdam thief. He began to tell Malik about his part in Jana Constein’s painting to offer some background. ‘They say she is one of Berlin’s top painters. There is much talk about her in the Berlin Academy, and I’m going to be in one of her compositions. That was the reason we were in Potsdam in the first place.’

Malik’s face fell. ‘A painting?’ he pondered. ‘I’m not sure I approve.’

‘How do you mean? How could you disapprove?’

‘It is very simple. Paintings are part of bourgeois culture. Your so-called work of art is a one-off. It is unique. Probably it is very expensive, therefore it is elitist. It is out of the reach of most working people. That’s why I must disapprove.’ He stepped forward and said, rather triumphantly, ‘Cinema! Cinema is the thing! Cinema is the art that will replace painting. Cinema can be multiplied and taken across the world. You can take your easel paintings and burn them as far as we are concerned.’

‘So all of painting is dismissed, just like that?’

Malik’s thick smile beamed and his eyes swelled. ‘If you believe in the future, you will join us. I can tell you are looking for something to do with your life. Where is your calling Thomas? I know you are homeless at the moment.’

‘Homeless? I’m not the one who’s homeless.’

‘Intellectually I mean. You are without an intellectual home.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Please, don’t take offence. All I mean is, you cannot put it off forever. It’s time to find your calling. You are getting older. How many years older than me are you?’

‘I don’t know. Ten years. Maybe more.’

‘It doesn’t matter Thomas. They’re just numbers. The point is, you’re are still young; you still have time. The best thing you can do for yourself is to join a group like ours. It’s time you took up a position. You are so passive. That is obvious. I was sleeping before I became interested in ideas – how I have woken up since! I have found my vocation, and even if that lousy slug who threw me out into the street like a piece of dirty meat, even if snakes like him are around every corner, well they will only make me more determined. That is my vocation. To protect the friend, to fight off the enemy!’

‘Perhaps I will come. Another day,’ Thomas said, suddenly affected by this last suggestion of thinking for himself. A mist of visions passed before his mind, of Erich and the roof terrace and Arno Hiller. He’d never thought of himself as passive before, and he didn’t like the allegation.

‘Come join us – I am sure you will find the idea of utopia quite appealing,’ Malik said as he flopped onto his bed and promptly fell asleep.

That night Thomas went to work fixated on new concerns. He felt sure he had to confront Erich – if only the fog of private fears would dissolve. He went to the printing rooms of the Berliner Tageblatt. By the morning, as he returned home in the weak light of dawn, he knew where he had to go next.