THE WIND was surprisingly mild. From somewhere over by the care center came a faint, unidentifiable metallic rumbling sound, and far in the distance he could hear the engine of the guards’ car driving round its endless circuit. Otherwise it was quiet.
Marko had shown no surprise when Daniel went out again after the night round. Leaning back against the wall of his cabin he had raised his hand in a limp, wordless greeting, and Daniel had responded in kind before setting off quickly down the hill.
As he walked through the small patch of woodland that separated the clinic grounds from the village, he reflected on the fact that what he was doing now was extremely dangerous, completely unnecessary, and not at all like him. He could easily wait till morning. There was no need for him to talk to Corinne right now.
But his desire for certainty—immediate certainty—was stronger than his fear. He could only remember one previous occasion in his life when he had been similarly desperate to know the truth: When he suspected that Emma, his former wife, was having an affair he had taken the day off and spent the morning frantically going through her drawers and pockets, and then he had tailed her to a meeting with her lover. He recalled how irrational and shameless his actions had seemed, but also the feverish excitement and—above all—the urgency.
He jogged through the narrow, poorly lit village streets and went up the steps to Corinne’s loft apartment.
“It’s me, Daniel,” he shouted, so as not to scare her by knocking.
When she eventually opened the door, her face was streaked as if she had been crying. Then he realized it was sweat and that the furrow in her brow came from her annoyance at being interrupted. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top, salsa music was coming out of the speakers, and she was holding her boxing gloves under her arm.
“What is it? Has something happened?” she asked.
“No. I just wanted to talk.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
She let him in. “Can you wait ten minutes?”
He nodded and sat down on the sofa. Corinne drank some water from the tap, pulled on her gloves, and carried on training. Her shepherdess outfit was on a hanger by the wall, clean and freshly ironed.
Daniel watched her as she set about the punching ball. She was muttering aggressively, as if she were talking to an imaginary opponent, and he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears running down her cheeks, or possibly a mixture of both. There was a spotlight shining on her from the ceiling. The rest of the large room was dark, except for the strings of little red, green, and blue lights.
Daniel felt as if he had been left behind in a room where a party had just come to an end and something else was about to happen. An unpredictable after party for a few select people.
His heart was still racing from his rapid walk and the strange, intoxicating anxiety. Once again his thoughts wandered to Emma and the last terrible weeks of their marriage. He had squeezed the truth out of her like toothpaste from a tube, and no matter how hard he squeezed there was always a little bit left that he couldn’t get at. He had followed her, caught her red-handed, confronted her. Then came the relief and pain of knowing for certain. And the frustration at still not knowing everything.
There was a half-full bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. He pulled out the cork and poured himself a glass without asking, then sat back on the sofa as his pulse slowed down. The wine, the salsa music, and the regular thud of the punching ball filled him up and settled like a smothering blanket over his fevered thoughts. He watched Corinne’s fight with the black, lumpy monster, which took each blow with an unconcerned little swing. She was so slight, yet still so strong and stubborn, and utterly furious.
Exhausted, she staggered back, sank to her knees, and pulled off the gloves.
“What did you want to talk about?” she panted.
“Not yet. After you’ve had a shower.”
As the water ran in the bathroom, he wondered how to frame his question. His thoughts, which had been so sharp and clear a short while ago, as though lit up by a sudden flash of lightning, were now mired in doubt. When she emerged shortly afterward with her open, girlish face, her dripping hair, and a robe wrapped tightly around her body, he had almost forgotten why he was there.
“Well?” she said. “Have you had another idea about the drug deliveries?”
“No.”
“So what was so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”
She was standing with her arms folded, her legs set slightly apart as she looked at him from under her wet, absolutely straight bangs. A little girl in a bathrobe that was too big for her.
All his urgency vanished. That business with the babies didn’t matter. Odd. But that was how it felt. Maybe it was a lie, maybe it was the truth. It didn’t make any difference. If it was true, it must have been temporary insanity, a wound in a psyche that was otherwise completely healthy and beautiful. He didn’t want to know. Some things were more important than the truth. Such as the fact that she was the only person in Himmelstal who had shown him any friendship and warmth. The only person he could talk to.
Suddenly the worried look on her face cracked into a smile. And at that moment it was as if a switch had been flicked and thousands of tiny, silvery lights had come on inside her irises, all directed at him. How does that happen? he wondered in amazement. Where does the light come from?
“Well, tell me!” she said. “What was so urgent?”
“This,” he said, getting up from the sofa and cupping her face in his hands. He brushed her wet hair back and kissed her.
She pulled back with a jerk and put her hand over her mouth as if to shield it.
“No. We mustn’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
She folded her arms again, tucking her hands under her arms as if she were cold, and looked away without speaking.
“Don’t you trust me, Corinne? I trust you. Do you hear me? I trust you. You’re the only person here I trust. And I’m the only person you can trust.”
She was staring at the wall and shaking her head with her jaw clenched, like a stubborn child.
Daniel swallowed and went on. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, what you’ve done, or what you used to be like. But right now we’re here, you and me. Whatever happened before belongs in the past, I don’t care about any of that. I love you the way you are now.”
“Oh, God,” she sniffed. “Shit.” She ran her hand quickly over her eyes and added, “I love you too. I have ever since that picnic at the leper cemetery.”
“In that case, this is probably the only love that exists in this valley,” he said seriously. “Have you thought about that?”
She considered what he had said.
“You’re probably right.”
He moved his face so close to hers that their noses were touching and kissed her again. This time she didn’t pull away. They tasted each other, curiously and carefully at first, like some new food they’d never tried before, then with increasing passion. He took a step back and undid the belt around her waist, all the while looking at her face, ready to stop if she gave any sign. But she just looked back, smiling and trusting, and he opened her robe and gently stroked her girlishly small breasts with two fingers. She stood there motionless with her eyes closed and her nipples stiffening. Then she opened her eyes. The shower of light was flowing with full force. A dangerous, edgy glow.
“This is impossible,” she whispered. “It shouldn’t be happening.”