xxix

From behind their curtains they watched me come up the street. Without picking up his toys, Friedrich ran inside as I checked my mail, called in by his mother. Herr Beyer was peeling potatoes on his doorstep. Unshaven, he reeked of schnapps.

'Comrade. My mother-in-law took the train back to Horn. God bless her, ninety-two years old, but God bless me more, she'll be back!' He winked at me and made some crude gestures to show what a nuisance she'd been. 'Why don't you come down with your wife for a drink?'

I declined, insisting that she was potentially dangerous — saw non-existent people, threw irrational fits, broke whatever she got her hands on, aimed for the eyes if she got out of control, and wouldn't stop there if she came across a knife.

'We've all been through that, haven't we? Just spend a week with my mother-in-law! Besides, it would do her good to get out. Even a genie has to get out of her bottle once in a while.'

'If she gets out, I don't know that I'll ever get her back in.'

'Then we'll keep her a few days. No harm done. You won't miss her as much as you think. If you do, you can always cork her up with your finger.' With that, he wiggled his little finger in his ear as if to suggest corking her up in my head and winked at me again.

'I'm not ready.'

'Give it some time. When you are, door's open.'

At home, I found cards dealt out on the table. I didn't think anything of it. Elsa shunned me when I asked if she'd discovered a new kind of solitaire. Though I whistled loudly as I approached the next time I came home, so she'd have time to clean up, I came home to the same. Still, she refused to give me an explanation of what she'd been playing. I had a suspicion she was resorting to reading cards to divine her future. The hands were facing down and each had a damp ring above as if drinks set on the table had just been whisked away. That's when it dawned on me that she'd been playing with other people! I threw a tantrum until I felt pins in my heart. She straddled me until she cut off my breath, explaining that nobody knew anything about her, to them she was only Frau Betzler, what reason did I have to worry? She stooped down to mess up my hair before asking, teasingly, did I worry that our dear neighbours thought perhaps Herr Betzler wasn't master of himself?

The days to come she often went barefoot, and when I reminded her to put her slippers on, she claimed they hurt her feet. I didn't want to respond to her minor affront (I'd given her the slippers). Be that as it may, it made me angry, since I'd paid for the finest quality. Before winter fully gave way to spring, I insisted she show me where they chafed her. She got up to show me, then stooped down to pick up a button of her blouse that had fallen off and had to be sewn back on before she lost it. The moment was lost. Some hours later I brought the subject up again. This time on her way to get the slippers she stubbed her toe on the table leg and had to lie down. Her feet looked fine to me, outside the fact that they were ice cold. I became angry and demanded to see her slippers then and there. Cornered, she acknowledged that she couldn't find them.

I searched the entire flat and I couldn't find them either. I wasn't long in deducing that their disappearance, added to her reluctance to look for them, was a clue. She'd left them at his place. She'd used them to toss him a note out the window. She'd thrown them away, for they reminded her of me. There was no other answer.

In the middle of the night I remembered one last place I hadn't looked — behind the kitchen sink. There was something stuffed there: it looked like a towel. I pulled it out. Anger and excitement filled my veins when I saw it was her dressing-gown, damp and stained with grime from its long stay against the old pipes. I examined it inside and out, sniffed it over, convinced her infidelity was the reason for its concealment.

I found one of its pockets bulging. I prised out what had been forced in: her slippers, one inside the other, folded in half. The real surprise was to come. Something hard was hidden inside. I could feel its weight. Not in a thousand tries would I have guessed what I was about to find. A ceramic bird, small enough to nest in my palm: an ordinary-looking bird with brown speckles on its wing, a bulging white breast, two dark eyes. It was perching on a stick, integrated into a white lump that served as a base. Apart from a tiny chip out of the tip of the beak, it appeared to be brand new. I have to say, it wasn't exactly what I'd been looking for, but it was proof she'd fooled me and was stealing away outside, amusing herself, behind my back.

I'd always known she was a smart, conniving one, but had lacked the proof I needed. All those years, my hunches had been right. She was a good — no, a great — liar. She played the angel, but she was a real devil. And that sweet innocent expression of hers! Hold on, I have to sew this button on first! Oh, my poor little toe! I'd better lie down in case it's broken . . . I was peeling away her falsehoods, layer by layer. How many layers to get down to the truth? What an imbecile I had been believing her!

My newfound certainty raised more questions than it answered. With what money had she purchased the bird? Money stolen from my desk? I itched to go and check, though the more I thought about it, the more I realised it was pointless. The deed was done. Obviously, if she hadn't stolen the money from me, she'd taken advantage of my absence to steal the bird from someone else — or a shop. Unless . . . he had given it to her? For all I knew, she could have a lover, be visiting him whenever I'm out. Or perhaps he comes to her? She could have a system all worked out, some secret way to let him know the watchdog was gone — a stocking hanging out the window, three knocks on the floor. Maybe it was Beyer! He could see from his peephole if I were thoroughly and reliably gone or just clearing the mail.

How they must have laughed behind my back. He must have imitated me time and time again, and she too. Maybe he came up every time I was gone, had relations with her right in our bed! Put his dirty buttocks right here as he slipped off his socks! Laughed when he saw me coming up the street, loaded down with groceries, a basket of clean laundry, some special surprise for her. Or maybe he hadn't even bothered to keep an eye out for me, with me stupid enough to always whistle out of courtesy for her! A last go at it and he was off! What a fool I'd been. A sucker. I, the underdog, who had to blind myself to all that went on in order to stay with her. And she, the strong heroic figure who probably told him that she only stayed out of pity, obligation.

All this had started since she'd flooded the building, since he saw her sitting naked in the chair. No wonder he kept inviting us both to dinner, making all those sympathetic comments. Now I understood why he'd been so nice to me, had kept on. He was getting his kicks out of it, chuckling at my aloofness. He probably knew all there was to know about me. In fact, I saw now that their affair had been going on long before that day! Yes, while the water was being sopped up, they'd acted as if they'd never seen each other before, fooling his wife, the others, me. She'd flooded the building on purpose so she could see him, for it had been some time since he'd come up to see her. He had wanted to end it. That was what her silent protest was all about! It was aimed at him, not me. She'd only had relations with me that day to get back at him. It was all so blindingly obvious. It had nothing at all to do with me, nothing whatsoever!

Elsa and I had breakfast together. My jealousy blackened. I saw how he'd used her, how she'd given her body to that low-down conniver because he had lent her an ear. What parts of her had he touched? These parts disgusted me. I let them dissolve before my eyes. I amused myself looking through her until I could see the wall on the other side.

The minute she isolated herself in her usual spot, the bathroom, I set her slippers down, ready to step into when she stepped out. I crammed her dressing gown back behind the kitchen sink, leaving just the sleeves hanging out as if they were begging for help. I awaited her reaction, hardly able to sit still. As I heard her snap her vanity case shut, a wave of anticipation swept through me.

The door-handle turned and she gave a last-second jump to the side; after which she fell to her knees and slid her hands into the slippers. Finding them empty, she ran over to the sink and pulled out the dressing gown. Finding the pockets empty, and herself cornered, her eyes turned hostile. 'Where is it?'

'What?' I feigned the big-eyed, innocent expression she herself was so good at.

She huffed, rifled through the kitchen drawers, felt under the mattress, pulled the sheets to one side, patted the shelves of the wardrobe until our jerseys tumbled down. Between her and me, our place was falling into foul disorder. In the end, she found the bird on my desk. I could tell she was annoyed that it had been in open view all along. She grabbed it back, the poor loser, rubbed its cold head down to its rigid tail. She, who had let a real bird go, had the nerve to make a fuss over a fake one right to my face! Of course, it was a gift from him, the real bird was a gift from me. Just as I was at the peak of my aversion, she tried to hand it to me. I stepped back, swatting the air lest she approach me again.

She tried a hurt look and some disingenuous blinks. 'I didn't want you to find it; not yet.'

'I have no time for your foolishness. Just tell me where you bought it.'

'Found it.'

'Where?'

'I won't lie. It's true, I went out. To those trees just behind the square.'

'To those trees just behind the square? A good twenty-minute walk?'

'Mm, that's all.'

'Poor birdie, fell out of its nest?'

'What were the chances of me finding it that day? Of all the trees I could have lain by, of all the days there are in a life, what were the chances of me coming upon it under that tree, on that particular day?'

'I'd say zero.'

'I was led to it.'

'Elsa, I'd like you to abbreviate your charming anecdote and tell me the truth.'

'I am. It came from above.'

'God let a ceramic knick-knack fall down from the sky? I didn't know He had a liking for such things. Maybe an archangel didn't, and gave it a knock when he was dusting around with his feathered wing?'

'You're being a block-headed pragmatist. Who knows. It might've belonged to a child who dropped it. You know, a plaything. Angels carry out spiritual works, not physical. They must resort to mortal help for that.'

'You didn't want me to find it. You had no intention whatsoever of me finding it. Make a clean breast.'

'It was a surprise. You noticed the days have been getting longer? Well, I was waiting for the longest day. I feel something is in the air — a change for the better. It's a sign.'

'God went to a lot of trouble for you, used a lot of mortal assistance for you, and you hide it so your gift . . . from whom? From God, that's right, from the Almighty Himself, via His ambassador angels, will eventually be a surprise for me on the midsummer solstice? Your story stinks.'

'Oh, Johannes, I've never given you anything. I have no money. You've given me so much. Put walls up around me and a roof over my head. It was a way for me to give you a little something back, however small and insignificant. It meant a lot to me.'

The only thing I believed was she was starting to believe herself.

On the verge of tears, she made another attempt to get me to take it. 'Here, I give it to you. Please accept it.' I felt as if she were trying to get me to literally hold her lie. I pushed her hands away. 'Why did you hide the slippers I gave you? Why did you get rid of your dressing gown?'

'I was just protecting the bird. It's so pretty, I didn't want it to break. It's so fragile — look, its beak has already been damaged. Right here, did you see?'

'I don't trust you. Plenty of people are seeing you, speaking to you, enjoying you, aren't they? You pulled your own button off, didn't you? You're ready to damage anything to cover up your lies. You lied to me about your toe, too. You are nothing, Elsa, I'm sorry to say, but one great liar.'

'I had to lie, you gave me no choice! You kept insisting on my feet being cold — if you had just let it go! You force me to lie! You never can handle the truth! You're like a dog that bites a branch and can't let go, even if it means hanging itself!'

I carried her to the bed, where I demanded to know who she'd seen.

She pursed her lips, feigning incomprehension. 'I didn't speak to anyone. I walked till I reached those trees, looked through the leaves, saw the sky, walked back.'

'The truth!'

'The cars; I noticed the cars had changed.'

'Elsa,' I begged. 'Tell me!'

'I didn't look.'

'You don't have to look to see. What did your peripheral vision tell you?'

'I saw all those who should have been and weren't. I saw gaps and spaces until I couldn't see.'

'You weren't blind. You were able to walk.'

'I didn't look. If I looked, I would have seen that I was seen.'

'In whose bed did you lie?'

'A bed of leaves.'

'It was Beyer, wasn't it? You and he went for a roll in the hay? Behind his wife's back? Sad, aren't you, because he never came back?'

'Herr Beyer?'

'Don't play the innocent. I think you know the dirty old man I mean.'

'Who are you talking about?'

'Who? Hoefle? Campen? A total stranger?'

She put up no resistance to my shakes and, yes, I confess, slaps. 'You think you can go and get yourself poked and then come back like it was nothing? Just go off like that, open your legs, come back, mouth sealed? Tell me, was it good? Was it sensual with those leaves crunching under your back? The twigs scratching your fat arse? So fat, he's never been back to claim you? Where's his love now?'

Elsa's eyes, puffy and tired as they had been of late, were wide open in what I could have sworn was her former ignorance of the world. Cautiously, as if to test the truth — but also as if to stay on the safe side by making it sound as if she was only telling me what I wanted to hear so I'd stop hurting her — she replied, 'I might have met with Harold before. If I did, it was a while back. We never talked. We didn't have to. He felt everything. It didn't last. Not long. I wish it had never happened. Anyway, it's gone and past.' Her words gained weight. 'But this once, I met with God.'

Harold was Beyer's first name. I had her confession! He whom I'd half suspected I now fully hated.

That night I dreamt that Elsa ran towards me with the ceramic bird cupped in her hands, screaming that it was pecking her — please, help her! She dropped it in mine, and, looking at it more closely, I noticed the beak was broken off at the base, leaving behind it a smooth, white spot that gave it a harmless, open-mouthed expression. Without a beak, the creature didn't look like a bird any more but a fish. Just as I was thinking that, having no beak, it could not possibly have been pecking her, so I'd caught her red-handed lying again, a stabbing pain went straight through my heart. I realised that the bird had pecked me there, leaving its beak behind like a thorn, and I would die within the hour.

***

I changed the lock so she couldn't open the door on her own. This right would be reserved to the keeper of the key. She watched me with that cursed borderline smile of hers, particularly when the key got stuck so I feared it would break if I forced it. I went downtown for some grease and had just walked out of the hardware store when someone tapped me on my shoulder. It took some effort for me to place the face. It was the architect, looking haggard. For a second, I expected a blow.

'Where'd you disappear to? I searched every hotel on the Ring! The new, the old! No one's ever heard of you.'

I babbled that my project hadn't worked out.

'Where do you live, then?'

I was cautious saying only, 'Buchengasse.'

'What did you mean leaving all your junk behind? I'm not responsible for your artwork! If you need storage, you have to pay for it!'

'I thought if you liked it you'd keep it, and if you didn't you'd toss it out.'

'Toss it out? A hundred cubic metres of it? You know how much that would cost? It's not for me to pay! You know how long it would take just carrying that junk up and outside?'

'I'm sorry; I didn't realise it would be such an inconvenience. If you like, I'll come and get it all by the end of the week.'

'By the end of the week? You're coming with me right now!' He caught me by the sleeve.

'Impossible! A member of my family is unwell.'

'That's not my goddamn problem.'

'What do you expect me to do on my own? I have to arrange some friends to help me.' As I wriggled to extract my arm from his grip, he felt something that made him let go instantly. He'd forgotten about this handicap of mine. He calmed down.

'How do I know you're not going to sneak away like last time? No telephone, no way to reach you?'

'It wasn't my fault the hotel never went up.'

'I need to know what day. And don't trifle with me.'

'Friday. Friday afternoon.'

'I expect more than thanks for having stored them so many months.'

'You'll get it.'

'And I don't mean some tip. I could've rented that space out. I could've turned it into a photographer's darkroom. You're going to have to do some multiplying on your fingers before you have any idea what I've lost.'

'You'll get it. You have my word. Friday. Please, Herr . . .'

'Hampel.'

'Excuse me, Herr Hampel. Let us please not discuss figures in the streets.'

He scrutinised me, trying to decide whether he could trust me, before backing off.

I called after him, 'By the way, how's the house?'

I walked around town, not remembering why I'd come. I was oblivious to the bag in my hand and the hint it contained. I felt eyes on me and recognised Petra and Astrid, the yellow raincoats they were wearing. Were they behind the architect finding me? Were they behind the card games? I ducked behind some shoppers, but didn't throw them off. The chase crossed several quarters. They changed their coats to fool me — that's what they'd been hiding in those big shopping bags. I came up behind them and poked their backs. It wasn't Petra and Astrid, not at all: it was an adolescent girl holding hands with her mother.

By then I realised I'd lost my bearings. My surroundings looked familiar yet alien, as if they didn't belong to that time or place on earth any more. Shiny, metallic structures towered over the city's older houses. It looked as if the banks were made out of the coins they'd collected, melted down, the highest belonging to the banks that had collected the most. Cars were driving about the city with queer pastel wings growing out of them. A dozen vehicles were stopped at every red light, blocking a good forty metres of many streets. The exhaust fumes made me light-headed, the noise of their engines killed the sweeter sounds of pigeons murmuring, autumn leaves whispering, the Danube moving silently along; silence being a sound, just as pauses are part of music.

The police drove me back to my block, talking between themselves about how it would be the end of the world if the two superpowers, the Soviet Union and the United States, took to dropping atom bombs on each other. One alone, and a giant mushroom would swell in the sky and an overwhelming light would sear people's shadows into walls and footpaths. The radiation would spread to us, leave our innards smouldering and warp offspring in women's wombs. It was a terrifying thought. I wanted to go home! Home! Home!

On my recognising the shoe-repair shop on the corner, they let me out and told me to go home and rest. The aspects of the area that used to displease me now comforted me: nutshells on the footpath, pipes like veins coming out of the various buildings, cooking smells exhaling from windows like warm, familiar breath.

That was until I saw the circle of people in front of our building, adults and children, all looking down in stances of gloom. I didn't even look to see whether Beyer was or wasn't there. I looked up for the mushroom, then I saw it, the window to our flat open horizontally. Friedrich was crying; his mother was telling him that everyone dies one day. I remembered I'd locked the door. I'd locked the door! It was my fault. She'd done it, my God — she'd got even with me in the worst way she could have, the very worst.

Crying out, 'Elsa!' I broke into the core of the circle.

It wasn't Elsa. It was the cat.