Self's deception - By Bernhard Schlink & Peter Constantine Page 0,73
murder.
While we're on the subject: What about your own illusions, Gerhard Self? There was that matter of you and Kor-ten. But Gerhard Self was in no mood for a dialogue with Gerhard Self.
In my office there was a message from Peschkalek on the answering machine saying that he had an idea, and a message from Philipp asking me to call him back. A few callers had hung up. Then I heard a distant whir of voices, humming, and the synthetic twitter of an international call. I knew it was Leo before she even spoke. “Gerhard? Gerhard, this is Leo.” There was a long pause. “I just want you to know that Helmut didn't kill Rolf.” There was another long pause before she went on. “I'm far away. I hope you're doing well.” She hung up. As if Lemke would admit to her that he'd killed Wendt!
Philipp complained when I returned his call: “How come I can never reach you? Are you spending the merry month of May rolling in the hay? A bit of action to charge up those old batteries of yours?”
“Nonsense! I was over at Brigitte's one evening, but…”
“You don't have to excuse yourself to me, I'm a man of the world. In fact, I'm bristling with envy. My days are numbered—I count on you to keep the flag flying.”
“What happened?” I asked him. What could put a stop on Philipp other than AIDS?
“The wedding's on Friday,” he said. “Will you be my best man?”
I don't mean to say that Philipp, who's pushing sixty, is too old to get married. Nor do I mean that because he chases every skirt that comes his way he's too young to get married. But the simple truth is that I can't imagine him as a married man. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“Don't give me any of that bullshit. Be in front of the city hall at five to ten. The ceremony's at ten o'clock sharp. After that we'll be celebrating at Antalya Türk. And I'm warning you to bring lots of time and Brigitte.” He was in a hurry. “I'd love to hit the town with you one last time before I get married, but there's so much to do. I'm sinking with all hands, even though my little Fur-ball has taken time off from work. We can hit the scene sometime after the wedding; I'm sure she won't mind.”
My impression that in a Turkish marriage the man was king of the castle was somewhat dated. Or had his little Fur-ball Füruzan specifically not chosen a Turkish husband? Or was Philipp making a mistake? Should I train him as a fighter in the marriage war—me, of all people?
Peschkalek didn't just have an idea, he had a suggestion, about which he wanted to talk to me. We decided to meet at the sauna in the Herschelbad pool.
He, too, liked a sauna to be piping hot and without steam, and he, too, smoked between sessions. We also shared the same sequence: three Finnish sauna sessions one after the other, and then, after a lengthy break, two Turkish ones. In the big pool we launched a water battle worthy of Admiral Pushkin. With his large stomach, bald head, and bushy mustache glittering with water drops, Peschkalek looked like a friendly sea lion. We lay on the loungers, covered with white towels, napped for a while, and then stretched, feeling that we had had some good bonding.
“What was that little song and dance the other day at lunch all about, Peschkalek?” I asked him with a smile. “You were acting as if it had just struck you what a good idea it might be to drop by the Viernheimer Tageblatt. And then acting like it only struck you during our conversation with Walters that there might be poison gas in the munitions depot. You knew the story about the poison gas, also about the munitions depot, not to mention Strassenheim.”
“You win, Self, you win. I admit I put on a little show to whet your appetite. I don't think I can handle this case on my own. I didn't want to run the risk of you not taking the story about the poison gas seriously and not wanting to look into it. I need your help.” He hemmed and hawed. “Which brings me to my suggestion. Let's go to the Americans and tell them to lay their cards on the table.”
“Great idea!”
“No, I'm serious! I'm not saying we should drive over with a 'Permit me