Self's deception - By Bernhard Schlink & Peter Constantine Page 0,82

telling every woman that you never met another woman like her?”

Philipp sighed and was silent for a while. “You have no idea about love, Gerhard. In my dream, all of them get together anyway. They leave my deathbed and go to the Blaue Ente, where I've arranged a banquet for them, and they eat and drink and remember me.”

I don't know why Philipp's dream made me sad. Because I have no idea about love? I took his hand. “Forget all that for the time being. You're not dying.”

“No, I'm not.” He found it increasingly hard to talk. “As it is, I couldn't even speak to all of them now. I'm much too weak.” He fell asleep.

Füruzan came around five. I could see that her brother had beaten her, but she whispered to me that they had made up. “Do you think Philipp will forgive me, too?”

I didn't understand.

“Because the knife was meant for me.”

I didn't feel that this was the time to give her a crash course in emancipation. “I'm sure he'll forgive you.”

I didn't wait for Philipp to wake up again. At six I was in Nägelsbach's office, at seven in prison at the Fauler Pelz. Nägels-bach was taciturn, and so was I. He did, however, tell me that there'd be no more food by the time I got to the prison and took me shopping. Pretzels, some Camembert, a bottle of Barolo, and a few apples. I remembered the Mangold beets being sold at the market in Mannheim. I have a soft spot for this underrated local vegetable when it is cooked au gratin or served as a salad—but one has to put the beets in a marinade while they are still warm and let them sit for a few hours.

I hadn't been at the Fauler Pelz prison since the days when I was a public prosecutor. More than forty years had passed, and I no longer recognized the layout. But I did recognize the smell, the echoing sound of steps, the correctional officer's fumbling for the right key on the jangling bunch, and the unlocking and relocking of the cell door. The warden closed my door and locked it. He and Nägelsbach walked away, and I listened to the echo of their steps. I ate a few of the pretzels with some cheese and apples, drank the Barolo, and read Gottfried Keller. I had taken along his Zurich stories, and learned from the Bailiff of Greifensee to what extent one can be driven to gather together all one's old loves. I wondered if Philipp, too, was seeking a graceful and edifying end to a ridiculous story, as well as a little peace of mind.

I was doing quite well until I lay down on the bunk for the night. Numbing cold seeped through the thick walls, and yet a summer breeze blew waves of warmth through the openings in the window. It also brought the voices of reveling barhop-pers, calls of greeting and good-bye, the droning laughter of men and the bubbling laughter of women. Once in a while there was utter silence, until I heard faraway steps and voices approaching, getting louder, and then fading again in the distance. Sometimes I caught shreds of conversation. Sometimes a couple would stop beneath my window.

Suddenly I was gripped by longing for the bright, warm, colorful life outside, as if I had been locked up and would be locked up in this cell for years. Locked up for years—was that what was in store for me? I thought of the pride that comes before a fall, and of the fall that follows pride. I thought of the successes I had striven for in my life and the failures I had had. I thought about Korten's death. Was I experiencing the victory of poetic injustice?

The next morning I attempted a few squats and push-ups. They are said to help you survive years of solitary confinement. My joints ached.

19

Pending proceedings

At nine thirty I was taken for questioning. I had expected Bleckmeier and Rawitz. Instead I sat opposite a young man with a clever face and manicured hands who introduced himself as Federal Public Prosecutor Dr. Franz from the Federal High Court. In a clear, pleasant voice he read me the charges, ranging from aiding a terrorist organization to obstruction of justice. He asked me if I wished to be represented by a lawyer of my choice. “I am aware that you have a legal background,” he said, “but so do I, and