Self's punishment - By Bernhard Schlink & Walter Popp Page 0,65

my way.’

Helga came onto the loggia as though she’d been eavesdropping behind the door, and had picked up the signal for saying goodbye. ‘The flowers are truly delightful, would you like to see where I’ve put them, Herr Self?’

‘Ah, children, drop the formalities. Self is my oldest friend.’ Korten put an arm round both our shoulders.

I wanted out. Instead, I followed the two of them into the sitting room, admired my bouquet on the grand piano, listened to the popping of the champagne cork, and clinked glasses with Helga, over the dropping of formalities.

‘Why haven’t we seen you here more often?’ she asked in all innocence.

‘Yes, we must change that,’ said Korten, before I could respond at all. ‘What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?’

I thought about Brigitte. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘That’s wonderful, my dear Self. Then we’ll be in touch with each other again soon.’

23

Do you have a tissue?

Brigitte had prepared beef stroganoff with fresh mushrooms and rice. It tasted delicious, the wine was at a perfect temperature, and the table was lovingly set. Brigitte was chattering. I’d brought her Elton John’s Greatest Hits and he was singing of love and suffering, hope and separation.

She held forth on reflexology, acupressure, and Rolfing. She told me about patients, health insurers, and colleagues. She didn’t care in the least whether it interested me, or how I was.

‘What’s going on today? This afternoon I scarcely recognize Korten, and now I’m sitting here with you and the only thing you have in common with the Brigitte I like is the scar on your earlobe.’

She laid down her fork, put her elbows on the table, rested her head on her hands, and began to weep. I went round the table to her, she nuzzled her head into my belly, and just cried all the more.

‘What’s wrong?’ I stroked her hair.

‘I . . . oh . . . I, it’s enough to drive me to tears. I’m going away tomorrow.’

‘Why the tears about that?’

‘It’s for so terribly long. And so far.’ She raised her face.

‘How long, then, and how far?’

‘Oh . . . I . . .’ She pulled herself together. ‘Do you have a tissue? I’m going to Brazil for six months. To see my son.’

I sat down. Now I felt ready to weep, too. At the same time I felt angry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘I didn’t know things would turn out so nice between us.’

‘I don’t understand.’

She took my hand. ‘Juan and I had intended to take the six months to see whether we couldn’t be together after all. Manuel misses his mother all the time. And with you I thought it would just be a short episode and over anyway by the time I left for Brazil.’

‘What do you mean, you thought it would be over anyway when you left for Brazil? Postcards from Sugar Loaf Mountain won’t change a thing.’ I was quite bleak with sadness. She said nothing and stared into space. After a while I withdrew my hand from hers and got up. ‘I’d better go now.’ She nodded mutely.

In the hallway she leaned against me for one last moment. ‘You see, I can’t go on being the raven mother that you never liked anyway.’

24

She’d hunched her shoulders

The night was dreamless. I woke up at six o’clock, knew I had to talk to Judith today and thought about what I should tell her. Everything? How would she be able to continue working at RCW and hold on to her old life? But that was a problem I couldn’t solve for her.

At nine o’clock I phoned her. ‘I’ve wrapped up the case, Judith. Shall we take a walk by the harbour and I’ll fill you in?’

‘You don’t sound good. What have you found out?’

‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’

I put coffee on, took the butter out of the fridge, and the eggs and smoked ham, chopped onions and chives, warmed up milk for Turbo, squeezed three oranges for juice, set the table, and made myself two fried eggs on ham and lightly sweated onions. When the eggs were just right I sprinkled them with chives. The coffee was ready.

I sat for a long time over my breakfast without touching it. Just before ten I took a couple of gulps of coffee. I set down the eggs for Turbo and left.

When I rang the bell, Judith came down straight away. She looked pretty in her loden coat with its collar turned up, as pretty as only an unhappy