The Pledge

by Friedrich Dürrenmatt

  “I was not mistaken. The next morning, on a Saturday, Henzi called me at seven. The peddler had confessed. I was in the office at eight. Henzi was still in Matthäi’s former office. He was looking out of the open window and turned tiredly to greet me. Beer bottles on the floor, ashtrays overflowing. No one else was in the room.

  “‘A detailed confession?’ I asked.

  “‘He’ll give one later,’ Henzi replied. ‘The main thing is, he confessed to the murder.’

  “‘I just hope you stayed within bounds,’ I grumbled. The interrogation had lasted over twenty hours. Of course that wasn’t legal; but in the police force, you can’t always play by the rules.

  “‘We didn’t use any irregular methods, Chief,’ Henzi declared.

  “I went into my ‘boutique’ and had the peddler brought in. He could hardly stand on his feet and had to be supported by the policeman who escorted him; but he didn’t sit down when I invited him to.

  “‘Von Gunten,’ I said, with an inadvertently friendly note in my voice, ‘I hear you have confessed to the murder of little Gritli Moser.’

  “‘I killed the girl,’ the peddler replied so softly that I could hardly hear him, staring at the floor. ‘Now leave me in peace.’

  “‘Get some sleep, von Gunten,’ I said, ‘we’ll talk later.’

  “He was led away. In the doorway he encountered Matthäi. The peddler stopped. He was breathing heavily. His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He just looked at Matthäi, who seemed faintly discomfited as he stepped aside to make room for him.

  “‘Go ahead,’ the policeman said, and led von Gunten away. “Matthäi stepped into the ‘boutique,’ closed the door behind him. I lit a Bahianos.

  “‘Well, Matthäi, what do you think?’

  “‘The poor guy was questioned for over twenty hours?’

  “‘That’s a method Henzi learned from you. You were always a tenacious interrogator,’ I replied. ‘But he handled his first independent case nicely, don’t you think?’

  “Matthäi didn’t reply.

  “I ordered two coffees and croissants.

  “We both had a bad conscience. The hot coffee didn’t improve our mood.

  “‘I have a feeling,’ Matthäi finally said, ‘that von Gunten will retract his confession.’

  “‘Could be,’ I replied morosely. ‘Then we’ll just have to work him over again.’

  “‘You think he’s guilty?’ he asked.

  “‘You don’t?’ I asked in return.

  “Matthäi hesitated: ‘Well, I suppose I do,’ he replied without conviction.

  “The morning flooded in through the window. A dull silver. From the Sihlquai came the noises of the street, and the slap of boots as soldiers marched out of their nearby barracks.

  “Then Henzi appeared. He stepped in without knocking.

  “‘Von Gunten has hanged himself,’ he reported.”

  15

  “The cell was at the end of the long corridor. We ran over there. Two men were already busy with the peddler. He was lying on the floor. They had torn open his shirt. His hairy chest was completely immobile. His suspenders still dangled from the window.

  “‘It’s no use,’ one of the policemen said. ‘The man is dead.’

  “I relit my Bahianos, and Henzi lit himself a cigarette.

  “‘That settles the case of Gritli Moser,’ I said as we wearily walked down the endless corridor back to my office. ‘As for you, Matthäi—I wish you a pleasant flight to Jordan.’”

  16

  “But at two o’clock, when Feller drove to the Hotel Urban for the last time in order to take Matthäi to the airport—the luggage was already in the trunk of the car—the inspector said: ‘We’ve still got some time, let’s go by way of Mägendorf.’ Feller obeyed and drove through the woods. They reached the village square as the funeral procession drew near, a long line of silent people. A large crowd from the surrounding villages, and from the city as well, had streamed in to attend the funeral. The newspapers had already reported von Gunten’s death. There was a general sense of relief. Justice had won. Matthäi and Feller had left the car and were now standing among children opposite the church. The coffin lay on a bier on top of a cart drawn by two horses, and was surrounded by white roses. Behind the coffin followed the children of the village, two by two, each pair with a wreath, led by Fräulein Krumm, the principal, and the pastor, the girls dressed in white. Then two black figures, the parents of Gritli Moser. The woman stopped and looked at the inspector. Her face was expressionless, her eyes were empty.

  “‘You kept your promise,’ she said very quietly, but with such precision that the inspector heard it. ‘I thank you.’ Then she walked on. Unbowed, proud beside a broken husband who had suddenly become an old man.

  “The inspector waited until the whole procession had passed by—the mayor, government officials, farmers, workers, housewives, daughters, all in their finest, most solemn dress. No one spoke a word. The spectators, too, were perfectly still. All you could hear in the glow of the afternoon sun was the pealing of churchbells, the rumbling sound of the cart wheels, and the countless footsteps on the hard pavement of the village street.

  “‘To the airport,’ Matthäi said, and they got back into the car.”

  17

  “After he had taken leave of Feller and walked through the passport control, he bought a Neue Zürcher Zeitung in the waiting room. There was a picture of von Gunten in it, with a caption describing him as the murderer of Gritli Moser, but there was also a picture of the inspector with an article about his appointment to serve the kingdom of Jordan. A man at the pinnacle of his career. But when he stepped onto the runway, his raincoat over his arm, he noticed that the terrace of the building was full of children. Several school classes had come to visit the airport—girls and boys in colorful summer clothes. There was much waving of little flags and handkerchiefs, whoops of amazement as the giant silver machines descended and took off. The inspector halted, then walked on toward the waiting Swissair plane. When he reached it, the other passengers were already aboard. The stewardess who had led the travelers to the plane held out her hand to receive Matthäi’s ticket, but the inspector turned around once more. He looked at the crowd of children, who were waving, happily and enviously, at the plane which was about to start.

  “‘Miss,’ he said, ‘I’m not flying,’ and returned to the airport building, and walked under the terrace with its vast crowds of children, through the building and on toward the exit.”

  18

  “I didn’t receive Matthäi until Sunday morning—not in the ‘boutique,’ but in my official office with its equally official view of the Sihlquai. Pictures by Gubler, Morgenthaler, Hunziker on the walls, all reputable Zurich painters. I was in a bad mood on account of a disagreeable call from a man of the political department who insisted on speaking French and French only; the Jordanian embassy had lodged a protest, and the Federal Council had requested information which I was in no position to give, since I did not understand my former subordinate’s action.

  “‘Sit down, Herr Matthäi,’ I said. I suppose the formality of my manner saddened him. We sat down. I did not smoke, and gave no indication that I intended to. That disturbed him. ‘The federal government,’ I said, ‘concluded a treaty with Jordan concerning the transfer of a police expert to their department. And you, too, Herr Matthäi, signed a contract with Jordan. Due to your failure to depart, these contractual agreements have been violated. We both have had legal training. I don’t need to make myself plainer.’

  “‘That’s not necessary,’ Matthäi said.

  “‘I therefore ask you to go to Jordan as quickly as possible,’ I suggested.

  “‘I’m not going,’ Matthäi retorted.

  “‘Why not?’

  “‘Gritli Moser’s murderer hasn’t been found yet.’

  “‘You think the peddler was innocent?’

  “‘Yes, I do.’
>
  “‘We have his confession.’

  “‘He must have lost his nerve. The long interrogation, the despair, the feeling of being abandoned. And I’m not without blame in this matter,’ he quietly continued. ‘The peddler turned to me and I didn’t help him. I wanted to go to Jordan.’

  “The situation was peculiar. Just the day before, we had conversed in a relaxed, collegial manner, and now we were sitting face-to-face, stiff and formal, both of us in our Sunday clothes.

  “‘I request that you put me back in charge of the case, Chief,’ Matthäi said.

  “‘I can’t do that,’ I replied. ‘Not under any circumstances; you are no longer with us, Herr Matthäi.’

  “The inspector stared at me in surprise.

  “‘I’m dismissed?’

  “‘You resigned from the cantonal police service when you agreed to accept a position in Jordan,’ I quietly replied. ‘Now you’ve broken your contract. That’s your affair. But if we employ you again it would mean that we condone your action. I’m sure you’ll understand that this is impossible.’

  “‘I see,’ Matthäi said. ‘I understand.’

  “‘Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done about it,’ I decided.

  “For a while we were both silent.

  “‘Driving through Mägendorf,’ Matthäi said softly, ‘on my way to the airport, there were children there.’

  “‘What do you mean by that?’

  “‘In the funeral procession, lots of children.’

  “‘That’s not surprising,’ I said.

  “‘And at the airport there were children, too, whole classes from various schools.’

  “‘So?’ I was mildly bewildered.

  “‘Assuming I’m right, assuming the murderer of Gritli Moser is still alive and free, wouldn’t other children be in danger?’ Matthäi asked.

  “‘Certainly,’ I calmly replied.

  “‘If the possibility of such a danger exists,’ Matthäi continued with urgent emphasis, ‘it is the duty of the police to protect the children and prevent another crime.’

  “‘So that’s why you didn’t take that flight,’ I asked slowly, ‘to protect the children?’

  “That’s why,’ Matthäi replied.

  “‘I said nothing for a while. I saw the whole thing more clearly now and was beginning to understand Matthäi.

  “‘The possibility that children are in danger has to be accepted,’ I said then. ‘If you are right, we can only hope that the real killer will reveal himself at some point or, at worst, leave some clues after his next crime. It may sound cynical, what I’m saying, but it isn’t. It’s just terrible. The power of the police has limits and has to have limits. Everything is possible, even the most improbable things are possible, but we have to go by what’s probable. We can’t say with certainty that von Gunten was guilty; guilt is never established with certainty; but we can say that von Gunten was probably guilty. If we don’t want to invent an unknown perpetrator, the peddler is the only serious candidate. He had a previous conviction for sexual molestation, he carried around razors and chocolate, he had blood on his clothes, and besides, he plied his trade in Schwyz and St. Gallen, where the other two murders happened. And in addition, he gave a confession and committed suicide. To doubt his guilt at this point is simply amateurish. Common sense tells us that von Gunten was the murderer. Yes, common sense can be wrong, we’re only human—but that’s a risk we have to take. And unfortunately, the killing of Gritli Moser is not the only crime we have to deal with. We just sent the emergency squad out to Schlieren. And last night we had four major burglaries. From a purely technical point of view, we can’t afford the luxury of reopening that case. We can only do what is possible, and we have done that. Children are always endangered. There are about two hundred cases of sexual assault on children each year. In our canton alone. We can educate the parents, warn the children, and we’ve done all that. But we can’t weave the nets of police surveillance so tightly that no crimes ever happen. Crimes always happen, not because there aren’t enough policemen, but because there are policemen at all. If we weren’t needed, there wouldn’t be any crimes. Let’s keep that in mind. We have to do our duty, you’re right about that, but our first duty is to stay within our limits, otherwise we’ll end up with a police state.’

  “I fell silent.

  “Outside, the church bells started to ring.

  “‘I can understand that your personal—situation—has become difficult. You’ve fallen between two chairs,’ I said politely by way of conclusion.

  “‘I thank you, sir,’ Matthäi said. ‘For the time being, I’ll be looking into the case of Gritli Moser. Privately.’

  “‘I suggest you give up on this matter,’ I said.

  “‘I have no intention of doing that,’ he replied.

  “I didn’t show my irritation.

  “‘May I request, in that case, that you not bother us with this anymore,’ I said, standing up.

  “‘As you wish,’ Matthäi said. Whereupon we said good-bye without shaking hands.”

  19

  “It was hard for Matthäi to walk past his former office and leave the empty police headquarters. The nameplate on his door had already been changed, and when he ran into Feller, who sometimes hung around the office on Sundays, the man was embarrassed, and barely murmured a greeting. Matthäi felt like a ghost, but what bothered him more was that he no longer had an official car at his disposal. He was determined to return to Mägendorf as quickly as possible, but this resolve was not so easy to carry out. The village was nearby, but the trip was complicated. He had to take the number eight streetcar and transfer to the bus. In the streetcar he met Treuler, who was on his way with his wife to visit her parents. Treuler stared at the inspector, obviously surprised, but asked no questions. And then other acquaintances crossed Matthäi’s path, among them a professor of the Technical College and an artist. He evaded their questions about his reasons for not leaving. It was an embarrassing situation each time, because his ‘promotion’ and departure had already been celebrated. He felt like a specter, like a man resurrected from the dead.

  “The church bells had stopped ringing in Mägendorf. The farmers were standing on the village square in their Sunday clothes or going into The Stag in small groups. The air had become cooler. Mighty cloud banks were wandering in from the west. In the Moosbach dale, the boys were already playing soccer; there was nothing to suggest that a crime had been committed near the village. Everyone was cheerful. Somewhere people were singing ‘Am Brunnen vor dem Tore.’ In front of a large farmhouse with half-timbered walls and a mighty roof, children were playing hide-and-seek; a boy counted up to ten with a loud voice, and the others hurried away. Matthäi watched them.

  “‘Man,’ a soft voice next to him said. He looked around.

  “Between a pile of logs and a garden wall stood a little girl in a blue skirt. Brown eyes, brown hair. Ursula Fehlmann.

  “‘What do you want?’ asked the inspector.

  “‘Stand in front of me,’ the girl whispered, ‘so they won’t find me.’

  “The inspector stood in front of the girl.

  “‘Ursula,’ he said.

  “‘You mustn’t talk so loud,’ the girl whispered. ‘They’ll hear that you’re talking to someone.’

  “‘Ursula,’ the inspector whispered. ‘I don’t believe what you said about the giant.’

  “‘What don’t you believe?’

  “‘That Gritli Moser met a giant who was as big as a mountain.’

  “‘But there is a giant.’

  “‘Have you seen one?’

  “‘No, but Gritli did. Be quiet now.’

  “A red-haired boy with freckles came slinking around the corner of the house. He was the seeker. He stopped in front of the inspector, then tiptoed around the other side of the farmhouse. The girl giggled quietly.

  “‘He didn’t notice me.’

  “‘Gritli told you a fairy tale,’ the inspec
tor whispered.

  “‘No,’ said the girl, ‘every week the giant waited for Gritli and gave her hedgehogs.’

  “‘Where?’

  “‘In Rotkehler Dale,’ Ursula answered. ‘And she made a picture of him. So he has to exist. And the little hedgehogs, too.’

  “Matthäi was startled.

  “‘She drew the giant?’

  “‘The drawing’s on the wall in the classroom,’ the girl said.

  ‘Step aside.’ And already she had squeezed through the pile of logs and Matthäi, leaped toward the farmhouse, and with a jubilant cry touched the doorjamb before the boy who came hurrying out from behind the house could tag her.”

  20

  “The news I received on Monday morning was strange and disturbing. First the mayor of Mägendorf called to complain that Matthäi had broken into the schoolhouse and stolen a drawing by the murdered Gritli Moser; he said he wouldn’t stand for any more prying by the cantonal police in his village, that the people needed to calm down after the horrors they’d been through; and he concluded with a not very politely phrased promise to personally chase Matthäi out of town with a dog if he ever showed up again. Then Henzi complained about an extremely awkward run-in with Matthäi, right in the middle of the Kronenhalle, where his former boss, already noticeably drunk, had guzzled a whole bottle of Réserve du Patron, followed that up with a cognac, and accused Henzi of ‘judicial murder.’ Henzi’s wife, the former Fräulein Hottinger, had been revolted by the display. But that wasn’t all. After the morning report, Feller told me that some character from the city police—of all the embarrassing witnesses—had reported to him that Matthäi had been sighted in various bars and was now staying at the Hotel Rex. I also learned that Matthäi had started smoking. Parisiennes. It was as if the man was transformed, metamorphosed, as if he had changed his character overnight. It all sounded like an impending nervous breakdown. I called a psychiatrist whose expert opinion we often consulted.