Self's Punishment

by Bernhard Schlink

  I needed a while, too. ‘This morning I wrote you a final report. You’ll find it along with an invoice in your mail, today or tomorrow. It was sad. It felt as though I was having to tear something out of my heart: you, Peter Mischkey, some better understanding of myself that I was getting from the case.’

  ‘Then, you’ll agree to continue? Just tell me what’s in your report.’

  We’d reached the art museum; a few drops were falling. We went in and, wandering through the nineteenth-century painting galleries, I told her what I’d discovered, my theories, and what I was pondering. In front of Feuerbach’s painting of Iphigenia on Aulis she stopped. ‘This is a beautiful painting. Do you know the story behind it?’

  ‘I think Agamemnon, her father, has just deposited her as a sacrifice to the goddess Artemis so that a wind will start to blow again and the Greek fleet can set sail for Troy. I love the painting.’

  ‘I’d like to know who that lady was.’

  ‘The model, you mean? Feuerbach loved her very much. Nanna, the wife of a cobbler from Rome. He quit smoking for her sake. Then she ran away from him and her husband with an Englishman.’

  We walked to the exit and saw it was still raining. ‘What do you plan to do next?’ Judith asked.

  ‘Tomorrow I want to talk to Grimm, Peter Mischkey’s colleague in the Regional Computer Centre, and with a few people from RCW again.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘If something comes to mind, I’ll let you know. Does Firner actually know about you and Mischkey, and that you’ve hired me?’

  ‘I haven’t said anything to him. But why did he never actually tell me about Peter’s involvement in our computer story? To begin with he always kept me up to date.’

  ‘So you never realized that I’d tied up the case?’

  ‘Well yes, a report from you crossed my desk. It was all very technical.’

  ‘You only got the first part. Why, I would like to know. Do you think you can find out?’

  She’d try. The rain had stopped, it had grown dark, and the first lights were coming on. The rain had brought the stench from the RCW with it. On the way to her car we didn’t talk. There was weariness in Judith’s step. As I said goodbye I could also see the deep tiredness in her eyes. She felt my eyes on her. ‘I’m not looking good at the moment, right?’

  ‘No, you should go away somewhere.’

  ‘In recent years I’ve always gone on holiday with Peter. We met each other at Club Med, you know. We should be in Sicily now, we always travelled south in the late autumn.’ She started to cry.

  I put my arm round her shoulders. I didn’t know what to say. She kept crying.

  15 The guard still knew me

  Grimm was barely recognizable. The safari suit had been exchanged for woollen flannel trousers and a leather jacket, his hair was cut short, his upper lip sported, resplendent, a carefully sculpted pencil moustache, and along with the new look there was a new confidence on display.

  ‘Hello, Herr Self. Or should I say Selk? What brings you here?’

  What was I to make of this? Mischkey wouldn’t have told him about me. Who else then? Someone from the RCW. A coincidence? ‘Good that you know. That makes my job simpler. I need to look at the files Mischkey worked on here. Would you show them to me, please?’

  ‘What? I don’t understand. There aren’t any files of Peter’s here any more.’ He looked puzzled, and a shade mistrustful. ‘Under whose mandate are you here, actually?’

  ‘Two guesses. So you’ve deleted the files? Perhaps that’s for the best. Tell me what you think of this.’ I took the computer printout from my briefcase, the one I’d found in Mischkey’s file.

  He spread it in front of him on the table and leafed through it for quite a while. ‘Where did you get this from? It’s five weeks old, was printed here in the building, but has nothing to do with our stock.’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to keep this here.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must be off to the meeting now.’

  ‘I’ll gladly bring you the printout again. I have to take it with me now.’

  Grimm gave it to me, but it felt as though I were wrenching it from him. I put the obviously explosive contraband into my briefcase. ‘Who took over Mischkey’s responsibilities?’

  Grimm looked at me in sheer alarm. He stood up. ‘I don’t understand, Herr Self… Let’s continue our discussion another time. I really must get to this meeting.’ He escorted me to the door.

  I stepped out of the building, saw a phone-box on Ebert-platz, and called Hemmelskopf immediately. ‘Do you have anything at all at the credit bureau on a Jörg Grimm?’

  ‘Grimm… Grimm… If we have something on him, it’ll come up on the screen in a second. Just a moment… There he is, Grimm, Jörg, born nineteenth November nineteen forty-eight, married, two children, resident of Heidelberg, in Furtwänglerstrasse, drives a red Escort, HD-S 735. He had debts once, seems to have made something of himself, though. Just around two weeks ago he paid back the loan at the Cooperative Bank. That was around 40,000 marks.’

  I thanked him. That wasn’t sufficient for Hemmelskopf, though. ‘My wife is still waiting for that ficus tree you promised her in spring. When can you come by?’

  I added Grimm to the list of suspects. Two people are involved with one another. One dies, the other gets rich, and the one who gets rich also knows too much – I didn’t have a theory, but it seemed fishy.

  The RCW had never asked me to return my entry pass. With it I had no problem finding a parking space. The guard still knew me and saluted. I went to the computer centre and sought out Tausendmilch without falling into the hands of Oelmüller. I’d have found it unpleasant having to explain to him what I was doing here. Tausendmilch was alert, keen, and quick on the uptake as ever. He whistled through his teeth.

  ‘These are our data. A curious mixture. And the printout isn’t from here. I thought everything was quiet again. Should I try to trace the printout?’

  ‘Leave it. But could you tell me what these data are?’ Tausendmilch sat down at a computer and said, ‘I’ll have to flip through a bit.’

  I waited patiently.

  ‘Here we have a list of people on sick leave from spring and summer nineteen seventy-eight, then registers of our inventions and inventors’ royalties, way back to before nineteen forty-five, and here’s… I can’t open it but the abbreviations might also stand for other chemical companies.’ He turned the machine off. ‘I wanted to thank you very much. Firner called me in and said you’d praised me in your report and that he had plans for me.’

  I left a happy person behind. For a moment I could picture Tausendmilch, on whose right hand I’d spotted a wedding ring, coming home after work that day and telling his elegant wife, who had a martini ready for him and in her way was contributing to his rise, about his success today.

  At security I sought out Thomas. On the wall of his office hung a half-finished plan of the course for security studies. ‘I had something to do in the plant and wanted to discuss your kind offer of a teaching appointment. To what do I owe the honour?’

  ‘I was impressed by how you solved our data-security problem. You taught us some things here, Oelmüller in particular. And it would be indispensable for the curriculum to have a freelancer involved.’

  ‘What would be the subject?’

  ‘The detective’s work: from the practical to the ethical. With seminars and a final exam if that’s not too much trouble. The whole thing should start in the winter term.’

  ‘I see a problem there, Herr Thomas. According to your concept, and it also seems sensible to me, I can only teach the students by using my experience with real cases. But think of the business here at the Works we were just discussing. Even if I didn’t mention any names and I went to lengths to disguise the whole thing a bit, it would be a case of the king’s birthday suit.’

  Thomas didn’t get it. ‘Do you mean Herr King in export coordination? But he doesn’t have a birthday sui
t. And besides-’

  ‘You still had some trouble with the case, Firner told me.’

  ‘Yes, things were a bit tough with Mischkey.’

  ‘Should I have been harsher?’

  ‘He was rather uncooperative when you left him with us.’

  ‘After everything I heard from Firner he was given the kid-glove treatment. No talk of police and court and prison – that would only encourage a lack of cooperation.’

  ‘But Herr Self, we didn’t tell him that. The problem lay elsewhere. He virtually tried to blackmail us. We never found out whether he really had something up his sleeve, but he made some noise.’

  ‘With the same old stories?’

  ‘Yes, with the same old stories. Threatening to go to the press, to the competition, to the union, to the plant authorities, to the Federal Antitrust Office. You know, it’s tough to say this, and I’m sorry about Mischkey’s death, but at the same time I’m happy not to be burdened with this problem any more.’

  Danckelmann came in without knocking. ‘Ah, Herr Self, you’ve been the topic of conversation today already. Why are you still involved in this Mischkey business? The case is long since closed. Don’t go rattling cages.’

  Just as I had been when talking to Thomas, I was on thin ice with Danckelmann. Questions that were too direct could make it crack. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. ‘Did Grimm call you?’

  Danckelmann ignored my question. ‘Seriously, Herr Self, keep your nose out of this story. We don’t appreciate it.’

  ‘For me, cases are only over when I know everything. Did you know, for example, that Mischkey took another stroll around your system?’

  Thomas pricked up his ears and looked disconcerted. He was already regretting his offer of a teaching appointment.

  Danckelmann controlled himself and his voice was tight. ‘Curious notion you have of a job. It’s over when the client says it’s over. And Herr Mischkey isn’t strolling anywhere any more. So please…’

  I’d heard more than I’d dreamed possible and had no interest in a further escalation. Just one more wrong word and Danckelmann would remember my special ID. ‘You’re absolutely right, Herr Danckelmann. On the other hand, you certainly agree that when security is involved, things can’t always be contained within the narrow limits of a job. And don’t worry, being a freelancer, I can’t afford to invest too much without a fee.’

  Danckelmann left the room only partially appeased. Thomas was waiting impatiently for me to be gone. But I still had a treat for him. ‘To return to what you were saying, Herr Thomas, I’m happy to accept the teaching appointment. I’ll draw up a curriculum.’

  ‘Thank you for your interest, Herr Self. We’re around.’

  I left security and found myself back in the courtyard with Aristotle, Schwarz, Mendeleyev, and Kekulé. On the north side of the yard a sleepy autumn sun was shining. I sat down on the top step of a small staircase leading to a walled-up door. I had more than enough to think about.

  16 Dad’s dearest wish

  More and more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were fitting together. Yet they still didn’t add up to a plausible picture. I now understood what Mischkey’s file was: a collection of everything he could muster against the RCW. A wretched collection. He must have been playing high-stakes poker to impress Danckelmann and Thomas as much as he obviously had. But what did he want to achieve or prevent by this? The RCW hadn’t told him to his face that they had no intention of instituting proceedings against him with the police, court, and prison. Why had they wanted to exert pressure? What were their intentions towards Mischkey, and what was he arming himself against with his feeble insinuations and threats?

  My thoughts turned to Grimm. He’d come into money, he’d had a strange reaction that morning, and I was fairly certain he had talked to Danckelmann. Was Grimm the RCW’s man in the RCC? Had the RCW initially assigned this role to Mischkey? We won’t go to the police, and you’ll ensure our emissions data are always squeaky clean? Such a man would be valuable indeed. The monitoring system would be rendered obsolete and wouldn’t interfere with production.

  But none of this necessarily made the murder of Mischkey plausible. Grimm as the murderer, wanting to do business with the RCW and to have Mischkey out of the way? Or did Mischkey’s material contain some other dynamite that had eluded me thus far, that had provoked the deadly reaction of the RCW? But then Danckelmann and Thomas could scarcely have overlooked such an act, and they wouldn’t have spoken so openly to me about the conflict with Mischkey. And while Grimm might make a better impression than in his safari suit, even with his pencil moustache I couldn’t picture him as a murderer. Was I looking in completely the wrong direction? Fred might have beaten up Mischkey under contract from the RCW, but also from any other employer, and he could have killed him for them. What did I know about all the ways Mischkey could have entangled himself through his confidence tricks? I’d have to talk to Fred again.

  I took my leave of Aristotle. The courtyards of the old factory worked their magic again. I walked through the archway into the next courtyard, its walls glowing in the autumnal red of the Virginia creeper. No Richard playing with his ball. I rang the bell of the Schmalzes’ work apartment. The elderly woman, whom I recognized by sight, opened the door. She was dressed in black.

  ‘Frau Schmalz? Hello, the name is Self.’

  ‘Hello, Herr Self. You’re joining us for the funeral? The children will be collecting me any minute.’

  Half an hour later I found myself in the crematorium of Ludwigshafen Cemetery. The family had included me in the mourning for Schmalz senior as though it were perfectly natural, and I didn’t like to say that I’d stumbled upon the funeral preparations just by chance. Along with Frau Schmalz, the young married Schmalz couple, and their son Richard, I was driven to the cemetery, glad to be wearing my dark-blue raincoat and the muted suit. During the drive I learned that Schmalz senior had died of a heart attack four days ago.

  ‘He looked so sprightly when I saw him a few weeks ago.’

  The widow sobbed. My lisping friend told me about the circumstances that had led to his death. ‘Dad kept on tinkering with old vans and trucks after retiring. He had a part of the old hangar by the Rhine where he could work. Lately he didn’t take care. The cut in his hand didn’t go that deep but according to the doctor he had heavy bleeding in the brain, too. After that Dad felt a tingling in the left part of the body all the time, he felt terribly unwell, and he didn’t want to get out of bed. Then the heart attack.’

  The RCW was well represented at the cemetery. Danckelmann gave a speech. ‘His life was the Works’ security and the Works’ security was his life.’ In the course of his speech he read out a personal farewell letter from Korten. The chairman of the RCW chess club, where Schmalz senior had played third board on the second team, asked Caissa’s blessing on the deceased. The RCW orchestra played ‘I Had a Comrade’. Schmalz was so moved, he forgot himself and lisped at me, ‘Dad’s dearest wish.’ Then the flower-wreathed coffin glided into the furnace.

  I couldn’t get out of the funeral tea. I did manage, however, to avoid sitting next to Danckelmann or Thomas, although Schmalz junior had intended this seat of honour for me. I sat next to the chairman of the RCW chess club and we chatted to each other about the world championship. Over cognac we started a game in our heads. By the thirty-second move I lost my overview. We came round to the subject of the deceased.

  ‘He was a decent player, Schmalz. Although he was a late starter. And you could depend on him in the club. He never missed a practice or a tournament.’

  ‘How often do you practise?’

  ‘Every Thursday. Three weeks ago was the first time Schmalz didn’t come. The family said he’d over-exerted himself in the workshop. But you know, I believe the bleeding in the brain happened before then. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been in the workshop, he’d have been at practice. He must already have been off-balance then.’

  It was like any other funeral me
al. It starts with the soft voices, the studied grief on the faces, and the stiff dignity in the bodies, lots of awkwardness, some embarrassment, and a general desire to get it over with as quickly as possible. And one hour later it’s only the clothing that distinguishes mourners from any other gathering, not the appetite, nor the noise, nor, with a few exceptions, the expressions and gestures. I did grow a little thoughtful though. What would it be like at my own funeral? In the first row of the cemetery chapel, five or six figures, among them Eberhard, Philipp and Willy, Babs, perhaps Röschen and Georg. But it was possible no one at all would learn of my death and, apart from the priest and the four coffin-bearers, not a soul would accompany me to the grave. I could picture Turbo trotting behind the coffin, a mouse in his mouth. It had a bow tied round it: ‘To my dear Gerd from his Turbo.’

  17 Against the light

  At five I was back in the office, slightly tipsy and in a bad mood.

  Fred called. ‘Hello there, Gerhard, do you remember me? I wanted to ask you again about the job. Do you already have someone?’

  ‘I’ve a couple of candidates. But nothing’s finalized yet. I can take another look at you. It would have to be straight away, though.’

  ‘That suits me.’

  I asked him to the office. Dusk was falling, I switched on the light and let the blinds down.

  Fred came cheerfully and trustingly. It was underhanded, but I got the first punch in immediately. At my age I can’t afford a clean fight in such situations. I caught him in the stomach and didn’t waste time removing his sunglasses before hitting his face. His hands flew up and I delivered another punch to his underbelly. When he ventured a half-hearted counterpunch with his right hand, I twisted his arm round behind his back, kicked the hollow of his knees and he sank to the ground. I kept my hold on him.