My voice gets stronger with every sentence I speak, but now my throat starts to close up again.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat helplessly. “About all of this.”
At the very moment I’m about to turn around and leave, Erik turns to face me. “All of it?”
It’s neither a harmless inquiry, nor a peace offering. From the cold expression in his eyes, it’s clear that he’s getting at something specific.
“Yes.” I swallow in an attempt to ward off the tightening in my throat. “Of course.”
“If that’s so, then please be so kind as to tell me who that was last night, in the car behind me.”
I don’t understand what he means. “What car?”
“The car that forced me off the road.” He straightens up and faces me. The outline of a bandage is visible beneath the right sleeve of his shirt. “It wasn’t just an accident, Joanna. It was another attempt to kill me. The car rammed me from behind first, then from the left, until it pushed me completely off the road.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? First you tried to stab me, and when you don’t manage, someone else causes me to have a car accident. Just half an hour later.”
I want to say something in response, but I don’t know what; I had thought the accident happened because of the state Erik was in at the time.
“You got pushed off the road? Ela didn’t te—”
“Don’t bother,” he interrupts me with a smile. “Any idiot could figure out that there’s a connection. I might have been naïve for a long time, but that’s over now.”
There’s a good reason I have a guilty conscience, but this is unfair. “I had nothing to do with that, I swear! I don’t know anything about anyone wanting to push you off the road.”
Erik laughs. “And even if you don’t—how much would that say? What do you actually know for sure, anyway?”
The fact that he’s right makes it worse. What he’s saying feels so unfair, but it’s true. I can’t remember him, I’ve lost control over my own actions—who knows what else there might be.
Suddenly I wish that it were already tomorrow, that all I had to do was lie down in a freshly made hospital bed, close my eyes, and let the doctors do their job.
I feel so tired. “If you really believe what you’re saying—why don’t you report me? Why didn’t you do it yesterday?”
Now he lowers his gaze and, for a moment, looks so vulnerable that I long to go over to him and hold him. We were so close, for a short time.
But the rift I’ve opened up between us with my knife can no longer be healed. If I were to give in to my impulse to embrace Erik, he would push me away. He would have every right to.
And he does it as well, using words. “I didn’t report you because I have this insane need to protect you. And, believe me, even I’m finding it more and more laughable with every day that goes by.”
He looks me in the eyes, and there’s an iciness in his expression that I’ve never seen in him before. “Maybe I still will. The more I think about what happened, the clearer it is to me that I’m the one I need to protect.”
26
I see Joanna’s eyes moistening as she struggles to maintain her composure. She’s motionless, wordless. Reduced to silence, and by me.
Why did I say that? I’m not going to report her to the police. I think I just wanted to hurt her, to see in her face that what I’m saying causes her pain. Because I’m right, every damn word. I … wanted to get back at her for what she’s done to me.
But despite everything, it was wrong, I know that. And yet, seeing the pain in her eyes felt good. A second ago, anyway. Not anymore. Now it feels more like I’m a total scumbag.
An inner voice badgers me, tells me I should jump up and take Joanna in my arms. Tell her … well, something comforting I guess. After all, it’s still Joanna who’s standing opposite me, and she’s never been as low as she is right now.
A different voice whispers that I should first make sure she’s not hiding a knife behind her back, to plunge into me as soon as I’m close enough. I have to stop looking at her the same way I used to back then. She’s a different person now from who she was a week ago. I have to get my head around that.
“I understand,” she says, her voice sounding like a stranger’s, then quietly repeating herself a moment later. “Yes, I understand. Really.”
I don’t respond; I can’t think of anything to say. Maybe I’m scared of coming out with more scumbag talk.
For a while, time seems to be suspended in the silence between us, until Joanna finally stirs again. “I’m going upstairs to lie down.”
She turns and leaves the room, silent as a ghost. I sit there for a few moments, staring at the spot where she vanished around the corner, then sink into the sofa and tilt my head back. Stare at the ceiling, where there’s nothing to see. The throbbing in my arm doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the knowledge that Joanna and I are over.
Saying good-bye. It feels like a foreign body in my soul, and yet … it’s real. For days I’ve been leading a life that seems like somebody else’s, even to me. Now, this life feels like my death. I don’t know how it can go on without Joanna.
At some point I feel a tear tickle my ear. How long has it been since I last cried? One day? Two? In any case, it was for the same reason as now.
Before that? Nothing for years.
My eyes are falling shut. No wonder, really, after the past few days. I can feel myself slowly drifting off to sleep, gradually slipping into the darkness. Then a thought suddenly hits me and makes me sit up with a jolt.
What if Joanna’s overcome by murderous intent again while I’m asleep? I’d be defenseless. At her total mercy. I look around; the living room door can be locked but not the entrance to the kitchen. The door between the hall and the kitchen, however, can be.
On my way to lock it, I remember that Joanna won’t be able to get anything to eat or drink if I lock the door. I brush the misgiving aside. My life’s at stake here. She can drink water; after all, she only has herself to blame.
That’s another scumbag thought.
After barricading myself in my living-room-kitchen fortress, I lie down on the sofa and pull up over me the blanket that was folded on the upholstered backrest. A relic from a normal life.
Sleep creeps back immediately, like a thief that had been briefly hiding behind the wall of my consciousness.
Once it’s reached me, it no longer creeps. It pounces on me with all its force.
* * *
It’s nighttime, and it takes a while for my head to clear so I can remember where I am. I’m lying on the sofa in the living room. I only vaguely recognize the objects surrounding me; it’s like looking through a dark veil that turns the contours into a velvety blur. Table, cabinet, chair … The faintest glimmer of light falls through the wide glass panes from the terrace.
All right, I know where I am, so now I have to figure out what time I’m at. Judging by the darkness, I’ve slept for a good few hours in any case. I hear myself groaning as I push myself up and search for the display on the telephone. It says 6:13 a.m.
When did I fall asleep? It must have been around four in the afternoon. Fourteen hours. Madness. But then again, maybe not, considering everything I’ve …
Joanna.
Has she been downstairs in the meantime? Was it a knock on the door that woke me, even?
I switch on the floor lamp and walk to the living room door. Before turning the key, I hold my breath and put my ear against the wood. Try to detect sounds on the other side. As I open it, my heartbeat quickens. My hand still on the door handle, I look out into the empty hall in front of me, and breathe a sigh of relief. What did I expect, really? Joanna to leap out at me as soon as I open the door? That’s crazy. Or is it?
I briefly think about going upstairs to see if she’s asleep, but discard the thought again. The last thing I need right now is another confrontation with her. I have to be at work at
nine; Gabor’s counting on me. I want that part of my life to be normal again, at least.
By half past seven I’m in a cab, wearing a suit and a new shirt. Good thing I’d hung everything up in the wardrobe. I didn’t see or hear Joanna at all. Good, I tell myself. I have to learn to resist the urge to take care of her.
I don’t encounter many people when I enter the company building. Most of my coworkers usually only arrive between eight and eight thirty. Flextime.
I stop in the doorway to my office and look around. My desk with the two monitors and a stack of documents on top of it, the cabinet … A bit of normality, almost as though my life wasn’t completely out of control.
All right then, professionalism is the order of the day.
I sit at my desk and boot up the computer. Let’s see if I can find anything about this new project on the company network. What usually happens for stuff like this is that a dedicated directory gets set up, which all the involved departments have access to and where everything connected with the project gets filed.
I can’t find anything. Either there really isn’t any information available, or I don’t have access to the directory. Which is quite unlikely, since I’m the head of IT and should have administrator rights for …
“Knock knock.”
I jump, startled, and find myself looking into the duplicitous, smiling face of trouble personified. Nadine.
“Good morning,” she warbles at me, as though we were a lovestruck new couple.
“It was, until now.” I pointedly train my eyes on the monitor. “What do you want? We don’t have anything left to talk about.”
“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about the whole thing at your house. I—”
“Well, you certainly disqualified yourself once and for all with that performance,” I snap at her. It takes me a great deal of effort not to raise my voice.
She takes two careful steps toward me, kneading her fingers as she does. “I said I was sorry. Can’t we just forget about it? I’ll call Joanna and apologize to her as well if you want.”
I prop my hands up on the desktop and half stand up. Nadine shrinks back. “Don’t you dare call our house or show your face there ever again.”
“OK, fine…” She pauses briefly. “Could we at least be civil around each other here at work? We do work together, after all.”
She’s right about that, even if everything inside me balks at the prospect. She is Geiger’s assistant, so we often have to interact. Not to mention that …
I grudgingly nod and sit back down. “All right, as long as it’s about work. And while we’re on the subject of work, what do you know about this big new project?”
Nadine raises her eyebrows. “What big project?”
“Phoenix or something. Gabor says it’s a big deal. I’m about to drive to Munich to pick up the chief negotiators. Surely you know something about it?”
“No, no idea. I don’t know anything about a big new project. Phoenix, really?”
I study Nadine’s face and decide to believe her. This whole thing keeps getting more and more confusing. Part of Nadine’s job is to prepare contract negotiations and take care of everything that’s needed. From meeting room reservations to catering to hotel booking for potential business partners. If even she hasn’t been informed about the whole thing …
“That’s very strange,” I say, more to myself than anything.
Nadine shrugs. “It can’t be that important, otherwise I’d know about it.”
I see it differently. If a hundred units isn’t a large project, what is? But maybe it’s all still so vague that Gabor doesn’t want to go shouting from the rooftops about it? Is that why he left me out? That would make sense. And it’s reassuring to have finally found a plausible explanation. It was, however, stupid of me to mention it to Nadine.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, trying to downplay the whole thing. To ensure she doesn’t probe into it anymore, I add, “In any case, I agree that we can maintain normal contact while we’re working. Outside of work, though…”
I leave the rest unsaid.
“All right … so I guess I’ll be going back now.” She still hesitates, as if she was waiting for something else I was going to say. I stare intently at the monitor. She finally turns away and leaves my office.
At five minutes to nine, I’m sitting in Gabor’s lobby, watching Frau Schultheiss sliding some papers from one side of her desk to the other. At nine o’clock on the dot, I’m summoned in to see Gabor.
He’s standing in front of the window, and turns to face me. Unlike last time, he’s not smiling; instead he seems stressed. I try to ignore the tugging sensation in my stomach.
“Good morning, Erik. Take a seat.” Gabor nods over to the seating area. I select the same place I had during our last meeting.
“I’ve arranged a car for you from a rental company. An E-Class Mercedes. These men aren’t going to sit in one of our tiny company cars. You can drive it until you find something to replace your Audi. Hand in the rental invoice and the gas receipts afterward, we’ll take care of all that.”
He sits down opposite to me and crosses his legs.
Gabor’s putting a luxury ride at my disposal until I have a car of my own again? And covering the gas as well? Is he feeling bad about something and trying to make up for it? Suddenly a thought pops into my mind, and I wonder why I’m only thinking of it now. “May I ask why you’re not sending your driver to Munich?”
Gabor looks at me blankly. “My driver? Hardly. I would have gone to pick them up myself if you, as a representative of the management, weren’t taking care it. Anything less would be an insult to these gentlemen.”
“Strange people,” I comment.
“Indeed. And that, as I already said, is why it’s extremely important for you to be at the train station on time. These people will take it to be a slight if you’re late by even a minute. You’ll need about an hour to get to Munich, and then another thirty minutes to the station at least. You’d best set off at half past ten so you have time to spare.”
Gabor gets up and starts pacing up and down the room. He seems very nervous, an indication of just how important this whole thing is for him.
“Frau Schultheiss will prepare the documents containing all the project info for you while you’re out. The negotiations will begin in earnest tomorrow before noon, so you have the rest of the day to read up on the project. The first meeting will be tomorrow after lunch.”
Gabor stops his pacing and sits back down behind his desk. “That should be it, I think.”
My cue to exit the stage.
At the door I turn around again to face him. “Thank you, Herr Gabor.”
“For what?”
“For making me part of the project team after all. I was getting worried.”
“Go already. I’m counting on you.”
“Should I get a cab to the rental company? And how will I recognize them?”
“Frau Balke will drive you. She’ll also give you a sign with the negotiators’ names and the information about the platform and their exact arrival time.”
Nadine, of all people. Figures, though. She handles work trips, travel expenses, and rental cars.
We don’t talk much on the way, and the few words we do exchange are strictly business. Thank goodness.
I get into the black limousine at half past ten.
Nadine has given me the sign with the names and a slip of paper with the arrival time and railway platform.
Eleven minutes past one, platform sixteen. I can hardly pronounce the two names on the letter-size sign, they sound Arabic—which explains a few things. After all, they are the kind of people who can put up the money for one hundred of our solar power units, when a single one alone costs several million. And it’s also no wonder Gabor doesn’t want to go around shouting about a big deal like that prematurely.
When I imagine how difficult it must be for him to negotiate with these people, on an equa
l footing at that, I can’t help but smirk. Even the cleaning staff at G.E.E. are exclusively German. Gabor’s ill-concealed racism has always sickened me, sometimes even to the point where I’d been unable to hold myself back from commenting, even at the risk that it might cost me my job. It’s interesting that he’s prepared to set aside his convictions, though, when the money is right.
About twelve miles outside of Munich, the traffic comes to a standstill. An accident involving a truck, as I hear on the radio. The expressway has been completely closed. Today, of all days.
I look at the clock. Quarter past eleven. My phone is lying on the center console. I can call Gabor if worse comes to worst. But I’m only going to do that in the most extreme of emergencies. There’s still time.
At around noon, I start to get nervous. I haven’t made even one foot’s worth of headway. Yet again I reach for the phone and make sure there’s still reception to make a call if necessary. Just as I’m about to put it down again, it starts ringing.
I see Joanna’s name on the display, and I don’t know what to do. I finally pick up after the fourth ring.
“Yes?”
Three or four seconds elapse, accompanied by a quiet static noise in the background.
“You were gone, just like that.” Her voice is quiet and defensive. I fight the emotions welling up inside me.
“Yes,” I simply reply.
“How … well … are you all right? Your arm?”
“As can be expected under the circumstances.” I want to end the conversation as quickly as possible; the holdup is already making me nervous enough and I’m neither able to nor want to deal with Joanna right now.
“Will you tell me where you are?”
My sigh conveys more annoyance than intended. “In the car, I’m driving to the train station in Munich for work, to pick up some VIPs. Well, if this fucking traffic jam breaks up in time, that is.”
“OK.” She sounds unemotional, her voice no longer scared. Strange, she never used to react to my bad moods in an acquiescent way. “I won’t keep you then. Drive safe.”
Strangers Page 17
