Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  “I don’t know who.” Nadine is almost wailing now. “Probably those Islamists.”

  “Islamists?” Joanna repeats loudly.

  “Yes, the ones who blew up the train station. There’s that video, you know, where they declare it was them. Didn’t you see? It was on the radio and in the papers this morning. Probably on TV too.”

  A video claiming responsibility. This is getting more convoluted by the second. What does Gabor have to do with Islamists? Gabor, of all people, a man who practically refuses to get into a cab if there’s a foreign person driving it. How the hell does all of this fit together?

  I have to see this video.

  “No, I … I haven’t turned the TV on today,” Joanna explains.

  “Bernhard’s involved in the whole thing from the looks of it. He said he didn’t know how far they’d go. And that I was in danger as well, since I asked about the project and they believe Erik must have told me something.”

  “But what’s he meant to have told you?”

  “I don’t know.” Nadine’s voice sounds composed all of a sudden. “I thought maybe he’d talked to you about it.”

  “No, he didn’t. I’m afraid I really can’t help you, Nadine.”

  “Are you sure?” I’m familiar with this habit of Nadine’s, of persistent questioning. She’s not going to let it go easily now. “The attack, it was Islamists who did it. Our lives mean nothing to them. So please, you have to tell me what you know. Everything.”

  Joanna sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. All I can tell you is that Bernhard called me yesterday evening as well. And he told me something similar.” There’s a pause. “Recently, things haven’t been easy for Erik and me. I was all over the place for a while, as I’m sure you know. We hadn’t discussed his job in weeks; there were other things we had to talk about. More important things. Our relationship was on the line, we didn’t really have time to chat about work projects or things like that.”

  Joanna’s really good at this. Maybe Nadine is telling the truth and she really is scared, but it could just as well be the case that she’s in cahoots with them. That Gabor sent her to find out if Joanna knows anything. I’m more inclined to assume the latter, and Joanna obviously sees it the same way as me.

  “Would you leave then, please? I think we’ve talked over everything, and I’d like to be by myself now.”

  “But…” I can picture Nadine’s expression, searching for a reason to stay. “I mean, we’re in the same boat here. We’re both worried about Erik.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Joanna responds coolly. “We’re not at all in the same boat.”

  “I was hoping maybe I could—”

  “No. Leave now. Please.”

  I’m out of the pantry as soon as the front door clicks shut, and in the living room with a few swift steps. I turn on the TV, zap through the channels. Series, soaps, but also special broadcasts about the attack. The video is mentioned but never shown.

  “You think she’s telling the truth?” Joanna asks from behind me. I turn to face her.

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to find that video. Islamists and Gabor. I can’t get my mind around anything anymore. He doesn’t just hate them, he despises them, with all of his heart. If he’s really in league with them, he must have made a tidy sum out of it.”

  Joanna nods. “Anyone can be bought. It’s just a matter of price. If there’s one thing I learned from my dad, that’s it.” She indicates toward the door with her chin. “Hang on, I’ll get my laptop, we’ll definitely be able to find the video online.”

  We sit next to each other on the sofa when she gets back. I watch Joanna navigating through Web pages. “I don’t trust Nadine. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gabor sent her.”

  Joanna’s found the video on a news platform in the meantime. She glances over at me and clicks on the play button.

  Symbols in Arabic appear onscreen, red against a black background. Flames around the edges. The image becomes indistinct; then a figure can be made out, all in black and hooded but for a narrow eye slit. A black flag is wafting away in the background. The man starts talking, and I can’t believe my ears—his German is flawless, with no trace of an accent.

  He’s talking about a great deed for defending his Arab brothers and freeing sacred sites. And about an act of revenge.

  “You supported the American butchers when they came for us. By doing so, you played a part in killing our families. You bombed our cities, brought fear and misery upon us. You thought you were safe, so far away from all the misery and death. But not anymore. Now you too will know fear. You too will witness the death of your wives and children. Fear will be at your side no matter where you may be. Because now your cities will burn too; your train stations and airports will explode. And you will not be able to do a thing about it, for my brothers will overrun your land. We will bring you the one true faith. Believe, or you will die.”

  More phrases follow, but I only catch snippets of them. My thoughts are spinning at a greater and greater speed, and I try to comprehend how it can be possible for Gabor to support everything I’ve just heard.

  Ever since the thought that he might be involved in the whole thing first came to my mind, my anger at him has grown and grown. If I think about what he did to me, did to us over the past days, that he tried to kill us several times …

  But if he’s really in league with these guys, there can only be one explanation. Money and power, lots of it. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anywhere near as much contempt for a person in my life as I’m feeling for Gabor right now.

  The video has finished. Joanna slumps back against the couch, stunned. “This can’t be happening.”

  “It is. And Gabor’s a part of it. But what I’m finding increasingly difficult to understand is why he wants to kill us? How exactly are we involved in all this sick, fucked-up bullshit? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  We’re both silent for a while, each of us immersed in their own thoughts. Then, Joanna leans forward, flips her laptop shut, and turns to face me.

  “There’s something I understand even less. Why can’t I remember you?”

  35

  It’s already past two in the morning in Melbourne, but I can’t worry about that now. I let the telephone ring, on and on, relentlessly. Until, finally, there’s a crackle and I hear my father’s sleepy voice.

  “Jo? Is that you?”

  I could cry with relief, but at the same time it makes me feel embarrassed. Soon I’ll be slipping back into the old behavioral patterns which have shaped my whole life until now. When things get tough—just call Daddy. I was so intent on moving past that. But right now, the thing I want most is to survive.

  “I’m coming home, Dad. Please can you have me picked up as quickly as possible.”

  “What?” I can hear that he’s wide awake now. “Jo, my darling, finally. That’s wonderful, of course we’ll have you picked up. I’ll send Gavin first thing tomorrow.…”

  “Not tomorrow. Right now.” Even I realize that I sound like him. The same commanding tone. A little too late, I add a “please,” but it’s one that doesn’t sound very patient.

  “What happened?” My father isn’t stupid; it was obvious that he’d ask this question. I hesitate briefly, then decide to tell him a half truth. I know him. As soon as he has even the tiniest inkling that his precious daughter might be harmed in any way, he won’t hesitate for a single second.

  “I guess you heard about the attack at the train station in Munich? All hell’s broken loose here, everyone’s afraid that it was just the beginning.”

  That’s not enough to explain why I’m suddenly in such a hurry—but there’s no way I’m explaining the real circumstances on the phone. “And this morning I noticed some suspicious movement around my house. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but … either way. I want to get out of this country as quickly as I can. Right now, ideally.”

  For a few seconds Dad remains silent, but then I hear somet
hing creak, followed by the sound of his footsteps and a door being closed.

  “Yes, of course. Munich. We all heard about it. OK, listen. Gavin will set off within the next two hours, maximum, and he’ll take a security team. Get ready; I’ll let you know when you’ll be picked up.”

  “OK.” That’s the quickest it can be, I know that—but still I’m afraid that by the time the plane arrives, it could be too late. The flight will last at least twenty-two hours; it will need to make a stop, probably in Dubai. Suddenly it seems an unbearably long time. Like it was impossible that we could make it through another day unharmed.

  We.

  “Dad? I’m bringing someone with me, you should know that.”

  He takes a deep breath. “This guy you spoke of recently?”

  “Yes. Erik.”

  A brief pause. “I’m not OK with that.”

  If I show even the slightest sign of weakness now, I’ve lost. I know my father—he only takes people seriously if they stand up to him, if they don’t let him influence them. So I put all the decisiveness I can muster into my voice.

  “He’s coming with me. If you can’t accept that, you don’t need to send the plane.”

  Dad clears his throat. “What about you and Matthew?”

  “There is no me and Matthew, not anymore.” I had found the right tone now, the one that doesn’t allow any discussion. “Matthew is in the past, and I’m sure he won’t be heartbroken over it.” As if that were my father’s concern on the matter.

  He remains silent for a few seconds. I prepare myself for a counterattack, but he surprises me.

  “You really care about this Erik?”

  “Yes.” I pay attention to my body’s gut reaction to my response, and realize I’ve told the truth. I close my eyes before I continue, without knowing whether what I’m about to say is really true. “We’re engaged.”

  I hear Dad exhale sharply. There are a good ten thousand miles between us, but I can still picture his reaction as clear as day in front of me. His eyebrows suddenly furrowing, his lower lip tensing over his teeth.

  “You make a decision like that without discussing it with me first?”

  I can’t let myself be intimidated by his tone, now dangerously soft. “Yes. Because it’s a personal decision.”

  “Personal. Well, well.”

  “Very much so.” I’m fully aware of the fact that this conversation will be continued as soon as we’re in Australia, that it’s going to be unpleasant, and that Dad will use every weapon at his disposal to talk me out of my decision of marrying a nobody.

  But by then it won’t matter; we’ll be safe, far away from Gabor and his henchmen.

  “Fine.” I can tell how much Dad is struggling to stay in control of himself. “I’m very intrigued to meet this Erik. OK then, you’ll find out tomorrow at what time the plane will land, and Gavin will pick you up from the house in a limousine. Is that all clear?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Daddy.”

  I hang up and go back into the living room, where Erik is sitting on the couch and rotating his coffee cup between his hands. I don’t know how much of the telephone call he overheard.

  I sit down next to him. I wait for him to look at me, but he doesn’t, and only turns his head toward me once I start to speak.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. “My father is sending a plane, with a bit of luck it will be here within the next twenty-four hours. Then we’ll have made it. You’ll be able to safely make contact with the police once we’re in Australia; I’m sure Gabor’s arms don’t reach that far.” I smile at Erik, but his expression remains unchanged. “And even if they do,” I continue, “I’m quite sure that his contacts are nothing compared to my family’s.”

  “Great.” He shakes his head. “I never wanted to go to Australia, you don’t remember that anymore now of course, but we had this conversation a few times. You agreed with me then; you said on more than one occasion that your family would destroy our relationship within a few weeks. And now we don’t even have a proper relationship anymore. What do you think our chances are of building it up again over there?”

  I try to say something, but he stops me with another shake of his head. “I know that it’s for the best in our situation. I’m not stupid. But I’ll lose you there, once and for all.”

  I want to respond, to say something, but I can’t find the right words. My feelings for him aren’t even half a week old yet; his for me, on the other hand, date back almost a year. If everything that he says is true. Some moments I still have my doubts, but this isn’t one of them.

  As though my silence was proof of the fact that his fears are justified, Erik turns away again. “You mentioned Matthew earlier.”

  “Yes. I told Dad that it’s over between us.”

  “But you do remember him?”

  So that’s it. Erik is upset by the fact that, for some incomprehensible reason, he’s the only person my memory has suppressed. The fact that everyone else got to keep their place in my head.

  I would give so much to know the reason why. The trigger. A very stressful event, some trauma that is connected to the thing or person in question.

  See, I can even remember Dr. Schattauer’s explanation word for word. Except that I can no longer imagine Erik being violent. On the other hand, unfortunately I now know that a violent Joanna does exist, one which was previously unknown to me.

  “Yes, I remember Matthew,” I say softly. “But not fondly.”

  * * *

  The mood remains tense for the rest of the day. Erik is silently brooding, watching the terrorist video over and over on the laptop. Whenever I refer to the fact that this time tomorrow we’ll probably be sitting on the plane and have left all this madness behind us, he only responds with a tired smile.

  Maybe it’s because my words sound halfhearted; most of my attention is focused on the noises coming from the street outside. Every time a car slows down near the house, my heartbeat quickens. At some point I hear male voices outside, and it’s only when I start to feel dizzy that I realize I’m holding my breath. By then the men are long gone and can no longer be heard.

  The closer evening comes, the more Erik becomes withdrawn. I gradually realize why: his life is falling apart. Not only am I no longer an anchor in his world, but he’s also about to lose his job and his home, as well as be haunted by the scenes from yesterday.

  It’s dark in the living room, and despite the approaching dusk I haven’t turned on any of the lights. I sit down on the couch and put my arm around Erik. I feel his muscles tense. He shakes his head, pushes me away from him. “Don’t.”

  I try not to let show that his rejection, against all logic, hurts me. “It will be better in Melbourne than you think,” I whisper. “We don’t have to live on my family’s land, there are other possibilities. And besides—”

  The ringing of my phone interrupts me. A number that seems vaguely familiar, it’s not Nadine’s, it’s—

  “Gabor.” Erik has reached for the phone; the light of the screen illuminates his face and makes him seem even paler.

  I hold out my hand. Erik briefly hesitates, then places the phone into it. Nods to me.

  “Frau Berrigan!” Gabor sounds as though he’s incredibly relieved to hear my voice. “How are you?”

  “I’m … not so good,” I stammer, turning on the loudspeaker of the phone.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. Then I guess there hasn’t been any sign of life from Erik?”

  “No.” It probably says a lot about my state of mind that I now tend to start crying any time I’m not consciously holding back the tears. “What about you?” I sob. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Unfortunately not. But we still can’t give up hope.” He clears his throat. “Listen, Frau Berrigan, did the police come to see you too?”

  I exchange a quick glance with Erik. Should I lie? Or tell the truth? If Gabor is having the house watched, then he’ll know that I’m here and have had two visitors today.

&n
bsp; Erik shakes his head gently.

  “No,” I whisper. “I’m not at the house, after all. But I did speak to an officer over the phone, because I wanted to know if there was any news.”

  “I understand.” Gabor sounds thoughtful. “Where are you then, Frau Berrigan? Is someone looking after you?”

  “I’m with friends,” I say, a little too quickly perhaps. But using the plural is good. “They’re taking great care of me; I have everything I need.”

  “That’s very reassuring to hear.” Gabor’s voice has sunk an octave. “But you should be prepared for the police getting in touch again. I had a visit from some officers this afternoon, because someone came up with the absurd theory that my company might be involved in the attack.” He laughed briefly. “I’d love to know where they got that idea from; I think I could make it abundantly clear to them that it’s complete nonsense. It’s shocking how far some people will go to hurt others.”

  I don’t say anything, I fear my voice might betray me.… Does he know? Or suspect it, at least? Is he indirectly asking me if I was the one who tipped off the police?

  “In any case, you should know they’ll be wanting to speak to you too. After all, Erik did … I mean, he does work for me.”

  He corrected himself hastily, but his slip of the tongue doesn’t escape me, and it’s by far the best thing about this conversation. For Gabor, Erik is a thing of the past, he believes he’s dead.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, please contact me at any time. Will you promise me that? I’d really like to help you; after all, I’m the reason why Erik was in Munich…” He sighs. “Believe me, I’m struggling a great deal with that.”

  I see Erik’s jaw muscles clench. “I can imagine,” I reply. “Thank you again, I really appreciate your offer.”

  Erik springs to his feet soon as I’ve ended the call. “That asshole! The way he’s always trying to find out where you are!” He turns around to me. “We have to be careful, Jo. He definitely thinks it’s possible that you set the police onto him, and then he’d also have to assume that you know more than is good for him. Maybe he doesn’t believe that you’re staying with friends. He might send someone by to check.”