‘In my hand.’
It is the revolver, which gleams dimly in the semi-darkness. She shudders and looks about her.
‘Be careful!’
Although it has made an impression on her, she isn’t all that surprised.
‘Is it loaded?’
‘I think so.’
‘Have you ever used it?’
He hesitates. He is sincere.
‘Not yet.’
He takes advantage of the moment to put his hand on her knee and lift her dress imperceptibly.
She lets him, just like the others. He is seized with a dull anger, against her, against himself, against Holst. Yes, against Holst, too, though he would be hard pressed to say why!
‘Frank!’
She has just uttered his name. So she’s known it all along. She repeats it deliberately, just as she tries to push away his hand.
As far as he is concerned, the excitement has gone. Now he is just furious. Images dance, huge heads appear on the screen and disappear, black and white, voices, music. What he wants to know, what he will know, whatever she does, is whether or not she is a virgin, because he still has that to cling on to.
That obliges him to kiss her, and each time he kisses her, she softens a bit more, lets herself go; he gains ground on the bare thigh, where her hand weakly pushes his away as he follows the line of a suspender.
He will know. Because if she isn’t even a virgin, it is Holst who will lose everything, who will be made to look ridiculous. And so will Frank. What on earth possessed him to get involved with these two?
Her skin must be quite white, like Minna’s. Chicken skin, Lotte calls it. Chicken thighs. Is Minna stark naked in the bedroom right now, with a man she doesn’t know?
It’s warm. He advances. She doesn’t have the strength to keep resisting, and when she loses ground, her fingers gently squeeze Frank’s fingers, like a prayer.
She puts her mouth right up against his ear and stammers, ‘Frank . . .’
And in the way she utters that word, which he hasn’t needed to teach her, she has admitted defeat.
At the very least, he would have said a week, and yet he is already there; it is just a matter of centimetres now, the flesh is already smoother, warmer, damper.
Yes, she was a virgin. He stopped dead. But he didn’t feel sorry for her. He wasn’t moved.
She was just like the others!
He realized it wasn’t her who interested him, but her father, and it was preposterous to be thinking about Holst when he had his hand where it was.
‘You hurt me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said politely.
And abruptly he again became proper. In the darkness, Sissy’s face must be expressing disappointment. If she had been able to see him, it would have been worse. When he was proper, he became terrible, so calm, cold and absent that it was impossible to know what to make of him. Even Lotte was scared of him at times like that.
‘Lose your temper!’ she would say in exasperation. ‘Scream, hit out, do something, anything!’
Too bad for Sissy. He wasn’t interested in her any more. Several times lately, thinking about her, he had thought about couples walking in the street, hips joined, endless hot kisses in corners. He had genuinely believed it might be exciting. One detail, among others, had always appealed to him: the steam rising from the lips of two people when they come together for a kiss by the light of a streetlamp.
Mingling your steam with someone else’s!
‘How about a bite to eat?’
All she could do now was follow him. Besides, she would be only too happy to eat cakes.
‘Let’s go to Taste’s.’
‘They say it’s full of officers.’
‘What of it?’
She had to get used to the idea that he wasn’t just any young man, some cousin you passed love notes to. He didn’t even let her see the end of the film. He dragged her out. And when they passed lighted shop windows, he saw that she was watching him surreptitiously, with a curiosity that was already mixed with respect.
‘It’s expensive,’ she ventured this time.
‘What of it?’
‘I’m not dressed for a place like that.’
He was used to that, too: those coats that were too short, too narrow, to which you added your mother’s or grandmother’s fur to make a collar. She would meet others like her at Taste’s. He could have told her that this is how all the girls are dressed when they go there for the first time.
‘Frank . . .’
It is one of the few doors still surrounded by neon lights, of a very soft blue. There is a thick carpet in the dimly lit corridor, but here, the absence of light isn’t poverty; on the contrary, it is there to give an impression of luxury, and the liveried doorman is as well dressed as a general.
‘Go in.’
They climb the stairs to the first floor. There is a gleaming brass rod on each step, and electric wall lights imitating candles. Between mysterious drapes, a young woman holds her hand out to take Sissy’s coat off her.
‘Do I have to?’ Sissy asks, in a resigned tone.
Just like the others! Frank is at home. He smiles at the cloakroom girl, hands her his coat and stops in front of a mirror to comb his hair.
In her little knitted black dress, Sissy looks like an orphan. He pulls back one of the drapes, revealing a warm, scented room where soft music is playing and the women’s complexions glisten as much as the stripes on the uniforms.
For a moment, she wants to cry, and he notices.
What of it?
It is very late, 10.30, by the time Kromer gets to Timo’s. Frank has been waiting for him for more than an hour. Kromer has been drinking, that’s immediately obvious from his taut skin, his overly shiny eyes, the abruptness of his movements. He almost knocks over his chair as he sits down. His cigar smells good. It is an even better cigar than the ones he usually smokes, although he always chooses the best available.
‘I’ve just had dinner with the general who’s in charge,’ he says under his breath.
After which he falls silent, in order to let the significance of his words sink in.
‘I’ve brought you back your knife.’
‘Thanks.’ He takes it without looking at it and stuffs it in his pocket. He is too preoccupied with himself to think much about Frank, but all the same, remembering what they were talking about yesterday, he asks out of politeness:
‘Did you use it?’
When Frank went back to Timo’s the previous night after his kill, it was in order to show Kromer the revolver he had got hold of. He has shown it to Sissy. There are a lot of people he could show it to, and yet, without quite knowing why, he replies:
‘I haven’t had the opportunity.’
‘Maybe it’s for the best . . . By the way, you don’t know where I could find any watches, do you?’
Whatever he talks about, Kromer always gives the impression he is dealing with important, mysterious business. It is the same with his contacts, the people he has dinner with, the people he drinks with. He rarely mentions names. ‘Someone high up,’ he’ll whisper. ‘I mean, really high up.’
‘What kind of watches?’ Frank asks.
‘Old watches, as many as possible. Lots of them. Know what I mean?’
Frank drinks a lot, too. Everyone drinks. First of all, for the good reason that they spend most of their time in places like Timo’s. Secondly, because good-quality drinks are rare, hard to find, and ridiculously expensive.
Unlike most people who drink, Frank doesn’t sweat, doesn’t talk loudly, doesn’t wave his arms about. On the contrary, his complexion grows paler, duller, his features sharper, his lips so thin that they are nothing but a pen line in his face. His eyes become quite small, with a cold, hard flame, as if he has started to hate the human race.
Maybe he has.
He doesn’t like Kromer. Kromer doesn’t like him either. Kromer, who puts on such a friendly, easy-going air, doesn’t actually l
ike anyone, but he is happy to cajole the people who admire him; there are always lots of things in his pockets – amazing cigars, cigarette lighters, ties, silk handkerchiefs – that he casually holds out to you when you are least expecting it.
‘Here, take this!’
Frank would rather trust Timo than him. And he has noticed that Timo doesn’t trust Kromer very much either.
He traffics on the black market, obviously. There are deals you know about, that he tells you about in detail, because he needs you, and then he gives you a decent share of the profits. He rubs shoulders a lot with the occupiers. That’s something else that brings in money.
How far does he go exactly? How far would he be capable of going, if need be, if his self-interest was at stake?
Frank definitely won’t tell him about the revolver. He prefers to take up the subject of the watches, because the word has brought back memories.
‘It’s for the guy I just told you about actually, the general. You know what he used to do, just ten years ago? He worked in a factory making lamps. He’s forty years old and he’s a general. The two of us got through four bottles of champagne between us. The first thing he talked about was his watches. He collects them. He’s crazy about them. He claims he has several hundred.
‘“In a town like this,” he said to me, “where so many well-off types used to live, high-ranking officials, people with private incomes, it should be possible to find lots of old watches. You know what I mean: gold or silver watches that have one or more lids. Some strike the hour. There are even some with little figures that move . . .”’
While Kromer is talking, Frank remembers old Vilmos’ watches, he remembers old Vilmos himself, in that room that was always half dark, with just a few rays of sunshine passing between the slats of the blinds, winding the watches one by one, lifting them to his ear, making them strike, activating tiny automata.
‘We could make a packet, don’t you see?’ Kromer says with a sigh. ‘Given his position . . . It’s his hobby. He can’t get enough. He read somewhere that the king of Egypt has the finest collection of watches in the world and he’d love it if his country declared war on Egypt.’
‘Fifty-fifty?’ Frank asks coldly.
‘You know where to get hold of watches?’
‘Fifty-fifty?’
‘Have I ever tried to cheat you?’
‘No. Only, I’d need a car.’
‘That’s not so easy. I could ask the general for one, but I wonder if it’s wise.’
‘No. A civilian car. Just for two or three hours.’
Kromer doesn’t insist on details. Deep down, he is a lot more cautious than he likes to appear. If Frank tells him he can get him watches, he prefers not to know where they come from, or how he plans to get hold of them.
He is intrigued, all the same. What intrigues him above all is Frank himself, his way of making a decision, quite calmly.
‘Why don’t you just steal a car in the street?’
That’s the simplest way, obviously, and at night, for the thirty kilometres maximum that he will have to go, there is not much of a risk. But Frank doesn’t want to admit that he can’t drive.
‘Find me a car, with someone I can trust, and I’m pretty certain I can get you the watches.’
‘What did you do today?’
‘I went to the cinema.’
‘With a girl?’
‘As usual.’
‘Did you touch her up?’
Kromer is a lecher. He is always chasing after girls, especially if they are poor, because it is easier, and he prefers them very young. He loves to talk about it. His nostrils flare, he smacks his lips. He uses the crudest words and seeks out the most intimate details.
‘Do I know her?’
‘No.’
‘Will you introduce me?’
‘Maybe. She’s a virgin.’
Kromer squirms on his chair and wets the end of his cigar. ‘Do you want her for yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Then pass her on to me.’
‘I’ll see.’
‘Is she young?’
‘She’s sixteen. She lives with her father. You just think about the car.’
‘I’ll let you know tomorrow. Come to Leonard’s about five.’
It is another bar they go to, in the upper town, but because of the location Leonard is forced to close at ten in the evening.
‘Tell me what the two of you did at the cinema . . . Timo! A bottle, old man. Now tell me . . .’
‘Same as usual . . . her stocking, her suspender, then . . .’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing.’
He will go home. There is a good chance his mother has kept Minna. She doesn’t really like letting them go in the first few days, because there are some who don’t come back.
He will sleep with her, and, when all is said and done, it will be exactly as if it was Sissy. In the dark, he won’t be able to tell the difference.
4.
He is walking, his hands in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up, a small cloud of steam in front of his mouth, along the best-lit street in town, although even here there are large patches of darkness. The appointment is in half an hour.
It is Thursday. It was Tuesday when Kromer talked to him about the watches. On Wednesday, when Frank joined him at Leonard’s at five, Kromer asked, ‘Are we still on?’
Some older people must find it odd to see them, young as they are, conversing so solemnly. But God knows, they certainly have important things to discuss! Frank sees himself in a mirror in the café, calm and blond in his well-tailored coat.
‘Do you have the car?’
‘I can introduce you to the driver in five minutes. He is waiting opposite.’
A noisier, more vulgar establishment, though still one where it is possible to get a decent drink. A man gets to his feet. He is twenty-three or twenty-four, very thin, and in spite of his leather jacket he looks like a student.
‘This is him,’ Kromer says, indicating Frank. And to Frank: ‘Carl Adler. You can trust him. He’s an ace.’
They have a drink, because you always have to have a drink.
‘And the other guy?’ Frank asks in a low voice.
‘Oh, yes. Will he have to . . .?’ He hesitates. He doesn’t like talking openly, and there are words it is best not to utter, words that some have superstitiously erased from their vocabulary. ‘Will he have to do any rough stuff?’
‘It’s unlikely.’
Kromer, who knows everybody, looks around him, chooses a face through the smoke and rushes outside for a moment, taking someone with him. When he returns, he is accompanied by a young man with coarse features, clearly working class. Frank doesn’t catch his name.
‘What time do you think you’ll have finished by? He has to be back at his mother’s by ten. Any later than that, the caretaker won’t open the door, and his mother, who’s sick, often needs him during the night.’
Frank almost gave up his plan, not because of this second man, but because of the first, Adler, who hadn’t opened his mouth while they were sitting together waiting. He is not sure, but he could swear he has met him with the violinist from the first floor. Where, he doesn’t know. It may just be an association of ideas, but it is enough to bother him.
‘When do we go?’
‘As soon as possible.’
‘Tomorrow? You choose the time.’
‘Eight in the evening. Here.’
‘Not here,’ Adler cuts in. ‘My car will be parked in the street behind, just opposite the fishmonger’s. You just have to get in.’
But when they are alone, Frank asks Kromer, ‘Can they be trusted?’
‘Have I ever introduced you to anyone who couldn’t?’
‘What does this Adler do?’
A vague gesture. ‘Don’t worry.’
It is curious. A person can be suspicious and trusting at the same time. That may have to do with the fact that everyone has someth
ing on everyone else, that everyone, on closer view, has something to feel guilty about. In other words, the only reason you don’t betray other people is for fear of being betrayed by them.
‘What about the girl? Have you given it any thought?’
Frank doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell him that that day, Wednesday – it was on Tuesday that he went to the cinema with her – he had seen Sissy again. Not for long. Not immediately after Holst left, although he watched him from the window as he walked to the tram stop.
He waited until four. In the end he shrugged and said to himself:
‘We’ll see!’
He knocked at the door, as if he was just passing. He had no intention of going in, because of the old fool lying in wait behind his fanlight. He simply said, ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs. Are you coming?’
He didn’t have long to wait before she came down. She ran the last few metres of pavement, with a mechanical glance at the windows of the building, then, doubtless just as mechanically, hooked her hand through his arm.
‘Mr Wimmer hasn’t said anything to my father,’ she immediately announced.
‘I was sure of it.’
‘I won’t be able to stay for a long time today.’
They can never stay for a long time on the second day.
It was just starting to get dark. He pulled her into the alley. It was she who held her lips up to him, she who asked:
‘Did you think about me, Frank?’
He didn’t grope her. He just slipped his hand inside her blouse for a moment, because the previous day, at the Lido, he hadn’t thought about her breasts and he had no idea what they were like. The thought had occurred to him at night in bed with Minna, who is almost flat-chested.
Is that why he knocked at Sissy’s door and asked her to come downstairs? Was it just curiosity?
He saw her again today, at the same hour; and today he was the one who announced, ‘I’m only free for a few minutes.’
She didn’t dare ask him any questions, however much she may have wanted to. ‘Do you think I’m ugly, Frank?’ she murmured with a pout.
They all ask that, even though he would be hard put to say if he thinks a girl is ugly or not.
Never mind! He makes no promises to Kromer, but he doesn’t say no either. They’ll see. Minna claims to be in love with him, says that now she knows him, she is ashamed of what she is forced to do with the clients. She had no luck with the first. More complications! Frank had to try his best to calm her down. What’s more, she is afraid for him. She has seen the revolver, and it terrifies her.
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