The Gordian Knot - Bernhard Schlink [24]
He went out through the gate. The plums were ripe, the fragrance of lavender in bloom hung in the air, birds twittered and cicadas rasped. There was a gentle breeze. He looked up at the sky. It wasn’t going to rain today: he would have to water the herb garden himself. Then he would go to the Bar de l’Étang for an aperitif and have some salmon fettuccine at Les Vieux Temps.
They were lying in the shadow by the garage door; curled up as if asleep, but their eyes and mouths were wide open. A shimmer of blood had seeped into the sandy ground. The bullet holes were in the back of their heads: small, neat holes. Did such a tiny caliber even exist? Had they been killed with air-gun pellets?
He crouched down and caressed them. They were still warm.
The phone rang. He got up slowly, went inside, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
It was Bulnakov, his voice serious. “Did you find them?”
“Yes.” Georg would have liked to shout threats at him, but he couldn’t speak.
“I have already made it clear, Monsieur Polger, that this isn’t a game. For the last few days I’ve been very patient. I waited, hoping you’d see reason. But it seems that you haven’t quite grasped the situation. You thought that good old Bulnakov would give up, that he’d turn his back and go on his way. No, Monsieur Polger! Good old Bulnakov will only go on his way when he’s got what he wants!” He hung up.
Georg stood there with the receiver in his hand. He understood what Bulnakov had said. He was aware that for the past few days he had lived in an illusion, but didn’t know what to do with this awareness. You lie in bed feeling cold, and outside it’s even colder: What can you do except pull the thin blanket over you to conserve whatever little heat you have? What use is being aware that the cold is too great and the blanket too thin? Should you tell yourself that you’ll freeze to death anyway, and that you might as well get it over with as soon as possible?
But why freeze to death, Georg asked himself. The only thing they want me to do is keep on doing knowingly what I’ve done up to now unknowingly. I just have to go on with my work and from time to time let Françoise … in fact, I don’t need to take any action. All I have to do is let things happen. So much in this world isn’t the way it ought to be and I look the other way. God knows, the Russians getting the details of the helicopter that the Europeans are building isn’t the worst the world has to offer. Perhaps it’s even a good thing, creating a balance of power, helping peace. But it’s not a matter of what I’m doing: the issue is that I’m being ordered to do it. I haven’t accomplished much in life, but at least it can be said that I never did anything I didn’t want to do. I might have liked things to be different. But in the end, whatever I did was always my decision. I don’t care if that’s pride, defiance, independence, or eccentricity.
He hadn’t yet grasped that the cats were dead. He knew it, but the knowledge was strangely abstract. As he dug a hole and laid the cats in it, he cried. But as he sat by the living room door staring into the twilight, he felt as if at any moment Dopey would come prancing around the corner.
15
FRANÇOISE KNEW WHAT HAD HAPPENED. “I was there when the two of them showed up. Bulnakov told me to go outside, but I realized what they were up to. My poor darling!”
“You never liked those cats.”
“That’s not true. Perhaps not as much as you did, but I still liked them.” She was leaning against the door frame, running her fingers through his hair.
“Gérard bought some fresh salmon, but I can’t say I have much of an appetite. Are you hungry?”
She nestled up to him and put her arm around him. “Why don’t we lie down?”
He couldn’t make love to her. They lay together in bed, and at first Françoise held him, saying over and over, “My darling, my darling.” Then she kissed him and reached to arouse him. But for the first time he found her touch unpleasant.