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birthday that he had been given the telescope by his father.
Where was it now?
It took a while to work that one out. But he managed it. It
was with Jürg, of course. Jürg had kept it in his room when he
was staying with Mitter, but he d taken it with him when he
moved to Chadow.
So, he could still remember some things.
Various other details cropped up then faded away again as
he lay there; some from long ago . . . memories of his child-
hood, and his youth; some more recent . . . Irene and the chil-
dren, goings-on at school and trips with Bendiksen; but it was
well into the early hours before that night cropped up in his
mind s eye. . . .
He was sitting on the corner sofa. He had got dressed and
there were candles burning here and there. Eva was wander-
ing around in her kimono and singing something; he had
some difficulty in keeping his eyes on her. He had a glass in his
hand, and remembered that it was absolutely essential . . .
absolutely vital that he not drink another single drop. He
turned his head, the room was swaying to and fro. . . . Not
another single drop.
1 2 1
He took a swig. It was a good wine, he could taste that
despite all the cigarettes: dry and full-bodied. And the doorbell
rang. Who the hell . . . ?
Eva shouted something and disappeared. He realized that
she had gone to open the door for the visitor, but he couldn t
see the hall from where he was sitting. He grinned.
Yes, he remembered grinning at the fact that he was so
drunk, he daren t even try to look back over his shoulder.
Then Eva came back into the room with the visitor, the visitor
first. He couldn t see the man s face, it was too high up; a
move like the one required to see it was impossible. The visi-
tor remained standing for quite some time before sitting
down, and Eva was somewhere else, she d shouted some-
thing, but now the man was sitting there in any case; Mitter
could see his torso and his arms, only the lower part of his
arms, his rolled-up shirtsleeves. . . . He was smoking, and Mit-
ter also took a cigarette and the nicotine made him feel dizzy.
The smoke was hot and nauseating in his throat, and it wasn t
long before they started talking. And then the visitor leaned
forward and flicked the ash off his cigarette, and Mitter saw
who it was.
He opened his eyes and myriad stars came meandering into
his consciousness, making him feel dizzy.
I shall forget this again, he thought. It came to me for just a
moment, but tomorrow it will have gone.
He fumbled for the pencil lying on the bedside table.
Heard it fall on the floor. Leaned tentatively over the side of
the bed and groped around in the dark over the cold flag-
stones, and eventually found it.
Where? he thought. Where?
Then he took the Bible out of the drawer in the bedside
m i n d s e y e
table. Thumbed through as far as Mark or thereabouts, and
wrote down the visitor s name.
Closed the Bible. Put it back in its place and closed the
drawer. Fell back exhausted on his pillows, and felt . . . felt
something starting to tremble inside him.
It was a flame. A pitifully small candle flame that some-
body had lit, and that was no doubt well worth looking after.
Keeping alight.
He was mad, but at least he understood the implications of
this memory.
And thanks to the power of that pale candlelight, he gave
himself the task of coming to terms with it all when dawn
came.
Writing a letter to the visitor.
Just a line.
He fell asleep. But woke up again.
Perhaps he should also make a phone call.
To that unpleasant person . . . whose name escaped him for
the moment.
As long as the flame doesn t go out.
22
The telephone call was put through from the switchboard to
the duty officer only minutes before he was due to be relieved.
In fact, he ought to have been relieved several hours previ-
ously, but Widmar Krause s young wife had started to feel
labor pains in the early hours of the morning, and it was her
first pregnancy. Erich Klempje had no alternative but to stay
on duty. He d started his shift as early as nine p.m. the previous
night, but isn t that what colleagues are for?
He was only staying on until the emergency was over.
There was no question of her giving birth already, but get-
ting to the hospital and waiting and then the examination fol-
lowed by getting back home again all took time.
He noted it down automatically in the black folder.
11:56 Incoming call from Majorna.
Police. Sergeant Klempje. How can I help you?
At that very moment the doors were flung open and in
marched two constables, Joensuu and Kellerman, dragging
with them a whore from V-Square high on drugs.
You can only have me one at a time! she yelled. And it s
double price for bleeding police bastards!
Although the whore was small, and the combined weight
m i n d s e y e
of Joensuu and Kellerman must have been upwards of 450
pounds, they were obviously having trouble in propelling her
to the cells. Blood was pouring from scratches on one of
Kellerman s cheeks, and Klempje suspected that the whore
would not be totally unmarked if they could get her into a
dark corner.
Kiss my ass! But brush your teeth first! she screeched,
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