The Sinner (14 page)

Two days later he was back. This time he ordered out front and
chuckled at her like an old acquaintance. Before leaving he asked:
"What do you do when you're through here? When do you get
off?"

"Six-thirty."

"Could we go somewhere after that? Have a beer, maybe?"

"I don't drink beer."

"Something else, then, it doesn't matter. It doesn't have to
be for long either. Just half an hour. I'd like to get to know you
properly."

Gereon was clumsy but very direct. Although he made no secret
of the fact that he found her attractive, he wasn't pushy in the least.
When she declined his invitation he merely shrugged his shoulders
and said: `Another time, maybe."

He asked her three times for a date; and three times she refused.
After the third time she talked to Margret about him, his good
looks and his naivety. She said he was the kind of man you could
convince that the earth was flat and that ships venturing too far
would topple over the edge.

She spoke of her need to draw a line under the past and make a
fresh start in some place where nobody knew her - to lead a life like
thousands of others. And that would only work with a man who had no opinions of his own, a man who would believe that the scars
on her arms resulted from a bad infection - which was essentially
true - and that she'd acquired the scar on her forehead by walking
in front of a car. Margret was thoroughly understanding.

But she couldn't tell the chief all that. He would promptly have
asked who Margret was and added her to the list of people he had
to interview at all costs. And dragging Margret into this business
would definitely be a step too far.

Margret was Father's younger sister. Compared to Mother,
Margret had always been a young woman. Young and pretty and
modern, with revolutionary ideas about life and a sympathetic
understanding of all the failings and mistakes to which a person
can be prone.

When Gereon came into her life she'd been living for a year in
Margret's cramped little apartment in Cologne. Two rooms plus a
tiny kitchen and a shower room the size of a pocket handkerchief.
When you sat on the loo you grazed your knees on the door. She
slept on the sofa, which was all Margret had to offer. The bedroom
was too small for a second bed.

Cora didn't want a bed. She couldn't have endured another
bed so close to hers. Sometimes she wondered what would have
become of her if Margret hadn't taken her in when she couldn't
stand it at home any longer. To that there was only one answer:
she'd be dead. And she wanted to enjoy life.

She finally learned to do so with Margret. It was Margret who
got her the job at the cafe on Herzogstrasse, and Margret who
said, when Gereon turned up and persisted in asking her for a
date: "Why not go out with him, Cora? You're a young woman. It's
normal to fall in love with a young man."

"I don't know if I'm in love with him. It's just that he reminds
me of someone I was crazy about. Everyone called him Johnny
- I never knew his real name. He looked like the archangel driving
Adam and Eve out of Paradise in Mother's Bible. You know the
passage? And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew
that they were naked!' That's what Johnny looked like. Gereon
looks a bit like him, but only superficially, hair colour and so on. Gereon is a nice fellow; he comes from a respectable family. He's
told me about his parents, and one day he's bound to ask me

"Nonsense," said Margret. "Let him ask, we'll think of something.
You say he isn't too smart. Anyway, you aren't obliged to tell him
your life story. And besides, he won't necessarily ask about your
family right away. Young men usually have something else in mind.
If he does ask, tell him you couldn't stick it at home any longer.
Tell him your mother isn't right in the head, but it isn't hereditary.
That's true enough."

"But what if he wants to go to bed with me?" It was more of a
murmur and not addressed to Margret at all.

But Margret heard it nonetheless. She looked at Cora intently,
filled with sympathy and compassion. "Don't you think you could?"
she asked.

Of course she could, it wasn't that. She often wondered what it
would be like with some nice young man, but it would have been
cheating. When she didn't reply, Margret said in her typically
forthright tone: "That's no problem, Cora. If you don't feel like
it, just say no."

It wasn't as simple as Margret imagined. You couldn't say no
forever if you wanted to keep a man, and she did. She found Gereon
attractive. For one thing, there was his superficial resemblance to
Johnny. For another, he was very gentle and affectionate. Those
first few evenings in his car were wonderful.

He picked her up at the cafe twice a week, drove her to some
lonely spot and took her in his arms. It was usually too cold to
remove her jacket, let alone anything else, but Gereon didn't hassle
her. He contented himself with kisses and cuddles until well into
the New Year. Only then did he want more.

She would have preferred to put it off a little longer, but her fear
of losing him if she denied him outweighed her fear that he might
be disappointed afterwards. He wasn't either. He didn't feel duped
or deceived. All he said was: "You weren't a virgin, though."

Of course she wasn't! No girl was a virgin at twenty-one - she
was bound to have gone to bed with some man or other, but there
was no need to tell the chief that.

Cora had everything under control again. She managed to tell
her story without mentioning Margret and without leaving a hiatus.
Only the last sentence, Gereon's statement, slipped out before she
could stop it.

The chief was looking at her. He wanted her to go on, his
demeanour made that obvious. He wanted some explanation for
the man's death and wouldn't rest until he got one. He would speak
with Gereon, probably even with Father.

A long silence ensued. The man in the sports coat was eyeing
the recording machine dubiously, the chief looking her insistently
in the eye. She had to tell him something, anything. What if he
wouldn't believe the truth? Now, when her head had cleared a bit
and she was making some sort of sense again ...

It occurred to her that Gereon's remark about her virginity and
what Grit Adigar had said about her leaving home might well
serve as the basis of a story. What about a name for the principal
character? What had the chief said? "His name was Georg
Frankenberg." Perhaps, but the name was unfamiliar, and she
was afraid of stumbling over it if she used it. Johnny was more
familiar, and if she combined what she'd wanted back then with
what people had said about him ... that would make an excellent
basis for a good story.

"If I ..." she began haltingly. "If I explain why I killed him, will
you promise not to bother my family?"

He made no such promise, just asked: "Can you explain it, Fran
Bender?"

She nodded. Her hands were trembling uncontrollably again. She
placed one firmly on the other and pressed them both against her
thighs. "Of course I can. It's just that I'd hoped I wouldn't have to.
And I don't want my husband finding out. He mightn't understand,
and his parents certainly wouldn't. They'd make his life a misery if
they knew - I mean, for getting involved with a person like me."

Till then she'd spoken with her head down. Now she looked up,
straight into his eyes, and drew several deep breaths.

"I was lying to you when I said I didn't know the man. I didn't
know his real name, but the man himself ...

"It was March five years ago when he turned up in Buchholz
for the first time. Nobody knew his real name. He called himself
Johnny Guitar. I'd had little experience of men. I was seldom
allowed out and had to lie to get a few hours to myself. Usually
I told my mother I found it easier to recognize my sinful desires
and concentrate on curbing them in the open air, immediately
beneath the eye of God. She was so impressedby such statements,
she even allowed me to leave the house on Saturday nights.
There wasn't much for young people to do in Buchholz. Lots
of open countryside around with paths for walkers and cyclists
and cafes and hotels for people in search of relaxation but no
disco. Many youngsters went to Hamburg. I never did, although
Father would certainly have lent me his car. He'd allowed me to
take my test. We were allies, Father and I, but I didn't want to
push my luck.

"I always went into town. There were a few ice-cream parlours
and a place where you could dance on Saturdays. I had no friends
of either sex. Most girls of my age had boyfriends and preferred to
be alone with them. As for the boys, I got to know one or two but
not in a serious way. I danced with them and let them buy me a
Coke, but that was all. I was inhibited, and they lost interest when
they saw they wouldn't make it with me right away.

"That never bothered me - not until Johnny turned up that
night in March. I fell for him within minutes, I think. He wasn't
on his own. There was someone else with him, a short, fat youth.
Neither of them came from our part of the world; I could tell
that as soon as I heard them speak. They looked around without
noticing me and sat down at a table. After a minute or two Johnny
got up and went over to a girl. He danced with her a couple of
times. Later they left with the fat boy in tow

"They were back again the following Saturday, the girl as well.
She was sitting in a corner with two girlfriends. When they spotted
Johnny and his friend they put their heads together and started
whispering, but the girl didn't join them. I got the impression she
wanted nothing more to do with them. Johnny took no notice of
her either. It wasn't long before he was dancing with another girl. He went off with her soon afterwards, the fat boy trailing after
them. And next Saturday they might all have been strangers.

"It went on like that for several weeks. Perhaps my suspicions
should have been aroused by their behaviour, and even more so by
that of the girls, but I never thought twice about it. I was really very
naive in those days. And very much in love! I'd have given anything
just to speak to him.

"I could hardly wait to leave the house on Saturdays. I'd never
lied to my mother as brazenly as I did at that time. Everything
revolved around Johnny. I knew I didn't stand a chance with him
- all I wanted was to be near him. I asked around a bit, but no one
knew anything definite. Some of the girls said he was a musician.
The ones who'd been with him and his friend grinned when I
questioned them. `It was nice,' they told me, `but not your cup of
tea.'

`And then - it was on 16 May, a week after my birthday - Fatso
spoke to me. There wasn't much action that night, and they'd been
sitting at their table for quite a while before he came over. I danced
with him because I thought he might take me back to their table
afterwards. Big mistake! He got fresh, and I had trouble fending
him off. He became abusive and swore at me.

"I left feeling pretty depressed. Then, outside in the car park, I
heard Johnny calling after me. He apologized for his friend and
urged me not to take offence. The fat boy was a hothead and didn't
have much luck with girls. We stood outside for a while, talking. I
could hardly believe my luck. He asked if I'd like to go back inside.
It was too early to go home, he said, and he would make sure his
friend didn't hassle me again.

"That's how it started with Johnny and me. It seemed like a
miracle. I'd suspected that he only came to Buchholz to pick up
a girl for the night, but he didn't act that way with me. His fat
friend left as soon as we came in. We sat at the table on our own
for nearly half an hour, chatting. Then Johnny asked if I'd care to
dance with him.

"Nothing more happened that night. Fatso didn't reappear.
When I had to leave Johnny accompanied me outside. He wanted to escort me home, but that was impossible. If my mother had seen
us, I'd never have been allowed out again. We said goodbye in the
car park. He shook hands with me and said: Any chance of seeing
you again?'

"I said: 'I'll probably come again next Saturday.'

"He smiled. `Me too, but I'd better come by myself, I guess. See
you next week, then.'

"He really did come by himself, and he took things very slowly. It
was three weeks before he kissed me for the first time. He was nice
and gentle and seemed to understand whatever I told him; in fact,
he didn't laugh even when I told him about my mother. All he said
was: `Chacun a son gout.'

"I asked him his name, of course. He said it was Horsti. That
sounded silly, so I stuck to Johnny. He said he couldn't stand girls
you could bed right away - they were only good for a laugh. He
said he'd never met a girl like me before and that he loved me.
Everything was perfect. He was even a trifle jealous. A couple
of times, when he couldn't make it to Buchholz the following
weekend, he asked me to stay home in case someone else queered
his pitch.

"I didn't know much about him. He was reluctant to talk about
himself and seldom did so. He'd formed a group with two friends,
he told me, and they practised in a cellar. Fatso was one of them
-Johnny said he was terrific on the keyboard. He himself played
the drums and the third member of the group played bass guitar.

"In August he asked if I'd like to hear them play. I wanted to, I
said, but I didn't feel like being cooped up in a cellar with Fatso,
where I couldn't get away if he got fresh again. Johnny laughed at
me. 'I'll be there. He won't even give you the eye.'

"The following weekend he brought him along. Fatso behaved
himself, so I agreed to go with them. It was a great night. They
played a new number, `Tiger's Song'. Johnny said it was my tune
now - he'd composed it especially for me.

"They played for about an hour. Then the other two went off
and didn't come back. Johnny gave me a drink and turned on the
hi-fi. He played some tapes of their own composition. We danced, had another couple of drinks and sat down on the couch. And that
was when it happened.