‘Then why respond to my question with a rebuke?’
‘Because I cannot give you the answer you expect, the answer that would confirm your medical prejudices and give me hope. Has anyone else seen my doppelganger? The answer regretfully is yes. Herr Polster.’
‘Who?’
‘Herr Polster. He’s the publican of a beer cellar in Simmering. A place called The Chimney Sweep.’ Erstweiler paused, glanced at the door, took a deep breath and continued: ‘On my way back home from work, I occasionally stop off at The Chimney Sweep for some light refreshment; however, I never go there on Wednesday nights — the reason being that it is on this day that we take deliveries at the warehouse and I must must stay late to check the stock, prepare an inventory, and write letters if everything is not in order. About two weeks ago, I was in The Chimney Sweep and Herr Polster came to my table and said something like: Back again, so soon? I thought nothing of it. But during the course of our conversation he kept on referring to things that I had no recollection of ever having said. I took this to be some kind of joke and did not react. However, Herr Polster persisted and eventually I became quite annoyed. I demanded: When, when did I say that? And he replied, Last night, of course! Which was, as I am sure you have already guessed, a Wednesday. I lost my temper and to my surprise Herr Polster responded with no small amount of embarrassment and confusion. He then made light of my reaction, reminded me that I had drunk rather more than usual and promised he would be discreet. It became clear to me then that Herr Polster wasn’t joking at all. As far as he was concerned, I really had been to The Chimney Sweep the night before. Which I realised could mean but one thing.’
‘Your doppelganger?’
‘Indeed.’
‘From your conversation with Herr Polster, were you able to ascertain what the double said?’
‘I was left with the impression of a person considerably more ill-mannered than myself — a lewd individual.’
Erstweiler’s face reddened.
‘In what way?’
‘Is it really necessary that I tell you everything, Herr doctor?’ Liebermann allowed the silence to build. ‘Oh, very well,’ Erstweiler muttered. ‘From Herr Polster’s comments, I realised that my doppelganger had made remarks about the desirability of Frau Milena, the wife of my landlord, Kolinsky.’
Liebermann leaned forward.
‘What is she like? Frau Milena?’
‘She is a very attr-’ Erstweiler stopped himself from saying ‘attractive’ and continued, ‘sweet-natured person. Kolinsky really doesn’t appreciate her. Indeed, I have to say the man is something of a brute. He comes home drunk and shouts at her … and sometimes I hear noises — as if she’s being pushed around.’
‘What do you do when that happens?’
‘I go downstairs to ask if everything is all right. And Frau Milena says, Yes, Herr Erstweiler, everything is well, I am sorry about the noise. Or Bozidar isn’t feeling well, or I tripped and fell, or some such nonsense. And old Kolinsky just sits there, grunting and waving his hand in the air. At least it settles down after I make such an appearance, which must be appreciated by Frau Milena. But I’ve often asked myself What’s the point of intervening? — it only starts up again a few days later. They say it’s unwise to get involved in domestic arguments and I can see why. Besides, marriage is supposed to be holy. We are advised not to come between a man and woman who have been joined together by God.’
Liebermann made a note: Resists admitting Frau Milena attractive? Why?
‘Do you believe that?’ asked Liebermann. ‘That marriage reflects the will of God?’
‘I don’t know. It’s what we’re told. Or perhaps I’m just making excuses. Perhaps I should do more for Frau Milena? Perhaps I should have words with old Kolinsky.’
‘Threaten him?’
Erstweiler sat up, his gaze suddenly fixed on the door. His hands were trembling.
‘There’s someone standing outside!’
Liebermann rose swiftly and approached the door.
‘For God’s sake, man,’ cried Erstweiler. ‘Don’t let him in!’
The young doctor depressed the handle and pulled the door open, revealing a vacant corridor.
‘You see? Nothing to be frightened of.’
Slumping back onto the rest bed, Erstweiler sighed: ‘I could have sworn …’
‘What?’
‘I thought I saw a shadow, through the glass.’
Liebermann sat down again and picked up his notes. He immediately wrote: Thought of threatening Herr Kolinsky triggers hallucination. He wondered: Why would that happen? Struggling to understand the underlying psychodynamics, Liebermann turned over in his mind the facts of the case. Here was a man who desired his landlord’s wife but disowned such feelings. Perhaps the notion of coming between man and wife had become associated with divine retribution. Did the hallucination represent a punishment for failing to respect God’s sacrament of marriage? Liebermann glanced down at Erstweiler. The poor fellow certainly believed in God, but he was not devout or fanatical.
‘Herr Erstweiler?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you object to me speaking to Herr Polster?’
Erstweiler was still looking uneasily at the panel of glass.
‘Do you think I made it all up?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you want to speak to Herr Polster?’
‘I think it will be …’ Liebermann hesitated before selecting a suitably anodyne word ‘… instructive.’
Rolling his head to the side, Erstweiler closed his eyes and whispered: ‘Do as you please, Herr doctor.’
He was evidently too exhausted to continue the session.
9
Rheinhardt strode down Lange Gasse, hopping off the pavement to allow a perambulator to pass and hopping back on again to avoid a carriage. He was humming the Andante con moto from Schubert’s B-flat Piano Trio, allowing his baritone voice to take on the expressive sonorities of a cello. The melody reflected his mood: subdued yet purposeful. In due course he came to his destination, a pair of tall wooden doors. He touched the peeling paintwork, pressed lightly, and entered a vaulted tunnel.
The inspector stepped over a rusting bicycle frame and an obstacle course of discarded items: a box of coat hangers, numerous empty wine bottles, and the statue of an angel (with weather-worn features and broken wings) lying on its side.
Beyond the tunnel was a narrow path which ran between two rows of identical terraced cottages. They had plain whitewashed exteriors and flat roofs. Someone, somewhere, was playing a Chopin prelude on an out-of-tune piano; however, Rheinhardt was impressed by the technical proficiency of the pianist. Raising his eyes, the inspector saw that he had entered a cul-de-sac. The path was truncated by a brick wall on which two large urns were precariously balanced. Behind the wall he could see the tops of trees and, some distance beyond these, the fenestrated rear of a high residential block.
Rheinhardt came to an open door and called out: ‘Hello?’