Which meant that his children could thank this happenstance for their being born, which was not very encouraging.
And Kienast for once in his life could allow himself to break a promise to his mother.
He did not expect this complete illumination. The solitary house with all those lights on might be full of members of Döhring’s family preparing for the holidays, but there was nobody to be seen behind the windows or in the clearing. He saw no garage door, there was no ramp leading up to a garage or old-fashioned carriage shed, and he did not see any car parked outdoors.
Was he at the right place; he knew he could not be mistaken about that. When the basket was filled Döhring put the short-handled axe among the freshly cut wood, lifted the basket as high up against his side as he could.
He had to kick the shed door open with his knee.
His grandfather had taught Döhring that the devil tends to disguise himself and never sleeps deeply. And even if he sometimes dozes off, a careful peasant never leaves an unguarded axe, hatchet, knife, pitchfork, sickle, or scythe near him, because that’s the first thing the devil reaches for when he awakens from his brief slumber. Yet now he headed unwarily toward the house, carrying his basket. He didn’t even look back, the door still worked on the old spring, he heard it slam closed properly behind his back.
For the moment Kienast did nothing, let the poor boy go; within himself, though, he was jubilant to see how things were coming together, how damn lucky he was, and maybe his future wouldn’t be so miserable after all. He can’t afford to fuck it up now. He called to the student from the edge of the woods but not until the student with his basket of firewood reached the middle of the clearing and became defenseless. He greeted him with a loud friendly good evening, called him by his name, and addressed him as mister, all in compliance with police regulations. However, in his surprise, Döhring’s body was shaking from head to toe, which the detective could also see clearly.
Döhring immediately recognized the voice. He thought it best to put the basket on the ground, nice and slow.
His bodily response dissipated the specters and alien beings that had been gathering around him; they vanished, evaporated in the light evening mist, so that he could consciously attend to the presence of the other man. He couldn’t utter a word, let alone return the greeting. He stood with his head bowed, and as his gaze fell and lingered on the old axe on the cut wood — because very clearly it did linger there if only for a moment, and his defensive posture could not escape Dr. Kienast’s eyes — he thought of one thing only, that he would not cease his activities.
He would continue doing the job he had begun, as the Creator continuously placed successive tasks within his reach.
However, Isolde had urged him — and the reason she had not begged him more urgently was that she did not want him to become violent with her — not to think anymore about any kind of creator or anything like that, and just stop whatever he’d been doing.
The first thing she’d do after the holidays would be to get her lawyer involved, if Döhring had indeed done such a foolish thing and was now making a mountain out of a molehill.
She would not tell her parents what he had done, she could promise that. She did not believe they’d think of coming to the farm before New Year’s Eve, he’d be safe there. But he must promise not to take a single step without a lawyer and make no phone calls to anybody anywhere.
She really couldn’t stay with him, however strongly she felt it was necessary. She knew, sensed in her every pore that Carlino was not only lying but also possessed by madness, he was insane; what she saw and heard were the lies of that insanity. But that evening, her agent was expecting her at dinner in Paris with representatives of the Drouot auction house. Over dinner they were going to prepare a large-scale benefit auction for which they had great expectations.
These are all stupidities, those thoughts of his, he should believe her, and he can’t go on torturing himself with them. He’d taken some impossible ideas into his head that were nothing but barefaced lies, he had fallen victim to some clever deception, he should believe her.
She spoke hurriedly, heard herself hurrying, and was a little ashamed of herself.
Such things simply did not happen in their family. She had no idea where Carlino had come up with such an idea. Who had told him such a thing. Something that nobody had thought about, let alone taken seriously for at least two hundred years; why is he going around scaring her or himself with it now. If he can be taken in by such idiocies then there’s not much point in his studying philosophy or psychology.
But that’s exactly what he was trying to do, to look into the depth of things, Döhring said, defending himself.
Things have no depths or surfaces.
Isolde should know. In the fashion business, she had to learn the lessons of pragmatic philosophy well.
It’s a good thing he hadn’t joined some crazy cult, or maybe he should join the neo-Nazis.
Isolde should not exaggerate, should not mix up different things. He was interested in very concrete questions, and that’s hardly the same thing.
But it is, Isolde cried out, with the full force of her penetrating voice, and she blushed deeply in her anger.
Döhring went along with this childish quarrel, repeating that no, it’s not the same, because he wanted to see Isolde surrender, at least to him. But she could not or did not want to understand his allusions. At least for the sake of their own peace of mind, for their private use as it were, she should confess what she had done. What she had been keeping to herself for decades, which, by the way, everyone knows about.
Gerhardt Döhring killed at least four people because of the gold that had vanished.
Then he had to realize that Isolde didn’t remember anything; no matter how he tiptoed around the subject, she did not want to acknowledge and would not admit anything; and he fell silent.
If she did not understand what was at stake or if she did not want to understand, then let there be tranquillity.
Then let her quickly take herself off for Paris.
He realized that it was not by chance that it wasn’t happening. It was not by chance that Isolde was slow on the uptake and kept denying and denying. Things that fail to occur have the same value as divine portents. Isolde was the only person, the last one who to some extent tied him to his family, and this tie had to be loosened so that he could be perfectly free in his actions and able to carry out his mission. He never understood how he’d wound up among them. He despised his stepmother and had always hated his lily-livered father and ass-kissing younger sister, who allegedly resembled their mother.
It will be like a tooth extraction, it will make an awful cracking sound but then he will be free of hatred.
So he decided to promise her, yes, he wouldn’t think about it anymore, about these bygone things, about this creator or whatever, Isolde should go and not worry, leave him to himself. But he was tired of her atheism.
Sweet Carlino, there is no such thing as a creator, so how could you have anything to do with him, how could he exist, what sort of mission should you have. Before I go, I shall talk this idea out of your head, you can think of it as an accelerated university course.