I Confess (31 page)

I was lucky. It was a dark night. Not a car to be seen as I opened the door on Mordstein's side, I stood for a moment on the running board and pulled out the throttle as far as it would go. With the jack handle I pushed down the clutch and held it firm as I put the car in first. Then I released the clutch. The car began to move. I held fast as it moved straight for the barrier, colliding with it and smashing it to one side, after which it drove on. Ahead of me I could see the lane of the damaged bridge. I pressed the clutch down again, shifted to second, then, through the fog, I could see where the lane ended rushing at me. I jumped off and fell face down on the ground. I put my hands over my head and waited. For what seemed an eternity, I heard nothing. The drop was deep, very deep. When would I hear the impact? When?

I couldn't stand it any longer. I sat up, then I heard it, followed by a much louder noise. I got to my feet, staggering at first, and ran to the place where everything ended. And in the valley below I saw red flames. The car was burning. The gas tank must have exploded.

I brushed the dirt off my coat and picked up the jack handle which I had dropped. Then I walked back to the detour. I wandered across fields and through woods to Rosenheim. It took me five hours, but I had no difficulty finding my way. I had a detailed map of the area. Yo-landa's map. She had bought it in Vienna. It had been her idea to walk to Rosenheim through the fields and woods when it was over.

I got there at about three a.m. The train to Munich came through at four. I bought a new ticket. At 6 a.m. I was in Munich. I breakfasted in the station restaurant, then I went and got my small package that contained the money. It was handed over to me without question. The train to Augsburg left at eight. I retrieved my money there, too. From Augsburg I took the train to Stuttgart, where I bought some more jewelry, worth seventy thousand marks all in all. I spent the rest of the day in a hotel room.

The Vienna express arrived in Stuttgart at nine p.m. I bought a sleeper ticket, gave the conductor twenty marks and had the compartment to myself. At midnight we were in Munich. I made a small package of the money I had left and stuck it in the bowl of the toilet at the end of the corridor. Customs at the Austrian border was formal and fast. The money wasn't found. If it had been found I would have said it wasn't mine. I had thought for a long time how I could best get it across the border, but in the end it had become strangely indifferent to me whether I got it across or not. In any case, I felt I had enough.

As soon as the train left Salzburg, I got my package, lay down on my bed and looked at the headline of the Munich evening paper which I had bought at the station. "Fatal car accident on the Bavaria Bridge." I read the report through carefully twice. It said that on Friday night or early Saturday morning a car had driven through the barrier in front of the Bavaria Bridge and had plunged off the edge into the valley. Both passengers were killed. Since the car had caught fire both bodies were burned be-

273

yond recognition. However, according to the license number, the owner of the car was a certain Robert Mofdstein from Munich. I threw the paper out of the window and slept.

On Sunday, at ten a.m. I was back in my apartment at the Reisnerstrasse. I bathed and changed. At noon I called Wilma. She wasn't home. I tried again at the office, where there was no answer, and at the theatre where Felix came to the phone. "Wilma isn't here," he said. He recognized my voice and he sounded angry.

"Where can I reach her?"

"I don't know."

"When will she be coming back to the theatre?"

"I don't know that either."

"When she comes would you be good enough to tell her to call me?"

"Hm."

"Thank you, Felix," I said. "It's very good of you."

I lay down on my bed, and tried to sleep. But I couldn't. I was waiting for Wilma to call. No call came. The room smelled of Yolanda's perfume and a few of her things were still lying around. I got up and collected them. Then I built a fire in the fireplace and lit it, because it was a cold day. I sat close to it and watched the flames dancing along the birch log. I thought that, first of all, I would like to go to Italy with Wilma. That wouldn't require a visa, and it would still be warm in the south. If I could speak to her today, we might be able to leave tomorrow.

I took out the jewelry I had bought in Germany and picked out the ring I would give to Wilma. I stuck it in my pocket. Then I sat down in front of the fire again and waited for her caU. But it was five o'clock before the phone rang.

I walked through the dark apartment to the phone and lifted the receiver.

"How wonderful that you're back!"

"Yes, Wilma. Things went faster than I had expected."

"Can we see each other?"

^'Whenever you want. The sooner the better.'*

"Are you alone?" She sounded worried.

"Yes. I am alone."

"Your wife . . ." She sounded hesitant.

"... stayed in Germany." I said it unhesitatingly.

"Oh . . ." Wihna's voice faded; there was a rushing sound in the wire.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, Walter. Did you ... did you speak to her about . . ."

"Of course. That's why she stayed in Germany. We have separated."

She was silent.

"What's the matter, Wilma? Aren't you pleased?"

"Oh yes, of course." Suddenly her voice was loud. "I must see you. Tve got to talk to you."

"And Fve got to talk to you too, Wihna. Come to me here."

"No. I'd rather not. Let's meet in the tea shop."

"All right," I said, a little disappomted. "When?"

"In half an hour," she said.

At five-thirty I was at the tea room. The fat owner hurried up to me, looking dehghted. "What a pleasure to see you again, sir! The young lady is waiting."

"Bring me ..."

"... a double cognac. I know," she said and disappeared.

I walked into the tearoom. Wilma was sitting in a window niche and was smiling at me. She was wearing a grey pullover with a matching skirt and looked adorable. I hurried over to her and kissed her, but she freed herself quickly. The fat proprietress came with my cognac. The cat followed her majestically, then sat down in front of me and stared at me. I stroked Wilma's hand and felt light-hearted. I had reached my goal, now aU was well, now we could be happy.

"I'm so glad to be back," I said

She was smiling, but her eyes remained serious. "So am I."

"Now we can be together."

"Yes, Walter."

"We're going to Italy, Wilma."

"I don't know if my parents . . ."

"I'll talk to them. You must introduce me to them. I'm goine to marry you.'*

"But you are married."

"I'm getting a divorce." I had to laugh. T couldn't think of Yolanda anymore nor of the bridge, nor of the jack handle and the repulsive snapping sound. "And I have brought your engagement ring with me." I took the ring out of my pocket. The stone glittered in the light of the lamp. WUma sat up and looked at me seriously.

"Don't you like it?"

"It's beautiful."

"Don't you want it? I bought it for you."

I tried to put the ring on her finger, but she pulled her hand away. "I have to tell you something, Walter."

"Yes?"

"I have received a letter."

"WeU," I said cheerfully, "and from whom is this letter?"

"From your wife."

31

A motorcycle drove by with a deafening roar. I could feel an ice cold hand running down my back and now I could see it all again—^Yolanda, the bridge, the jack handle,

now I could hear it again—the unspeakably repulsive

snapping sound.

'*Have you ... have you brought the letter with you?" She nodded and laid a piece of paper in front of me on

the table. 'It came in yesterday's mail" I picked up the letter and read:

"Dear Fraulein Wihna. I realize it isn't the

thing to do to write to you or involve you in any way, but I find myself in a rather extraordinary situation and hope for your understanding. I know that you love my husband and he has told me that he loves you. It has been a very painful revelation to me since I also love my husband deeply. I am older than you, Fraulein WUma, and I probably love him in a quite different way. He is, if I may say so, the last thing I can stUl count on in life. My position is somewhat compUcated and in several instances distressing, and my husband is the only person I have on whom I can rely...."

Poor Yolanda, I thought, as I read on*

"We are about to travel to Germany on an important mission but we \viQ be back in Vienna in a few days. I am not ashamed to beg you, please, to use this time as a period of searching and to ask yourself if you really love my husband so much that you can't live without him. I realize that I no longer possess your weapons of youth and flawless beauty. But please give a thought to the fact that my husband comes from a ver\^ different background than yours and does not belong to your generation. He is as many years older as you are young. He is not healthy. And he is a very difficult person. Up to now you have associated only with people your o^n age, among whom there is one young man who loves you deeply and whom you have made desperately un-

happy by your behavior. During these days that we are away, try to think also of him, and be so kind, on my return, to call me and tell me what you have decided to do. I know this letter must seem to you like a plea for mercy, but I don't care.

Valery Frank.**

I looked up. Gradually I found it possible to smile again. "Well, yes," I said. "Of course it wasn't easy for her. We talked it over for a long time and in the end Valery saw it was senseless to insist upon rights that were no longer hers."

Wilma didn't look at me as she said, "The letter has a postscript."

"It does?" I looked at the letter again and read: "P.S. If my husband should return to Vienna without me, which is also possible, and if he should tell you that we have separated, then I beg of you, in your own interest, to open the second letter, which I enclose."

I let the paper fall. And now I was sitting in Mord-stein's car again, racing over the wet autobahn to the Bavaria Bridge, the car was falling, was on fire. Now everything rode with me again and was frightful. "And?" I asked softly, "Did you open the second letter?"

Wilma nodded and dug around in her bag. The first thing she took out was a handkerchief with which she blew her nose and after that a second piece of paper. "I'm sorry, Walter. I didn't want to do it. But when I called you and you said you had come back alone, and spoken to her . .. then I opened it. I don't know why, but I just had to open it and read it. Are you angry with me?"

"No!"

"Yes. You're going to be angry with me, I know."

"I am not going to be angry with you, Wilma. May I ... may I read the second letter?"

"Of course," she said.

I took it and read:

"Dear Wilma. When you read these lines, I shall be dead. My husband will have murdered me. I can't say yet how he wiU have done it, but he will have killed me. I already counted on this possibihty before we left for Germany but did nothing to protect myself against it. The fact that my husband has murdered me is nothing but the ultimate proof that he intended to leave me, and without him I wouldn't have wanted to Uve anyway. I write these lines therefore without anger and with the sole intention of protecting you—who are so young and so full of promise—from becoming involved in a catastrophe. Because my husband's life is going to end catastroph-ically. He is seriously ill and has only six months more to live. In these six months his condition will deteriorate rapidly and in the end he will be a human wreck. He is already completely asocial and sometimes not mentally sound. If you should have to open this letter, and if you should see my husband again, show him this letter and ask him what he has to say to it. I am sure he will tell you the truth. He is not a liar. He is only a murderer.

Valery Frank."

Wilma's eyes were resting on me when I looked up. She didn't ask anything, but after a while the tears began to roll down her cheeks. "It's true, Wilma," I said softly.

"You ... you . . ."

I nodded.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"Nobody will ever find out," I said quickly. "I did it very cleverly. I made it look like a car accident. You mustn't be afraid, Wilma. I promise you, it will never come out. Yes, it's true, I'm not well, but I'm perfectly normal, my nerves are absolutely sound, and you can't really judge what I have done without knowing what led to it. Just hsten to me, Wilma. It all started a few months ago "

I Stopped because I sensed that someone had walked into the tearoom and was standing behind me. I turned. It was FeUx. His cheeks were scarlet, he was standing up very straight and seemed beside himself with rage.

"You pig!" he cried and grasped the neck of my jacket as if to drag me out of my chair. "I knew WUma was lying when she said she had to go home. But this time you're going to pay, you filthy pervert!"

"Felix!" Wilma screamed.

He tried to hit me, but I was quicker and struck first. He flew across the room, knocking over a table, then crashed into the wall. The fat proprietress came running and began to upbraid Felix.

"What's the matter with you? Have you gone crazy? Get out of here this minute or I'U call the police!"

"This man . . ." Felix, who was white as a sheet, began, but she wouldn't hsten to him.

"Get out!" she screamed. "You've attacked one of my guests. Now are you going to scram or do I have to call the poUce?"

Felix started to go for me again when Wilma rose. "I'll go with you," she said.

'What?" He couldn't grasp it.

"I'll go with you," WUma repeated and picked up her coat. She gave me both letters and the ring. "I'm sorry," she said, "but it's impossible. I thought I would be able to, truly I did; this afternoon I still thought I could go through with it, but I can't Bum the letters. I never read them."

"WUma!" I was desperate. '*You can't leave me. I must talk to you. I have so much to explain."

She shook her head. "Go on ahead, FeUx," she said "I'U be out in a minute."

He left reluctantly. The fat proprietress also withdrew. "I love you," WUma whispered, laying her hands on my shoulders, "but I . . . I'm so terribly afraid of you." I nodded. Suddenly I was absolutely calm. I saw things clearly, I understood everything.

"If I wasn't so afraid of you," she whispered, "it wouldn't be so bad, but this way . . . it's impossible."

"Of course it's impossible," I said. "I should have thought of that right away."

"You mustn't be afraid that IT! ever betray you."

"I'm not afraid that you will, Wilma."

"Goodbye," she said, and, quicker than I would have thought possible, she was gone. I was standing in front of the Uttle table alone. Outside I could see them pass by the window, two young people in cheap winter coats. She was walking a Uttle ahead of him and he was following her quickly, looking thoroughly bewildered.

I paid and left. At home I found the fire still smoldering. I put on another log and fixed myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down in front of the fire with it. So now that was over. I had lost Wilma. I had to lose her:—^to have considered anything else would have been insane. It couldn't have turned out right. Yolanda was too clever. And perhaps she had really loved me. Who could tell?

My brain was already writing off episode Vienna; my thoughts were far far away, in the south, on an island, on a faraway rocky shore. Yes, I thought, now I was really free. There were so many places, so many people ... and I was still aUve. I had money, I had morphine. Now all those who might have been close to me had left me: now I was ready to find new people, a new woman, a new friend. There were so many women; there might also be friends ... I felt very confident, and a whole hour passed before I thought of Wilma again, but then suddenly I couldn't breathe with desire for her and felt like ending my life that very night.