Killing Auntie (7 page)

“Good morning!” I said almost cheerfully.

Still in my underwear, I entered the hallway. The bathroom door was open. The sheet covering the corpse was pulled half way off. If the women discovered my crime … I was unable to finish my the thought. I bent over the corpse. On the right side I noticed a shallow but wide wound, as if a bite had been taken out of it. There were other smaller wounds next to it, as well as scars and long scratches. It didn't look like the work of mice. I couldn't remember ever having had any in our house, anyway. The window was shut properly so entry from outside, by a cat or a bird, was out of the question. The pest must have already been inside the flat. For a while I stood still with my hand raised in a half gesture, totally lost as to what gesture it should be. I bent over the corpse again and put my hand under the sheet. When I took it out it was holding Granny's false teeth. So, it was the girls – having been turned away from the larder door, they had nibbled through the night at the cold rotting corpse. Poor things, they couldn't have had much of a meal. The flesh had been toughened by the ice. And getting it up from the bottom of the bath must have been hard work for them.

I stood turning over Granny's teeth mindlessly in my hand, unable to decide how to deal with this new situation. Did the old fogies know they were eating a corpse? Would it impair their weak health? Would they want to report me to the authorities? If they did, I would have to kill them without delay – but what would I do with two new corpses when I could hardly cope with the old one? So, the old corpse, again. It was clear that forgetting it was pure illusion. All these apparently unconnected incidents sooner or later led to trouble with the corpse. I could lock the bathroom door and pretend the whole thing never happened. But what to do with the teeth? Granny would certainly feel the loss of such a precious object very acutely.

At noon I escorted the women to the station. They said their good-byes affectionately, even effusively. I found them seats in a compartment and helped with the suitcases. They left for starvation in a small mountain town. I gave them half of the money I had. I consoled myself with the thought that with their thriftiness it should last them a good few months. At any rate, I calculated that I still had a few months before the next wave of desperate letters, telegrams and then maybe another visit. By then Auntie's disappearance would be officially accounted for. The thought of this official explanation was very unpleasant for me and I kept pushing it to the back of my mind.

9

I
N THE EVENING
I
MET WITH TERESA
. I
N A CORNER OF A
cheap café we sat talking, delighted and joyful. Then we went for a long walk, wandering the streets. It was warm. In the air one could feel the breath of coming spring. We laughed a lot – at the lights in the puddles, the snowy lampposts, fantastic silhouettes of old houses. Now and again I brushed my lips lightly against my girlfriend's cheek. We wandered into the cloister of a little old church. It was empty. Below flowed a noisy, sparkling street. A red light flashed at the crossing, tiny but clear. I thought, “red elf,” but didn't dare say it loud, afraid my voice would sound harsh under the vast dome of the sky. Teresa knew it and whispered into my ear:

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The red light disappeared and the outstretched gesture of my hand toward the light was late and pointless. I embraced Teresa and we started kissing. For the first time we felt the insufferable burden of clothes. We walked holding hands in silence, embarrassed by the fact that we still hadn't become lovers. We both knew that a lively conversation now would be a fraud. When we came to Teresa's house, she stopped.

“Go home, darling.”

“I'll walk you to the gate.”

“No, there's no need.”

“Why?”

“I don't want … You know what I mean.”

“Is it embarrassing?”

“Of course not. But what's the point?”

It was the third time we were having this conversation. Nevertheless, we conducted it solemnly, repeating our lines without interrupting each other. The thought of going to bed alone, always an unpleasant one, today was simply terrifying.

“Yes, you are right, no point …” I said slowly and bent to kiss Teresa's hand.

I headed home but when I looked back and saw Teresa's small figure disappearing in the distance I turned around and ran after her.

“Teresa,” I said. “Teresa, come with me.”

Without a word Teresa slipped her arm under mine and firmly took my hand. She was serious and calm. Feeling consecrated, almost canonized by our love and our decision, we got on the tram. Now and again, behind the rooftops, we saw the moon racing along. We were focused and silent. Only once, when I smiled at my girl, Teresa quickly put my hand to her lips. Our short journey along familiar streets, the elopement from a tram platform paid for with a discounted student fare, all that was so strangely beautiful I couldn't find any room to think or feel anything else but the thrill of flight filling my soul to the brim.

Only when we got off the tram did I begin to worry. The remains were well covered and I was not unduly worried that Teresa might discover them, even when she wanted to use the bathroom. I was more afraid that Teresa would start asking me questions usually asked by a new friend on their first visit, and force me to tell lies. Until now, when the conversation had drifted on to domestic arrangements, I'd offered some generalities and changed the subject. Teresa was too much in love and too happy to notice anything. Still, I remembered those petty lies and felt oddly distraught by them. Climbing the badly lit and dirty stairs filled us with cold. But finally … we were alone.

We sat on the bed in the murky light of a small lamp. I looked for Teresa's hand. She leaned against my shoulder and lowered her head. She was waiting for a kiss. The seeming ease with which I could continue this simple game, the conducive atmosphere and the surroundings, began to make me feel uncomfortable. Teresa noticed it and became gentle and protective. I wanted to tell her to go away, that she couldn't even guess how I was deceiving her, but instead I kissed her. When our embraces grew longer and more ardent my fear and scruples receded. I surrendered to the caresses with the full inertia of my senses and will. Everything else, this whole bloody business, became so irrelevant and distant that talking about it now would have been simply rude.

I woke up early. Teresa was still asleep. The room was filled with the gray light of dawn. I sat up in bed and felt cold. We were both naked. The night, during which I was heroic and tender, lascivious and exalted, had passed. Teresa looked unattractive. Her mouth was open. I got up and walked to the bathroom to the sink. I took the mirror off the nail and looked at myself for long time. I cast a sweeping glance across the room, my eyes settling on Teresa. I burst into tears. My body was convulsed with sobbing. I tried to suppress it. I pressed my lips, rubbed the eyes – nothing helped. I poured water into the sink bowl and began splashing it over my face and shoulders, crying. I deliberately made a lot of noise, trying to drown out the sobs, while worrying I might wake up Teresa. But she slept soundly. At last I dried my face with a towel and began to dress, looking for my clothes and stifling the last spasms.

When I returned from the bathroom fully dressed, Teresa had already gotten up and put on her dress. I greeted her with a joyful smile. We exchanged a few words. Smoking my cigarette, I observed Teresa brushing her hair before the mirror. The morning dishevelment added to her charm. The beauty of youth, which needed no adornments, moved me deeply. Suddenly I was gripped by another attack of crying. Dressed, with shoes on, holding a cigarette in my fingers, I threw myself on the bed, weeping. The killing gave me my tears back. Teresa put away the brush and crouched by my knees.

“What is it, love? What is it?”

I couldn't calm down. Wiping the tears away, I was trying to take a puff of my cigarette, but with every attempt, more tears only fell on my sweater. Teresa sat next to me and rocked my head in her arms. I was slowly calming down, listening to the gentle murmur of her words, feeling the warmth of her hands on my face. I felt better. I cried out all my tears, which I'd hoarded inside for all those long years. And again I felt unable to cry. I pushed Teresa gently away and sat opposite her.

“Listen,” I began. “I've been meaning to tell you something, something I must tell you. I must, even if you will hate me for it, or even destroy me.” I noticed on her face an expression of sympathetic understanding, which confused me. “I have to ask you first however,” I continued in a quiet, serious tone – “don't interrupt me. I want to tell you this because I love you, and because I feel you are the only person I want to tell it to.”

Slowly, choosing my words carefully, I told her everything, starting with a broad sketch of my relationship with Auntie and a discussion of the complex I had developed about her, feeling totally dependent on her, despite being younger and stronger … The rest I limited to facts. I was afraid I might lose my calm, raise my voice and begin to gesticulate. But I managed to control myself and continued in an even, matter-of-fact tone of voice. When I finished, after a long moment of silence, Teresa asked me:

“Is that all you had to tell me?”

I nodded, but then immediately shook my head vigorously.

“No, no … I mean, don't worry, I don't have any more sins to confess. But I'd like to tell you more, so much more …” I mumbled.

Teresa got up and started putting her coat on. She walked past me as if I weren't there. Her indifference stunned me and got me shaking again.

“Teresa,” I pleaded with her. “Say something … You owe me an explanation, don't you think? What do you think about it …” I stammered out hopelessly.

Teresa wasn't paying any attention. She seemed to focus her mind exclusively on simple things like closing her handbag and putting her kerchief on, the way I had when I lit the stove and prepared my first lonely breakfast. She started walking toward the door. I followed her and barred her way.

“Let me out,” she said, “unless you are planning another …” Her eyes were hard and fearless.

“Go then,” I said slowly without moving. “Go, and later, after they've hanged me, you can boast to your girlfriends that you slept with a murderer.”

Before I finished saying the last word she slapped me hard in the face.

“You have no right to hit me,” I continued in the same tone. “If you want to, all you need to do is to say a word to those who can do it much better than you. No need to get offended. Sooner or later, you'll have to decide what you are going to do with this information. One can let go and forget all kinds of rubbish and trifles. But you – you cannot even forget the red elf.”

The last words I said quietly and feebly. I didn't mean to be cynical. I had lost all my cynicism a long time ago. I carried on tired and dejected.

“That is why you have no reason to take offense. Perhaps it was churlish of me to say what I said, but you can't deny there was some truth to it. You are not, as far as I know, prudish or devoid of a sense of humor. Your attitude is of a woman who's open-minded and possesses a high dose of intelligence. And a touch of exaltation. All these traits indicate that you could be … one day … confided in … not by everyone, of course … but confided in quite lightheartedly … you know … with what I told you. I wouldn't blame you, just like I wouldn't blame anyone for anything, and not because I don't … in my present situation … have the right, but because I'm not convinced there is such a right. I think … simply … that we are all guilty.”

Teresa knitted her eyebrows and listened.

“And you don't know, you simply don't know …” I was beginning to lose the thread. “Telling you all this, I'm trying to spare you the … so that …” I completely lost it. “Teresa. Do you understand? Thousands of days, thousands of hours, during which nothing ever happens: the staple of my childhood and adolescence. Dreams that turn out to be just as empty. Or worse – they turn out to be a poison that kills any chance of healthy vegetation. Were we fed the stories of valiant kings, knights and other heroes – just to be vegetation? Why have I been condemned to vegetation? Who is to blame for it? Who?”

I began to pace the room. Talking gave me pleasure. Listening to the flow of my words, helping myself with gestures and seeing interest on Teresa's face, I felt, almost subconsciously, how much I loved myself. Humiliated and ridiculous, I abandoned myself, the crucified fool, to a desperate gesture. “I do not intend to justify my crime with the commonness of crime in our times. The fact that we all, day after day, gouge eyes, break arms and hearts, that we all hide corpses in our homes, does not excuse me from rightful punishment. We do not accept any other justice and the blindness of this one we know only too well. I do not mean to defend myself. If only because I do not feel guilty.”

“It's terrible, but I understand you, and agree with you,” said Teresa. “It's terrible.”

“Today I could think that you need my help, you – my red elf,” I continued broodingly. “But that would be misleading. I love you, Teresa, and our time together is the brightest in my whole life. But beyond that? Do you remember, darling, we talked about it – that it cannot last forever? For ultimately, what choice do we have? Marriage, legally sanctioned or not, or breaking up. And again the torture of boredom. At least thanks to this bloody business we still could be lovers.”

Teresa frowned and asked, rather concerned now:

“Very well, but what can we do with it?”

“With what?” I asked confused.

“You know, with … with Auntie.”

“We'll clean it up somehow,” I said absentmindedly, and suddenly we both burst out laughing.

The exhilaration of the previous evening, the rapture of last night, the despair of the morning and the horror of the last hour – this whole concoction of moods exploded with our young, healthy laughter. The solemn discussion during which I'd put on professorial airs could not have ended in any other way. We laughed like kids. Every time we stopped and one of us tried to say something, it was enough to look at each other and the intended words were blown off our lips by laughter. At last, completely worn out, we fell silent. Teresa looked at her watch.

“It's late. I have to go.”

“Stay a bit longer.”

“I can't. I'm famished.”

“Excellent. We'll have breakfast in town.”

“Excellent.”

“You are a darling for not talking about home, where they must be very worried about you now.”

“I said I would stay the night at my friend's. And that is how it was going to be, if you hadn't seduced this homeless maid …”

Laughing again we set off for town.