Out of the Line of Fire (23 page)

Help me off with this, will you, Wolfi. This bloody strap’s killing me.

Underneath, his T-shirt was bathed with sweat.

This is fantastic Karl. Where’d you get it?

The props people made it up for me. I got the idea when we did
Wilhelm Meister
last year. It was a natural progression really. I’d been shoplifting for years using big coats but it’s too risky. Now I’ve a character who’s beyond suspicion and despite what you saw today, normally I’m very careful.

I looked at him for a moment.

That explains the books, I said.

Of course. Man does not live on marinated dates alone.

And the other things?

No, not directly. I’d look pretty stupid trying to fit a microwave into my stomach. But watches, jewellery—anything there’s a ready market for. Mink coats…

You’re joking.

He looked at me. He wasn’t.

Jesus! I said. The possibilities are almost limitless.

Uh huh. All you need is a little imagination, that’s all.

Once back in his room I watched him carefully emptying the contents of his stomach onto the table. It was only then that I realized how systematic he had been. He stood there marking things off a list in his hand. When he finished he glanced at his watch.

Eleven-thirty already. Okay Wolfi, that gives us about four hours to do the rest. Want to try your hand?

Me?

Sure, why not?

I shrugged my shoulders.

Okay, sure. I’ll try anything once.

He went into the other room and returned with another less sophisticated stomach.

You can use the Mark II version. I’ll use the prototype. Not as advanced technically, but its capacity is greater. Male or female?

Male or female what?

Do you want to go as a male or a female? God, Wolfi, it’s probably the only time you’re going to get a choice. So what’s it going to be, man or—he pouted his lips and fluttered his eyelids—woman.

Ah…male, I think.

Oh you brute you. Now you jus go on an git yoself undresst an don’t you worry bout lil ol me. Ahs bin aroun men all mah life an ah’ve seen
everythin
.

He strutted over to me and started undoing my shirt buttons.

Oh, oh. Ah thinks ah got maseff a ticklish one heah.

You watch too many B-grade movies, you know that, Karl.

I started to undress while he began rummaging through a pile of clothes in the bottom of his wardrobe.

What I was wearing should fit you, with a few minor adjustments. And seeing as you want to be a man I think I’ll go as a woman. Besides I’m sick of being a man. Women have so much more fun.

Ten minutes later we were putting on the final touches. Karl looked utterly convincing in an ugly, frumpish sort of way as he applied lipstick to his mouth in front of the mirror. He was wearing a bulging little floral number and when he got up he looked like the sort of badly dressed working-class woman one always sees at supermarkets, the type who takes things down from the shelf and short-sightedly examines them before putting them back, muttering in disgust. He tied his scarf around his head.

Okay, he said. This is what you’ll need to get on your first load. Now you’ve seen what to do. The best idea is to pile up a few bulky items in front of you and place what you want on top. It’ll fall in under its own weight, or you can brush it in by reaching across yourself, or by blowing your nose or whatever comes to mind. You’ll soon get the hang of it. You alright? How does it feel?

Fine, it feels fine. But how do I look?

You turn me on, baby. No, seriously, you look great. But remember, your body’s getting old and while you don’t like to admit it you’ve gone to fat. You’ve been moderately successful in your life so you’re a little conceited, self-satisfied. While you still try to hold yourself erect the superstructure of your body has begun to sag. Let your shoulders drop a bit and think of your spine as fixed so that if you go to look at something to your left then you’re more likely to turn completely by moving your feet rather than twisting from your neck or spine. Here, put on your hat and glasses and have a look at yourself in the mirror. No, no. Don’t stride. Your hips are less flexible now and you’re carrying more weight. You’re
not
young any more, you just remember being young. Look, as the type of large-bodied woman I am, coming from the social class I do, I have to walk slightly stooped. My bum moves more because, even at my age, my pelvis rotates more than yours. But you have to move like this.

He straightened slightly, took a few steps, turned and came back. He did it so perfectly that, in his frumpy clothes, he looked like an old man dressed in drag.

Now, you try it…Not bad, not bad. Don’t exaggerate too much. Just think yourself into the character of someone well past his prime. Okay, that’s better. Now have a look at yourself in the mirror.

I was stunned. Instead of my own reflection I was looking at someone who could have been the brother of the man Karl had been an hour previously.

Okay, let’s go.

Karl was Karl as we strode down the corridor and down the stairs. But as we emerged from the doorway onto the street, it was as though he had been instantaneously transformed into a working-class, bow-legged, pumpkin-arsed woman in her sixties. He was suddenly a head shorter than I was and beneath his scarf his face had gone slack. He grasped his bag protectively to his side with both hands. I was tempted to laugh, but something in his portrayal went beyond mere caricature. His moist eyes seemed to have become preoccupied with trying to answer some question which wouldn’t formulate itself properly in his mind, a question about the husband who had left her years ago or the son who had been killed in the war, or perhaps it was a daughter who had simply stopped writing. Her jaw moved back and forth as she chewed over the formlessness of her life. Here was someone old and lonely, and a little mad.

Each trip we went to different supermarkets and entered a few minutes apart. It was so easy, it was exhilarating. I experienced a strange sense of intoxication. In my disguise I felt invulnerable, as though I had stepped momentarily outside the normal order of things, or as if I had escaped the limits of my single existence. As I walked through the aisles filling my stomach with shoplifted groceries I felt invisible. Instead of feeling that life flowed through me as I used to, I now felt as though I were flowing unimpeded through life. What I was doing was so obvious, yet so obviously unseen, it was more than a little disturbing, as though I had become a metaphor for something far more unsettling.

From time to time I caught a glimpse of Karl talking to a jar of pickles or bent over the frozen goods section. I watched as a dark-haired little girl stared up at him, open-mouthed. As he caught her eye he slipped out of character for an instant and deftly flipped a small package up to his chest where it magically disappeared into his stomach. He beamed down at her. She looked self-consciously away, her tiny hand reaching up to tug at the hem of her mother’s dress. By the time she had been swept up to straddle her mother’s hip and looked back, Karl was halfway down the aisle.

It was late afternoon by the time we arrived back after our last load and I was just doing up the laces of my shoes when there was a knock at the door. Karl was still in his dress which now hung in great folds about his body.

Will you get that, Wolfi, while I change.

I went to the door and opened it. A thickset balding man wearing dark glasses stood in the doorway. Before I could open my mouth he pushed me roughly aside.

Richter? he half yelled. Richter…Where’s your friend? he said turning menacingly towards me.

Karl appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was still wearing his dress and his face had turned pale.

Very pretty Richter, very pretty. I won’t bother asking you what you’re up to, just tell your friend to go.

You’d better go, Wolfi, he said.

Are you okay, Karl? What’s going on?

Just go, Wolfi, for Christ’s sake.

He edged me towards the door.

But…

The stranger moved towards us.

He’s going, he’s going. Come on Wolfi,
go
. I’ll see you later, okay.

He pushed me out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him.

When I dropped by his room a couple of hours later and knocked on his door he wasn’t there.

A lot of people, most of whom I did not know, came on the night of the party. Karl’s theatre friends had placed a number of trestles along the corridor and what amounted to a small feast had been laid out on them. Baths in some of the empty rooms had been filled with ice and the champagne, wine and spirits we had appropriated were stacked in these. Alcohol was the hardest thing for us to get in quantity so it was understood that everyone would bring at least something to add to the supply. A light show had been set up in the large empty room at the end of the building and one of the local bands had agreed to supply the music.

By ten o’clock the place was really rocking. The corridor was jammed with people, noise, flickering light and smoke. Karl however seemed to be avoiding me. Each time I caught sight of him, by the time I had pushed my way through the throng to him he had disappeared.

Later, when the crowd in the corridor had thinned a little as people either decided to dance or sit talking or not talking in one of a number of open rooms, I went looking for Karl again. I searched for him among the people dancing, without success. No one I asked had seen him for some time. Back in his room where it was quieter, a number of his friends were busy arguing about a recent retrospective at the Staatliches Kunsthaus which had caused a stir, but again he was not among them. I walked across to his bedroom door and pushed it open. A young couple were making love on his bed, her legs up over his shoulders. They continued on, undisturbed by my presence or the pale light that flooded across their bodies. I closed the door again and walked back out into the corridor. Marianne was leaning against the window sill opposite my room. I went up to her.

Have you seen Karl? I asked.

Why?

No particular reason. If you do though, could you tell him Karl’s little clown is wondering why he’s avoiding him.

I turned to walk off.

Wolfi, just a minute. Look, I’m sorry about the apparent put-down. But you know, you’re a fool to hang around with someone like Karl.

And you’re not?

No, I’m probably a fool too. But I know him better than you do. One way or another you’ll end up getting hurt.

Sure, I said.

You don’t believe me, do you? You know, the trouble with you, Wolfi, is that you wouldn’t know the truth if it were staring you in the face.

I turned to go again.

You want to find your friend, try the first-floor loos.

She was right. I hadn’t known what had been staring me in the face for months. A single, unshaded light globe was burning over the row of cabinets. Karl hadn’t even bothered to fully close the door and when I pushed it open there he was, sitting with his head leaning against the wall, the needle still hanging from the bruised vein in his arm.

A few days after the night of the party Karl knocked on my door. He was unshaven and appeared agitated.

I need your help, he said.

He was hopping from one foot to the other, like a footballer trying to warm up in the cold. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. I had never seen him in such a state before. I had just begun thinking that his behaviour must have been due to the smack he was shooting up when he suddenly became very calm. He turned and looked directly at me.

Are you deaf?

No, I answered.

Then what’s the matter with you?

I could ask you the same thing, but then that’d be asking the obvious, wouldn’t it.

But then that’d be asking the obvious, wouldn’t it, he repeated in perfect imitation.

Come on Wolfi, let’s cut the self-righteous petulance. God, anybody’d think you were a jilted lover. Boy loses hero.

You overestimate yourself, Karl.

Yes, but I always do. It’s one of my more endearing qualities, he said with ironic sarcasm.

He started to get agitated again. His cheek muscle began to twitch as he stood there.

Well?

Well what?

Mind like a sieve. He threw up his arms. Why do I bother?

Don’t do me any favours.

Once more, he became absolutely calm, a calm I recognized as suppressed rage. For the first time I watched myself watching him, clinically, as though I were watching a scene in a movie. In the background I could even feel that part of me was frightened by what Karl might do, but mostly I felt completely detached. I knew that he would either turn and walk off down the corridor or grab me by the collar and punch me senseless.

A second or two passed. Then he faced me again.

It’s like a game, isn’t it, Wolfi.

What do you mean?

Well, we’re both playing a little game. I’ve got a role and you’ve got a role. My role is first to recognize that we’re playing a game and what the game is, because if you don’t recognize you’re playing a game it becomes self-perpetuating, doesn’t it. The next step is to work out all the rules of the game. Having done that my role is then to do everything in my power to get what I want in the shortest possible time and at the minimum cost to myself—bend the rules, cheat, whatever. But playing the game is boring, and just at the moment I don’t have the time. So let’s stop playing it, eh. This of course is the most decisive move of all. So how about it? Stop playing hard to get, Wolfi, or just tell me to piss off and stop wasting my time.

That was rehearsed.

Sure. Why not? I’ve used it hundreds of times before. Never was very good at the whisper-sweet-nothings routine. You should try it sometime.

Okay, okay. What do you want?

You remember the guy who ah…dropped in after our shopping spree. Well, it’s like this, I owe him some money.

I only have 80 marks myself, but you’re welcome to it.

No, Wolfi. I don’t think you quite understand. I owe him a lot of money.

Like how much?