Chapter 6 chapter Five

At eleven o'clock I awoke, forced myself to drink a good deal of tea - which served me well - and ate a piece of toast myself.I have to eat something small every so often today so I don't stink from my empty stomach.Then I took a shower, washed and dried my hair.Witold can't come in the morning, he has classes.But whether he came after lunch or later was left to my own guess.Since two o'clock in the afternoon, I have been waiting for him in my pajamas, put away the teacup, took it out again, and brushed my teeth again.At six o'clock, I was already a little restless.Just then Witold called; he was trying to get away, I thought.

"Hi, Rosemary Louise Tihar, are you feeling better today?" he asked. "Pretty much the same," I whispered. "Then I'll come back right away; I have a lot of things on hand today, and I'll be fine in a while." I hurried to the mirror again.Rosemary, I'm telling you, you're too skinny, men need boobs, where are your boobs? But I don't look as obnoxious as yesterday, and maybe I still have a chance to get approval from others. At eight o'clock, he finally came, and when he was in the stairwell, he shouted in that artificially cheerful manner: "Dinner is ready!" He didn't notice that the pained expression on my face had long since disappeared today.He puts a vest bag into the kitchen and takes out apple juice, Coke and toast.

"And here's for people in pain," he said, pulling a music tape from his jacket pocket. "This is a wonderful sad tape. Brahms. My own." And that's the therapy: if one's own grief is at peace with one's own, let one shed one's own tears over the pain of a stranger." I say thank you.I've shed enough tears over my own pain.I probably wasn't interested in this kind of music at all, but how did Witold know that? "Come here," he said, "don't hang around in the kitchen and lie down on the sofa. I'll stay with you for a while."

In my silk pajamas I lay like a picture, at least like Goethe resting in the field. "I looked scary yesterday, you must hate me," I murmured. "That's what people with poor health are like." Witold really didn't seem to be paying more attention to my appearance. "You know, Bid passed away, and I feel very sad," he suddenly took up the topic. Do I have to hear him talk about it?Yes, I must listen. "Tiha, you're a genuine person, and I have a confession to make: I'm in love." I tried to be as calm as I could, since I knew a little bit, after all.But how do I express it?

"I like Bid quite a bit, too," I whispered, and it was true. "She's good," Witold said. "A great daughter with a great mother." I didn't understand him: "Who, Lacey?" "How could it be her! Lacey may be a sweet little girl, but I've never been in love with her. Of course I'm talking about Vivian!" I stared at him with wide eyes. Witold laughed: "Yes, Tiha, that's right. I fell in love with Vivian. I met Bid through you, and then met her charming daughter at Bid's house." I faltered and couldn't get my words out: "Vivian is pretty much just a kid!"

"But I beg you," Witold reacted sensitively, feeling assailed, "she is a young beauty of twenty-six, and mature enough to be on an equal footing with someone my age." My tears could not stop streaming down.Bid, I killed you for no reason. Witold stared at me in a bit of shock. "Yeah," he said, "you're exhausted, and I'm still babbling about love affairs. Maybe you also think it's unseemly that I feel that way so soon after Shirko's death. So I don't want anyone else to know about it, but you know me better than all my friends anyway, so I'm just letting you in on the secret."

I asked through sobs, "Does Bid know about this?" "Vivian didn't want to tell her at first, she was afraid of my mother's disapproval, because I was much older than her. Bid never asked the children such a question, but maybe she had a hunch, because Bid had guests at home. , Vivian always borrowed my mother's car to visit me at my house. Oh, Vivian must have told my mother the truth of the matter the day before the accident." this is too scary.But in the middle of my sobs I had a brilliant idea. "Oh, Witold, don't you know Bid is in love with you too?"

At this moment he was astonished. "No, I'll never believe that! Did she ever tell you about it?" "Yes, she broke the news to me. She probably thought you were visiting her." Witold stared at me blankly.His mind was spinning. "When Vivian and Bid talked about your relationship," I continued my brutal thought, "she must have been greatly stimulated." "My God!" Witold said in horror, "Do you think she committed suicide because of me?" I was silent and shrugged.Witold is a narcissist, and he immediately realizes that Bid fell off the tower because he didn't get his love.

"Tiha, I want you to swear!" He said excitedly, grabbing my hand, "You must never tell Vivian about this in your life! She is a very sensitive person. If I knew this, she You must feel that you must be responsible for the death of your mother!" "No, of course I wouldn't say a word to her. But I can't keep silent if the police question me. At any rate it's a questionable motive." Witold looked at my blue carpet and thought. "How could I not have thought of that at all! But I should have thought! I felt as if I were blind afterwards! Of course, I now think of her looking at me so strangely then. Oh, we men So insensitive!"

Then the phone rang.It was Vivian calling. "Hello, Rosie," she said, a little frivolously, "if Reiner is at your house, tell him to listen to the phone." I hand the microphone to Witold.He said a few "yes" and "no", and finally said: "Then see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, good night!" He seemed to justify himself for the call in front of me.In fact he had meant to go to her place this afternoon, but a lot of relatives had been there all afternoon: Bid's father, her two sisters, and her two brothers.He had thought of taking Vivian away at night and letting her go outside for some fresh air.But now the architect, Bid's ex-husband, is here; the three kids have to draft the obituary with him.

"Well, then, I can stay here a little longer," Witold continued. "By the way, I almost forgot, the funeral is on Friday, and you can go out then."I really want to stay sick all the time, but I have to go to the funeral anyway. Suddenly Witold asked, "Where did you go on Saturday?" I had already prepared an answer for myself, and anyway, I had expected that it would be the police, not him, who would ask me this question. "Ah, that's when my strange disease started. I felt sick in the morning, so I ate something reluctantly, and went to bed right away. Why do you ask me that question?" "Oh, never mind. It just occurred to me that two women died within such a short interval, and that the two of us, you and I, were, after all, somehow involved in both cases. .Still, weird accidents do happen." I nodded and leaned back wearily.Witold took this as a sign that he had to go out, so that I, the patient, could enjoy peace again. "I'll call you tomorrow," he assured me in a greeting, and left. Before he came, before I met him, I was at my best.I pictured our meeting: congeniality, love, sexual eagerness.And once everything is over, disappointment and doubts follow.Is he really that incomparable?Do I really want him so ardently to be my lover? As luck would have it, I didn't use that revolver.Otherwise the police would have discovered right away that the same pistol had killed Sirko Engelstein.So at least Witold would have thought about it, because I was the last owner of this pistol.I must never use this pistol again, it must be disposed of as soon as possible.I was thinking dizzily: as long as I am found out to be a double murderer, then I still have a chance to shoot myself. This apocalyptic thought made me feel so unlucky.Witold loves Vivian, but I killed my best friend.What the hell is all this?I said softly, "Rosie, you'd better shoot yourself." Then my eyes fell on the tape of Brahms that Witold had given me: "For the sick," or something like that.I put the tape in the tape recorder, maybe there's something hidden here.It's not a Brahms song at all, but Witold made me a tape: a love message to me. Right now I'm listening to the song sung by the girl who wanted to wear the rosary at the wedding. —No, what does that have to do with me! "She walks about the fields, "I didn't find roses, but I found rosemary." Could this be the secret message he gave me, am I not Rosemary?The end goes like this: "She walked about the fields, "Instead of picking little roses, I picked rosemary. "'Take it, my faithful friend! "'Lie under your linden, my wreaths for the dead are beautiful!'" Now I turn off the music and tears are streaming down my face.Witold, I am not a rose, I am only rosemary, and I will never wear a rosary to my wedding, but a beautiful wreath for the dead. At some point in the night, I got up from the sofa, took off my silk pajamas, put on that ugly flower-patterned pajamas, and lay down on the bed to sleep.The next morning, I went to the doctor and took a week off sick.When I got home, there was a police officer at my door, about to leave.He asked my name, and he felt a lot easier because he didn't have to come back a second time.I was terrified to think that the revolver was in my case. As we were going up the stairs, he told me that he had only heard about my illness after calling my home and then my office, so he thought he might run into me at my house.I handed him the yellow sick note.He smiled slightly: "It's very clear. If you are sick, of course you have to see a doctor. Give me five minutes and I will leave." He was friendly and young, a regular policeman, and I wondered if he would be one of the five members of the Homicide Investigation Committee.The policeman began: "You are a friend of Mrs. Spember's. We must find out the cause of her death. We think it is unlikely that she committed suicide, but we still want to find out from all her friends if she occasionally reveals Thoughts of suicide." "What about the other friends?" I asked. "Everyone always thought it never occurred to her that she had depression or anything like that." "Normally I wouldn't think so. But I heard Bid had a conversation with her daughter the day before it happened. Vivian told her mother that she had sex with a man twice her age. friends." "Yes, we already knew about it, the daughter told us about it. But her mother was very calm when she heard about it." I faltered and said: "You must promise me that what I say here will be absolutely confidential. That is to say, no matter what, the children must not know, otherwise I will feel sorry for my friend!" The young man looked at me curiously: "We'll keep it a secret for as long as we can." "Bide told me not long ago that she herself fell in love with this man." Although the policeman was quite interested in this point, he immediately said: "For a strong woman like your friend, this kind of thing will not make her think of suicide at all. Besides, the behavior of a mother of three children on Saturday Totally normal, go shopping, go swimming, and then suddenly climb up to a lonely tower in the woods and jump off the tower, how can you explain it?" I have to admit it's a mystery. "No, definitely not suicide," he said firmly, "and the autopsy showed that she had had a drink—probably champagne—and had something to eat. In fact, it seemed that she had been with a man. A meeting - a champagne breakfast or something." "Her boyfriend went home to Munich for the weekend," I demurred. "Yes, that's clear. But he has an alibi, his wife's statement. He met Mrs. Spember by the Tower and told her some very bad news--like their relationship." It's over, at least there is a possibility. But everyone said that the relationship with this man is not very deep, so even if he proposes to break up with her, she will not be hurt very much. If you say Shi Mrs. Pembey is in love with her daughter's boyfriend, and that might stand." "And what if she herself proposes to break up with her boyfriend Jurgen?" I challenged him with a new insight. "It is possible, but hardly a reason for her ruin. But as I have already said, we will investigate this Jürgen Fatemann further, and we would like to prove his alibi more conclusively." Evidence. Besides, do you have anything to add to what has not been said?" I said no, and asked if it was an accident in the end. "Honestly," said the policeman, "I don't think so myself. Who would drive alone in the woods and drink champagne on a tower? Certainly not. I thought there must be someone beside her, but he Didn't reveal his identity. If this man had any conscience he would have called the police. Whether it was a murder, suicide or an accident, it's not clear yet. But if you want to ask me directly, I guess it was murder .” After he finished speaking, he shook hands with me, put the notebook in his pocket, and said goodbye to me. I had just changed out of the clothes I had worn on going out, and, as a precaution, I had put on trousers and a jumper instead of the ugliest rags, when the doorbell rang.Witold?No, it was Frau Roemer and the dog, who greeted me too excitedly.Mrs Roemer was out of breath from climbing the stairs, but was proud that she, the patient, came to see me, the sicker one.I should be glad if I wasn't in such a bad mood. Mrs. Roemer also found out about my condition from my office, and she brought me a bouquet of roses and a detective story (what a wonderful irony, I was thinking) and a greeting from the boss, and she and The boss said she was coming to see me.She told me her plan for a long time: one day she wants to go to America to see her daughter.I already knew her talk about convalescence, her female classmates at the hospital, and the like, so it was hard to concentrate on her ramblings. “I haven’t been in better shape for a long time,” said Mrs. Roemer, who has a heart attack and had a breastectomy. There are whole years to live." I am amazed that she can still have such a mindset after cancer. "Mrs. Roemer," I said in tears, "you have been through all kinds of misfortunes, but you have always been so optimistic. I completely lack your mentality." She looked at me eagerly: "Having a serious illness can also give people new inspiration. Any illness, no matter how serious, must be overcome! Listen, Ms. Helt, the most important thing is: never give up !" Then she took my hand imploringly, as if she knew what had happened to me. Yeah, I can't give up, I talk to myself out loud like I'm all alone at this moment.Now is not the time to be irreparable.First of all, they haven't discovered my mysterious actions yet, and they haven't even had the slightest suspicion of me, let alone any evidence.Secondly, although Witold is currently in love with Vivian, how long can this last? Vivian!I've known her since she was eight years old.Her adolescence was particularly difficult.Her parents' divorce had a huge impact on her.Her father used to be her idol, and after his father was gone, she gradually vented her anger on Bid.The clothes she was wearing back then would never have been sent to the Red Cross.She was running around in a frayed plush coat, looking like a teddy bear in the process of molting.Bi De had no choice but to swallow his breath.If I had changed it, I would have been overwhelmed.Later, she started smoking marijuana and drinking, and when she was sixteen, she sometimes stopped coming home at night.A good bride really pleases Witold.I have to admit, though, that Vivienne is now a good-looking beauty: dark hair, light skin, and big, uninhibited eyes.She deliberately despised good aesthetic taste, dressed in tattered clothes in adolescence, and dressed herself as Juliet Greco who sang "Night's Gate".Vivian was far from finishing her university studies, she was at the Art Academy in Frankfurt, or at least one of those schools.On Sundays, on most occasions, she took the train to Darmstadt to see her brother Richard, and then the two of them drove the little wagon to Bid's.Lacey, who studied physical education at Heidelberg, has been staying at home and messing up the whole house.I have never had a special interest in my friend's child, but every time we meet, when Bid tells me about her treasures, I have to listen anyway. How could someone at Witold's level fall in love with a gypsy woman like Vivian?As far as I know, Vivian has had numerous lovers during her ten years of sexual activity.At every Sunday family dinner, Bid doesn't want to see new faces every time, and requires Vivian's boyfriend to be the same man for at least three months before he can bring him home.Because of this request, her daughter was almost never seen at home for two years.But this nonsense seems to be over, and the relationship between mother and daughter has normalized, and in the end it can be said to be very close. Witold did call again.It seems that he and I have developed some kind of friendly relationship, even if it is far from love.After he asked me about my health with great concern, I told him that a police officer had visited my house.He wanted to know everything, but I withheld from Witold the police's conclusion that it was a murder. "You know what, Teeha," Witold said, "I really think Peed has a crush on me, too. But I really can't imagine her going shopping, swimming, and killing herself. Besides, she should Leave a suicide note to the children. If a person, who has bought beef, cabbage, and gnocchi in advance, I personally think that can rule out such rash actions. A well-thought-out shopping note in her little In the wallet. I also remembered another thing: when Bid and I met at the wine festival, and I was on the swing with her. She never got dizzy, and she made a point of it. Of course, it is possible She overestimated herself: she was balancing back and forth on the side of the watchtower, but she had drunk champagne before and lost her balance. What do you say?" "Yes, there is a possibility," I assured.Doing gymnastics on the tower, he had already thought of an idea. "Bide wanted to use every opportunity to do gymnastics and mountaineering, but she is not seventeen years old after all." "Exactly," Witold agreed with me. "She's not the youngest anymore. She should admit she's old and stop doing such stupid things." Why are you saying that now, I was thinking.I am very angry.After all, I am the same age as Bid, and his age is not much different from us. I heard him smoking on the phone. "Tiha," he went on, "can you imagine that Jurgen Fautmann pushing your friend down? Bid's kid doesn't think he'd do it, or rather he has been ruled out." "I don't know Mr. Fatman very well," I said cautiously. "I don't actually believe he would, but who knows what goes on in a man's mind?" "Do you believe I'm talking about murder?" Witold asked. "Well, it's best not to think about it." It occurred to me that maybe his phone was being tapped all the time, and that it would be bad if people finally paid attention to me. "Where did you call from?" I asked worriedly. Witold laughed. "My accomplice is a coward. I'm not on the phone at home, that's for sure. So be it, we'll see you at the funeral. Goodbye, Tiha." Over the next few days, I sometimes wondered if now was the time to kill Vivian.But I resisted the idea.First of all, I definitely don't want to kill anyone anymore because my nerves just can't stand it.Second, I have made a promise to the spirit of my dead friend not to touch her children, with whom I have spoken in the night.The third point, how should I start?I can't use that revolver.There was already a noticeable distance between Vivian and I (we didn't like each other, strictly speaking), and there was no way I could lure her somewhere. Witold loves her and she loves Witold, that's what he said.But this is purely an illusion.Vivian is a frivolous woman, and sooner or later she will find a new love, and Witold can only suffer.So who better to comfort him than me?After all, I know him better, he said it himself, and it is true that he was not ready to reveal this new relationship to his friends. That said, there is no reason to despair.No one doubts you, and I'm taking another big step toward what I'm trying to achieve.