Chapter 12 Chapter Eleven

I now how to do?I replaced the cup first, then wiped the blood away, distracting myself from the exhausting labor of stooping. Suddenly, I couldn't help but want to vomit.Before I could make it to the bathroom, the sight and smell of blood, death, and stomach acid made me fall to the ground.I staggered out of my normally clean little bathroom and settled down on the couch in the living room.My temples were throbbing, my heart was pounding like a pneumatic hammer, and at the same time, cold sweat was breaking out on my brow.I know it's circulatory prostration.Mercifully, nature knows how to relieve fatigue in a short swoon in a pinch.I probably only lost consciousness for a split second.Fear and sanity returned immediately.That thing in the bathroom has to go!They are talking.

A few minutes later, with trembling fingers, I dialed Witold's number and dialed the wrong number twice.He answered the phone right away, and immediately sensed from my low and monotonous voice that something bad must have happened to me. "What's the matter, hurry up and talk!" he almost shouted. "Come here quickly!" I hung up the phone as soon as I said it.Then, I fell back on the couch, feeling like I might be about to have diarrhea.It was horrible going into the bathroom again, but I had no choice. Not long after, I opened the door to Witold, who stared at me with the expected surprise.I probably looked like a corpse myself.From the bedroom one could hear the dog howling like a wolf.

He patted me on the shoulder. "Say it!" he roared, looking alarmed. "I had to kill him!" I couldn't help blurting out. "Who?" "The policeman." Witold didn't believe me. "Why, where is he? You can't be out of your mind," he pushed me onto the couch.He suddenly saw blood on my gray coat.He lights a cigarette. "Don't get excited, Teeha," he said, beginning to get nervous himself, "don't get excited. You tell me slowly and calmly what's going on." "I killed him," I couldn't go on, my teeth chattering.

"Where is it?" Witold was very excited. "In the bathroom." He ran out with the conviction that it would show me that I was all the product of hysterical fantasies.After an unknown amount of time (that was my feeling), he came back.He smoked a cigarette and walked towards the telephone. "Witold, he's trying to arrest you," I said, "and I'm going to have to." "Arrest me, why?" Witold stood in front of the phone hesitantly. "He knew you were with Scarlatt because a waitress said she saw you two in the garden." Witold stared at me with his mouth open.

"That's not grounds for arresting me," he said. "Besides, he forced me to say that you shot Shirko; but I won't lie," I lied. Witold was clearly considering whether he should call a psychiatrist or the police. "Why on earth do you have this fantasy and insist on letting me escape the fate of the guillotine?" He asked me sternly, but his heart was touched by me. I killed the policeman because of him. "The first time I saw you, I fell in love with you!" I said softly. Witold was visibly shocked.Now he is facing a terrible task: transfer me who loves him and wants to protect him to the judiciary or mental hospital.

"What on earth should I do?" he was asking me, and himself. "Why did you shoot him? For example, with the same revolver that shot Shirko..." I nod.Then, I muttered explanatoryly, "Maybe I'm trying to use this gun to end my own life. Life means nothing to me because you never loved me." Witold couldn't go against his instincts.He grabbed my hand and said, "Tiha, don't you say that! You know I like you and I want to help you." He looked at the phone again with thinking eyes. "That dog is driving me crazy," he cursed when the long howling sounded from the bedroom again.I went into the bedroom and asked Disco to come out.It welcomed Witold excitedly and wanted to run to the bathroom.I blocked it.

"Did the policeman come here by car?" Witold asked. "Maybe the people at the police station know he's here, and they'll come to the door right away." He looked at his watch. "It's strange that the fellow is here so late. It's nearly nine o'clock. He came to my house about seven-thirty." He walked back and forth hesitantly. "I'll see if he has the car keys in his pocket." Witold reluctantly returned to the bathroom.He came back with a wallet, a bunch of keys, a handkerchief, and a small book in his hand. "I remembered that when he came to my house just now, he also came in that car. He must have parked the car somewhere below. I'll take a look," he said before going downstairs.I was worried that he would call the police from the phone booth.

But Witold returned soon after, with a childlike conspiratorial look on his face. "I parked the car around a corner, but it wasn't a police car," he said breathlessly. "And, now, we have to figure out what to do next." Just now I have read the deceased's little book, which is only some abbreviated marks and a few words.After his visit to Witold's house, he wrote: "Looking for Rohelter. Engelstein's statement is questionable—chicken leg." Todd saw. "The body must be removed," I suggested. "Very simple," Witold said. "It couldn't be easier. We dump the bodies in the street."

He blew the smoke away against the light. "What on earth are you thinking? I'm not playing with you! I can recommend you a lawyer, I can lend you money, but I can't get rid of any corpses!" I don't have any good ideas either.After all I live in the center of Mannheim, in an apartment building on a busy street.But the dead must disappear, this is my greatest wish. Witold is also under consideration. "He's not married, but maybe he has a girlfriend, and she's waiting for him. Maybe, because he didn't come home on time, she's already called the police station."

I added, "Maybe she's used to him coming home late, and he lives alone after all. Anything's possible." "I'm going to call now," Witold decided. "Tiha, we're not a gang of gangsters. The longer we wait, the more guilty we are," he said, standing up again. "I only did this for you," I warned him, "and if they ask me, I'll have to give you away." "But this kind of thing has to be revealed. It would be a great mistake if I tried to get out of my embarrassment in Shirko's death in this way. Teeha, there's no point in that."

I was crying, but this time it didn't seem to make the impression he had hoped for, but at least he hasn't touched the phone until now. "We could have taken the body to the basement," it occurred to me, "and his car could have been put in one of the entrances where the coal used to be unloaded, and he could have been quietly put in his car and taken away." "Tiha, the police will examine the body anyway, and of course they will find that he was shot with the same revolver as my wife." Witold froze.He thought with horror that the suspicion might now fall entirely on him again. "Didn't you say you threw that revolver away!" he yelled at me. I am very calm at the moment. "If he's in your car, you drive him to a quarry, let the car roll over and explode. I'll follow behind in my own car and drive you back." "Look how many detectives there are..." But he seemed to be considering my suggestion carefully. "That won't work. We'll be found on the landing!" "We waited until midnight and it was perfectly fine. My female neighbors went to bed early, the old man downstairs especially went to bed early, and the young couple was out on a trip anyway..." "I'm hungry!" Witold said suddenly.I think that's a positive sign. "What shall I give you? Cheesebread, or eggs?" "Well, let's have a piece of bread. I like a poached egg in the bread." I went into the kitchen and heated the butter in a pan.The smell caused my stomach to cramp.But I was strong, put what he asked for on the table five minutes later, and asked Witold what he wanted to drink.He didn't pay attention, seemed to be thinking about something, and started eating dully. At this time, I boldly walked into the bathroom again.I wiped my whole body again and again, and looked at the dead man.The blood from the wound on the head had stopped flowing, but there were blood stains on the small towel blanket in front of the bathtub.No brains or other viscous substances spilled out either. This is the first man I've killed!I looked at him carefully: he was relatively short, but he was strong and fit like an athlete.My raid would never have been so fortunate if he had not mistakenly thought he was in absolute safety.At this moment, although fear and the ever-lurking physical breakdown are still my most fatal problems, I feel a little proud and relieved. Witold had finished eating.In just a short amount of time, he was able to fill my little room with smoke.But I didn't say anything this time, because he seemed to be seriously thinking about how to get the body away. "That quarry you're talking about is a good idea," he said. "As long as you can get the corpses into the car without anyone noticing, then everything else will be fine." "It's best to fold him now," I suggested, "because I don't know if he's going to be stiff anytime soon." Despite being disgusted at how I did it, Witold got it right away.He stood up and I followed him into the bathroom. "Do you have big garbage bags?" he asked. Unfortunately, my trash bags are all small, the kind that would fit in the kitchen bin, as I don't have garden waste accumulating at home.I wrapped the dead man's head with the blood-stained bathroom mat and covered his body with the largest plastic bag. "Can't I get a quilt cover," I suggested, "that way, if anyone sees us on the stairs, it will look like a big laundry bag." Witold just said: "Let's try." I pulled out the tattered quilt cover in the house from the closet.Together we put the dead man into the squatting position that he had been in when he was shot, and we put him in the quilt.This is a very light package.Witold tried lifting it up; he could lift the package, but it didn't look like a bag full of laundry. "We'll have to wait a while," I said. "It's only eleven o'clock, and there are too many people walking in the street, and maybe there are people on the stairs." The disco suddenly ran out of the living room and started sniffing hard at our clothes bags.I locked him back in the bedroom, somehow feeling ashamed in front of the dog. We sat together and discussed what to do. "Either we choose the quarry in Dossenheim or the quarry in Weinheim," Wittord muses.I suspect that he developed a certain athletic ambition to perform this task exemplary.Pioneering dreams, singing by campfires, carving with pocketknives, mutilating corpses, playing robbers and gendarmes—such childish desires never withered in his heart, just waiting to be put into action one day.And his outstanding nature as a big brother, he treats all women as sisters, and takes them by the hand, makes them respect him, he comforts and guides them.He was just the right accomplice.Beyond that, his morals and decision-making were teetering on the edge; I was far ahead of him when it came to the speed of practical decision-making. "At twelve o'clock, I'll bring the car over again. Show me where the entrance to the basement is." I went down with Witold, and he took a closer look at the place where he would park his car.He is very satisfied. "We'll put the body in the backseat later, not in the trunk. We're sure we won't be pulled over at night on the way to Weinheim. You'll have to take at least an old quilt and we'll cover it On the dead man. Do you have a spare tank of gasoline in your car?" No, of course not.And I remembered that I was practically out of gas in my car's gas tank. "Then use my car," Witold said. "We'd be kidding ourselves if we got left on the way home because we didn't have gas in the tank." I don't like driving unfamiliar cars, but I nodded obediently.Witold is doing me a favour, I can't be a fool at this point.Time passed very slowly.The body was bundled up and placed in the bathroom, and the door was closed.The dog whined under his breath.All the lights in the living room were off except for one small lamp.If someone rings the doorbell, I will not answer the door.An old quilt is also ready.Witold started smoking again, filled my room with smoke, and talked a lot of crap. When it was almost twelve o'clock, he drove the car over.I was alone, and immediately felt more frightened again.When Witold came back, he smoked a cigarette and said in an almost decisive tone, "Hurry up!" I tiptoed into the corridor.Everything was quiet.I waved to Witold, who had the bundle on his shoulder, and turned off the light in the hallway.He walked slowly and lightly, and that thing was heavy.He put it down twice. I was in the stairwell and saw the elderly couple with the hallway lights on and on.We remained motionless.Chances are they're peeping out through peepers.Are we in their sight?But it was quiet now, and Witold began to walk up the second flight of stairs.When we finally reached the basement stairs, we heard the door of the house open, and we froze again. Finally, we were down below, and I opened the basement exit door.The strange car was in the shadows ahead of me.Witold put down the body and handed me the car keys.I opened the door, he put the big package in the back seat, and I put the blanket over the body.We both can breathe a sigh of relief. "Do you know where the quarry in Weinheim is?" Witold asked. "You have to drive ahead and signal to me in case of any situation—such as an accident, a police car patrol, or whatever. .” I don't know how to get to the quarry. "Then you drive this car, it's easy," Witold said, looking to me as if he was in a relaxed mood.Does he want to slip away? "I'm driving my own car ahead," he ordered, "and you stay within my line of sight. If anything happens, I'll turn on my hazard warning flashers. In that case, you'll have to stop and wait." I nodded uneasily and got into this strange car with a murdered police officer in the back seat.It's all like a dream.How could Rosemary Helt, who was sitting in an office at work, send a dead body to a quarry at midnight. Witold was driving ahead, looking back to see if I could handle the unfamiliar car.I started the car carefully, and the car operated basically like my car, Witold had already turned on the lights for me.Our convoy headed towards Bergstrasse via the motorway.There was very little traffic at this time, because I was so focused on driving that I felt that my fear of being discovered was distracted instead.Witold didn't want to lie to me. If the distance between our two cars widened, he would wait for me immediately.I am extremely grateful to him. We headed towards Weinheim at a moderate speed that was as inconspicuous as possible.Witold was familiar with the road here, and turned steadily into a steep road going up the mountain.He pulled up in a parking lot up the hill and I pulled up the police car next to his car.It was pitch black all around, not even a single person.Continue along the road on the left to reach one of the two castles. "We'd better park my car here and take the other car to the quarry. It's a rough road, I remember." I was so happy that I didn't have to drive myself, and I immediately sat in the passenger seat.Without saying a word, Witold took out the gasoline can from his car and placed it next to the body.Suddenly, he gave me a brotherly kiss: "There's no turning back now," he said sadly, and kept driving, just driving down the potholed road with the stop lights on. However, after driving a few hundred meters forward, a railway crossing pole appeared, which Witold did not expect.We got out of the car, and in the light of the car's headlights and flashlights, we saw a huge padlock on it. "It's impossible to open this," said Witold. "We'll have to turn around and try at Dosenheim." I find the idea terrifying, but it would take at least a sledgehammer to break the lock. "At least you still have hairpins?" Witold asked, and I shook my head knowingly.He went back to the car. I pointed the flashlight at the crossing pole again.I couldn't help letting out an excited roar, and Witold stopped. "Look," I cried, "the pegs are all rusted out." We re-examined the mechanism and found that with a little effort the crossing bar could easily be raised; the padlock remained intact, except to deny traffic.Witold raised that crossing pole, I drove under it, and we switched places and moved on. We jolted through chestnuts, oaks, and beeches for what seemed to me an eternity.Finally, the road ended in front of a man-high barbed wire fence. "Damn it, it's too early to get to that place!" Witold said cursingly.We got out of the car again.Witold turned off the lights and took out the flashlight.Together we inspected a section of the fence on either side; the fence was strong, while the other side was covered with twisted wire. Witold opened the trunk of the strange car, and I turned on the flashlight for him so he could see what was in the toolbox.There are a lot of things in the box, and there is really a very strong pair of pliers inside. "Great," Witold complimented the dead man. "I don't have such things in my suitcase. But he doesn't have a flashlight here." He wasn't very nimble trying to knock that thick wire open.Although it was very laborious to do, it succeeded in the end.Although he and I were taking turns operating, it still took us more than half an hour to punch a row of wire mesh from top to bottom. A section of two meters wide must also be cut here. We finally finished, lifted the deceased out of the back seat, cleared the plastic bag and bathroom mat, and settled him in the driver's seat.Witold doused the body, seat and cushions with gasoline and released the handbrake. "Push now!" he demanded.We tried our best together, but there was a big, bulky rock lying in front of us, and the car couldn't get over it.Witold moved him a little in the middle and squeezed beside him. "I reversed the car a little bit and slammed over the rock," he explained to me. "You stand over there with the flashlight!" I climbed to the coil of barbed wire, turned on the flashlight and waited.Even if the engine is hard, it is not easy to succeed immediately. "Silly of us," said Witold, "we should have cut that hole a few meters to the right, and it would be all right. Maybe we'll have to work a little longer with the pliers." He got out of the car again.We were both exhausted. "I'll try it again," he said, pushing in beside the dead man again.I stood on the edge of that abyss and turned on the light for him. Witold reversed the car a little more.I feel like we're making a lot of noise, but at this time of year, there's no way a couple or anyone else will be wandering around in the middle of the night. At this time, Witold slammed on the accelerator, and the car moved forward at high speed, successfully crossing the big rock.But he obviously didn't stop the car in the right place - the car flew out of the range of my flashlight and fell into the abyss with a thud. Had Witold failed to stop the car, or was it a new plan and he was going to jump out at the last moment? There was a crashing sound in the distant abyss, and it started to burn at the same time.I stood like a statue, staring down dumbfounded.I could see nothing in the darkness of Coyote Canyon but blazing flames and flying debris. Now Witold is dead too. "Jump down, Rosemary!" said my mother's voice.I was getting closer and closer to that abyss, and decided not to hesitate anymore.I heard the sirens of fire trucks in the distance, and it made me aware of the reality of what was happening.I have to get out of here. With a flashlight in my hand, I walked on the dark forest path.It's not all that fast anyway.I heard voices constantly in front of me, behind me, and beside me.Witold's car was alone in the parking lot.The key was in the trunk lid; Witold left the key there after he got the gasoline.Where did that bucket go?Perhaps it was still in the woods, and it was clear from the first glance that it was a murder: the fence had been drilled through, the body was doused with petrol.Even if everything burned completely, people must not think that this was just an accident. I stiffly took the door keys, opened the door, sat in Witold's car, and set off.It's a long way to go home. Are you going home?I must never park Witold's car outside my house in Mannheim.Because he was dead, people would think he was the murderer, and it didn't hurt him.So I had to park the car in front of his house in Rattenburg.It looks like he shot the policeman and then destroyed the body, possibly committing suicide. But if it was suicide, didn't he grab a revolver and shoot himself at home, why would he need to go to the quarry to torture himself beforehand? So I drove to Rattenburg.Driving into Weinheim I heard various sirens and sirens, but strangely enough, I didn't come across one of these cars.Since I didn't know the way, I couldn't turn to the hidden path, so I had to take the road directly through the city.It seemed that people were trying to approach the burning car from below, and I feel lucky that they weren't approaching that abyss from above at all. I got out of the car in front of Witold's house in Rattenburg, put the key in the lock and didn't take it out.Before that though, I wiped the keys clean and wiped down the steering wheel and cover area without leaving any marks. Now, I'm out on the street, thinking about how I'm going to get home.I think taking a train, taxi or tram is too conspicuous, and asking a car to stop is even more suspicious. I had no choice but to continue walking on this cold autumn night.How far?I have no idea.Originally, driving was only a short distance, but now when I have to walk by myself, I feel that the distance is endless.Of course I could hide myself somewhere and catch the tram until the next morning.At this time, I suddenly remembered that I was so excited that I didn't even bring any money with me. I only had my ID and the door key of my house in my coat bag. I move forward quickly.It was very bright.I walked in the shadows as much as I could, and walked quietly along the paths so as not to make noise. murderer!My pulse is beating regularly.Following this rhythm, I can hike smoothly.Why am I always so lucky in carrying out my actions?Why am I never under suspicion, or at all able to prove myself a guilty person? Another thing happened to help me: I found a men's bicycle unlocked, it was a black wreck.I didn't hesitate for a moment to claim it for myself.It's sitting next to a dumpster anyway, and it's just one big piece of junk in the end.As I was riding hard on my bike, the lid of the dumpster popped open.Because I was frightened, I fell to the ground together with the bicycle.Like a bird in a cuckoo clock that regularly pokes its head out to tell the time, an urban bum sticks his head out and shouts, "Thief, murderer!" I was terrified beyond words, but at the same time my instinct to flee took over again—get out of here, out of this demon.He certainly cares less about the so-called Ten Commandments than I do. Before he had time to climb out of the trash can where he slept, I had already struggled to get up, half squatted and half stood with all my strength to ride on the bike and set off.It took several minutes before I stopped, gasping for breath, but my heart was full of excitement: I had escaped again. I'm not very good at cycling, and it's not easy to ride that far home, especially since the car doesn't have headlights.But I'm always hopeful that I won't have to walk the whole night after all. It was still dark when I cycled towards Mannheim.Lights were on everywhere.The people on the morning shift are already taking a shower, and the car is heading towards the city.I parked my bike in a parking lot and walked the last stretch of my home.When I stepped up the stairs and entered the house, I decided that I would never leave this house again.Go to bed and never get up.Better to fall asleep and never wake up again. A cold, stinking smell of smoke hits my nostrils, the calf of my right leg starts to cramp, the ashtray is full of ash, and a beige coat slips off the chair, reminding me of Vito a few hours ago. De is still sitting here. I opened the window, staggered into the bedroom, and got into bed without undressing.A black shadow rushed out and hit me right in the face.It was the terrified Disco that I hadn't tended to one night.There is little point in going to bed now.I have to get up right away and go to the office.Still, I lay in bed, gently scratching the dog's ear with my fingers, unable to come to a definitive decision, let alone take action. I wish I was sick, I wished I was lying in a sterile hospital bed and all I saw were complete strangers and I didn't have to talk to anyone.No more responsibilities, no obligations.I want myself to fade away like a plant. However, an hour later, I still got up and showered.I got ready to go to work, cleaned up the house, drank some tea, and then took Disco to the green belt for a walk for a while.I went upstairs again with the paper in my hand, but I know from experience that the great events of the night never make it into the next day's paper unless they are of international importance. As usual, I left my spruced up home with the dog and drove to the office on time.To get through this day was undoubtedly very difficult for me. Shortly before my lunch break, I got a call from the police who were coming to my office for a brief chat.This time, two people came together, with serious expressions on their faces.They asked me if a co-worker, the police officer named Wernicke, called me yesterday or visited my house. I said "no".So where have I been?I went home after get off work, but did some shopping along the way.After resting at home for a while, I took the dog out for a walk in the evening.I pointed to Disco under the desk, as if the dog could make a statement as a witness. They asked me again if Engelstein had called me or had come to see me. I said "no" again, saying that the last time I saw him was about ten days ago.Finally I asked what their question meant and how I could make a difference. One of the policemen sighed deeply, he was as young and strong as his dead colleague.He spoke incoherently. "You'll see it in the papers tomorrow. My friend Herman Wernicke was burned to death in his car last night." "How did this happen?" I asked. "We wouldn't be here if we'd known better," explained the other officer, looking more amiable, "but it was a murder, that's for sure. Wernicke found Leads to three suspicious deaths of women. Although some circumstances seem to be vague, Engelstein is likely to be the murderer. We know that Wernicke went to Engelstein because he found some new doubts. He didn't show up either, until he was pulled out of his damaged car last night when half of his body was burnt to charcoal." They did not speak of Witold's body.Should I ask him for news? I dare not ask. "Where exactly did this happen?" This question sounds more neutral. "The car fell into the abyss near Weinheim after someone doused gasoline on my unconscious or dead friend," complained the younger of the two. I was pale and distressed, I knew that, but perhaps it was fitting that I should look that way when I heard them describe it that way. They also asked me to think carefully about what Witold told me last time, and to call them as soon as I remembered something suspicious. "What did he say himself?" I asked kindly. The two of them exchanged glances. "He can't say anything," said one of them. "Why?" I asked. "Did he escape?" "His life is at stake," the man replied. "If he doesn't regain consciousness, he may die today. The doctor thinks there is no hope for him. He was also in the downed car, But he was thrown out of the car. He probably tried to jump out of the car and that's when the car crashed." My eyes were full of horror. "Where is he now?" I asked. "At St. John's, but no visitors now. Although the doctors are giving him mouth-to-mouth respiration, you shouldn't have any hope." The two officers bid me a polite goodbye.As soon as they left, the boss walked in with curiosity written all over his face. I told him succinctly that another of my friends had died. "Ms. Helt, you worry me the most!" he cried in horror. "You look at yourself in the mirror, and you really look like a very sad face. You must go to the doctor at once, it is my duty." Orders! So I don't want to see you here. You just lie in bed at home and do what the doctor tells you to do. I think your professionalism about your duties is a bit too much. After all the pain in life After that, even Superman can't stand it!" I thanked him, rewrapped the bread, took the dog and coat and left.I did drive to the doctor, only to see that there was only a four-hour outpatient reception in the afternoon. Then I can at least lie down and rest for a while. But before that I have to disinfect the bathroom.I brought a large bottle of "Sagrotan" disinfectant from the hygiene store.I found out in the bathroom where my dog ​​had diarrhea.I spent two hours sanitizing the bathroom and then sanitizing the entire room. My so-called family doctor, who has seen me a few times over the years, thinks there is something wrong with my apparent weight loss and pallor.My entire abdomen was tense and painful to squeeze, and he ordered other tests, starting with a blood test the next morning. When I got home, I lay in bed with the dog mourning for me by my side and a sad Brahms on the tape recorder.Beside me lay the revolver and Witold's coat.The rest of the day faded into black and purple, my life unfolded like a movie in melancholic images, and my mind couldn't think anymore. The next day, the newspaper published a long article about the murder of the police officer, saying that the suspect is currently lying in the intensive care unit, his injuries are very serious, and his life is in danger of losing his life at any time.另外三起犯罪行为可能也是他所为。 我驾车去医生那里，抽了血，预约第二天再去看病，并开了两星期的病假。我完全精疲力竭地重新躺在床上。我完全可能再也无法像正常人一样活着了。 不知道什么时候，基蒂给我打来电话。她在哭，简直不知道何去何从。 “他死了吗？”我问。 “更糟糕，比死更糟糕，”基蒂啜泣着说，“他还活着，而如果他还活着，我可以想象得出，那是最可怕的命运了。下身麻痹，脑损伤。” “他还有知觉吗？” “短时间才有。” 我差点儿被吓死。 "Did he say anything?" “没有。好在他重新处于人工半麻醉状态了。如果他脱离危险，他将在轮椅里过一天算一天，没有语言，或许也没有记忆，没有思维。我实在放不下心来。” “你对他做的那些事情怎么看？”我问基蒂。 “我无所谓他做了些什么，”她自豪地回答，“即使他是一个臭名昭著的杀人犯，我也会爱他，可是他不是杀人犯。眼下我生活在疯狂的边缘，希望他自己选择死亡。” 她的话使我感动，我也哭了。基蒂是一个好人，而我是一个坏人，可是这些概念又能表示什么呢。 过了几天，我面临了又一次打击：我获悉自己得了癌症，必须尽快进行手术。 我的第一个问题就是，狗怎么办，它到哪儿去。 我把胸针作为快件寄给了恩斯特·施罗德。在一封简短的信中，我隐隐约约地向他说明了事实真相：这枚胸针不是我买的，而是一位女主人送给我的。同时，我问他是否可以请他的孩子照顾一条陌生的狗两个星期。恩斯特马上打电话过来，向我表示衷心的感谢，并许诺当天晚上就把狗接走。他是和安内特一起来的，安内特一进房间，马上抓住迪士高，高高兴兴地接受了这一任务。 安内特坐到车里的时候，我才轻轻地说：“你的女儿有一个姐姐，可是你对此却一无所知。你可以静下心来想想，是否想明白我的意思，或者是否仍然不想知道。” 恩斯特握了握我的双手，什么话也说不出来。 我对麻醉和手术感到特别恐惧。以前，当我的亲朋好友吓得不敢去看医生，一旦需要作手术时，他们就会陷入恐慌状态。我甚至还特别强调说：“对医生而言，这纯粹是例行公事而已；他们就像在流水线上的工人一样，天天从事上述的裁缝作业——根本不可能发生差错。” 可现在，轮到我本人的时候，这个流水线作业看上去就不同了。我真的总是想起那些病人：他们无法从麻醉状态中苏醒过来，可是，由于不人道的技术，尽管他们像死人一样，却仍然需要病床。难道我也是这样一种再也无法苏醒过来的解决方案吗？ 在医院里，人们给我安排到了一个双人房间里；先前做的所有检查又重新做了一遍。我的邻床上躺着一个沉默寡言的中年女人，她在孜孜不倦地用卫生纸钩一只小帽子，我问了她两遍，她才回答说，她明天出院。 手术前一天的晚上，一位希腊麻醉师过来检查我的血压，研究我的化学值、心电图以及胸透，并详细询问我的家族和自己的病史包括过敏反应。 “您害怕吗？”他问道。 I nod. “许多人害怕麻醉，因为他们自以为醒来时自己已经死了，”他开玩笑道(我觉得这句话一点儿也不好笑)，“不过我完全可以给您提供硬膜外麻醉，也就是您只有下半身被麻醉。” “谢天谢地，那么我真的就可以看到外科医生们那些粗糙的脸了，听见他们如何谈论足球，将他们的柳叶刀磨得锋利了吧！” “通过服用安眠药使自己得到镇静，您完全可以处在一种昏昏欲睡的状态，然后闭上眼睛。您的耳朵里插上了耳机。我有一盘希腊的瑟塔基舞曲带子。” 我真想说，他应该把瑟塔基舞曲带子塞进自己那只绿色的浴帽里。不过我保持着彬彬有礼的态度，请他给我上一种体面的万金油式的麻醉药物，这样我就可以对这一程序什么都不知道了。 紧接着，一位外科医生向我解释手术的方法及其风险。我内行地点点头，可后来发觉，因为激动，他的话我连一句也没有听明白。 夜里，我睡眠出奇地好，因为服用了安眠药很快就睡着了。我旁边的女人大清早就被一名愤世嫉俗的男子接走了，他连向我问候“早上好”都没有，他认为这个没必要。 我还没上手术台，我的邻床已经被换上新的床铺了。一位白发老妇使劲握紧我的手。 “我是新来的室友！” 我的室友穿着一件淡紫色毛巾睡衣，在狭窄的床架上翻跟斗、做肩倒立和桥式动作以开始她在医院的时光。我听说她年轻时曾经是体操冠军。当她正要开始给我介绍一本谷物食谱中的那些长寿菜肴的烹调法时，我被接走了。 几小时之后，我才醒过来，我的手臂上在输液，一名护士在一侧陪伴着。I'm alive. 可不知什么时候，疼痛开始了，我渐渐处在半睡半梦状态，明白我遭遇了可怕的事。我面前的墙上挂着丢勒的那幅《祈祷的手》和梵高的那幅《铁路桥》，这些被视为希望使者的画作是由一位热情的护士长挂到墙上去的。 我的室友第二天做手术。等到我们两个人身体好转，她终于可以向我朗读巴伐利亚一个用测泉叉寻找地下水源的女人的日记时，我庆幸自己有了一个新邻居。 这是我实现的几个愿望中的一个，而且也只是因为我在医院里呆的时间特别长的缘故。 这位新邻居有着一头獾一样的毛发，小姑娘一样的打扮，身上穿着同一种颜色：绿色的短袜，绿色的裙子和外套，绿色的鞋子和围巾。当那个绿衣女人穿着那件长睡衣的时候，在过道里等候她的丈夫进来了。我又一次听到了熟悉的柏林方言。 “我给你带来了一张小东西的照片，”他温柔地说，将一张放在银边镜框里的照片摆放在床头柜上。他离开后，我朝那边偷看。那是一张牧羊犬的照片。 时间一长，作为好邻居，这位狗妈妈终于开始露出原形了。她偶尔拿出一瓶偷偷带入的白酒喝上一口，在她特地用袖子擦干净那把烟嘴之后，总是满怀热情地愿意把烟嘴提供给我。 “他们把我的身子掏空了，”她抱怨道。如果她感觉脚冷，就坐在我床下，然后悄悄地将她那冰团似的脚塞进我的被子里。若是换成另一个人，我是决不容许别人做出如此令人讨厌的事的，可是在这个柏林女人那里，一切发生得如此自然，我反倒为自己的固执感到害羞了。她强烈渴望身体之间的接触，说话时喜欢触摸我。有一次她冲动地拥抱我，也许她是什么事情都会做出来的。她可能是夜里被我轻轻的啜泣声吵醒的吧。她突然像母亲一样地来回轻轻摇晃我的身子，令人信服地说：“一切都会好起来的！” 可是，一切并没有好起来。没有人过来看我。有一张事先印好的卡片是从办公室里寄来的：“衷心祝愿您早日康复，”卡片上是我同事的签名。我的上司至少给我送来了一束昂贵的鲜花和一张手写的卡片，宣布他已经来过了。可是他从没有到医院来看我。 我出院前两天，罗默尔太太看望我，她刚刚从美国回来。 “真是没有想到呀！”她嚷道，“我刚从机场过来，看到了您的信，立即赶过来了，还没来得及打开行李呢。谢天谢地，那个迪士高在哪儿呀？” 我向她介绍了我突发的或者说早已潜藏在身体中的疾病。 “我把迪士高交给朋友了。我会打电话过去，让人把狗交还给你。” 罗默尔太太申明，她可以自己把迪士高接回去，但我既没有说出恩斯特·施罗德的名字和地址，也没有对他的身份说出一个字来。我不希望插手这件事的是是非非。我听罗默尔太太长篇大论地介绍她的美国之行。 “您想想看，我已经习惯拿冰水当饭吃了！对了，您觉得我的新发型怎么样？” 罗默尔太太很多一缕一缕的白发早已经渗透进了她那淡黄色的头发中，现在她把自己的头发交给了一位美国的高级理发师，他把她的米色剔除，给崭新的雪白的华丽配上了淡蓝色的阴影。 “肯定也适合于您的，”罗默尔太太说。她呆了很久，我感觉自己精神好多了。 她走之后，我给恩斯特·施罗德打电话。他马上表示很抱歉，他没能来看望我，为此感到深深的惭愧。幸运的是，他并没有提出任何借口。 他提到维托德受了重伤，一言不发地躺在医院里。他也提到了维托德家孩子的问题，自从母亲去世以后，他们的境况越来越困难。只有那条狗还过得不错。 我后来告诉他，我刚刚出院，罗默尔太太又去乡下了，又开始想念那条狗了。 恩斯特·施罗德深深地叹息着。 “我今天晚上就把狗带过来，然后和她谈谈。至于她的外表原来是怎样的，我现在仅仅能想起她是一个温柔的长着一双狍眼的女人吗？” “她被切除了乳房，染了一头蓝头发，”我说。 “哦，是吗？”恩斯特沉默着。然后他承认道：“你看我差不多成了秃顶，也有了啤酒肚。” 罗默尔太太后来告诉我，当天晚上他就摁响了她家的门铃。两个人都没有认出对方来。她向自己的狗问候，几乎没朝那陌生男子看一眼。当他报出自己的名字，她才惊讶地注视起他来。然后，她脸色变白、变红，然后又变白。最后，她请他进房间，他们谈了很久。但他们之间并没有出现新的爱情。 我也终于辞职回家了，可是经过手术之后，我的人生发生了翻天覆地的变化。医生给我安装了一个人造肠胃出口，尽管保健辅助设施越来越好，但我还是觉得自己像一名麻风病患者一样，尽量避免和他人接触。和罗默尔太太一样，我也开始领取临时性的养老金，可是我对重返办公室工作已经不抱什么希望了。我过着隐居的生活，只是在购买生活必需品、到医院进行化疗以及做定期检查的时候才离开家门。偶尔我会拿起电话，和罗默尔太太说上两句，有一次我还和基蒂打了电话。 我从这个始终在为维托德悲伤的女人口中获悉，警方已经为恩格斯坦案件结案。因为存在着许多疑问，维托德被认为是惟一的责任方。基蒂曾经考虑请一名侦探对该案件再彻彻底底地调查一次，可她还是放弃了这一念头。 “即便宣告他无罪，也没有什么用了，”她说道，“他的儿子吗？他们已经把房子卖掉了，离开了海德堡，一个在巴黎读大学，另一个在南美各地周游呢。他们应该自己关心这一切……我都不知道，一旦莱纳死了，我怎么才能找到他们。” 可是维托德并没有死。很长时间里，他像个死人一样，全身插满了软管和机器。要想使原来的他苏醒过来，或者有可能的话，不单单过一种纯粹植物人的生活，这种希望等于零。和基蒂的说法完全相反，他的儿子常常过来看望他们的父亲。几个月之后，经过和他的儿子商量，他不再使用人工呼吸器了。维托德在朝着人们的期望开始了自然呼吸，然后被允许转到一家康复中心，最后从那儿转到了一家护理院。 当我第一次开车到他那里去的时候，和那个恋爱的夏天一样，我在考虑自己该穿什么衣服。他会不会想起我那件紫罗兰花朵图案装饰的夏装？可是，在经过了偷欢之后，我不再有什么好心情了。我穿上了毫不起眼的衣服。我是一个老女人，外表看上去也是如此；或许我该学学罗默尔太太那头淡蓝色头发的模样，好好考虑给自己那灰白头发染染发吧。 我每周去看维托德两次，带着他在轮椅里散步。他呆呆地看着我，不知道他的眼里是快乐、理解还是仇恨。他的记忆究竟能到多少程度？没有一个医生会说出一个准数来。护士们都说，我来看他，他很高兴的。每到星期二和星期六，她们总会说：“莱纳，今天罗茜要来啦！今天你可以去散步了！” 她们说他完全能够听得懂这些话的。他的一名女护工总是钦佩地告诉我：“真的，海尔特女士，您真好，一直关心着这个可怜的家伙！您有一颗金子般的心！” 有人给他穿上风衣，一名强壮的女护士把他抱到轮椅上。我跪在他面前，给他拉上拉链。然后我就推着他出门了。有时我会告诉他，我曾经有多么爱他。