Deadly Communion

38

BLACK SMOKE WAS RISING from a factory chimney that towered over the roofs of a begrimed terrace. Further down the road and in front of some railings a group of children, barely out of infancy, were playing on a pile of rubble. One of the urchins noticed Liebermann’s approach and stood up, observing the stranger with earnest curiosity. Liebermann acknowledged the boy’s interest with a smile; however, this was not reciprocated. Instead, the boy’s expression became more intense. Liebermann turned a corner and found himself in an avenue of better-maintained larger properties. A few trees added a splash of colour to the prospect, but not enough to relieve the atmosphere of pervasive gloom. The trees swayed in a breeze redolent with the dank fetor of the Neustadter canal.

In due course, Liebermann arrived at his destination — a two-storey house with four windows. The simplicity of the building reminded him of a child’s drawing. The curtains on the ground floor were drawn and Liebermann could not see anything through the upper windows. He crossed the road to get a better view but gained no benefit from the change of vantage. Liebermann became conscious that he was standing under a gas lamp — presumably the very same gas lamp under which Erstweiler had seen his doppelgänger. The young doctor touched the cast-iron post as if to confirm the reality of its existence.

Liebermann returned to the other side of the road and knocked on the house’s front door. He waited. No reply. He knocked again, knowing that there would be no answer.

A cart loaded with barrels passed by.

The young doctor stepped backwards and glanced at the upstairs windows one last time before deciding on which of the neighbouring houses he would try. The presence of a window box made him veer to the right.

As soon as he had struck the knocker, a dog started barking. He heard the sound of a woman’s voice: ‘Quiet. Be quiet, Prinz.’

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who was accompanied by a lively Dobermann pinscher.

‘Yes?’

‘Forgive me for disturbing you. I am a doctor and need to speak with Herr Kolinsky, who I believe lives next door. He is not at home. Do you have any idea when he will be back?’

‘I haven’t seen him or his wife for weeks. I think they must have gone away.’

‘Do you know them?’

‘Not really. He’s not very friendly … and her: she has a very high opinion of herself.’ Liebermann nodded sympathetically. The woman was encouraged: ‘I’m glad they’re away. They make a lot of noise — arguments — and it upsets the dog.’ She extended her hand and stroked the pinscher’s head. ‘Good boy, Prinz.’ The dog licked her fingers.

‘They have a lodger — is that right?’

‘Yes. Herr Erstweiler. A very pleasant gentleman.’

‘You are acquainted with him?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. We met a few times when I was walking Prinz. I haven’t seen him recently, either. He may have found somewhere else to live. It wouldn’t surprise me. They can’t expect to keep lodgers if they’re going to carry on like they do.’

Liebermann smiled.

‘Thank you for you assistance.’

‘Shall I tell them that you called — if I see them?’

‘Yes. If you see them.’

‘And your name is?’

‘Herr Doctor Liebermann.’

The woman nodded and closed the door. The dog started barking again.

Liebermann gazed at the street lamp on the other side of the road.

His conversation with Freud came back to him. It was possible for material offensive to the ego to be projected outwards onto something foreign. But such material could not be completely disowned.

The object into which this undesirable material is incorporated might take the form of another self …

But what was the nature of that undesirable material?

Liebermann knew the answer. Herr Erstweiler’s dream of the English fairy tale had been so very revealing.