Fatal Lies

52

Drexler had been expecting nightmares-but when they came, he was surprised by their power and intensity. They were not like ordinary dreams at all. They were vivid and possessed an extra ordinary physicality

One of them-a macabre re-creation of the night they had journeyed into the woods to bury Perger-was particularly disturbing. Drexler had finished filling the grave and was ready to leave. However, he tarried a moment in order to flatten some loose clods with the blade of his shovel. A pale hand broke through the earth, and the fingers closed tightly around his ankle. He struggled to get free but it was impossible: the hideous grip was like the teeth of a bear trap. He called out: Help, help… Wolf, Freitag, Steininger, help me — but he had lost his voice. Horrified, he watched them walking away, Wolf's lamp fading until its flickering sentinel light was extinguished by a cloak of darkness. What had really frightened Drexler, however, was what had happened next. On waking, he had discovered that he could not move his leg. He could still feel Pergers bone-crushing hold around his ankle. Panic had threaded through Drexler's body-and his breath had come in short, sharp gulps.

“Not again, Drexler!” Wolf had reprimanded him. Yet the sound of Wolf s heartless voice had been strangely comforting-a reminder that a real world existed in which corpses could be relied upon to stay dead. Sensation had flowed back into Drexler s paralyzed leg, and the ring of pain around his ankle had become first a dull ache, and then nothing-a memory.

Drexler had once overheard one of the masters talking about a doctor in Vienna who could interpret dreams. If so, he did not need his services-he already knew what these dreams meant.

That afternoon, while sitting in the library, he had decided that he must do something.

Drexler crossed the courtyard with his head bowed. The rain was making circles on islands of reflected sky. He entered the chapel and inhaled the familiar fragrance of incense and candle wax. Dipping his hand in the font, he anointed himself with holy water, genuflected, and found a place on a pew with the other boys who were waiting to make their confessions.

In due course he entered the confessional box, knelt down, and observed the shadowy figure of the priest crossing the air through the window grille.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”

He had disobeyed his mother and father, he had deceived others, he had shown disrespect to his elders, he had failed to attend Mass. His confession flowed fluently and easily, but his resolve faltered when he attempted to unburden his conscience of the single sin that-in his estimation, at least-would consign him to hell.

“Father…” He hesitated.

“Yes, my son?”

“I… I have… I have…” He could not do it. “I have been to see the whore in Aufkirchen.”

The priest, who had been perfectly still, shifted-as if suddenly interested.

“Ahh… the whore in Aufkirchen, you say?”

“Yes.”

“And what-exactly-was the nature of your sinful act?”

“Father… we had relations.”

“Relations… I see, I see. Did she perform impure acts about your person?”

“She…”

“Come now, my son…”

“We had relations.”

“You penetrated her?”

“I did.”

The priest took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“And did she… perform any unseemly acts with her mouth?”

“We kissed.”

“Yes… but did she degrade herself using your person?”

The inquisition went on for some time. When the priest was finally satisfied that he had a complete and thorough understanding of Drexler's transgressions, he offered him counsel with respect to the temptations of the flesh, and warned him that he should not replace one vice with another-especially the vice of self-pollution — which would have grave physical and spiritual consequences. The priest then gave Drexler absolution and a penance of prayer.

Drexler did not do his penance. Instead, he marched straight out of the chapel, across the courtyard, and sat in the cloisters, fuming. It was all such nonsense! The priest had clearly been titillated by Drexler's erotic adventures in Aufkirchen: how could such a pathetic individual mediate between him and God? This was not what he wanted. He wanted to be truly absolved. He wanted to be absolved to the extent that he could sleep peacefully again and be free of his terrible, terrible guilt, the sheer magnitude of which made the rest of life seem an empty, hollow, meaningless charade by comparison.

To atone fully, Drexler realized that he would have to pay a forfeit more costly than a few prayers. Such mumblings were not a penance, and would do nothing to ease his pain.