Somebody had sent him a priest.
He didn’t know who. Ruger, or the chief of police, or that senile judge: hard to say. Perhaps he’d come of his own accord; as Mitter understood the situation, there didn’t need to be an intermediary. Just God the Father.
The priest smiled a watery smile. Needed to keep wiping his eyes. Blamed the dry air and the ventilation system.
“I spend a lot of time listening to the ventilation system,”
said Mitter. “I think it might be the voice of God.”
The priest nodded, and seemed interested.
“Really?”
“You are familiar with the voice of God, I take it?”
“Yes. .”
“It’s quite monotonous, don’t you think?”
“I suppose the voice of God sounds different in different people’s ears.”
“What kind of bloody relativism do you call that?” wondered Mitter aloud.
“Oh. . I was only. .”
“Are you suggesting that the good Lord is nothing more than a phenomenological manifestation? I think I’d better take a look at your ID, if you don’t mind.”
The priest smiled wanly. But a doubtful frown made an effort to establish itself on his shiny brow.
“If you are unable to present me with an ontological proof of the existence of God, I’ll have you thrown out without more ado!”
The priest wiped his eyes.
“Perhaps I’d better come back some other time. I see that my presence annoys you.”
Mitter rang for the warder, and two minutes later he was alone again.
He was also sent a social worker.
It was a woman in her thirties, and the warder stood on guard outside the door the whole time.
“Are you Danish?” Mitter asked.
She had blond hair and a long neck, so it was a reasonable question. She shook her head.
“My name’s Diotima,” she said. “Will you allow me to talk to you for a while?”
“That’s a beautiful and unusual name,” said Mitter. “You may stay as long as you like.”
“You are going to have to undergo a mental examination,”
said Diotima. “Irrespective of the verdict.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Mitter. “Mind you, I hadn’t intended to start teaching again right away.”
Diotima nodded. She had her hair in a ponytail, which swayed back and forth slightly whenever she moved her head.
Mitter would have loved to step forward and put his hand on the back of her neck, but he didn’t feel clean enough. Diotima had an air of virginal purity that was unmistakable; he concealed his hands between his knees and tried to think about something else.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
He thought it over, but failed to come up with a good answer.
“It’s been very trying. .,” she said, lowering her voice at the end, and he couldn’t decide if it had been a question or a statement. If it referred to him, or to herself.
“This isn’t exactly a place to be if you want to get healthy again,” she said.
He smiled.
“Do you know how long you’ve been in here?”
He nodded.
“What day is it today?”
“Wednesday.”
“Yes. Your verdict will be announced this afternoon. Why have you chosen not to be present?”
He shrugged.
“Would you like a cigarette?”
“Yes, please.”
She produced a pack from her briefcase. Placed it on the table between them. He released his right hand. Took a cigarette and lit it. It was a weak menthol thing, typical woman’s tobacco, but he was grateful for the opportunity to smoke it right down to the filter.
Somehow or other, smoking a cigarette like that required greater concentration than usual, and he wasn’t at all clear about what questions she asked him while he was busy with it.
In any case, he made no replies.
When he stubbed out the cigarette in the washbasin, she stood up and he realized she was about to leave. He had a lump in his throat; it blended most unpleasantly with the vapid taste of cold smoke. Perhaps she noticed his discomfort, for she took two steps toward him and put her hand on his arm for a moment.
“I’ll be back, Mr. Mitter,” she said. “And no matter what happens, you won’t need to stay locked up in here.”
“Janek,” he said. “My name’s Janek. I don’t want you to call me Mr. Mitter.”
“Thank you. My name’s Diotima.”
“I know. You’ve already told me.”
She smiled. Her teeth were pure white, and immaculate.
He sighed.
“Are you sure you’re not Danish?”
“My grandmother came from Copenhagen.”
“There you are, you see! I could tell!”
“Farewell, Janek.”
“Farewell, Diotima.”
Ruger turned up an hour after dinner to inform Mitter about the verdict. He seemed to be even more hunched than usual, and blew his nose twice before speaking.
“We didn’t make it,” he said.
“Really?” said Mitter. “We didn’t make it.”
“No. But they settled for manslaughter. The jury was unanimous. Six years.”
“Six years?”
“Yes. With good conduct you could be out after five.”
“I’d have nothing against that,” said Mitter.
Ruger paused.
Then he said: “You’ll have to undergo a little mental examination. Unfortunately, it’s all to do with your present state of mental health. Perhaps we should have taken another line, but nobody thinks you were not responsible for your actions at the time of the crime.”
“I see,” said Mitter. He was beginning to feel really tired now. “Please say what you have to say as briefly as possible. I think I need to catch up on some sleep.”
“If they find you competent, it will be the state prison. If not, it will be the secure institution in Greifen or Majorna.”
“Majorna?”
“Yes, in Willemsburg. Do you know the place? It’s an old lunatic asylum from the nineteenth century. Perhaps Greifen would be better.”
“Hmm. I don’t think it makes any difference to me.”
“If you recover your mental health while in the institution, you will be transferred immediately to a prison-but your time spent in the institution will count toward the length of your sentence. Anyway, that’s the way it looks. Are you tired?”
Mitter nodded.
“You’ll be moved from here tomorrow. I hope you get a good night’s sleep in any case.”
He held out his hand. Mitter shook it.
“I’m sorry we didn’t make it. Really sorry. .”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Mitter. “Please leave me alone now. No doubt we’ll have an opportunity to talk some other time.”
“I’m sure we shall,” said Ruger, blowing his nose one final time. “Farewell, and good luck tomorrow, Mr. Mitter.”
“Farewell.”
The man has verbal diarrhea, he thought as the door closed behind his lawyer. I must make sure I can keep him brief and to the point another time.