Splinter

54

The lake formed a horseshoe around the little cabin in the forest. A bird of prey was circling above its choppy surface just as they left the back door and emerged into the open air. Several ducks and a swan were flustered at first by the old dog, which lolloped down to the lakeshore and dabbled its forepaws in the water. They quacked and flapped their wings in a frenzy, then decided that the newcomers presented no threat and calmed down again.

‘Easy, Tarzan!’ Haberland called. Pale brown with a white muzzle, the animal had been lying so quietly in its basket that Marc hadn’t noticed it until it jumped up, yawning, and accompanied him and its master on their walk.

‘People always make the mistake of feeding wild animals,’ said the professor, staring at the water. They had left Emma on her own in the living room, which Marc found slightly surprising. Haberland didn’t seem the sort of man to trust strangers in a hurry. At the same time, there was a look in his eye that conveyed long experience of worse horrors than any to be expected from an injured woman and a former patient.

‘It disrupts the food chain,’ Haberland went on. ‘They become habituated to us, and that’s wrong.’

‘People do it because they’re animal lovers,’ said Marc, who had often tossed stale breadcrumbs to the swans on the Wannsee with Sandra.

‘Yes, but it’s a mistake all the same.’ Haberland pulled up the zip of his quilted jacket, which ended well short of the hem of his sports coat. ‘And it can never be right to do the wrong thing.’

They walked further along the shore. Marc wondered if they were really still talking about wildlife. Until recently his life had been governed by the principle that the end always justifies the means. Haberland must surely know about the false statement that had ultimately consigned Benny to a secure unit.

‘You seem very unsure of yourself,’ said Haberland, coming to the point at last.

The lakeside path, which now ran gently uphill, was separated from the water by a largish expanse of reeds.

‘I am.’ Marc inhaled the moist, aromatic scent of the forest flanking the path to their right. ‘I no longer trust my memories.’

He gave the professor a brief account of what had happened to him up till then, ending with his most recent experiences in the cellar of his former home. ‘Well, what do you think? Have I gone mad?’

Haberland paused to look back at his dog. Tarzan was making repeated attempts to forge a path through the reeds to the lake, only to give up when they pricked his muzzle.

‘You’re questioning your own existence. The mentally ill don’t do that as a rule. They try to justify their confused state of mind by advancing flimsy theories. Like Emma, for example.’

Marc turned to face him. Their clouds of breath met and mingled.

‘You think she’s sick?’

‘Only a charlatan would reach a diagnosis so quickly. Nevertheless, unlike you, she fails to ask herself the crucial question.’

‘“Have I gone mad?”, you mean?’

Haberland nodded. ‘I had a long talk with her earlier on, while you were asleep. She made a feverish, nervous, edgy impression. The fact is, she’s only interested in looking for evidence that will justify her conspiracy theory.’

‘So you think she’s paranoid?’

‘Don’t you?’

They passed a bench that had seen better days. The back was rotten and the seat seemed unlikely to be able to bear much weight. Haberland propped one foot on it and removed a wad of damp leaves adhering to the sole of his shoe.

‘Let’s assume you’re entirely healthy, Marc – discounting your superficial injuries and your discoloured eyes, which worry me greatly, by the way. At least you aren’t suffering from any psychosomatic disorder. The house, the lake, the forest – they’re all real, and we’re really having this conversation. How could you explain these occurrences?’

Tarzan trotted over to them. Not that Marc had noticed it before, the old dog avoided putting weight on one of its hind legs.

‘Perhaps my memory was erased once before?’ he theorized. ‘Perhaps it didn’t work properly the first time and I’m suddenly remembering facts from my former life?’

‘Possibly.’ The corners of Haberland’s mouth turned up in a moue of scepticism. ‘Or perhaps the exact opposite is happening.’

He picked up a stick and threw it in the direction they’d come from. Tarzan just stared after it with a weary eye.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I don’t like talking about it, but for a short time I myself once suffered from almost total amnesia. Loss of memory occasioned by a trauma I wanted to suppress at all costs.’ The professor rubbed his wrists again. ‘Rediscovering my memory was a terrible process, but it did teach me one thing.’

‘Well?’

‘That the truth is often the opposite of what we believe.’

Haberland turned and followed his dog, which had set off for home. Marc hesitated for a moment, then hurried after him.

‘You’re afraid your memory has been tampered with. Erased. Possibly even for the second time,’ Haberland said without looking at Marc. ‘But what if it’s being erased at this very moment?’

Marc shivered. ‘How?’

‘Well, I’m not sure how the Bleibtreu Clinic induces artificial amnesia in its patients. Up to now, losses of memory have always been an unintended by-product. However, it’s conceivable that they subject their guinea pigs to shock therapy. And isn’t that just what’s happening to you now? One traumatic incident hard on the heels of another?’

‘But why should anyone do that?’

They were almost back at the house now. Voices could be heard coming from beyond the veranda, probably those of Emma and Benny, who must have brought themselves to have a chat.

‘To make you forget. The only question is, what.’

Marc shut his eyes, recalling a sequence from his recent dream.

‘I wish you hadn’t found out. Not so soon, at least.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully.

‘Then try to recall it.’ The professor came to a halt and looked at him intently. ‘Recall what you want to forget!’

‘But how? How am I supposed to…’

Marc’s wristwatch buzzed. He felt in his jacket pocket, then smacked his forehead with annoyance.

‘What is it?’ Haberland asked. His dog, too, seemed to stare at Marc enquiringly.

‘I have to take my pills, but they’re still in the glove compartment of my car.’

‘What sort of pills?’

Marc touched the plaster on his neck.

‘Oh yes.’ Haberland went round behind him. ‘I’m glad you raised the subject.’

‘Why?’

‘Earlier on, when I examined your head for superficial injuries, I took the liberty of changing the dressing. What’s it for?’

‘There’s a splinter in my neck.’

The professor raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. Hey, what are you doing?’

Marc couldn’t react quickly enough to prevent the old man from ripping off the salmon-coloured plaster that held the gauze dressing in place.

‘I know you can’t see it, but go on, have a feel.’

Why should I? Constantin told me the wound must remain sterile.

‘Well, go on.’ Haberland guided his hand. Marc winced, but not in pain. He couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing but bare, unbroken skin.

Haberland confirmed it. ‘You don’t have a wound there at all.’

No splinter.

‘And it looks as if there never was one.’