Bunker (11 page)

Mist gathers on the floor of the stage, flows slowly over the edge of the platform and down into the orchestra pit. Envelops the musician, swallows him up. Everything turns blue, but with a reddish tinge at the edges, and slowly changes to a bright red.

I feel sick.

I open my eyes, see the wooden ceiling above the bed.

I'm lying in the Fiesta in a sleeping bag. The side window is open and I breathe in the forest smells. I waited until she'd gone to sleep. Only then did I leave the mill and go down the path beside the pond to my car. I slept here the last two nights, and there was no one to notice. No one's waiting for me. I like to sleep with a window open. That was the worst part of jail. Having to share a cell with four others. The air in the cells was stale and musty. The neon lighting had red dimmers fitted to turn down the glaring tubes. You get woken up at six in the morning. The clatter of the drop-down hatch for your food. Noise everywhere all of a sudden. If you make out you're still asleep the prison officers come in, clash their keys against the metal bedstead and pull the covers off.
Then you get up and wait for breakfast. Half a litre of dishwater, you can't call that thin brew coffee, rye bread, jam. Honey and nut spread only once every two weeks. If one of the officers didn't like you he'd spill the hot coffee over your fingers or pour it out beside the mug instead of in it. You couldn't defend yourself or complain. If you did complain all the same, there'd be a beating after eight when you were locked into the cells and ‘proper penal correction' began. You want to keep out of that, keep your mouth shut, look for ways of working your way up the hierarchy. So that you're the one who spills coffee over other people's fingers, the one who hands out physical punishment or extra work. The one who keeps his mouth shut and plays it by the book. Working your way up.

The ones who fucked little kids never work their way up, they stay at the bottom of the heap. There always has to be someone you can kick. I'd learnt how to keep my mouth shut from Father. Knew it was best to be like the three monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

I could sleep down in the bunker, but I don't want to; I'm not at ease there. I'd rather sleep here in the car. The bunker was Father's place. I always feel as if he's watching me when I'm down there. I can't get to sleep in the bunker, it's like sleeping in jail – the air is stale and it's dark. Feeling you're not free
to move is the worst of it. That's why I put her up in Mother's room. It's healthier there and more comfortable.

She's like Mother; she reminds me of Mother.
She
can't bear to be on her own either. Like Mother, she begged me not to leave her alone. Just like Mother.

Mother used to cling to Father too. Begged him not to leave her alone. Not to lock her up in the mill again. He beat her and pushed her away from him. Sitting down in my hiding place, I heard her screams.

I heard them quarrelling again, I heard him hitting her again. I heard her pleading. But Father went away and left her alone.

And then Mother went away herself. Later, I found out that she'd hanged herself in the mill because she couldn't bear it any longer. After three days of being locked in, she hanged herself.

I'm not such a bastard as he was. I don't want to be that kind of an arsehole. I'll stay here, I won't leave her alone. She needs me, like Mother needed me when Father beat her, and like she needed me when Father had locked her into the mill.

The scalpel slides into tissue again. Places where new bleeding appears are cauterized at once. Fatty tissue spills out, the surgeon goes on and on, working his way into the depths. Carefully feeling about with his gloved hands, going far into the abdominal cavity.

‘Right, everyone. Now we make an incision in the musculature, then after the peritoneum we get to work on the intestine.' The surgeon smiles. Raises his head, looks briefly at his young colleague. The operating mask hides his face, which still shows no expression.

Broad silvery metal retractors are set in place. The assistant grasps their handles and hold the abdominal wall open.

Shiny grey intestine fills the stomach cavity. The surgeon's
whitish, gleaming, rubber-gloved hands go in among the slippery, elastic intestinal loops. Feel the internal organs, explore the abdominal cavity. The intestinal loops are held aside with a metal clamp to give a better view of all the structures supplying the stomach with blood. There is fresh blood in the abdominal cavity, a sign of a major internal injury.

‘Dammit, this blood must be coming from somewhere,' mutters the surgeon.

After a careful search, he discovers a tear at the root of the intestine.

A curved needle fixed to a long holder is handed to him. A ligature is applied to the bleeding vessels. The operation is over. Now it is the assistant's job to close the abdominal cavity.

I lie there, covered up, staring at the bandages on my hands.

I feel so lonely. Has anyone noticed I'm missing? Probably not. It's just too silly. He has to abduct me on the last day at work just before my holiday. I needn't worry about the cat, my neighbour will look after her. What a stupid coincidence that I met her on the stairs on Friday morning! I told her then about my week off, and said I'd have to leave in a hurry after work if I wanted to catch my flight to the south. She's often looked after the cat before. She'll be a little surprised that I didn't look in to say goodbye, but she won't think much of it. So no one will realize I'm missing until next week, if at all. And suppose I'm still not back the week
after next? Who knows, the boss may think I've carried out my threat to look for a new job. I've said I'm going to give notice often enough. Whenever I was infuriated about something I'd say, ‘If I can find something else I'll be out of here tomorrow!' They probably won't even ask where I am at the office.

They still have Lilli to do all the work and save the boss my salary. Not that he'll save much that way, it's not exactly lavish. Lilli and I run the whole show. We do everything; we're secretaries, car salesmen, gardeners, cleaning ladies rolled into one. We even change spark plugs and do oil changes when there's a shortage of mechanics. The boss certainly can't complain about us, and a little more money a month would be only fair. At the moment business isn't so good, but not really bad either. I know the figures. And if he doesn't like to do it officially, I'd be happy for him to slip us a little of the money he's made under the counter himself. At least I wouldn't have to pay tax on it.

He really exploits Lilli, she does literally everything for him. She even sleeps with him. What good is that going to do her? The boss is never going to leave his wife and children, however often he promises her he will. I don't know what Lilli sees in him. He's fat, he has a bald patch, he's married and his kids are a couple of spoilt brats.

His fiftieth birthday was two weeks ago – he celebrated in a big way with all the staff. He really splashed out and invited us all to the Japanese restaurant. I have to admit it was fun. A buffet of cold food in tiny portions washed down with rice wine isn't really to my taste, too chilly and slippery, but at least it was fish, it wasn't meat. And the atmosphere was good, and since we were having a good time he wanted to go on to the disco with Lilli and me.

On the way home he kept putting his hand on my knee. He was rather drunk. He got more outspoken when he said goodnight. ‘Call me Rüdiger, Monika, do.' And then he made me a very explicit offer. I went bright red and could have sunk into the ground with shame. Not for the world!

Sometimes he's really repulsive. He's the one who ought to be stuck here, not me. After all, it's the boss who has the key to the safe, and here I am in the shit.

Hans wanted me to give him the key when he attacked me at the garage. Is he still after the money? You bet he is. He didn't just want his revenge on me, he wanted the money from the safe as well.

The money from the safe. Why not? Why not nick it? The boss has been exploiting me for years, messing me about. I'd only be taking the proper salary he didn't pay me. And giving him a bit of a fright into the bargain. I'll have him
grovelling on the floor and whining. ‘Please, please don't hurt me.' I like that thought. I can already see the red patches he always gets on his face when he's worked up. Could there be a better chance than this of paying him out?

Hans can do the dirty work and I'll get the money. Hans will play along, I'm sure he will. He'll do anything to get his hands on the cash. He doesn't want his revenge on me any more, or he'd have taken it long ago, I'm sure of that too. He's looking after me, he's concerned for me. He was always easy to manage, why wouldn't I be able to handle him now? What's to stop me? With him in tow I'm unbeatable. He's my tool, my weapon.

‘Think about it, Monika, and if you'd like to, well, give me a call.' Those were my boss's parting remarks in the car when we said goodnight. Well, I have thought about it. I'm going to call you, Rüdiger darling!

Hans comes upstairs. He's carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee, a carton of milk, and some cheese sandwiches. The coffee smells good. Exactly what I need now. I sit up on the bed.

‘Coffee?'

She gets off the bed, sits down at the table with me. I push one of the mugs of coffee her way, put her cheese sandwich down beside it. I've cut it into little pieces, the way my mother always cut things up for me when I was little. She cut bread into fingers, and each finger was a train ready to drive into the station, and the station was my mouth.

‘Like me to feed you?' She nods, smiles at me.

I pick up finger after finger of the cheese sandwich and put it in her mouth. She chews, and starts talking even with her mouth full. ‘Suppose we get the money from that safe together?'

At first I don't understand, I've no idea what she's talking
about. The money? But she doesn't have the key. I searched her clothes.

She goes on smiling at me.

Tilting her head slightly, she looks at me. I sit there, I don't say a word. After a while she asks, ‘Why haven't you taken me back?'

‘I don't know. I wanted you to stay here.' I look at her, look into her eyes.

We sit there in silence, and I feed her with fingers of cheese sandwich and help her to sip the hot coffee.

‘So what do you think, shall we go and get the key now? And then get the money out of the safe?'

Well, why not? This whole thing has gone off course from the start, but if she can help me to lay my hands on the money now…and after that we'll see. I wait another minute, keep her guessing, then I say, ‘How are you going to get hold of the key?' I'm curious to know what she's thought up.

‘My boss always keeps the key in the inside pocket of his jacket.'

‘And how do we get at his jacket?'

‘He fancies me, I know that. I'll call him and tell him to come here. Then I'll distract his attention, you can knock him down and take the key. We'll do it today, then we'll have all night to empty the safe and clear out.'

I sit there listening to her plan. It's rather vague, but I don't have a better one, so why not? I've nothing to lose. I rub my chin, think it over. ‘You think that will work?'

‘Let's just try it. Then we'll know if it works or not.'

I think for a moment longer, and then I bring the flat of my hand down on the table.

‘Right, then let's try it, darling.'

She looks at me with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment. You can positively see her thinking feverishly. There, my love, you weren't expecting me to be so easily persuaded to go along with your plan!

Darling…?

‘Do you have thirty pfennigs? We can drive to the nearest telephone box.'

I'm not your darling. You've got my brother on your conscience, you bastard. You're going to help me grab that money and get my boss off my back, that's all. Payback time!

‘Let's go!'

He goes ahead. I follow him. Of my own free will! I keep my hands stretched out in front of me so as not to catch myself on the thorns.

It's a tight fit in the phone box. He gives me a kiss on the shoulder. At least I think he kissed my shoulder. I felt his lips, anyway. Oh, drop that!

‘Dial 68 75 99, then you can hold the receiver to my ear.' Hans does everything I tell him.

‘Hello, Rüdiger, it's me. Moni.'

And then I start talking. I've been thinking about us a lot these last few days, I say, about him and me. I thought it all through again. I lay the charm on thick. I tell him it was wrong of me to say no, but he has to understand that I simply didn't trust myself. I go on soft-soaping him over the phone. I say I'd like our relationship to be something really special. Something that belongs just to us. I talk and talk, carry on about being careful because after all he has a wife and children, and I wouldn't like there to be any gossip among our colleagues. But in the last few days I haven't been able to think of anything else, only him. That's why I've plucked up all my courage and I'm calling him now. I ramble on and on. My voice sounds totally strange to me, I'm cooing, I'm all lovey-dovey. I hear myself asking if he couldn't come and meet me. ‘I mean now, before my courage deserts me again.' I tell him I've found a little place hidden away – ‘All for you and me.' It would be the ideal place, no one would ever find out about it. We'd be all alone there, just the two of us. I chat him up, I flirt, in the end I almost forget to tell him where to go. ‘Oh yes, the address…wait a minute, do you have a pen there?' I describe the way, explaining very
patiently where he has to turn off the road and follow the track through the forest until he can't drive any further. I tell him he can leave his car behind a Fiesta that he'll see there, and I tell him the way past the pond and over to the mill. I'd be waiting for him there, I say. ‘Oh and please don't be alarmed. I've bandaged my hands up because I fell off my bike,' I say, but I can tell him that story later, when he's with me.