Death and the Maiden Read Online Free PDF Page B

Zollinger to stand and offered to escort her from the building. Progress was slow and by the time they reached the cloakroom there was no queue, most of the audience having already gone. In the foyer Liebermann said, ‘It will be cold outside. Perhaps too cold for Frau Zollinger? Wait here and I’ll hail a cab for you.’
    ‘You are most kind,’ said Anna.
    ‘Where are you going?’ asked Liebermann.
    ‘The ninth district, Bergasse 21,’ Anna replied.
    ‘Bergasse 21 – really?’ He looked to Frau Zolliger. ‘Do you know your neighbour Professor Freud?’
    ‘Professor who?’ asked Frau Zollinger.
    ‘Freud: an esteemed colleague.’
    The old woman’s head wobbled a little on her scrawny neck to express the negative.
    Liebermann crossed the foyer and went out through the double doors.
    One of Mozart’s melodies entered his mind, the exquisite opening theme from the Adagio , but not in its original form. Instead, he was hearing Brosius’s arrangement. The melody was being carried by a flute instead of an oboe and the continuous pulsing accompaniment had been replaced by dissolving harmonies. It was actually quite haunting and as the fragment repeated itself Liebermann realised that Brosius’s music had become lodged in his brain. He would probably still be hearing it in his head as he tried to get to sleep later.
    A cab came rattling over the cobbles. Liebermann raised his hand and the driver pulled up.
    As Liebermann was helping Frau Zollinger down some stairs, she muttered: ‘He said to me – “She’s my muse”’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Liebermann.
    ‘Angelika. He said that without her the music would end.’
    ‘Brosius? Well, he must have loved her very much.’
    Frau Zollinger produced a dismissive grunt. It was obvious to Liebermann that she was not really talking to him but simply voicing her thoughts, recalling conversations that had taken place in the distant past. The music had revived old memories.
    Liebermann opened one of the cab’s doors and the old woman shivered as the chill air insinuated itself into her brittle bones.
    ‘Your transport, Frau Zollinger.’
    The old woman did not thank him and once again her great-niece was forced to apologise on her behalf.

5
     
    M AYOR L UEGER WAS SEATED on a large leather armchair. His two guests, Leopold Steiner and Hermann Bielohlawek, were also comfortably accommodated, and all three were smoking cigars of prodigious length while quaffing pilsner. The remains of a ravaged apfelstrudel were strewn across a silver serving plate on the table.
    It had been rumoured for some time that the mayor was not well, yet he showed no obvious signs of sickness or infirmity: quite the contrary, in fact. He appeared robust and his cheeks were glowing. In the ancient world he might have made a very acceptable philosopher king. His thick dark hair was brushed back off a high forehead and his full grey beard was cut squarely around the jaw. Women still referred to him as ‘handsome Karl’ in spite of his age. He cultivated a dashing and debonair image with assiduous care. The pomade on his hair glistened and exuded a citrus fragrance that cut through the pungency of the tobacco smoke. His clothes were bespangled with a treasure trove of decorative accessories: an emerald tiepin, the thick gold links of a watch-chain and large ruby cufflinks.
    Lueger’s eyes possessed the penetrating quality often associated with greatness, but his gaze was not as stately nor as grave as it might have been, on account of a slight flaw. One of his eyes was turned out a little, giving the impression that many of his remarks were intended to be ironic.
    ‘It is not a matter of choice,’ said Lueger. ‘I must win the municipalcouncil over. The construction of the second mountain-spring reservoir is of vital importance for the city. Moreover, if I succeed, I strongly suspect that it will stand as my greatest achievement in office.’
    ‘What about getting rid of the English