Frank Tallis - Vienna Secrets

Rabbi Seligman tilted his head quizzically.

“It was terrible,” Kusiel added. “Inhuman.”

Somewhere in the synagogue a wooden beam creaked.

“Old buildings make noises, Kusiel,” said the rabbi.

“Not like these.”

“Perhaps you were tired. Perhaps you imagined-”

“I didn’t imagine anything,” said the caretaker firmly. “With respect, Rabbi, I know what I heard, and what I heard wasn’t…” The old man paused before saying, “Natural.”

Rabbi Seligman took a deep breath and looked up at the balcony. It followed the walls on three sides, being absent only over the ark.

“I don’t understand, Kusiel. Are you suggesting that whatever it was you heard was…” He hesitated. “A spirit?”

“It wasn’t right-that’s all I’m saying. And something should be done. You know more about these things than I do.” The old man attacked his bristly chin with the palms of his hands, producing a rough, abrasive sound. “Something should be done,” he repeated.

“Yes,” said Rabbi Seligman. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Kusiel.”

The old man grunted approvingly and shuffled back into the vestibule.

Rabbi Seligman, somewhat troubled by this exchange, climbed the stairs to the balcony. He looked around and noticed nothing unusual. The caretaker had heard something strange, that much he could accept. But a spirit? No, there would be a perfectly rational alternative explanation.

Something should be done.

The caretaker’s refrain came back to him.

Rabbi Seligman had no intention of performing an exorcism! It probably wouldn’t happen again. And if it did? Well, he would give Kusiel instructions to fetch him at once. Then he could establish what was really going on.

Rheinhardt flicked through the volume of Schubert songs and placed Die Forelle-The Trout-on the music stand.

“Let’s end with this, eh? Something cheerful.”

Liebermann pulled back his cuffs, straightened his back, and began to play the jolly introduction. His fingers found a curious repeating figure, ostensibly straightforward yet containing both rhythmic and chromatic oddities. It evoked the burble of a country stream; however, the music was not entirely innocent. The notes were slippery, knowing-the effect ironic. Indeed, there was something about the introduction that reminded Liebermann of an adolescent boy whistling nonchalantly while walking away from an orchard, his pockets bulging with stolen apples. The figure dropped from the right hand to the left, then down another octave before the music came to a halt on an arpeggiated tonic chord.

Rheinhardt was so familiar with the song that he didn’t bother to look at the music. Resting his elbow on the piano case, like a rustic leaning on a swing gate, he began to sing: “In einem Bachlein helle

Da Scho? in froher Eil’

Die launische Forelle

Voruber wie ein Pfeil.” In a clear stream

In lovely haste The capricious trout

Darted by like an arrow.

What is it about? Liebermann asked himself. It was a strange lyric that didn’t really lead anywhere. “Ein Fischer mit der Rute

Wohl an dem Ufer stand

Und sah’s mit kalten Blute

Wie sich das Fischleim wand” An angler with his rod

Stood on the bank

And cold-bloodedly watched

The fish twist and turn

Rheinhardt sang the poetry with effortless fluency, his rich lyrical baritone filling the room and rattling the windowpanes.

Again, Liebermann asked himself, What is it about?

A narrator, watching an angler, hopes that a trout will not get caught. However, when the writhing fish is lifted from the water, he is sent into an impotent rage.

Did the poet mean to show how human beings encroach upon and disturb the natural world? Or was he suggesting that freedom is so treasured by human beings that even a landed fish can find sympathy in a poet’s heart?

After an agitated final verse, the burbling theme reappeared in the piano accompaniment and the music progressed to a tranquil pianissimo ending.

Liebermann looked up and saw that Rheinhardt was pleased with his performance. However, when the inspector noticed Liebermann’s troubled expression, he said, “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Not at all… Your voice was relaxed, expressive, and beautifully resonant.”

“Then why do you look so perplexed?”

Liebermann lifted his hands off the keyboard but allowed the final chord to continue indefinitely by keeping his foot on the pedal.

“What’s it about?” Liebermann asked.

“Die Forelle?”

“Yes.”

“A man-watching an angler-watching a fish,” said Rheinhardt flatly.

“With respect, Oskar, that isn’t a terribly penetrating analysis.”

“It’s what the poet describes,” said Rheinhardt. “It’s what the words say.”

The young doctor considered his friend’s riposte, and conceded, “Yes, I suppose so.” He released the pedal, terminating the gentle hum of the fading chord. “Sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be, and nothing else.”

“A difficult concept for a psychiatrist to grasp, admittedly,” said Rheinhardt.

They retired to the smoking room, lit some cigars, sipped brandy, and stared into the fire. In due course Liebermann broke the silence. “I suspect that your choice of Die Forelle represents a form of wish fulfillment.”

Rheinhardt roused himself, cleared his throat, and replied, “I chose it because I wanted us to end our music-making with something cheerful.”

“Yes, but a song about a man catching a fish? Come now, Oskar, the parallels are blindingly obvious! The very idea of catching has positive connotations for you, a detective inspector. Your raison d’etre is to catch criminals. That is why you find Die Forelle so uplifting. It fulfills-at least symbolically-one of your deepest wishes. When the trout is caught, instead of raging with the poet, you experience nothing but satisfaction. You were beaming with pleasure when the song came to an end.”

“I thought we’d agreed that sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be, and nothing else.”

Liebermann shrugged. “You have certainly been fishing this week, and I must suppose from your good humor that you are pleased with your catch.”

“All right,” said Rheinhardt. “You’ve made your point! I would be most grateful if we could now continue this conversation without any further reference to fish.”

“Of course,” said Liebermann. “Perhaps we should begin with the autopsy?”

Rheinhardt nodded, poured himself another brandy, and said, “Decapitation was achieved through clockwise cranial rotation.” He traced a circle in the air with his finger. “Professor Mathias said that the last time he’d seen anything like it was when he was in the army doing his national service. An infantryman stumbled across a bear and her cubs. She attacked him and ripped his head off.” Rheinhardt swirled his brandy. “The monk had no other injuries. Except some superficial damage to the facial skin, some small cuts and grazes, which could have been caused when the head was rolled away from the body. However, Professor Mathias did find a laceration about here…”

Rheinhardt tapped his crown.

“Caused by a blunt weapon, no doubt,” Liebermann interrupted, “which is why there was no evidence of a struggle. The monk was unconscious when they set about removing his head. Did Professor Mathias express an opinion regarding the handedness of the perpetrator, based on the direction of cranial rotation?”

“No. He wasn’t prepared to say anything conclusive. Given that the phenomenon of manual decapitation is so rare, he advised caution in this respect.”

“That is reasonable.”