Bernhard Aichner: Woman of the Dead: A Thriller

Reza calls the emergency numbers, an ambulance, the police. He is running around in circles like a frightened animal, he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, there is no way out. Staring neighbours, horrified faces, no one can help. No one can bring Mark back. Five minutes ago everything was all right, five minutes ago there was still life, and now there’s only death. It has knocked everything over and crushed it. Blum knows that there is no going back now. That he will never touch her again, that his fingers will be silent, his hands, his mouth. She knows this. She has seen death a thousand times, she has seen life departed, only a body, only skin going cold. There will be no more talk, no laughing, no one to protect her any more. Mark will not come back. Blum knows it, senses it, feels it. Feels it tearing at her heart, feels everything in her cut to pieces as she screams and screams. Because the pain is growing worse every second.

Blum and Mark are in the middle of the road. The motorbike lies fifty metres away. Blum hears the children screaming too, they are crying, Blum sees Karl and Reza holding them back. They want to go to their father, they want to go to Blum, they can hear their mother. They hear how desperate she is. Police officers climb out of their car and paramedics drag her away. Blum’s fingers touch Mark one last time. The needle goes into her arm. They hold her, they press her down to the ground, she screams. Until suddenly it is warm, and the light goes out.

She has slept for thirty-six hours. Again and again she was briefly awoken, again and again she forced her eyes to close. She didn’t want to come back to the light of day, to reality, didn’t want to feel anything, see anything, accept that it had really happened. Her sole wish was to sleep, immersing herself in the fog that made everything bearable. Blum turns over and goes back to sleep. She never wants to wake again. She wants to numb herself for days on end, for weeks. Not until Uma and Nela crawl into bed with her, and only when little hands begin stroking her cheek, does she come back.

She senses the fear and desperation in their small fingers. She hears her children’s consoling words; they are trying to be strong, they want their mother back, they want her to get up and go on living. Mama, you mustn’t be dead. Please get up, Mama. You must open your eyes, Mama. Please . Nela’s voice. She wants to be cuddled, she wants Blum to dry her tears, she wants to be told that everything is all right. Those two magical little creatures don’t understand why their Papa isn’t there or why he was covered with blood or why he was taken away. They don’t want their world to collapse; they want to snuggle up to their mother, crawl into her, hide in her, be safe. They want to act as if everything were still the same. As if Mark were still there beside them. Breathing, smiling. Mama, you must get up now. Please, you must. Grandpa won’t stop crying. We need you, Mama. Their words sink far down into Blum. Their words tear Blum away from sleep and suddenly give her strength. She can’t lie here for another moment. With all her might, she sits up and comes back to life. I’m not dead , she says.

‘We’ll manage, my big girl.’

‘What, Mama? What will we manage?’

‘Come here, you two.’

‘What’s the matter with Papa, Mama? I want him to come back.’

‘Papa won’t be coming back.’

‘Why not?’

‘Nela, don’t you know that Papa is a prince?’

‘So?’

‘So princes ride through the forest fighting dragons.’

‘Dragons aren’t real, Mama.’

‘Oh yes, Nela, there are dragons, and your Papa has gone away to fight them. Your Papa is a very brave prince.’

‘Why was there all that blood, Mama?’

‘That was dragon’s blood. The dragon wounded your Papa, but he’s better again now. Now he is riding through the forest on his white horse.’

‘You’re telling stories, Mama.’

‘Imagine it, Nela, think of him smiling as he rides.’

‘Papa doesn’t have a horse, he has a motorbike. And the motorbike is broken. It was lying in the road. Just like Papa.’

‘Your Papa is all right.’

‘Papa is dead.’

‘No.’

‘Yes, Mama. Papa is a corpse now too.’

‘Hush.’

‘They’ve just brought him back.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Papa is in the cool room.’

Blum jumps up. Nela’s words are like ice-cold water into which she is falling, nearly drowning, while her heart almost stops because it hurts so much, because everything is suddenly real again. Because the idea that the children have seen their dead father is like a blow in the face. It mustn’t be real. Not like that, not before she has done what needs doing. She must get up, she must think clearly, she must see to everything, bring the sinking ship back on course. Where is Karl? Where’s Reza? Why does everything hurt so much?

Mark. She is screaming inside, she is weeping, pleading. Come back, please. I need you. I can’t do it without you. I can’t. The children. How am I to do it without you? I don’t know. Please, Mark. Look at them. They’re so small. Look at them clinging to me. I can’t do it, Mark. I can’t do it without you. But all the same she gets dressed and goes into the kitchen with the children. All the same, she opens the fridge and makes them something to eat. All the same, she acts as if she had everything back under control. Never mind how loudly she is screaming inside, never mind if everything in her is collapsing; every piece of skin crying out, every centimetre of flesh. It hurts as if she were being torn apart by a herd of wild beasts. But she spreads butter on her toast and even tries to smile, to soothe the children’s fears. She mustn’t cry now. Mustn’t lie there motionless and desperate, never to stand up again, as if she were dead.

They are sitting side by side at the table. The children are munching away; Blum watches them. Everything will be all right, she says, knowing that’s not true. Nothing will ever be all right again. Everything that was once all right is now lying in a cool room on the ground floor. He will never read the children a story again, never play with them again, never make them another bonfire in the garden. No more singing together, no more suppers together, no more outings, no holidays on the boat. The children were so happy when he put their life jackets on. In her mind’s eye Blum sees them on the loveliest beaches in Croatia, a month ago. They ran into the water, he tossed them up in the air, they were so happy, and nothing threatened their little world, Mama and Papa were there, and when they went to sleep Mama and Papa sat out on deck, drinking wine. She heard their voices, their giggling, there was such confidence that no storm in the world could make their boat capsize. Love was there, everything was all right. By night on the sea.

‘Do you still want more?’

‘Lots more.’

‘My dear young lady, you need to get your sea legs.’

‘I’m on holiday.’

‘You’re drunk, my flower.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

‘Well, there we are.’

‘I’m afraid you may molest me again tonight.’

‘You’re right, but not just yet. There’s half a bottle left to go.’

‘Drink up quickly, my lovely.’

‘There’s no hurry, my good sir.’

‘Hurry up, the stars will soon be setting.’

‘No, they won’t.’

‘They will.’

‘Then I suppose I really ought to drink more quickly.’

‘We don’t want to lose any time.’

‘Do the stars just fall out of the sky, or what?’

‘Yes, they all fall into the sea, just like that. They dive into the water and disappear. One after another. Until the sky is empty.’