Thomas Glavinic - The Camera Killer

In fact, it wasn’t out of the question that my partner’s presentiment would prove correct: If cornered, the killer might take a hostage. However, nothing was known for certain.

Personally, said Heinrich, he now believed that the man was not in the vicinity.

At that moment, my partner, staring stiffly out the window, declared that she couldn’t believe her eyes. We went over to her. Despite this, my partner behaved as if she had to tell us what she was seeing. The farmer was coming out of his house with his wife and a great big rifle in his hands, she said, ready to fire.

Here comes Rambo! cried Heinrich. How nice, we were going to have guests or reinforcements, whichever, and my partner ought to be pleased.

She, however, stated that she wouldn’t remain in the same room as that madman, not at any price; he was quite capable of blazing away in all directions. At any rate, he shouldn’t be offered any hard liquor.

Heinrich did not appear to take my partner’s misgivings very seriously. He went to the front door and opened it. As before, the farmer omitted to remove his boots. He marched into the kitchen complete with hat, jacket, overalls, boots, and the rifle on his shoulder. We greeted him. He sat down, emitting a distinctly flatulent expulsion of wind as he did so.

His wife handed Eva a circular tin approximately ten inches in diameter and filled with cookies, saying that it would provide us with something to eat. Eva replied that it wasn’t necessary but thanked her warmly and invited her to sit down; coffee would be served at once.

Heinrich deposited a schnapps glass and a bottle filled with transparent liquid in front of the farmer. Heedless of my partner’s dissuasive gestures, he invited him to help himself. The farmer wasted no time in doing so, remarking — without a smile — that it would improve his aim. Well done, my partner told Heinrich in an undertone, failing to grasp that she could be heard all over the room.

Heinrich informed the farmer of what he had managed to learn on the phone. The farmer’s wife appeared to have conducted the phone calls to their neighbors. She spoke of similar matters but added that a house search was rumored to have been carried out in an unidentified location in the vicinity.

Heinrich turned on the kitchen radio and resumed his seat. The farmer spoke for the first time: He requested Heinrich to turn off the radio on the grounds that we would fail to hear what was happening outside the house. Heinrich complied, saying that the radio wouldn’t broadcast an all clear, in any case.

Eva, who had poured everyone a second cup of coffee by now, passed the cookies around again. While doing so, she extolled their quality and inquired if the farmer’s wife had baked them herself. The farmer’s wife confirmed this. She and Eva exchanged opinions on the correct way of making various desserts.

The farmer, who refused to be parted from his rifle even when seated, drank a second apricot brandy. Then he wiped his lips on the sleeve of his jacket and indulged in some uncouth behavior (ordering his wife to keep her voice down, peremptorily requesting Heinrich to open the window, saying that one could never tell and he wanted to hear and be prepared). My partner sighed and rose to her feet. Heinrich opened the window. It was quite evident that he was smiling, apparently not offended by the farmer’s brusque manner.

Eva succeeded in engaging my partner in a conversation about various aspects of cuisine, with the result that, after a minute or two, her face relaxed to such an extent that a timid smile became discernible.

Heinrich said he had to fetch something and left the kitchen. Before closing the door, he gave me a surreptitious signal to follow him. I obeyed his invitation.

Before I had even reached the door, my partner hailed me. What was I up to and where was I going?

I replied that I had to go to the bathroom, if I might be so permitted. My remark evoked reactions ranging from grins to laughter from all present, even the farmer, who was still sitting there with his hat on.

Heinrich was waiting for me in the hall. He was feeling tense, he whispered, and this coffee party didn’t appeal to him. He wanted to go outside and take a look — see where the police were prowling around and how far away they were. Would I come with him?

I agreed to, but pointed out that our plan was bound to meet with my partner’s disapproval. She had more than once expressed the wish that we all stay together. Moreover, she disagreed with the presence of the armed and schnapps-drinking farmer. If we were not there, I said, she might find him even more of a threat.

Heinrich conceded this. He propped his chin on his fist. After a while, he said he had found the answer. We should explain that we wanted to clarify the situation by speaking with the police in person. I didn’t consider this the best plan possible, I said, but it was worth a try.

I followed Heinrich into the living room. He turned on the television news, then switched from channel to channel. On one channel, we saw a helicopter shot of the area in which we ourselves were located. Fancy that, said Heinrich.

A subtitle stated that the report was coming live from West Styria. Heinrich said we ought soon to set off to speak with the police; we could watch the rest on television later. We had better not mention this broadcast to my partner, he added; it might make her nervous.

I agreed.

We went back into the kitchen. In the doorway, we nearly bumped into the farmer. He had his gun on his shoulder and was trying to get past us. Heinrich inquired where he was going. The farmer said he intended to take up his post outside and lie in wait for the killer. Heinrich let him go.

When the door had closed behind the farmer, Heinrich jokingly asked his wife how much liquor her husband could take before he lost control over his trigger finger. Unsmiling, she declared that her husband could take a great deal, had hardly touched a drop, and there was no need to worry — for us, at least, though the killer had better watch his step.

Outside the house, the farmer was gesticulating and calling something to us. We couldn’t understand him because my partner had shut the window again after his exit. Heinrich went out into the yard. We already knew what he had to tell us when he returned because we could hear it ourselves: A helicopter was thundering overhead. Heinrich said he proposed to go with me and look for the police.

Predictably enough, my partner vetoed this. What was that supposed to mean? she demanded; it was out of the question.

Heinrich said it was urgently necessary for us to speak with the police. Did she want to sit there quaking with fear for hours in ignorance of what was really happening?

No, said my partner, she didn’t, but the idea of sitting there all by herself appealed to her even less.

She wouldn’t be sitting there all by herself, Heinrich retorted; Eva and the lady from next door were there too. As for personal protection, their resolute and courageous neighbor outside was the most suitable man for the purpose.

It was noticeable that this very argument aroused mixed feelings in my partner. Doubtless from a sense of discretion, however, she refrained from informing his wife of her misgivings about the man patrolling outside the front door.

So Heinrich slipped on his shoes and gestured me to follow his example before any further objection could be raised. We waved to the ladies left behind in the kitchen and went outside the house, where we explained our intention to the farmer. We requested him, in the event that he had to open fire, to double-check whom he was aiming at, because it might be one of us. The farmer declared that he was an experienced hunter who never missed his target and selected it with care, could tell the difference between an ibex and a stag and a stag and a man, and so on and so forth.