Thomas Glavinic: The Camera Killer

Heinrich vigorously contested this. He had no intention of making himself look a fool in front of the police. He was going to have to live here for a long time. Did he want to be known at the police station as the idiot who’d called the police because of a creaking beam? No, he certainly wasn’t going to run that risk. So saying, he made for the stairs leading to the second floor.

However, my partner prevented him from carrying out his intention of investigating the mysterious crash on his own. Stirring from the spot for the first time since her abortive attempt to escape, she caught hold of the belt around his bathrobe. He wasn’t going up there on his own, she said; she wouldn’t allow it.

Heinrich came to a standstill, although his physical superiority would undoubtedly have enabled him to shake off the restraint. He burst out laughing.

She didn’t find it funny, Eva said indignantly. Something had to be done. That noise just now really did defy rational explanation. Perhaps they ought to enlist the help of the farmer and his wife.

That was all he needed, Heinrich exclaimed. What was this — blind panic coupled with stupidity? Besides, he doubted their neighbors were back from church yet. The two women should compel themselves to view the situation in a levelheaded manner.

For a while, we all remained where we were in the passage, my partner still clinging to Heinrich’s belt. We strained our ears and thought it over.

Eva wanted to discuss the matter as unemotionally as possible, she said. Heinrich would probably not encounter anything dangerous up there, but a certain risk remained. What did he propose to do if, contrary to expectation and mathematical probability, he suddenly found himself confronted by the camera killer in a second-floor room? He possessed immense physical strength, it was true, but the murderer would certainly take advantage of the surprise element. He might be lurking behind a door and attack him unexpectedly. Heinrich should at least be armed. She was thinking of a kitchen knife.

Heinrich retorted that he was not adept at knifeplay and that resorting to such a dubious weapon could very quickly rebound on an unskilled defender. Eva sternly enjoined him to take the matter more seriously.

After reflecting for a moment, Heinrich sighed and agreed to take an ax with him for purposes of self-defense. Eva applauded that decision. My partner, on the other hand, looked worried and would not be weaned from her proposal that we call the police for assistance. Heinrich rejected this, tapping his forehead.

When my partner learned that fetching the ax would first entail another visit to the cellar, she wouldn’t hear of it. She made a lightning dash for the telephone, and Heinrich had some difficulty in wresting the receiver from her grasp and hauling her away from the handset. She loudly pointed out the dangers of a trip to the cellar: how easy it would be for the murderer, if he were outside, to capture him and, possibly, start filming.

To resolve the situation, I expressed my full approval of Heinrich’s suggestion. Partly ignoring my partner’s resistance and partly neutralizing it by exerting physical strength, I opened the door for Heinrich and locked it behind him.

While waiting, Eva and I spoke soothingly to my partner. She abandoned the idea of phoning the police after Eva had argued that such a call might shed an adverse light on her mental state.

There was a knock, and I opened the door without hesitation. Attired in his bathrobe, which was sodden with rain, Heinrich entered, ax in hand. He wasted no time in going upstairs. I followed him. The women plucked up their courage and climbed the stairs too.

Once on the second floor, we turned on the lights in one room after another but found nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. That left the loft. My partner said she wasn’t going up there and made a final attempt to dissuade us from searching it.

If he heard the word police one more time, cried Heinrich, he would forget himself and fetch his video camera or do some other nasty things.

Having already climbed the narrow ladder ahead of me, he opened the hatch with his free hand and reached behind him. I passed him the flashlight. Before he plunged his head into the darkness of the loft, he uttered several thunderous challenges. Anyone there? he called. No answer.

The pattering of the rain could be heard at considerably greater volume, and we were enveloped in a cold draft. Eva and my partner remained standing at the foot of the ladder. Heinrich played his flashlight over the loft. It took us a while to solve the mystery: Via some secret route, two cats had succeeded in sheltering there from the storm. Once in the loft, they had evidently romped around. In the course of their cavorting, an open bookcase containing all manner of jumble had fallen over. This was what had caused the crash. When we transmitted this news to the women on the ladder below, it was greeted with hilarity.

Meantime, I briefly devoted my attention to the unusual appearance of one of the cats, which was endeavoring to hide from the beam of the flashlight: It was dressed up. I pointed this out to Heinrich, who laughed. During a family visit a few days ago, he told me, Eva’s nephews had asked her grandmother for some clothes for the cats. The old woman in question had given them a few crocheted garments, and the animal in front of us had drawn the short straw.

Let’s go back downstairs, he said.

Although the situation had resolved itself satisfactorily, there was something sinister about a pitch-dark loft with the beam of a flashlight playing over it, especially at this juncture.

Heinrich took the flashlight from me and shone it on his wrist. His watch said 11:20. Setting foot on the ladder, he communicated that fact to the women below and urged them to get a move on.

With considerable vehemence, Eva gave vent to her mixed feelings about our forthcoming viewing of the murder video and voiced the hope that the relevant TV station had since been shut down by the police or stormed by demonstrators. Even though the latter procedure violated the principles of constitutional government and represented a criminal offense, she would nonetheless sympathize with the raiders and fully approve of their action.

Heinrich told her to stop bleating.

It fell to me, being the last one down, to shut the hatch to the loft and secure it with a metal bolt. This I did without delay.

On reaching the first floor, we dispersed to complete sundry preparations before the program began. Eva paid another visit to the bathroom. Heinrich temporarily stowed the unused ax in the hall closet and exchanged his wet bathrobe for some dry indoor clothes.

In the kitchen, my partner took a tray some three feet long and two wide from a small cupboard. On this, she placed three packets of Soletti pretzels, two packets of chips, a small bowl of peanuts, four far-too-meager portions of vanilla ice cream, four packets of wafer cookies, and a clean ashtray. I watched her meanwhile.

Heinrich called loudly from the living room that it was 11:28. The program had already started, but not the video yet. We hurried into the living room and took our places. Eva’s attempt to thank my partner for her efforts with the food was nipped in the bud by a harsh rebuke from Heinrich, who, lolling on the sofa with his legs crossed, urged us to devote our attention to the screen.

A blonde, overweight presenter was currently conversing with a bearded man of about fifty, the latter being described by a subtitle as a psychologist and theologian. The anchorwoman thanked him for his remarks, then turned to face the camera and addressed the viewers. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “a terrible thing has happened, and it is still unclear what such a monstrous crime, which holds us all spellbound, may lead to.”