Thomas Glavinic: The Camera Killer

Gingerly opening a box lying on the table in front of her, the anchorwoman said that nothing seemed more illustrative of the world’s sense of outrage than the contents of that receptacle, which had been sent to the studio with a request to use it either on the murderer or, in the event that he could not be caught and they really intended to screen this frightful video, on those in charge. As she spoke, she removed from the box a rope with a noose whose manifest purpose was to encircle a throat and bring about the death of its owner.

People are beyond belief, said Heinrich.

The theological psychologist seated beside the presenter came into view once more. He was staring at the noose, shaking his head, and expressing his stupefaction by muttering and gesturing helplessly.

Heinrich: That’s the theologian; before, it was the psychologist.

My partner: People are thoroughly evil.

There followed a contribution on the finding of the video. The gas station attendant who had discovered the tapes and camera was interviewed in the Kaiserwald autobahn service area. He pointed out the spot with his forefinger. Even we found it difficult to understand what he was saying in his Styrian dialect, and the German station supplied a subtitled translation.

Some character, said Heinrich.

The presenter said the station had drafted a statement about the forthcoming transmission, and she was now going to read it. Heinrich said she could stuff her statement; he wanted to see the video. Reading from a sheet of paper, the presenter said the TV station was fully aware of its responsibilities. This was precisely the reason for its decision to screen the video. The subject would be dealt with sensitively.

It was 11:43 already, Heinrich exclaimed, so what was all this crap?

Reading on, the presenter said it was time to put an end to American conditions in Europe. This case in Austria, Germany’s immediate neighbor, was of concern to everyone. A mirror must be held up in front of society, and the station was shouldering this responsibility.

Heinrich said the presenter was talking utter bullshit, and my partner endorsed this. The only one of us not to have eaten his ice cream, Heinrich picked up his bowl.

The video would be screened very soon, said the presenter. First, however, in case anyone felt the need to consult an expert after watching the videos, the telephone numbers of some psychological advice centers would be shown. This service was free, barring a maximum telephone charge of €0.50 per minute. After a short commercial break, the video would begin. The telephone numbers were inserted.

Shortly thereafter, viewers were treated to the sight of a young woman being enjoined by her two little boys to purchase a certain cream-filled candy bar. Heinrich indignantly remarked that the programmers were taking their time with a vengeance. He switched channels.

The next channel was just reporting on the demonstration outside the transmitter of the murder video. Despite the lateness of the hour, hundreds of people were besieging the television studio. Their banners were inscribed with vulgar abuse. One of them expressed the belief that the TV station had commissioned the murders itself and paid for the films in advance. Some bore the words “Snuff Pigs” or “Snuff Killers” and “You Peddle Snuff.”

Eva asked what snuff meant. Heinrich explained that snuff videos were films that recorded real-life murders and that there was a special market for these. Eva said she’d heard of them. It only went to show how sick the world really is, my partner remarked.

Heinrich disputed this. During the Middle Ages, people had been beheaded in public, and the spectators, who turned out in force, had thoroughly enjoyed the sight. We were no better than the people of those days.

But we used to be better once upon a time, my partner retorted.

Heinrich shrugged his shoulders and switched back to the murder video channel. It was still showing commercials, a fact on which Heinrich commented adversely. It was 11:52, he said; were they going to take all night about it and end by singing the praises of Gigantico’s Super-Duper, Lightning-Fast Vacuum Cleaner?

Then he suggested filling in the time with another game of cards. My partner opposed this idea, citing our excessive nervous tension in expectation of the video. Heinrich bet me the video wouldn’t be shown before midnight. I accepted the bet and won.

At 11:58 the plump anchorwoman reappeared. She announced that the video would now be screened. Approximately four hours’ material was available. The channel had edited it down and would transmit the crucial scenes, or scenes that encapsulated the entire course of events. Any children and adolescents under the age of sixteen now watching the screen should be sent out of the room by those responsible for their upbringing.

Heinrich jokingly ordered his wife out of the room, but Eva didn’t consider this funny.

From one moment to the next, the quality of the images on the screen changed. A digital clock was running in the top right corner of the picture. In the first scene, it showed 0:08. This signified that the first seven minutes had been deemed unworthy of transmission. An informative ticker at the foot of the screen read, “Screening this video is not sensationalism. It is a vain attempt to come to terms with an incomprehensible human tragedy.”

Incredible, said Heinrich, plunging his hand in the bowl of peanuts. Eva chewed her nails and directed only occasional glances at the screen. My partner said she failed to understand why anyone would do such things, let alone film them, and why any TV station would show them. Heinrich shushed her and pointed at the screen, which was showing a patch of forest.

The camerawork was jerky. The cameraman was moving forward. We saw a clearing in which three children were racing around with sticks in their hands.

Cut. 0:15. A high-pitched, distorted voice — that of the cameraman — informed them that now one of them was his prisoner, he doubted the others would be rash enough to run away. Any such attempt would cost the lives, first of the remaining boy and then, within a few hours at most, of the other two and all the members of their family.

He took them completely by surprise, said Heinrich.

The hog-tied brother came into the shot. He asked the man why he was doing this to them. The camera panned. The boy who was second in age repeated that he wanted to leave and the man should let them all go. Heinrich urged us to look at his expression, which was alternating between an uncertain smile and undisguised fear. He didn’t seem to fully grasp the situation or believe in its gravity. Only ten minutes earlier, Heinrich added, they had been romping around unsuspectingly, and even now, they probably thought they’d be playing tag again in another quarter of an hour.

The hoarse voice asked the youngest boy what he would think if he, the cameraman, slit open his hog-tied brother’s stomach to see if his innards smoked like the cigarettes the grown-ups smoked at home or steamed like food on the table. The cameraman said this was so, he knew it. It also smoked or steamed when you did a pee outside, if it was cold enough.

What’s he on about? Heinrich exclaimed.

The children didn’t answer.

The cameraman went on to describe several other ways of torturing someone. This speech, of which the children took note with unmistakable distaste, evoked exclamations of an indignant nature from all present in the living room.

The cameraman never stopped filming the children for an instant. This gave us an opportunity to study their changing expressions. They don’t have a clue, Heinrich exclaimed, not a clue.

The boy who was clearly the youngest of the three had already burst into tears some time ago. Whimpering and hopping up and down on the spot in a silly way — and, interestingly enough, clutching his genitals — he requested the cameraman to release him and his brothers from their disagreeable predicament.