Juli Zeh - The Method

‘A primitive analogy, Kramer, and beneath your intelligence. Besides, I haven’t lowered my visor; I’ve opened it. And unless I’m much mistaken, the people are cheering me on.’

‘If only they would content themselves with cheering. You’ve heard the news, I assume? The PRI is threatening to kill innocent people if the Method doesn’t agree to your release.’

‘You can’t fool me that easily, Kramer. The innocent people you’re so afraid for: they’re cheering outside. I’ve got nothing to do with the PRI.’

‘Society will hold you responsible if the terrorists strike.’

Mia laughs again. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? You want to paint me as the aggressor, and what happens? You cover me with blood. Just look at me, Kramer!’

‘Gladly. The split lip is rather fetching, by the way.’

Mia leans back against the wall and spreads out her arms; clad from head to toe in white she looks like a crucified angel.

‘ Your suit is cut from the finest cloth,’ she says. ‘Mine is made of paper. I didn’t lock myself in this cell; I didn’t call for my arrest. All I did was make a pronouncement that you chose to publish. You’ve got friends in high places. They let you stroll in here, while my lawyer speaks to me through a screen. Go ahead and hold me responsible, but maybe you should ask yourself who’s guiltier: the fly swatter or the fly.’

‘Isn’t it fascinating how Christian mythology continues to haunt our ideas? Weakness isn’t the same as innocence, yet humans persist in conflating the two. David takes a swipe at Goliath, and the rabble cheers for the underdog, as if its inferiority should be prized.’

‘If Goliath had some manners, he’d offer us a drink and somewhere to sit so we could have a civilised conversation. And besides, I’m hungry. Is deprivation supposed to change a person’s principles?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ says Kramer, confused. Looking around, he seems to notice for the first time that the room is unfurnished. He pushes off from the wall and disappears through the door. Mia, eyes closed and smiling, listens to the voices in the corridor, one of which, although muffled, is diabolically piercing. A moment later Kramer returns with two folding chairs.

‘I’m sorry, Frau Holl. If I were running this place, I’d dismiss those barbarians on the spot.’

‘Don’t apologise, Herr Kramer. They’re only doing their job.’

‘Sarcasm is the sign of a healthy mind; I’m glad you’re bearing up. Please, take a seat.’

Gallantly he pulls up a chair for Mia and sits across from her at a suitable distance. Once seated, Mia stretches her legs, draws them in again and crosses them at the ankles. Her hands are linked behind her chair.

‘You have to learn everything in here from the beginning, even how to sit. The alien sensation of brushing one’s teeth with a prison toothbrush, the awkwardness of peeing while standing, the science of putting on paper overalls … Even language, when seldom used, is a difficult dance.’

‘You dance extremely well,’ says Kramer steadily. ‘Now, if I could ask a few questions …’

‘Fire away.’

‘You told your lawyer that you’ve never felt so close to your brother.’

Mia raises her eyebrows. ‘Am I to understand that you’re bugging my conversations?’

‘Of course. You’re an enemy of the Method, hence the use of emergency powers.’

‘I’m not an enemy of the Method, I’m a suicide risk.’

‘It comes to the same thing.’

‘Of course,’ says Mia sagely.

‘I was wondering how you would describe your brother’s legacy — what did he leave to you personally?’

A guard appears at the door with a tray bearing two steaming cups and a couple of tubes of food. Kramer rises and relieves him of the tray.

‘Allow me.’ Respectfully he places the tubes in Mia’s lap. He puts the cup of hot water on the floor and adds some lemon — three drops, just as Mia likes it. She follows his movements greedily as if the ritual of being served could satisfy a hunger more overwhelming than her physical need.

‘Moritz didn’t leave me any material possessions, if that’s what you mean,’ she says at last. ‘But in spiritual terms, he gave me a lot.’

‘Would you say that you’re doing his will?’

Mia sips her water cautiously, puts down the cup and opens the first tube. ‘All his life he did his best to bring me round to his way of thinking.’

‘And he’s succeeded?’

‘I suppose so. Rather late in the day, you might say.’

The tube is unscrewed and Mia can’t control herself any longer. Kramer watches pityingly as she squeezes its contents into her mouth.

‘After his death, you went down to the river by yourself. You wanted to be close to him.’

‘We started going there as kids,’ says Mia through a mouthful of protein paste. ‘He liked to call it our cathedral.’

‘How touching.’ Kramer waves a hand, allowing Mia to keep the second protein tube. ‘Was anyone else involved?’

‘No one.’

‘Excellent, exactly as I thought! One last question. From our current perspective, Moritz is a kind of martyr, don’t you think?’

‘Well,’ says Mia, ‘it depends.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Kramer leans towards her. ‘I didn’t quite catch that. Could you possibly speak up?’

‘If it were to come to a coup,’ says Mia loudly, ‘Moritz would go down in history as a martyr. Which is a strange idea, by the way.’

‘Marvellous.’ Kramer produces a recording device from his inside pocket and switches it off. Then he sinks back in his chair, stretches his arms and checks his cuffs. ‘I think that’s just about everything. All I need is your signature.’

Mia stops chewing. ‘My signature?’

‘You need to sign your confession. You’ll appreciate that the Method is very sensitive about such things.’

‘My confession?’

‘I meant what I said about making some progress. In your situation, it’s undeniably for the best.’

‘Not like that, Kramer. I make the rules.’

‘Please, Frau Holl, there’s no need to get upset. If I can summarise the main points of our conversation, perhaps you’ll understand …’ He pauses, sipping his hot water unhurriedly and gazing into his cup. Then he changes his bearing and leans into an imaginary microphone. ‘Just moments ago, Method Defence confirmed that Moritz Holl has been identified as the former leader of a terrorist cell known as the Snails. The group met regularly in the woods to the south-east of the city, referred to by the Snails as the cathedral . Also part of the group was a certain Walter Hannemann, from whom Moritz received a bone marrow transplant and who was known to Moritz as the man who saved his life.’

Mia wrinkles her face as if she is about to burst out laughing. ‘You’re out of your mind!’

‘Are you aware,’ asks Kramer, ‘that Hannemann took his life? It’s tragic, really.’

‘You’ve got his death on your conscience as well.’

‘Hannemann is on your conscience, not mine.’ Kramer pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it with a torturous lack of haste. He paces around the cell, deciding where to stand. ‘Are you listening, Frau Holl? It goes like this: “I, Mia Holl, worked with my brother to come up with the plan. It was simple yet ingenious. Hannemann was to murder Sibylle. As we anticipated, the crime was attributed to my brother, whose DNA was found on the deceased. The Snails regarded suicide as the apogee of personal freedom and Moritz was obsessed with the idea of martyring himself for the cause. After he was found guilty, he killed himself in prison with my help.”’ Kramer glances up and smiles at Mia. ‘We’ve got it on camera. The fishing twine, you know.’