Richard House - The Kills

‘He calls him burger-head.’

‘Burger-head?’

‘Mr Tartare. Because of his face.’ Henning gestures at his face with the tongs.

‘You tell me this before we eat?’

‘He’s going to need a new face. His nose. Gone. They have to make new eyelids. It looks like he’s been in a fire. And this is just from being in the sun for so long. He smells like he’s been cooked. The doctors have a name for this…’

‘And we’re having steak tonight?’

‘You like steak.’

‘I do like steak. But I don’t like stories about men who look like steak. Tell me a nicer story. Tell Rike the horror. Tell me happy things.’

Chastised, Henning points the tongs at her stomach. ‘You have to eat.’

‘So you were here last night and you didn’t call?’

Rike, fingers in ears to signal her dislike of such stories, tells Henning she seriously doesn’t want to hear anything graphic about this man. How he looks. How he suffers. Not one word. It’s bad enough thinking about the man on the train.

‘They take skin in strips from your back. Like bacon.’ Henning clacks the tongs after his wife.

The fire, ready for the meat, is spread across the pan. Rike catches Henning’s eye as he places the grate on top of the grill, and again he gives her a smile and a wink. This is his thank you. This is his appreciation. Meat. Gin. Conversation.

Isa wants to know when he has to return to Nicosia, what the plan is? She speaks to Rike in an aside. They have to make decisions because they are running out of time. ‘It’s getting close now.’ She runs her hand slowly round her stomach. ‘I don’t think he’s really thought it through.’

‘So why don’t you ask him?’

‘I don’t want to spoil things. Not on the first night.’

Rike watches Henning through the glass and Henning smiles back with a small salute-like nod. Everything has changed, in one day. The grill is outside. The cats are gone. But more than this the house has slipped from being theirs to being his. She remembers now how simply Henning manages to take over, and how little he appreciates this.

* * *

At the dining table they sit with a full bowl of salad, artichoke hearts, roasted peppers, the steaks, the frikadelle and bratwurst Kraiz brought from Frankfurt. Isa wears a pink T-shirt with an American flag and the slogan: ‘Never Fuck a Republican’, which Henning, for the moment, ignores.

No one has asked about Damascus. The bowls and plates end up within Henning’s reach. He takes food from his plate, picks up a steak from another, prongs a tomato from the salad, chewing all the time, eating without pause, feasting.

‘So Udo—’

‘Not again.’ Isa sets down her knife and fork in real irritation.

‘No, this is different.’

‘Now I have it back in my head.’

‘No, this is another story. Udo says that Rudi has another woman.’

‘And you are all how old?’

‘Rudi is fifty-seven.’

Isa explains to Rike that Rudi and Udo were the men they saw in the hospital. The disagreeable-looking man was Rudi.

‘You saw him? Here? In Limassol?’

‘At the hospital. Before my last appointment.’

Henning raises his eyebrows as if this is something he didn’t know.

‘Why the face?’

‘What face?’

‘You’re making a face.’

Henning holds a sausage close to his lips. ‘Because he shouldn’t be here. He has work in Nicosia. This has nothing to do with him.’

‘We’re talking Sutler again? Mr Three. So why was Rudi here?’

‘Because he works with Iraq. His field is the entire Middle East. Because he becomes involved in things which shouldn’t concern him, and when he does everything becomes difficult.’ Henning sets the sausage on the plate. ‘Things with the British are complicated. They really want this man. They aren’t sure he’s the person they think he is, but want him, and if they take responsibility for him they’ll give him to the Americans.’ Henning looks at Isa. ‘Anyway I was explaining about Rudi. He has a Cypriot girlfriend.’

‘And this means…’

‘And this means he won’t go home. He’ll stay. And if he stays then we stay — until this is over. He won’t go back to Berlin. So we won’t go back to Berlin.’

‘I don’t see how this works?’

‘As long as Rudi stays in love, we stay in Cyprus.’

The fear held by Isa and Henning is that a return to Berlin would mean reassignment. If they can’t return to Damascus, then they might be deployed elsewhere. The spectre of a single posting, of Henning unaccompanied in Iraq or Afghanistan, again raises its head.

‘And how long has he being seeing this person ?’

‘Udo says it’s been going on for a while now. She also worked in Damascus.’

‘The public service,’ Isa grimly shakes her head, ‘is run by deviants and schoolboys.’ She picks up her cutlery. ‘So we stay as long as he stays.’

‘Unless everything resolves beforehand.’

‘But this won’t happen. It’s never going back to what it was. It’s not going to happen. I don’t think it’s anywhere near started yet.’

Henning pauses as if thinking, he looks at Rike, places his fork at the side of his plate and rises from the table without fuss.

‘Udo is ugly.’ Isa nods at her plate. ‘I mean, how long has he been snooping on Rudi? It’s not right. He’s like one of those blackmailers. Like in the movies. Ugly inside and out.’

Henning, out of the room now, disagrees.

‘I don’t think he was snooping.’

‘He’s spreading rumours.’

‘Udo’s job is to make sure we’re fit for purpose.’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘That we can work. That we do nothing foolish.’

Rike watches Henning in the hall, he unzips his bag, opens the top and unfolds his clothes, searching.

‘Of course. But to pry.’ Isa looks square at her sister. ‘Don’t you think it’s sneaky? Maybe it’s not? Maybe it’s just me?’

Henning returns to the table with a package in his hand which he offers to Isa. ‘I was back at the apartment.’

Isa looks up, mouth slightly open, enough to show her surprise. ‘You went back?’

‘I made sure everything is safe.’

Isa looks down at her hands, then opens the package, carefully unfolding the paper.

‘I didn’t know what to bring. I didn’t have much time. I made sure that everything was put away, that the shutters were closed. I asked Etta to keep an eye on everything.’

‘They’re still there?’

‘They’re still there, and everything is all right. He’s keeping an eye open. Everything is OK.’

Isa sets the package on the table. A framed photograph of Isa and Rike’s grandparents, separate portraits in the same frame. Isa wipes her eyes, and softly touches the frame. She reaches for Henning’s hand and holds it, silent for the moment.

‘I brought a suitcase also. There were clothes in the basket which you wanted to bring. I didn’t have much time to look for anything else. I just checked the apartment and made sure that everything was OK.’

It surprises Rike that Henning is so hesitant. Worried perhaps that this subject should be completely avoided, and concerned that he has returned with the wrong things. Isa, apologizing, sets the photograph face down on the table and leaves for her room. ‘It’s too much,’ she says, a quick gasp for breath. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just too much right now.’