Richard House - The Kills

‘You don’t know.’ Isa’s voice begins to rise. ‘This isn’t about appearances. This isn’t about some inconvenience. There’s a situation here and he’s sitting at our table with no idea about what’s coming out of his mouth and who he is speaking with.’

Things at the table aren’t going well. Henning is pressing Mattaus for details. Who is this man? How did they meet? Does he have any idea about the kind of work Henning does? Has he any conception of how ridiculous this will make him appear if the news gets out?

Mattaus is dumbfounded, and gabbles for breath. He pours out their history. They met at a nightclub, the Nightingale. No, not the one in Limassol — all right, yes it was. And it hasn’t been very long.

‘I knew this would happen. It’s none of your business.’ He struggles to justify himself.

‘That isn’t how this works.’ Henning stubs his forefinger on the table.

Isa turns from the sink. Mouth open. A thought taking shape. ‘If this isn’t about fucking then what is it about?’

Mattaus now looks slapped and he half stands.

‘It’s all about fucking with you. So if that isn’t happening, what is it about? Drugs? It is isn’t it? You met him at a club.’

The clarity of this idea strikes them all with its rightness, and opens up yet more consequences.

Rike watches in wonderment as the evening flowers in front of her.

‘He’s not an architect or a decorator. He works for one of the clubs. He works for the Nightingale.’

Henning gives a small whimper. This isn’t possible, he picks up his napkin, drops it for effect (not a great effect, it’s all he has to hand).

Mattaus stands up and says he’s going.

‘No. I don’t think so. You’re not going.’

Mattaus freezes.

‘You aren’t going anywhere. I need to know exactly what you’re doing. Is she right? Are you doing drugs?’

Mattaus won’t answer.

‘Tell me who he is, this Olexei?’

Again, no answer.

‘Are you going to the Nightingale? Are you going to the clubs? Are you associating with the Russians who own those clubs?’

Mattaus won’t answer, instead he looks to Rike for some kind of rescue.

Rike doesn’t move a muscle.

Henning rises from his seat and now he’s shouting. ‘Do you know anything about these people? Do you know who you are associating with? Have you got any fucking idea about what you’re doing? About the effect of what you are doing and what it means to me — to us?’

Whatever satisfaction Rike was enjoying is wiped away by her understanding that this actually is an issue. Henning, who has never shouted, not to her knowledge, who holds his silences as his key weapon, is now exceptionally angry, his face red, his throat swollen, his voice bristling with effort. This is not a small misstep. Mattaus has seriously fucked up.

‘How long have you been here?’

Mattaus scrambles for excuses, but can’t minimize the trouble he’s causing, the truth, obviously, is the only route. ‘I’ve been back and forth.’

‘Back and forth?’ Isa doesn’t understand. ‘For how long?’

‘Since March.’ He closes his eyes. ‘February. No. Yes. Early February.’

‘You were here before we arrived? I don’t understand. Why you didn’t tell us?’

‘Franco kicked me out. January. At the end of January. I came here for a break. I’ve been back and forward.’

Henning, seated again, has his head in his hands. ‘These people are like the Mafia. Do you know what you are involved with? Do you know what they do?’

‘It’s not like that.’ For a moment it looks like Mattaus might start to laugh.

‘Drugs. Prostitution. He says it’s not like that? Tell me, Mattaus, tell me what it’s like. Tell me something I don’t know about these people. You’ve made friends with the people who run the nightclubs on this island and you’re going to tell me that you all hold hands and go out for pizza, you get a movie when the mood takes you? You sit and you talk about your favourite films? You talk about spa treatments? These people are thugs, Mattaus. They are involved in people-trafficking, in drugs. And you have a boyfriend you’re taking things easy with? On what planet is this possible, Mattaus?’ Henning shakes his head, can’t stop his exasperation. ‘What did you think would happen tonight? Why did you come? Why now? What point did you want to make?’ A small realization comes to him. ‘Or is there something else? You have something else to say, Mattaus? You have some other reason for coming here?’

‘No.’

‘You always have a reason. For everything you do there’s a reason — what is it now?’

‘No.’

‘I need to know where you’re staying. You can’t see these people any more.’

When Mattaus starts to protest Henning holds up his hand. ‘You’ve done enough,’ he says.

* * *

Rike clears the dishes, throws out the pasta and pours the sauce into a container. Isa sits on her own, the light from the kitchen dresses the room with long shadows.

‘I’ve never seen him like that.’

‘Henning.’

‘I think Mattaus knew what was going to happen. I think he came here knowing what to expect.’

Rike doubts that Mattaus had thought this through. The man reacts to situations when and as they occur, why would he ever think ahead?

With the meal cleared away Rike warms two glasses of milk and sits with her sister.

‘What will Henning do?’

‘He’ll find out about the boyfriend. It might not be that bad.’ Isa draws her hand across her brow. ‘Who am I kidding? He’s been with these people, partying, taking drugs. He doesn’t care who they are. This Olexei sounds like a new arrival, but it looks like he’s spent months with a whole group. It isn’t good.’

‘And Mattaus?’

‘He can’t stay. The embassy will want him to leave.’

‘And Henning?’

‘It’s just the wrong time for all of this. Anything that potentially compromises him, anything that looks out of order, makes his work more difficult. If Udo gets any word of this then it’s over. We’ll be returned to Germany. It will all be over. There will be no possibility of returning to Damascus.’

Rike cups the glass in her hands and nods. ‘Do you think he has a problem?’

‘With drugs?’ Isa shakes her head. ‘He’s such a fucking tourist.’ Isa picks up her drink. ‘How old is he now? Thirty-one? Thirty-two? Time is running out for him and he knows it. He can’t behave like this.’

‘I feel sorry for Franco.’

‘Franco was no angel. He knew what he was getting.’

A silence falls between them. Isa exhausted but unwilling to go to bed.

Living with Mattaus and Franco, close to the end of her stay, Rike had woken with the sound of them returning from a club. Two in the morning, then three. Someone in the kitchen, and she had come out to find Franco leaning against the cabinets, arms folded. The door to their bedroom closed. And then the painful realization that they had met someone at the club and brought them home. It was difficult to understand the set-up, but Franco wasn’t pleased. Until this point they had lived formal lives with each other, but now, on the understanding that she was leaving, she sensed that they were returning to a different life, to old and established routines.

When she left, it was Franco, not Mattaus, who said that he would miss her.