Agota Kristof - The Book of Lies

My brother's forehead slams into the door and he falls. There is blood on the floor all around his head.

I leave the house and sit on a bench. An enormous moon lights the empty square.

An old man stops in front of me and asks for a cigarette. I offer him one, as well as a light.

He stays there, standing in front of me, smoking his cigarette.

After a few moments he asks, "So, then, you killed him?"

I say, "Yes."

The old man says, "You did what you had to do. That's good. Few people do what must be done."

I say, "It was because he wanted to open the door."

"You did well. It was good that you stopped him. You had to kill him. With that everything falls into order, the order of things."

I say, "But he won't be here anymore. Order doesn't mean much to me if he isn't here anymore."

The old man says, "On the contrary. From now on he'll always be with you wherever you go."

The old man moves off; he rings at the door of a little house and goes in.

When I wake up the square has already been busy for quite some time. People are moving around it on foot or by bicycle. There are very few cars. The shops are open, including the bookseller's. The hotel corridors are being vacuumed.

I open my door and call out to the cleaning woman: "Could you bring me a cup of coffee?"

She turns around; it is a young woman with very black hair.

'I'm not allowed to serve the guests, sir, I'm just a cleaning woman. We don't have room service. There's a restaurant and a bar."

I go back into my room, brush my teeth, shower, then climb back in under the covers. I'mcold.

There is a knock at the door. The cleaning woman comes in and sets a tray down on the night table.

"You can pay for the coffee at the bar whenever you like."

She lies down beside me on the bed and offers me her lips. I turn my head away.

"No, my lovely one. I'm old and ill."

She stands and says, "I have very little money. The work I do is very badly paid. I'd like to give my son a dirt bike as a birthday present. And I have no husband."

"I understand."

I give her a banknote without knowing if it is too little or too much; I still haven't figured out the prices of things here.

Around three in the afternoon I go out.

I walk slowly. Nevertheless, after half an hour I come to the end of the town. Where Grandmother's house used to be there is a very well-maintained athletic field. Children are playing on it.

For a long time I sit on the riverbank, then I return to town. I pass through the old section, the little streets around the castle; I climb up to the cemetery but cannot find Grandmother's grave.

Every day I walk like this for hours on end through every part of town. Especially through the narrow streets where the houses have sunk into the earth and their windows are at ground level. Sometimes I sit in a park or on the low walls of the castle or on a tomb in the cemetery. When I'm hungry I go into a little bistro and eat what it has to offer. Then I drink with the workers. No one recognizes me, no one remembers me.

One day I go into the bookseller's to buy paper and pencils. The fat man of my childhood is no longer there; now it is a woman who runs the place. She is sitting and knitting in an armchair near the French door that looks out onto the garden. She smiles at me.

"I know you. I see you going in and out of the hotel every day. Except for when you return too late and I'm already asleep. I live above the bookshop and like to look at the square at night."

I say, "Me too."

She asks, "Are you vacationing here? For very long?"

"Yes, vacationing. In a way. I'd like to spend as much time here as possible. It depends on my visa as well as on my money."

"Your visa? You're a foreigner? You don't look it."

"I spent my childhood in this town. I was born in this country. But I've been abroad for a very long time."

She says, 'There are a lot of foreigners here now that the country is free. Those who went away after the revolution come back to visit, but more than anything it's the curious ones, the tourists. You'll see, when the nice weather sets in they'll come by the busload. That'll be the end of our peace and quiet."

In fact the hotel is increasingly filled. Saturdays are dance nights; sometimes the dances last until four in the morning. I can stand neither the music nor the shouts and laughter of the people amusing themselves. So I stay out in the streets, sitting down on a bench with a bottle of wine I have bought earlier in the day, and wait.

One night a small boy sits down next to me.

"Can I stay here next to you, mister? I get a little scared at night."

I recognize his voice. It's the child who carried my suitcase when I arrived. I ask him, "What are you doing out so late?"

He says, "I'm waiting for my mother. When there are parties she has to stay to help serve and to do the dishes."

"So? All you have to do is stay home and sleep quietly."

"I can't sleep quietly. I'm afraid something will happen to my mother. We live far away from here and I can't let her walk alone. There are men who attack women walking alone at night. I saw it on television."

"And children aren't attacked?"

"No, not really. Just women. Especially if they're pretty. I could defend myself. I can run very fast."

We wait. Slowly silence descends inside the hotel. A woman comes out, the one who brings me coffee in the morning. The little boy runs to her and they go off together, hand in hand.

Other staff members come out of the hotel and quickly fade into the distance.

I climb up to my room.

The next day I go see the bookseller.

"It's impossible for me to stay in the hotel any longer. It's too crowded and there's too much noise. Would you know of anyone who might rent me a room?"

She says, "Come live at my place. Here, upstairs."

"I would be disturbing you."

"No, not at all. I'll live at my daughter's, it's not far from here. You'd have the whole floor. Two rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom."

"For how much?"

"How much do you pay at the hotel?"

I tell her. She smiles.

"Those are tourist prices. I'd let you live here for half that much. I'd even clean up for you after I closed the shop. You're always out then anyway, so I wouldn't disturb you. Would you like to see the apartment?"

"No, I'm sure it will be fine. When could I move in?"

"As early as tomorrow, if you like. All I have to do is collect my clothes and my things."

The next day I pack my suitcase and settle my bill at the hotel. I arrive at the bookseller's just before it closes. The bookseller hands me a key.

'That's the key to the front door. It's possible to get up to the apartment directly from the store, but you'll be using the other door, the street door. I'll show you."

She closes the shop. We climb up a narrow staircase lighted by two windows that look onto the garden. The bookseller explains to me, "The door to the left is the bedroom, across from the bathroom. The second door is the living room, from which you can also pass through into the bedroom. The kitchen is at the end. There's a refrigerator. I've left some food in it."

I say, "I only need coffee and wine. I eat my meals in bars."

She says, "That's not very healthy. The coffee is on the shelf and there's a bottle of wine in the fridge. I'll go now. I hope you like it here."

She leaves. I immediately open the bottle of wine; I'll lay in a supply tomorrow. I go into the living room. It's a big room, simply furnished. Between its two windows is a large table covered with a red plush cloth. I immediately cover it with my papers and pencils. Then I go into the bedroom, which is narrow and has only a single window, or rather a French door that leads out onto a little balcony.