Agota Kristof - The Book of Lies

"Mine are dead. As for yours, I do not know."

"Why so formal with me, Klaus? I'm your brother, Lucas. Why don't you want to believe me?"

"Because my brother is dead. I would be very happy to see your papers, if you wouldn't mind."

My brother pulls a foreign passport out of his pocket and hands it to me. He says, "Don't believe too much of it. There are one or two errors in it."

I examine the passport.

"So you are called Claus, with a 'C.' Your date of birth is not the same as mine, and yet Lucas and I were twins. You are three years older than I am."

I hand him back his passport. My brother's hands are shaking, as is his voice.

"When I crossed the frontier I was fifteen. I gave a false birthdate to seem older, of legal age, in fact. I didn't want to be put under a guardianship."

"And the first name? Why the change in first names?"

"Because of you, Klaus. When I filled out the questionnaire at the border guards' office I thought of you, of your name, which had been with me for the whole length of my childhood. So instead of Lucas I wrote Claus. You did the same thing when you published your poems under the name Klaus Lucas. Why Lucas? In memory of me?"

I say, "In memory of my brother, actually. But how do you know I publish poems?"

"I write too, but not poems."

He opens his portfolio and takes out a large schoolboy's notebook, which he places on the table.

"This is my last manuscript. It's unfinished. I won't have time to complete it. I'm leaving it for you. You'll finish it. You have to finish it."

I open the notebook but he stops me with a gesture.

"No, not now. When I'm gone. There's something important I'd like to know. How did I get my wound?"

"What wound?"

"A wound close to the spinal column. A bullet wound. How did I get it?"

"How would you suppose me to know? My brother, Lucas, did not have a wound. He had a childhood illness. Poliomyelitis, I believe. I was no more than four or five when he died and cannot remember exactly. All I know is what I was told later on."

He says, "Yes, exactly. For a long time I too thought I had had a childhood illness. That's what I was told. But later I learned that I had been wounded by a bullet. Where? How? The war had only just started."

I remain silent and shrug. Lucas persists: "If your brother is dead, he must have a grave. His grave, where is it? Can you show me?"

"No, I cannot. My brother is buried in a mass grave in the town of S. " "Oh yes? And Father's grave, and Mother's grave, where are they? Can you show me?"

"No, I cannot do that either. My father did not come back from the war, and my mother is buried with my brother, Lucas, in the town of S. "

He asks, "So then I didn't die of poliomyelitis?"

"My brother didn't, no. He died in the middle of a bombing. My mother had just gone with him to the town of S., where he was to be treated at the rehabilitation center. The center was bombed and neither my brother nor my mother ever came back."

Lucas says, "If they told you that, they lied to you. Mother never went with me to the town of S. She never went there to see me. I had lived at the center with my alleged childhood illness for several years before it was bombed. And I wasn't killed in the bombing. I survived."

I shrug again. "You, yes. My brother, no. Nor my mother."

We look each other in the eye and I don't turn away.

"As you can see, we are talking about two different fates. You will have to pursue your investigation elsewhere."

He shakes his head. "No, Klaus, and you know it very well. You know I'm your brother, Lucas, but you deny it. What are you afraid of? Tell me, Klaus, what?"

I reply, "Nothing. What could I be afraid of? Were I convinced that you are my brother, I would be the happiest of men for having found you again."

He asks, "Why would I come find you if I weren't your brother?"

"I have no idea. There is also your appearance."

"My appearance?"

"Yes. Look at me and look at you. Is there the slightest physical resemblance between us? Lucas and I were true twins and looked perfectly alike. You are a head shorter and weigh sixty pounds less than me."

Lucas says, "You're forgetting my illness, my infirmity. It's a miracle that I learned to walk again."

I say, "Let us move on. Tell me what became of you after the bombing."

He says, "Since my parents didn't reclaim me, I was sent to live with an old peasant woman in the town of K. I lived with her and worked for her until I left for abroad."

"And what did you do abroad?"

"All sorts of things, and then I wrote books. And you, Klaus, how did you survive after the death of Mother and Father? From what you tell me, you were orphaned very young."

"Yes, very young. But I was fortunate. I spent only a few months at an orphanage. A kindly family took me in. I was very happy with them. It was a large family with four children, of which I married the eldest daughter, Sarah. We had two children, a girl and a boy. At present I am a grandfather, a very happy grandfather."

Lucas says, "It's odd. When I first came in, I had the impression that you lived alone."

"I am alone at the moment, that is true. But only until Christmas. I have pressing work to complete. A collection of new poems to prepare. After that I will rejoin my wife, Sarah, my children, and my grandchildren in the town of K., where we will all spend the holidays together. We have a house there that my wife inherited from her parents."

Lucas says, 'I've lived in the town of K. I know the place very well. Where's your house?"

" Central Square, across from the Grand Hotel, next to the bookseller's."

"I've just spent several months in the town of K. In fact I lived right above the bookseller's."

I say, "What a coincidence. It is a very pretty town, would you not agree? I often spent vacations there when I was a child, and my grandchildren like it very much. Especially the twins, my daughter's children."

"Twins? What are their names?"

"Klaus and Lucas, obviously."

"Obviously."

"For the time being my son has only one child, a little girl named Sarah after her grandmother, my wife. But my son is still young and he too may have other children."

Lucas says, "You're a happy man, Klaus."

I reply, "Yes, very happy. You too, I suppose, have a family."

He says, "No. I've always lived alone."

"Why?"

Lucas says, "I don't know. Perhaps because no one ever taught me how to love."

I say, "That is a shame. Children bring one a great deal of joy. I cannot imagine my life without them."

My brother stands up. "They're waiting for me in the car. I don't want to disturb you any longer."

I smile. "You haven't disturbed me. So, are you going to return to your adoptive country?"

"Of course. I have nothing more to do here. Farewell, Klaus."

I rise. "I will see you out."

At the garden gate I extend my hand to him. "Good-bye, sir. I hope that in the end you find your true family. I wish you much luck."

He says, "You keep in role to the very end, Klaus. Had I known you were so hard-hearted I would never have tried to find you. I sincerely regret that I came."

My brother climbs into the big black car, which starts up and drives him away.

While climbing the veranda stairs I slip on the icy steps and fall; my forehead slams into one of the stone edges, and the blood flowing into my eyes mixes with my tears. I want to remain lying here until I freeze and die but I can't; I have to take care of Mother tomorrow morning.

I enter the house and go into the bathroom; I wash my wound, disinfect it, bandage it, and then I return to the study to read my brother's manuscript.

The next morning Mother asks, "How did you hurt yourself, Klaus?"

I say, "On the stairs. I went down to make sure the gate was locked. I slipped on the ice."