‘Which Moritz despised,’ throws in the ideal inamorata.
Mia casts a warning look in her direction and walks to the window. It is a beautiful day, straight from a commercial for protein supplements. Mia fights back the urge to close the curtains. The sunlight reveals half-eaten takeaways, discarded items of clothing, and dust gathering in the corners. It reeks of the twentieth century. The bright light seems to magnify the chaos with every passing minute.
‘From here I can see two paths,’ says Mia. ‘One is marked misery, the other ruin. I can curse a system founded on a Method to which there is no rational alternative; or I can betray my love for my brother, whose innocence seems as clear to me as the fact of my own existence. Do you see?’ She swings around violently. ‘I know he didn’t do it. What course should I take: hell or damnation? Should I fall or should I fall?’
‘Neither,’ says Kramer. ‘In certain situations, the error lies not in the choices you make, but in making a decision at all.’
‘But … are you of all people telling me there are flaws in the system?’
‘Of course.’ His smile, which has never faded, becomes disarming. He looks up at her from the armchair. ‘The system is human, you said so yourself. Inevitably it has its flaws. The human condition is a pitch-black room in which we crawl around like newborn babies, unseeing, unhearing. The best we can do is to avoid bumping heads. Nothing more.’
‘Bumping heads? Mine is in pieces.’
‘Not in my opinion; not from what I’m seeing right now.’ Kramer extends an arm and points at the middle of Mia’s forehead. ‘You need to rise above all this. By all means, grieve for your brother; grieve all you like. But while you’re grieving, go back to normal life. You’ve come to the attention of the authorities because of certain lapses.’
‘In certain situations …’ begins Mia, but Kramer is shaking his head.
‘You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Frau Holl. You’ll be invited to a conciliation meeting by the court. Be sure to accept. And tidy up! Scrub the visible signs of despair from your life. It’s still your life, remember. You need to assume control.’
‘I fully intend to,’ says Mia softly.
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Kramer leaps up energetically as if to take charge of the clean-up operation.
Mia eyes him dubiously. ‘You’ll need a bucket if you’re going to scrub away the visible signs of my despair.’
Kramer immediately puts his hands in his pockets and changes his pose.
‘Which leads me to an interesting question,’ continues Mia. ‘You’re a busy man with no shortage of suitable people to talk to. Are you planning to adopt me?’
‘In other words,’ says the ideal inamorata, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m here,’ says Kramer, ‘to make a suggestion.’ He strolls around the room, stopping briefly to check the computer on Mia’s exercise bike which is displaying a line of zeros.
‘Everything we’ve been discussing affects the whole country, not just you. It won’t be long before the first journal articles are published — the case of Moritz Holl, as described by leading experts in sociology, psychology, politics and law. The incident will rise to become the queen of footnotes, referenced in every academic paper: Moritz Holl, the man who was proven guilty by the Method and pleaded innocent in the face of the evidence. How? Why? What led to the sudden disjunction between private interest and public good? These questions cut to the heart of our society; they’re fundamental questions about the workings of the Method, questions we should never stop asking and discussing.’
Mia follows him around the room with her gaze. Her face shows astonishment.
‘Asking? Discussing? Are you suggesting I … critique the system for your newspaper?’
‘I’d like an in-depth conversation with you. I want to write about you, Mia. A profile piece for The Healthy Mind. Gone are the days when journalism was a travelling circus; we don’t pack up and move on when the show is over.’
‘Ha, that’s a good one,’ says the ideal inamorata. ‘I’d laugh out loud if I could.’
‘With your help, I could show that tragedies and contradictions are inevitable even in a well-ordered system like the Method. We could demonstrate why it still makes sense to follow the path of reason. A good citizen shouldn’t follow the crowd like a sheep. A good citizen should work through periods of doubt and crisis to emerge a stronger supporter of the common cause. People would understand it, coming from you. Have a think about it, Frau Holl. It wouldn’t do you any harm.’
‘If you agree to it,’ says the ideal inamorata, ‘I’m leaving you.’
‘You can’t,’ says Mia. ‘You’re a present from Moritz.’
Kramer stiffens. ‘You’re starting to frighten me, Frau Holl.’
Through Plexiglas
‘THAT’S ANOTHER THING I wish we’d done,’ says Mia.
If we peer through time as if it were a gauzy robe veiling the body of the Eternal, we see Mia and Moritz in a bare room at the remand centre, four weeks ago at most. They are looking at each other attentively, as if seeing each other for the first time.
‘Namely?’ asks Moritz.
‘I wish we’d had time to find you a woman.’
They are separated by a wall of Plexiglas, at the centre of which is a star-shaped constellation of small holes. Through these holes Moritz and Mia can talk to each other; if they move a little closer, close enough to anger the guard, they can even smell each other.
‘It’s all right,’ says past-tense Moritz, ‘I invented one instead.’
‘One what?’
‘An ideal inamorata. She can be a bit moody, but most of the time we get along fine. I’m not lonely.’
When Moritz moves, his white paper suit, which has replaced his clothes for the past six months, starts to rustle. He presses two fingers against the screen; Mia does the same on the other side. This time they get away with it: Mia is supplying the guard with sachets of illicit caffeine powder from the lab. She and Moritz look at each other and smile. They have learned to smile when really they want to scream, smash things or just cry.
‘Tell you what,’ says Moritz, ‘you can borrow her. Take her home with you.’
‘You want me to take home your imaginary lover?’
‘It’s a great idea. That way it will be easier to believe we’ll see each other soon. The ideal inamorata will steer you back to me. She won’t last long at your place, I bet.’
‘You need a certain amount of imagination for a game like that.’
Moritz frowns just as he always frowns. It looks as if his whole face is trying to congregate around a point between his eyes. ‘You’ve got plenty,’ he says. ‘Ever since we were little we’ve been meeting in the realm of imagination.’
‘It was your realm.’
‘It was ours; it is ours. It will always be our home; yours and mine. Remember that.’
For a moment they glare at each other like enemies, a pair of cowboys on a dusty road. The wind rushes past, blowing their hair in the same direction. They square off, a brief skirmish, then Mia feels herself give in. The truth is, she wasn’t really trying in the first place.
‘OK,’ she says, ‘I’ll take your imaginary female if I must.’
His forehead smooths easily; the mind behind it is accustomed to getting its way. ‘She’ll be waiting in your apartment,’ he whispers. ‘She’s my present to you; you’ll learn to love her, you’ll see. And now … I need a favour from you.’