All through lunch, Hodel had talked only about himself, his work, and his wife and two sons, who were living in the city. Wechsler would have liked to be rid of his old friend, but he didn’t want to be impolite. He was tired after the food and the wine, and everything disgusted him. Hodel insisted on paying for lunch. That was the least he could do, he said, after all, he had made quite a bit of money off him. Besides, without knowing it, Wechsler had helped him get some nooky on the side.
Did he have much recollection of his first wife? Hodel asked, as they strolled along the busy street going to the cemetery. Of course, said Wechsler. He was going to say something else, but refrained. A young woman with a stroller was coming the other way, and Hodel stepped aside, walking so close behind Wechsler that he seemed about to jump on him.
She had her reasons for not wanting to grant a divorce, he said. Tongues were wagging. She was told she was no longer wanted in the church choir. Who could have guessed …
Margrit came from a religious family. Her father had been opposed to her marrying a man of a different faith, and the divorce was a calamity as far as he was concerned. He threatened his daughter, even though she was innocent, and at that point Wechsler was already living in the city with another woman. Margrit had been a highly emotional woman, sometimes almost wildly so, but she couldn’t shift her father over. Wechsler left the conduct of the case to Hodel, giving him free rein. He had never heard what it was that had changed Margrit’s mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know now.
Rumors travel quickly here, said Hodel with a brash laugh. If she’d been found the guilty party in the divorce, that would have brought disagreeable financial consequences.
At that time, he hadn’t been too particular about the way things got done, Hodel said, but that was long ago, and he had no cause to feel shame anymore. By now he had become a respected citizen, and was on good terms with all the people that mattered.
It might be that one or another person doesn’t greet me on the street, but anyone who doesn’t make enemies in this business must be a complete incompetent.
Reaching the cemetery now, they came to a stop in front of the chapel. When it was first built in the 1960s, its progressive style had divided opinion, now it just looked seedy, and the facade was grimy with dirt.
It was colder inside than out. There was a smell of chemical cleaner and candle wax. Wechsler looked around and took pictures of the interior with his digital camera, even though he was already sure that he wasn’t going to bid for the contract. Hodel didn’t budge from his side. He was silent now, except once to clear his throat.
Just one after another, he said when they were outside again. Do you want to look at the grave?
Without waiting for a reply, he led the way down the row of graves. He stopped in front of an unobtrusive white marble. Wechsler joined him, and for a while the two men stood silently side by side, hands in their coat pockets, staring at the stone, on which only Margrit’s name and dates had been carved. Hodel sighed deeply.
This is the worst, he said. His voice sounded altered, quieter, cracking. I’m not saying I was a better person when I was younger. But getting old is no fun at all.
He turned around and gestured at a workman who was just in the process of digging a new grave with a little bulldozer.
You never know whether it’s your turn next, he said. If only they could at least dig the graves by hand …
Wechsler suddenly felt an urge to cry. But in Hodel’s presence he restrained himself. He shook his head and walked on. He sat down on a bench under a group of fir trees at the edge of the cemetery. Hodel had followed him. He stood in front of the bench, and looked over at the cemetery wall, behind which the railway line ran.
If you fall, she said to me one time, then at least make sure you fall hard, he said quietly. There was something going on between her and the landlord of the Linde. When he got rid of her, she started drinking. Maybe she was drinking already. After that, she had, let’s say, various relationships. I think she loved you more than you thought.
He had helped Margrit out a couple of times, said Hodel, not out of pity, he freely admitted. Desperate women were the best lovers. You could do anything you liked with them, they had nothing left to lose. Even when she was already on the bottle, Margrit was still a good-looking woman. It was only at the very end that you could see the disintegration.
Why didn’t you call me? Wechsler called out in a sudden fury. I could have helped her.
She said she’d written you a letter, said Hodel, smiling cautiously.
Wechsler raised his hands and let them fall against his thighs. He had always just worked, he said, he hardly had any time for his children and his second wife.
The old stories, said Hodel. A train passed on the other side of the wall, and he stopped until the noise went away. Then he said he had paid for the stone. In the village people were still scratching their heads about where the money had come from, but the mason was discreet. He was another of Margrit’s admirers, incidentally.
We’ve gotten so ugly, said Hodel, shaking his head. He said he had to go now. Wechsler should let him know ahead of time when he would be back. He held out his hand to Wechsler without looking at him, and left.
The snow wouldn’t lie for long, thought Wechsler. The air was cold, but the sun had some force. He sat on the bench a while longer, then he got up. He stopped in front of Margrit’s grave. He thought of the girl she had been when he first met her, her happiness, her lightness, and how he and Hodel and others had wrecked her life. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. He squatted down and plucked a few dry leaves off the plants that were growing on the grave. Then he stood up and walked out of the cemetery without looking back.
Children of God
IT WAS THE first Michael had heard of the girl. His housekeeper was telling him about her: she claimed—Mandy did—that there was no father. She lived in the neighboring village of W. The housekeeper laughed, Michael sighed. As if it wasn’t enough that church attendance was way down, that the old people sent him away when he tried to visit them in their home, and the children cheeked him in Sunday school. It was all Communism, he said, or the aftereffects of it. Ach, nonsense, said the housekeeper, it was never any different. Did he know the large sugar-beet field on the road to W.? There was a sort of island in the middle of it. A clump of trees had been left standing by the farmer. Since forever, she said. And that’s where he has assignations with a woman. What woman? asked Michael. What farmer? The one who’s there, and his father before him, and his grandfather before that. All of them. Since forever. We’re only human, after all, them and me. Each of us has his needs.
Michael sighed. He had been the minister here since spring, but he hadn’t got any closer to his flock. He came from the mountains, where everything was different: the people, the landscape, and the sky, which here was so infinitely wide and remote.
She claims she’s never been with a man, said the housekeeper, the baby must be a gift from God. That Mandy girl, she said, was the daughter of Gregor who works for the bus company. The little fat driver. He gave her a good spanking, she was black and blue all over. And now the whole village is scratching its head over who the father might be. There aren’t a lot of men living there who are candidates. Maybe it was Marco the landlord. Or a passing tramp. She’s no oil painting, you know. But you take what you can get. That Mandy, she’s not the brightest either, said the housekeeper: maybe she didn’t realize. Up on the ladder picking cherries. All right, all right, said Michael.