Self's punishment

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Authors: Bernhard Schlink
Tags: Mystery
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“m’s” – Jörg, this is Herr Selk from the computer journal. He wants to write about the office culture in RCC. Keep going, you’re being most authentic.’
    ‘Oh, Peter, really . . .’ Grimm puffed out his cheeks. I placed them both in their mid-thirties, but one came across like a mature 25-year-old and the other like a man in his fifties who’s aged badly. Grimm’s grimness was only accentuated by his safari suit and his long, thinning hair. I kept what was left of my hair trimmed short. I wondered whether my hair situation might still get worse at my age, or whether the balding was over, just as getting pregnant is over for post-menopausal women.
    ‘You could have called up the church report on your computer ages ago, by the way. I’m in the middle of the traffic census. It has to go out today. Yes, Herr Selk, it doesn’t look good for the two of us. Unless you want to buy me lunch? At McDonald’s?’
    We arranged to meet at twelve-thirty.
    I strolled up the main street, impressive evidence of the city council’s will towards destruction in the seventies. It wasn’t drizzling at the moment. Yet the weather couldn’t make up its mind what to offer for the weekend. I decided to ask Mischkey about the meteorograph. In the Darmstadt shopping centre I came across a record shop. Sometimes I like to sample the zeitgeist, buy the representative record or the representative book, go to see
Rambo II
or watch an election debate between the chancellor and his challenger. There was a special offer on for Madonna. The girl at the till took a look at me and asked if she should gift-wrap it. ‘No. Is that the impression I give?’
    I walked out of the Darmstadt shopping centre and saw Bismarck-Platz ahead of me. I’d have liked to visit the old man on his pedestal. But the traffic didn’t allow it. On the corner I bought a packet of Sweet Afton, and then time was up.

16
    Like an arms race
    It was rush hour at McDonald’s. Mischkey pushed us skilfully to the front. Following his recommendation, I chose a Fish Mac with mayonnaise, a small portion of fries with ketchup, and a coffee.
    Mischkey, tall and lanky, ordered a quarter-pounder with cheese, a large portion of fries, three portions of ketchup, another small hamburger to ‘fill the little gap afterwards’, an apple pie, two milkshakes, and a coffee.
    The full tray cost me almost 25 marks.
    ‘Not expensive, is it? For lunch for two. Thanks for inviting me.’
    First of all we couldn’t find two seats together. I wanted to move a chair to a free space, but the chair was attached to the floor. I was bemused; neither as an attorney, nor as a private detective, had I ever come across the offence of theft of restaurant chairs. Eventually we installed ourselves at a table with two high school students who eyed Mischkey’s assortment enviously.
    ‘Herr Mischkey, the direct emission model file led to the first lawsuit dealing with computers since the national census, the first, also, to reach the Federal Constitutional Court. The computer journal wants a legal report from me since legal journalism is my field. But I’ve realized I need to figure out more of the technical side, and that’s where I’d appreciate some information.’
    ‘Mmm.’ He chomped contentedly on his quarter-pounder.
    ‘What sort of data-sharing is there between yourselves and the industrial firms you supervise the emissions for?’
    Mischkey swallowed. ‘I can tell you a thousand things about that, the transmission technology, the hardware, the software, you name it. What do you want to know?’
    ‘Perhaps as a lawyer I can’t formulate the questions precisely enough. I’d like to know, for example, how a smog alarm is triggered.’
    Mischkey was in the process of unwrapping the hamburger for that little gap afterwards and drenching it in ketchup. ‘That’s actually quite banal. Sensors are attached at the points where the harmful substances escape from the plant, and we receive

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