Read Online The Deadly Space Between by Patricia Duncker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Duncker
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business.
‘I’m OK. I keep busy.’
My bottom lip set into a tight line.
Roehm reached across the table and stroked my face. I drew back at once. We had been in the restaurant for hours, and I was sweating, but his touch was still cool and dry. I felt his rings on my skin, sharp, chilly and cold. He frightened me a little, yet I wanted him to touch me again.
‘Don’t be angry with her for loving you. She tries not to be possessive.’
I wanted her to be possessive. I gazed at Roehm and suddenly hated him for all the confidences I had poured onto the emptying plates between us. Just because a man listens carefully doesn’t mean that you have to gush secrets for hours on end, as if you were sitting in a confessional. He’s not my doctor or a psychotherapist. So I got bullied at school. Lots of people get bullied. It’s nothing special and I’ve come out all right. Roehm watched me closely. I realized that he knew what I was thinking.
‘Then perhaps we can be friends,’ he offered, his voice slow, unhurried.
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
I wasn’t taking any prisoners. I had said too much already. Roehm threw a bridge across the table towards me.
‘Would you like to see where I work? I have to close down one of the experiments.’
We were contemplating the cheese board. My curiosity got the better of me.
‘The lab?’
‘It’s not far.’
‘OK.’
It would have been taking a risk to sound excessively enthusiastic. Roehm was too strange a man for me to take any risks.
We left the restaurant in Soho well after ten. Roehm paid in cash. The streets were still bright with voices and music and the air smelt of boiling fat. The Dragon festival, now in full swing, had drawn crowds, musicians, street vendors selling imitation Rolex watches, leather hats and African jewellery. I saw a gaggle of children playing with phosphorescent yo-yos. The glowing yellow circles spun and danced in the dark. Roehm took hold of me again as if I had been arrested and marched me up Charing Cross Road. Some of the shops were still open. Roehm paused to look into Borders Books. There was an exhibition on Switzerland and the Alps. He pointed out images of the ibex and the chamois.
‘We used to hunt them. They’re protected species now. That’s the summer coat of the chamois. They have a brown stripe down their backs and those dark bands on either side of their muzzles. The hunting lodges had their horns stuck up all over the walls. At one point we hunted them practically to extinction.’
I suddenly realized that this was the longest speech I had ever heard Roehm make.
‘You used to hunt?’
‘Yes. Disgraceful, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s what your mother says.’
‘Oh, she’s very ecological. Where did you hunt?’
‘Switzerland. In the mountains.’
‘With a gun?’
Roehm laughed. ‘Yes, of course. When I was your age I used to set traps too.’
‘So you can shoot?’
‘To kill. Every time. With all sorts of guns. I grew up in those mountains.’ He indicated an Arctic-looking range of ice peaks on the cover of a book about rock-climbing. ‘My father used to take me with him on his climbs, when he came back from the war.’
I stood wondering which war he meant. Roehm was absorbed by the display in the window.
‘Look. Heinrich Harrer’s book, The White Spider , Die Weisse Spinne . So that’s been reprinted. I’ll get it for you in German. It’s the classic account of the ascent of the Eiger. The North Face. So many people were killed on that face they called it the Mordwand, rather than the Nordwand.’
‘When was it climbed?’
‘Successfully? In 1938. A joint rope of Austrians and Germans. Harrer was one of the victorious four. The Nazis exploited their success for publicity purposes. The ascent of the North Face presented Aryan manhood at its zenith. They were congratulated by Hitler. Harrer doesn’t mention any of that.’
‘How could he avoid it?’
‘He just
‘I’m OK. I keep busy.’
My bottom lip set into a tight line.
Roehm reached across the table and stroked my face. I drew back at once. We had been in the restaurant for hours, and I was sweating, but his touch was still cool and dry. I felt his rings on my skin, sharp, chilly and cold. He frightened me a little, yet I wanted him to touch me again.
‘Don’t be angry with her for loving you. She tries not to be possessive.’
I wanted her to be possessive. I gazed at Roehm and suddenly hated him for all the confidences I had poured onto the emptying plates between us. Just because a man listens carefully doesn’t mean that you have to gush secrets for hours on end, as if you were sitting in a confessional. He’s not my doctor or a psychotherapist. So I got bullied at school. Lots of people get bullied. It’s nothing special and I’ve come out all right. Roehm watched me closely. I realized that he knew what I was thinking.
‘Then perhaps we can be friends,’ he offered, his voice slow, unhurried.
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
I wasn’t taking any prisoners. I had said too much already. Roehm threw a bridge across the table towards me.
‘Would you like to see where I work? I have to close down one of the experiments.’
We were contemplating the cheese board. My curiosity got the better of me.
‘The lab?’
‘It’s not far.’
‘OK.’
It would have been taking a risk to sound excessively enthusiastic. Roehm was too strange a man for me to take any risks.
We left the restaurant in Soho well after ten. Roehm paid in cash. The streets were still bright with voices and music and the air smelt of boiling fat. The Dragon festival, now in full swing, had drawn crowds, musicians, street vendors selling imitation Rolex watches, leather hats and African jewellery. I saw a gaggle of children playing with phosphorescent yo-yos. The glowing yellow circles spun and danced in the dark. Roehm took hold of me again as if I had been arrested and marched me up Charing Cross Road. Some of the shops were still open. Roehm paused to look into Borders Books. There was an exhibition on Switzerland and the Alps. He pointed out images of the ibex and the chamois.
‘We used to hunt them. They’re protected species now. That’s the summer coat of the chamois. They have a brown stripe down their backs and those dark bands on either side of their muzzles. The hunting lodges had their horns stuck up all over the walls. At one point we hunted them practically to extinction.’
I suddenly realized that this was the longest speech I had ever heard Roehm make.
‘You used to hunt?’
‘Yes. Disgraceful, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s what your mother says.’
‘Oh, she’s very ecological. Where did you hunt?’
‘Switzerland. In the mountains.’
‘With a gun?’
Roehm laughed. ‘Yes, of course. When I was your age I used to set traps too.’
‘So you can shoot?’
‘To kill. Every time. With all sorts of guns. I grew up in those mountains.’ He indicated an Arctic-looking range of ice peaks on the cover of a book about rock-climbing. ‘My father used to take me with him on his climbs, when he came back from the war.’
I stood wondering which war he meant. Roehm was absorbed by the display in the window.
‘Look. Heinrich Harrer’s book, The White Spider , Die Weisse Spinne . So that’s been reprinted. I’ll get it for you in German. It’s the classic account of the ascent of the Eiger. The North Face. So many people were killed on that face they called it the Mordwand, rather than the Nordwand.’
‘When was it climbed?’
‘Successfully? In 1938. A joint rope of Austrians and Germans. Harrer was one of the victorious four. The Nazis exploited their success for publicity purposes. The ascent of the North Face presented Aryan manhood at its zenith. They were congratulated by Hitler. Harrer doesn’t mention any of that.’
‘How could he avoid it?’
‘He just
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