Read Online The Gordian Knot by Bernhard Schlink - Free Book Online

voice hissed, her words were crystal clear, her sentences a farce of logical reasoning. He heard the spite in her voice, and lost control of the situation, like a man whose expensive watch falls into deep waters, and who, even as it is falling, before it plunges into the water and disappears, realizes its final loss. Perhaps it could still be caught, by a fast snatch or a leap, but he feels a lameness that turns into the numbness of the pain of loss.
    He shrugged his shoulders. Feeling empty, he walked past Françoise and out of the office.
    “Wait a moment, my young friend, wait.…” Bulnakov called out after him, but Georg didn’t turn around.

13
    HE WALKED PAST THE STATUE OF THE DRUMMER BOY and went into the bar on the corner. LE TAMBOUR D’ARCOLE —it was the first time he’d read the statue’s inscription. He tried to remember what heroic role the drummer boy had played in the Battle of Arcole. Thinking of heroism made him wince, and he ordered coffee and wine. This time the window was clean, and the town square lay clearly before him under the blue sky of the afternoon.
    What was so bad? His attempt to threaten them with the police in order to save Françoise’s brother had misfired. But damn the whole Kramsky clan. All the translations he’d done had ended up with the Polish or Soviet secret service. But the games the big powers played with soldiers, cannons, tanks, planes, and helicopters would go on. Georg imagined generals standing in a sandbox, one going
“b-r-r-r-r”
with a toy helicopter in his hand, the other
“s-h-h-h-h”
with an airplane. Had they really killed Maurin in order to give him, Georg, access to the Mermoz plans? He and Françoise had indeed driven to the conference in Lyon in her Citroën. He’d left his Peugeot in Cadenet, and when they got back from Lyon he hadn’t found it where he thought he’d parked it. Hefelt a surge of fear. He steadied his nerves: would they really risk everything by letting him go to the police?
    And what about Françoise? He felt it was all over between the two of them, but he didn’t love her any less, or feel any less close to her than—than yesterday. A day ago his world had still been intact.
    He felt as if he were sitting in a hospital bed after an amputation, looking for the first time at a leg that was no longer there and over which the sheet no longer bulged. The eye sees it, the mind registers it, and yet the patient expects that ultimately he will get up and walk away, with his toe itching.
    Georg looked out the window. Françoise was coming out of a side street onto the square. She walked toward her car, stopped, walked a few steps farther, and stopped again. She had seen his parked car. Slowly she turned and looked in the direction of the bar where he was sitting. Dazzled by the sun she craned her neck, trying to catch sight of him. Then she walked toward the bar. He saw her bouncy tread, and her fast steps echoed in his ear, though he couldn’t hear them. She was wearing a black outfit and had a bright sweater draped over her shoulders, its sleeves tied above her chest.
    His heart had always skipped a beat when he saw her coming from a distance, lost in thought, stopping by a storefront or a street musician and then strolling on and, upon catching sight of him, coming toward him with a quick step, a fluttering wave of her hand, and an expectant smile. Why did you betray me, he thought, why.…
    “I’ve got to rush—see you this evening?” she called out, popping her head in at the door. Then she was outside again. She sounded as she always did. He watched her hurry off, and finished his wine. On the way home he did some shopping, for both of them, as always. When she came home, roulades were simmering in the pot, a fire was burning in the fireplace, and music was playing.Amazed, he had seen himself going through the motions of shopping, tidying up, cooking. This isn’t really happening, it’s not real, this isn’t me. But he had