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What nonsense is he talking of? And what is he doing now?I cling to the door frame.Has he gone completely insane?He grabs me around the waist, really trying to lift me up and carry me away! “Take your paws off me!” I bid in a loud voice. “Or I’ll call for help!”
He releases me as if he had grabbed a hot stove plate.
You see?I take a breath and jut out my chin.
“Still…” The guy doesn’t back down. “He…” He points his finger behind me into the side room. “…has to get out of there. Namely, before Mr. Sandtmann shows up with his son.”
Why does he keep talking about Mr. Sandtmann’s son? Anyway.“I don’t think it’s great that he went in there either,” I try to arbitrate. “But I think the quickest way to get him out is to leave him alone.”
“You’ve got some nerve.” The mortician snorts. “And what am I supposed to do when the widower shows up?”
Oh my God! Is he that stupid or just pretending?“You could distract him?” I suggest, just as Philipp comes out. “You see?” I hiss at the stupid guy. “Your drama was completely unnecessary.” Then I turn to Philipp—and wince.
Because he looks awful. His skin is so pale that it has an almost greenish glow. The blue of his eyes, which know how to wink so teasingly, has given way to a lifeless gray. Hard lines have dug in around the corners of his mouth. And his otherwise full lips have disappeared in a line.
Like he’s just seen a ghost. Which he has, anyway. Oh my God! What kind of stupid stuff am I thinking?“How are you?” Gently, I touch him on the elbow.
He sways barely noticeably, making a slightly disoriented impression. His eyes flit across my face. Finally, he smiles and leans down at me. “She’s dead,” he whispers in my ear. Then he straightens up. “She’s dead,” he repeats in a stronger voice. “Really, really dead. I—”
Why doesn’t he keep talking?I look up at him. His expression reflects conflicting emotions.
Now he takes off his hat and runs his hand over his short-cropped hair. His chest pumps as he catches his breath.
“Should we go outside?” I ask. “Out for some fresh air?”
“Air…”
Oh my God! What have I done? Philipp is completely disoriented!With both hands, I grab him by the upper arm and guide him down the aisle, toward the watery February light of the entrance.
Outside, in front of the funeral hall, a bench offers itself under weeping willows.
“Air,” Philipp repeats and sucks it into his lungs as deeply as if he had been drowning before.
“It’s all good,” I encourage myself even more than him. “Remember to not only breathe in but also breathe out.”Can’t imagine if he starts hyperventilating and keels over!“Phew,” I demonstrate, releasing the air from my swelled cheeks. “Phew.”
A couple crosses our path. Normally, I’d amuse myself at their stark contrast: she roly-poly, draped in large-format print patterns, hair gelled on end.; he almost scrawny, with drooping shoulders and a cheap synthetic suit.
They look like Hella von Sinnen[47]and Hugo-Egon Balder[48], the as-famous-as-contrasting German TV show hosts.
If only they wouldn’t keep running—no matter how I dodge—in front of our feet!
“Phew,” I mutter again and try to bring the lousy—and in a cemetery, completely inappropriate—Hella-von-Sinnen-and-Hugo-Egon-Balder-Double to disappear utilizing thought power.Unsuccessfully!
Instead, the Hella-von-Sinnen lookalike places herself wide-legged in our path. “Excuse me.” She snarls the phrase. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”
“No,” I say, trying to push Philipp past her.
But Hugo-Egon cuts us off. “You came for the funeral of Ms. Grosse-Garbe.”
What is that supposed to be? A question?“The reason we’re here is none of your business,” I inform him. “And now let us pass.”
“I’d be glad to…” he says, pulling a plastic square the size of a check card out of his pocket. “…as soon as you’ve answered our questions.”
North Rhine-Westphalia—POLICE—duty pass, I read off.Bergmann, Andreas.On the left of it, is a photograph of the Hugo Egon Balder imitation.
Hella von Sinnenalso identifies herself as a police officer.
Oh my God! What am I supposed to say?“Are you accusing us of something?” I ask the first thing that comes to my mind.
