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Back The Woman on the Stairs Save as PDF
Chapters (83)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Bernhard Schlink
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. Part Two
  33. 1
  34. 2
  35. 3
  36. 4
  37. 5
  38. 6
  39. 7
  40. 8
  41. 9
  42. 10
  43. 11
  44. 12
  45. 13
  46. 14
  47. 15
  48. 16
  49. 17
  50. 18
  51. 19
  52. 20
  53. 21
  54. 22
  55. 23
  56. 24
  57. 25
  58. Part Three
  59. 1
  60. 2
  61. 3
  62. 4
  63. 5
  64. 6
  65. 7
  66. 8
  67. 9
  68. 10
  69. 11
  70. 12
  71. 13
  72. 14
  73. 15
  74. 16
  75. 17
  76. 18
  77. 19
  78. 20
  79. 21
  80. 22
  81. Author’s Note
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

I found the calm before the storm depressing, and its arrival a liberation. It swept through the streets and over the square in front of the hotel, driving papers, cups, bags and cans before it – whirling dervishes chasing and overtaking each other. The air chilled and then ice burst from the sky, hailstones that pounded the roof of the entrance, as if wanting to shatter it. I stepped back into the lobby and watched the hail cover the square, a vibrating layer of white.

The staff and guests of the hotel talked about the great hailstorm of 1999, the millions of pieces of hail, their diameter, their damage, their victims. The hailstorm I had seen was small by comparison.

When the hail turned to rain, I went out. The rain fell heavily, and after a few minutes I was wet and clammy. But shuffling through the hail, which the rain was melting, stomping and splashing through the water, making the raindrops fly – it was such a joy that I didn’t mind my cold, wet feet or the pain in my side when I slipped and fell. I stood up and went to the harbour, where the rain, sea, land and sky flowed together. It was overwhelming. A flood.

Then the cold and wet became uncomfortable, and I went back to the hotel. I ended Sunday sensibly, slept well, and started Monday sensibly. When the head of the detective agency called, I hailed a cab and drove to him.

24

A secretary led me in. He came out from behind the desk, greeted me, offered me the chair opposite, and retreated behind the desk. He was as I had imagined him: an elderly bald man with a paunch. Like all men my age with a paunch and bald head, he made me proud that I had no belly and still had my hair.

“We found her.” He settled into the chair and waited for a sign of appreciation.

I had seen this in colleagues. They do what they’re supposed to do, the tasks they have been assigned and for which they are being paid. But they cannot simply deliver results, they want to be fussed over, and patted on the head. Sometimes they try to make a game of it and have the results teased out of them. In my firm I drove such bad habits out of my colleagues. I would not be able to drive them out of the head of the detective agency. I nodded in appreciation and asked excitedly: “Where is she?”

“It wasn’t easy. She’s lived here for twenty years. But…” He paused, shook his head, and only continued when I repeated: “But?”