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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?

In any case, I ask only for three years at the end of my working life, nothing more. I cannot understand the pensioners who travel to China and spend two days in Shanghai, three in Beijing, one at the Great Wall, and five days on the beach at Qingdao. They don’t see any more on holiday than they would on TV. They go home and tell the other pensioners holiday stories they already know. They tell their children things they do not want to know. When they want to enjoy their memories, because they cannot travel any more, they will already have forgotten them. To grow old, to see the world – how stupid. Growing old to see how the world develops or to watch your grandchildren grow up – that’s also stupid. Why start reading a book when you know you will not be able to read it to the end, but will have to close it in the middle and put it to one side?

Three years of such stupidities are enough. Three years! I thought, but could not think what stupidities I would fill three years with. Nor did any reason come to mind as to why I should worry about mergers and acquisitions again. These two findings made me feel uneasy. Until I fell asleep, warm and drowsy from the sun.

11

The helicopter woke me. It did not come over the mountain, but along the coast, turning into the cove and circling around the beach and the jetty. Then it turned out of the cove just as it had come. It flew low and loud, and the rattling, hissing rotor blade churned up the ocean.

The helicopter was unmarked, and bore no sign of belonging to the police or rescue services, or a TV network. The shining metal, the mirrored glass, the loud, low approach over the churning sea – it felt like an attack. I stood up, frightened and confused. The secret service? What was Irene mixed up in? She was in the country illegally, but for that the secret service doesn’t send a helicopter, but maybe it was not secret service, maybe it was organized crime, either way she must have been involved in something bad. Or were investors sitting in the cabin of the helicopter, planning to develop the bay into a resort? No, the bay was a nature reserve, there were no investors sitting in the helicopter, rather agents or mafiosi, in suits or leather jackets, with laptops or pistols or both. Should I warn Irene? Would I even be able to find her?

I sensed that I was no longer alone on the veranda. I looked around; the youth was standing a couple of feet away, the one who had squatted on the balcony two nights ago, his dark, deep eyes trained on me: Kari. His facial features looked so strange that I couldn’t guess his age. Older than eighteen at any rate, old enough to warn Irene.