Absolution. Aleš Šteger
again. From beyond the walls comes the sound and rhythm of dull and steady blows accompanied by groans. From the other side of the soundproofed door leaks the softened sounds of booming death metal.
‘She works at some firm in investment management,’ says Dorfler curtly.
‘I see. Didn’t she work at a bank? What firm does she work for?’ asks Adam Bely and pulls a fountain pen out of his pocket.
Rosa straightens her back, her gaze firmly fixed on Dorfler’s exaggerated fumbling.
‘She works for the town hall. Not for the mayor, not for that scoundrel. She’s the head of the investment department that deals with social services.’
Sighing and groaning, louder and louder. Banging on the other side of the wall.
‘These aren’t easy times; it’s a struggle for all of us. The college is in complete disarray, a total lobotomy. You can’t imagine the things I must do to retain my autonomy there. We were cut from the city budget years ago. Now we’re on our own. Some income comes from the café and some from rentals.’
The banging against the wall gets harder and faster. Laborious breathing, followed by a wheeze. Now only soft death metal from beyond the door on the other side of the room.
‘You’ve got some lively tenants,’ says Bely as he swings his fountain pen back and forth.
‘You’ve got no idea. There’s a swingers’ club for pensioners back there, possibly the most profitable club in Maribor right now. All the ordinary brothels have gone bankrupt but not this one. They’ve gone about the business professionally, with discretion and business ethics. It doesn’t bother me. We’re all liberal, right? And we’ll be members before you know it. That counts for something.’
Dorfler forces a smile, rummages through his jacket, pulls out his wallet, slides out a credit card then a plastic bag. He shakes some of the white powder on a newspaper. Chopping motion of the credit card, lined powder moving back and forth across the paper. Rosa looks on intently. Bely tries to attract Dorfler’s attention with his swinging pen.
‘Come on, Bely, you don’t think you’ll hypnotize me with that pencil of yours?’ Dorfler jokes. ‘Here, have a line instead.’
Bely puts the fountain pen back into his jacket and scratches his thigh. He takes the little tube that Dorfler has just rolled out of paper and brings it up to his nose. The thin line of white powder disappears up Bely’s nose like water in the desert. Dorfler offers the other line to Rosa, who shakes her head and lights up another cigarette. Dorfler snorts the second line and clears his throat. The third line vanishes into Bely’s nose again.
‘Why did you come back, Adam? What’s your real agenda here?’
‘I’m here to help.’
‘Who, me?’
‘You, too, Ivan.’
‘No offence, Adam, but we don’t need your help. You’re no longer one of us, Adam. You’re Austrian now. Go back to where you came from.’
‘Exactly my intention, but before I go back I’ve got something important that needs tackling.’
‘You’ve always found everything important. In fact, so important that you didn’t give a damn about who was going to pay for your mistakes.
You left me hanging; everything was set up. With your support I would’ve made the Maribor Theatre Board. Instead, you gave your vote to your dear Andreas, who was nice enough to abandon you in return. Bely, Bely, you’ve got a bright name, but lots of black under your nails.’
‘You’re drunk.’
Dorfler jack-knifes up in outrage. The glasses tremble on top of the rasping table, cigarette butts fly through the smoky air. Drifting confetti through the grey mist of the carnival ball. Dorfler lands on Bely and grips his throat. Surprised, Bely wheezes and flaps his hands, resists, but Dorfler is stronger and determined.
‘You call me drunk? You rat, you’re calling me drunk? You should never have come back, do you hear? Never!’
Bereft of breath and strength, Bely stares at Dorfler’s flushed face, coldly intent eyes that bulge even more from under his magnifying spectacles. On the ceiling above Dorfler’s head he sees a crack. It winds like a snake, like a road on a secret map. What a banal end. Who would have thought? Any moment now he will close his eyes and throw down his arms.
Suddenly Dorfler releases him. Bely catches his breath, coughs. Dorfler kneels on the filthy floor next to him. He gasps with pain and crouches over the table. He looks like a criminal just disarmed by the police. Rosa Portero rises above Dorfler, her left hand clutching the back of his neck. Big Dorfler tamed by a tiny woman, bizarre. Tears of pain pour down from under Dorfler’s glasses.
Bely picks himself up, pulls the E-meter out of his bag, forces the cylindrical electrodes in Dorfler’s hands and turns on the device. The banging against the wall picks up again, sighs, hard breathing.
‘Ivan, why did you attack me?’
‘I knew that you were coming and that nothing good would come of it. Your chatter here got me thinking about our past, about everything you did to me and my sister.’
‘Evelyn? I did nothing to your sister.’
‘That’s what you think, Bely. Sometimes doing nothing is the worst of all crimes.’
‘You’re taking this too far.’
‘Could be. Surely prigs like you know how to be impartial about these things.’
‘What does your sister do?’
‘I told you, she works in the municipal administration.’
Bely keeps his eyes on the E-meter needle. The wall is struck and shudders harder and faster. Clenching her teeth, Rosa keeps Dorfler pinned to the ground. She seems to be unbelievably strong.
‘Ivan, tell me everything.’
‘Fuck you.’
Rosa squeezes Dorfler until he moans.
‘My sister and I run a company. Actually, it’s run by the two of us and Don Kovač, the ECoC director. But the owner is somebody else.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘A retirement home. A specialized retirement home.’
‘Specialized in what sense?’
‘It’s a luxury retirement home.’
The needle on the E-meter swings hard. Bely nods at Rosa, who pinches Dorfler even harder. Her grip is like a vice.
‘We perform euthanasia for those who want it, even though it’s illegal. We relieve the weak of their suffering. Adam, would you let go of me already?’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes.’
Bely refers to the needle, which sways all the way to the left. ‘You’re lying.’
‘Well, we allow the relatives of our clients to express their interest in euthanasia. Most of the time they’re the ones who are really interested. You know how it is, Adam. You never wanted to take care of your demented father. We try to resolve such predicaments in a way that’s very discrete.’
Adam Bely whitens. He kicks Dorfler in his abdomen with all he’s got. Dorfler collapses.
‘You’ll never mention my father again. Do I make myself clear?’
Dorfler spits blood. He nods and pulls himself to his knees. Bely hands him the electrodes.
‘Have you heard about the Great Orc?’
‘I know nothing about it.’
‘You’re lying.’
Bely kicks him again, this time in his