Page 62 of Anatomy of a Killer
Not the killing. The death. The death made me feel alive. Like with an organ transplant, when a heart is removed from a dying person and put into another person’s body so they can go on living.
But nobody kills the heart donors; they die of their own accord.
Oh, heavens, you’re nitpicking again. Now, just imagine that only one of us can survive this meeting. Is it going to be you or me? According to your morality, you’d rather die than kill me. Is that the case? Really? Are you absolutely sure?
Ann
Schergel, 28 December 2017
‘You?’ a reedy voice says.
My rigid body twitches and I open my eyes wide. Still alive, breathing, heart pounding. Only now do I let out a scream; it’s a delayed shock. The figure comes towards me, the axe thuds on the frozen ground and I’m blinded by the bright light of a torch.
‘Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here? I thought. . .’
‘Ann!’ cries another voice in the distance. Jakob, who must have been alarmed by my scream. ‘What’s happening, Ann?’
Bit by bit I come to my senses. Nathalie. It’s just Nathalie. In a towelling dressing gown, black, blue or grey– some dark colour I can’t make out in this light. And just thick woolly socks on her feet. As if she’s unaffected by this biting cold, as if she has no feeling. Her hair is tied in a messy bun. A few stray strands stick to her forehead. ‘I. . . I just, er wanted. . . to talk to you,’ I stammer, distracted by the effort of trying to take in my surroundings. The place I just saw Nathalie squatting as a black figure. A dark patch on the ground. A square, set with fist-sized stones and, in the middle, also formed of stones: a heart. And finally the red light. A lantern with a cemetery candle in it. A grave. . .
Do you remember. . . ?
Mum, who’s now lying under the black earth. White lilies, red candles. I’m six years old. I’m not crying; my feelings are as dead as my mother.
It was me who discovered her like that: her eyeballs rolled upwards and her mouth wide open as if about to scream. I’d just been chattering away on the carpet beside her bed, her little Cinderella who sorted out her pills. She’d just been laughing at something I’d said. Then it suddenly fell silent. I got up to check. Her eyes, her mouth and the way her hand had tensed around the side rail of her bed.
I’m stiff and utterly numb, a person who’s still breathing but who is no longer really alive. My father tries to explain death to me, but even he, with his profound understanding of the world, has reached his limits.
Why are the candles red, Daddy?
Those aren’t normal candles. Those are soul lights, my Beetle. They’re showing Mummy’s soul the way to the other side.
Mummy doesn’t need to be shown the way anymore, Daddy. She’s dead.
Only her body is dead. Her soul lives on.
Why can’t we see it then?
That’s not possible. A soul is invisible.
So how do we know there is a soul?
The world is more than our eyes can see. And even if we think we see something clearly, sometimes we’re wrong because we’re interpreting rather than truly understanding.
Huh? What does that mean?
It means that understanding is painful, Ann. Maybe the most painful thing of all. Let me tell you a story. It comes from a very wise man called Plato. . .
‘Our kitten,’ Nathalie says, interrupting my memories and pointing at the grave. ‘It had epilepsy and died after an attack. My daughter simply won’t stop crying. We loved that little thing so much.’
Now I remember the packet of cat food in my rucksack. Nathalie only bought it this afternoon. Which means she’s lost her friend and her pet within a day of each other.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I thought there ought to be a definite place for Lenia to come. It’s good for the grieving process, as I’m sure you know.’ She bends down to the lantern with the grave candle and pushes it more firmly into the ground. ‘It’s just a little candle and yet it lights up the night. Quite comforting, don’t you think?’
I nod. ‘Lenia. . . Is that your daughter’s name?’
‘Ann!’ Jakob again. Only now do I notice that my mobile is on the ground. I must have dropped it in shock.
