Self's Murder (24 page)

I also knew that Ulbrich hadn’t breathed a word to the police or the public prosecutor. Not a word. Brigitte had asked me: “Weren’t you a public prosecutor once? Can’t you defend him?” I made inquiries and found that I could get licensed as a lawyer. The fact that Welker had left town would make the defense easier.

What was I looking for on Schwetzingen’s Schlossplatz? The end of this story? It had come to an end. None of the threads of fate had been left dangling. But though I knew at the end of a story justice didn’t always have to win out, I could not accept as an ending that Welker would get away with what he’d done while Ulbrich was in jail and Schuler and Samarin were dead and buried. Again I was tortured by the powerlessness of not being able to do anything anymore, not being able to fix things.

Until I realized that it was my decision whether I would interpret the ending as unjust and unsatisfactory and suffer because of it or decided that this, and only this, was the fitting ending. In either case it was my decision. Even Welker dead or Welker in prison, and a happy Karl-Heinz Ulbrich, and a Schuler who went on cultivating his files, and a Samarin who went on laundering money were not entirely just and satisfactory. I was the one who would have to decide. So I tried. I didn’t accept the end without question. But wasn’t there something fitting about Samarin, a warrior, being killed in action, and Schuler having died for the truth that lay hidden in his beloved archive? It could be arranged that Ulbrich wouldn’t have to stay in prison for too long. As for Welker? Brigitte and I could go to Costa Rica on vacation.

If the doctor allows it. He’s an old friend of Philipp’s and was a colleague of his in Mannheim before Philipp took over the department at the Speyerer Hof Clinic. The doctor shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders when I ask him about my condition and what I am to expect.

“What can I say, Herr Self? Your heart is worn out.”

Worn out. I’m quite aware that the operation wasn’t a success. Otherwise they would have told me. And I wouldn’t have been so tired. Sometimes I feel as if my tiredness is out to poison me.

I was happy when the taxi arrived.

Bernhard Schlink
was born in Germany. He is the author of the internationally best selling novels
The Reader
and
Homecoming
, as well as the collection of short stories
Flights of Love
and four prizewinning crime novels—
Self’s Punishment
(with Walter Popp),
The Gordian Loop
,
Self’s Deception
, and
Self’s Murder
. He lives in Berlin and New York.