Strangers: A Novel(68)

Nonetheless. Some things are inconceivable, no matter what the circumstances.

I look Erik straight in the eyes. “I had nothing to do with the attack in Munich. I swear, on anything you want.”

He returns my gaze. Silently. Searchingly. Until his eyes moisten, then he looks away.

“If you had any idea … of what it was like. Of the things I saw. A man bled to death right in front of me, and a little farther away, by the tracks—”

He stops, takes a shaky breath. “I couldn’t see clearly, the air was full of dust, but between all the rubble, I … they didn’t even look like dead bodies, just like … chunks. Chunks of flesh. That had been living, breathing people not a minute before, picking up their friends from the train, or their parents, or…”

Tears are running down his face now, trailing clear lines on the thin layer of dust which still covers his skin.

He doesn’t seem to feel the tears; his eyes are fixed on the wall, but I’m sure he’s not seeing it, that he’s back in the station again, back in the middle of this hell of screams and death and destruction. Back in the place where he will continue to spend a lot of time.

The trembling starts in his hand, which is still clutching the cushion. From there, it spreads, taking hold of his entire body. He tries to say something but doesn’t manage; he tries to stand up, but I don’t let him; instead I wrap my arms around him, prepared for the fact that he’ll resist. He does, but only halfheartedly. He tries to pull away from my embrace, shakes his head, but I hold him tightly.

After a few seconds he gives up and rests his forehead against my shoulder. I hold him, feel the trembling grow stronger, then slowly subside, ebbing away until it’s barely noticeable.

I stroke his hair, his wet face; I want to say something but I can’t find any words.

He does, after a while, even though it’s just one, whispered.

“No.”

This time, when he pushes me away, I let him.

“Don’t come near me again, Jo. I can’t bear the thought that someone who helped these murderers is touching me. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you.”

“But I didn’t, I—”

“I believe that you’re convinced you didn’t. But we both know the state your mind is in, and who knows—maybe you suppressed your part in the whole thing just like you’ve suppressed the part I play in your life.”

Everything inside me balks at this theory. It’s wrong, it has to be. The images on TV left me devastated; I wouldn’t have felt like that if I had been involved in the attack in any way. Or if I’d known about it.

Except … What did I really know for sure?

“If you think I’m one of the maniacs that caused this, then report me.”

In spite of my inner turmoil, my voice sounds completely calm. “I’m serious. Do it, maybe that will give us some clarity. Tell them about me attacking you with the knife, about the car that pushed you off the road, and about the fact that your boss wanted you to be at the station at that exact moment, tell them whatever you think is relevant. I’ll admit to everything I can remember.”

He leans over, his head in his hands. When he looks up again, he appears more lost than ever before. “I can’t.” There’s no strength left in his voice. “Do you know what they would do to you, Jo? Not just the police, the media too—do you know how quickly they’d come up with the idea that you used your money to support terrorist organizations and God knows what else?” He clears his throat, coughs, shakes his head again. “You would immediately be the face of the attack. The billionaire terrorist from Australia.” When he looks at me again, his expression is softer than before. “If I knew for sure that you were involved, then I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But like this … I can’t. You’re—”

My phone rings, cutting him off midsentence. It’s not one of the ringtones I’ve assigned to the people I know. I glance at the display. Anonymous.

“Don’t you want to answer it?”

I shake my head. “There’s no way it can be as important as our conversation.”

“Ah.” The hint of a smile flickers over Erik’s face. “If you’d like some privacy I can go out of the room.”

At the moment I realize what he’s implying, the ringing stops. “You think that it’s my accomplices, right? That they want us to get together and drink to our fireworks show?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think it’s interesting that you—”

Again, the phone rings. Again, it’s an anonymous caller. This time I don’t hesitate for a second, I pick up and turn on the loudspeaker.

“Yes?” I sound harried, nervous.

All I can hear from the other end at first is loud breathing. Then a tense voice. “Joanna? Is that Joanna?” A man.

Erik’s eyes have widened; he silently mouths a word that I can’t make out.

“Yes. Who am I talking to?”

“Are you alone?”

I should say no, that I have lots of friends around me, but my instinct tells me that the man would hang up.

“Yes. Now will you tell me who this is?”

“This is … Bernhard. I’m a colleague of Erik’s; we met briefly about a week ago.”