The Murderer (1935), page 9
Kuperus was not planning to go to his sister-in-law’s. No, he was going to the Ritz. For years he’d looked in through the revolving doors of the hotel and longed to go in. But things were different now. In it was a world he had never dreamed of rubbing shoulders with, people whose luggage was plastered all over with the labels of grand hotels, and a bus belonging to one of the airlines was often drawn up outside.
Why shouldn’t he go to the Ritz, too? What was there to stop him? For that matter, what was there to stop him from taking a plane to Paris, to London, to Berlin?…
He went as usual, however, to have his glass of gin in the bar opposite the station. It reminded him of the fatal day.
The Ritz was at the end of the street, near the shop where he’d bought the revolver. He walked along in the sunshine, with the hundred and one noises of the town around him, threading his way through the busy crowd. And as he did so he wondered what he had been thinking about on that other morning.
He had walked along, just as he was doing now. What had he been thinking about?
Everything had been decided. He knew exactly what he was going to do. But why?
It was curious. He couldn’t reconstitute the state of mind he’d been in that day.
He hadn’t been particularly jealous. The fact of the matter was that, since the event, he had hardly so much as thought of Alice.
He was only about a hundred yards from the Ritz when a truth began to dawn upon him, a truth that made him go hot all over. He couldn’t banish it. It stared him in the face. He hadn’t really bought the revolver to kill his wife, but to kill…Schutter!
As for his reasons…No! It was better not to think about it at all. Better anything than that…
“A single room, please. A nice one.”
“With bath?”
“Of course!”
“Here’s one at ten guilders…Number 246…”
He was relieved of his suitcase, and found himself with nothing to do until two o’clock. In the lounge were some English people reading their newspapers. A young woman who looked like an actress was playing with a little dog with a squashed-in face.
Kuperus decided to go and see Karl.
Karl’s street was narrow and dirty. And there weren’t many streets in Amsterdam that could be called dirty. It had Chinese shops and shabby secondhand dealers. Some were not really shops at all. In spite of the few faded packs of cigarettes in the window, they plied a trade that was only too easy to guess, and two or three times Kuperus looked hastily away from eyes that were meant to be seductive.
When he got to Karl’s number, he found it was a barber’s. On the left was a low doorway leading to a dim staircase. On the second floor he found some children playing on the landing, who directed him to the floor above.
“Come in.”
He pushed the door and found himself in a room where the remains of a meal littered the table. Karl was still in bed, and beside him a woman’s hair straggled over the pillow.
“Oh, it’s you!”
Karl sat up in bed, ran his hand over his face, yawned, then shook his companion.
“Come on! Get up! You can go for a little walk on the landing.”
At that moment Kuperus almost envied him, almost envied him his sordid life and his indifference to it. The girl got out of bed. She was slim and dark, with small pear-shaped breasts. She looked for her slippers, cast a mistrustful glance at the visitor, threw a green coat over her nightgown, and went out. Karl didn’t bother to get up; he merely sat on the edge of the bed. A shaft of sunshine fell on his bare legs.
“It’s nice of you to bring the money. How’s Neel?”
“Quite all right, thank you.”
“I don’t need a lot. Fifty guilders would keep me going for a while.”
The young man scratched his head, then his feet. He seemed to find it difficult to wake up. The window was narrow. The girl’s dress lay on the floor, and some not very clean underclothes.
Kuperus did not answer. He hesitated, embarrassed, while the other looked at him quizzically, ironically.
“You’re a funny sort of fellow,” he said at last.
“Why?” asked the doctor.
“No particular reason…Anyway, it’s none of my business.”
Did that mean that he knew? If he didn’t know, would he have asked for the money with such assurance?
“I’d like to ask you a question,” said Kuperus after another pause. “What was it made you leave Germany?”
“An accident… a silly accident… I’d discovered a little servant who had all her savings hidden in her room…And one day I thought I’d help myself to them. I felt sure she’d hold her tongue, but instead of that she started hollering for all she was worth. I just had time to throw her on her bed…”
Kuperus listened, trembling with eagerness.
“… and put a pillow over her face.”
He got up with a scowl on his face, and looked for his toothbrush.
“I held it there till she quieted down, then bolted… It was two days later that I saw in the papers that she was dead… A pity! She was a nice girl… Much the same as Neel — one of those who seem to agree with everything you say, but you can never tell what’s going on in their heads…”
The scowl on his face had deepened. He passed a wet towel roughly over his face and put on his trousers, then turned to Kuperus.
“What about you?” he asked casually.
“What do you mean?”
“What have you done?”
“Me?”
Karl shrugged his shoulders.
“Just as you like!” he said. “As I said before, it’s none of my business… Besides, these things are not so funny that you want to go on talking about them… Did Neel send me any message?”
“No.”
“I expect she’ll write… She looks as soft as they make ’em… But I don’t mind betting she’d holler, too, just like the other…”
He opened the door. The girl was sitting in her green coat on the bottom step of the next flight.
“You can come in now,” he said.
And to Kuperus:
“Now you know where I live… I’ve taken this room by the month… Any time, if I can be of any use to you…”
And he held out a ten-guilder note to the girl saying:
“Get me some cigarettes.”
Kuperus didn’t want to go. Something held him back, some obscure need to see more of this man who had also killed someone.
“What’s the matter?” asked Karl.
“Nothing.”
“I daresay it’s upset you a bit — what I’ve just said… You needn’t worry. That’s the kind of thing one doesn’t want to do twice…”
And still Kuperus couldn’t make up his mind to go.
“Is there anything you want to say to me?” asked Karl. “Don’t forget I’m not pressing you to tell me anything…”
“No! I’ll go…”
It was high time he did! In another minute he’d have blurted out everything to this man.
“So long, Doctor… If there’s anything you can do for me, I’ll let you know…You can do the same.”
It felt strange, a minute or two later, to find himself once again in a broad busy street on which ordinary people were coming and going on foot, on bicycles, in streetcars or private cars. A street of shop windows, some piled high with cakes and pastries, others with dummies dressed in ready-made clothes.
There was only one thing that came out quite clearly from the conversation, and that was that Karl had killed a servant accidentally, just to save himself from being caught.
And Kuperus? In the eyes of the world, his case would be clearer still. They’d put it down to jealousy without a second’s hesitation. Jealousy! That, no doubt, was why they spoke of being sorry for him. Was it because they were sorry for him that they’d made him president of the club?
Anyhow, they were making a great mistake. Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Nor revenge either. He wasn’t angry at Alice, and never had been. He’d practically forgotten all about her until the other day when he’d picked up her photograph. Since then he’d picked it up often and… yes, and even regarded it with a subtle contentment. Moreover, more than once he’d picked up the bit of blue knitting and played with it in his hand.
There’d been a row about that. Seeing the wool, Neel had wanted to put it away, or perhaps even throw it away, but to her great surprise the doctor had suddenly flared up.
“You leave that where it is, do you hear?… I won’t have you changing anything in the room…”
Why should he bother about it?
As for Karl, he wasn’t ready to let anything get him down. He moved along in his filth and squalor, always finding some woman or other to wait on him, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, saying of his victim:
“A pity! She was a nice girl.”
He didn’t enjoy his lunch at all. That was a pity, too, since it was the first time he’d had a meal at the Ritz. There were a lot of people there, which may have helped to make him feel lonely, sitting at a table by himself. He opened a newspaper, but couldn’t concentrate on what he was reading, and he scarcely knew what he was eating.
At two o’clock he arrived at his meeting, and he had no sooner set foot in the spacious hall, with its Corinthian columns and huge blue and white flagstones, than he regretted having come.
It was no more than an impression, but it was enough to upset him. All his colleagues who were waiting there seemed to have their backs turned toward him or to be so deeply engaged in conversation that they didn’t notice him.
Of course they’d have real all about the affair in the papers, which had even published photographs of Kuperus himself. But was that sufficient reason?
He went up to one of them, whom he knew particularly well, and held out his hand. The other, who had been a student with him, took it rather awkwardly.
“Hello. How are you?”
“Pretty well, thanks,” answered Kuperus.
“You’re not looking any too good. You need a rest.”
“Yes… As a matter of fact, I’ve only dropped in to make my excuses. I’ve got an appointment in an hour…”
“Leave it to me. I’ll tell the chairman you couldn’t stay.”
It was the first time Kuperus had beaten a retreat. But there had really been too many of them, and the atmosphere of the place was somewhat intimidating at the best of times. Besides, he was thinking all the time about Karl.
Hadn’t that young man discovered the right way to live? He made no demands on life. He simply wcilt his own way and did exactly what he liked.
As on that other afternoon, Kuperus went to the movie house. This time it was a musical comedy. All the characters, in elaborate costume, seemed to spend their whole lives singing and waltzing.
It was dark when he got out again, and the streets were crowded with people going home from work.
A happy throng! People rushing home hungry for their supper, after which they’d sleep like children.
What made him think suddenly of his first pocket knife? He had been eleven at the time. For months and months he had longed for a knife, but had never had enough money to buy one. Finally, he had sold two of his school-books to a secondhand dealer and then pretended he’d lost them.
With the proceeds, he’d got the knife. Only, of course, it had to be kept secret. If anyone had seen it, questions would have been asked. So he could only use it when alone. At first he’d even locked himself in the lavatory just to take it out of his pocket and have a look at it.
There was no reason why he should think of it now. But neither was there any reason for anything else. No reason why he should be walking all alone through the streets of Amsterdam, no reason to spend the night at the Ritz, no reason to take the train next day and then the boat at Enkhuisen and then the train again.
Back in Sneek he would stare once more at the man who took tickets. And be no wiser than he was now.
Around him was a town, a country, a whole world. And in all that world there was just one little corner that was his. An easy chair by a big tiled stove with brass fittings, a glow of rose-colored light shining down on a dining-room table, a servant who didn’t mind if she did…
His practice had been dwindling day by day. One day he had sat for a whole hour in his office waiting for a patient to turn up.
Then why didn’t they arrest him? If that’s what they really thought, why didn’t they come to the point?
He went back to the Ritz, but left again almost immediately. He started walking. It wasn’t that he wanted to walk. To tell the truth, he didn’t want to do anything. He had thought that the atmosphere of the big town would do him good. Instead, he was ill at ease there.
If there’d been a night train, he’d have taken it, and burst into the kitchen in the morning, surprising that little slut of a Beetje, and Neel, to whom he’d have given a pat on her behind.
Finding himself once again in front of the barber shop, he hesitated, then made up his mind and went upstairs and knocked on Karl’s door. It was the one opposite that opened, and an old man said:
“You’ll find him in the little bar five doors down the street.”
Kuperus had never been in a bar of that kind before. It was a step down from street level, and was barely furnished with four tables and a bar. The smell of gin was nauseating. In a corner, two sailors were drinking in silence. As for Karl, he was sitting at a table by himself, swilling down a sausage with a glass of beer.
“You again?… Is anything wrong?”
“I was bored.”
“That’s easily cured. Here! A double gin!”
Kuperus gulped it down in one go, while Karl calmly went on eating.
“And what’s boring you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have another gin. I’ll stand you this one.”
He wiped his mouth, leaned back in his seat, and looked attentively at the doctor.
“Do you mind if I give you some advice?” he asked at last. “If you go on like this much longer, you’ll come to a bad end…”
“So that’s what you think, is it?”
“I don’t think anything… Your affairs are no business of mine.”
“Come on! Tell me what you really think.”
Kuperus was simply dying to talk about it. His tone was one of supplication. He had to talk. He couldn’t go on bottling it up indefinitely.
“Why should I think anything?”
“You know perfectly well.”
Karl had made a sign to the effect that the man behind the bar was listening to them. He tapped on the marble table with a coin and paid for the drinks.
“Let’s go.”
They went along a street where somebody was playing an accordion, and nearly bumped into a drunk. Women were loitering on the sidewalk, but there was no need for Karl to brush them aside; they made way for him themselves.
At the end of the street, they came to a canal. The quays were deserted and the only signs of life came from three lighted barges moored alongside each other. Kuperus had a burning feeling in his chest from the gin he had drunk, which had really been some crude and fiery spirit.
“Now what is it you have to tell me?”
“Do you sometimes think of — you know what I mean — that servant you… ?”
Karl looked into his eyes, as far as the darkness allowed him to.
“What of it?”
“That’s all!”
“Go on! You might just as well cough it up. Do you think I can’t see you’ve got something on your mind?”
It was too late to turn back, but Kuperus was suddenly frightened just the same. He wondered what on earth had prompted him to open the subject.
Wasn’t he putting himself at the mercy of this German? The latter knew he had money on him and could with the greatest of ease push him into the canal. Only, why do a thing like that, when blackmail was so much safer?
“You know the truth, don’t you?” stammered the doctor.
“So it was you, was it?”
It was said without a trace of surprise.
“I might have known it from the moment you called Neel into your room… It always has that effect on a man…”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter…Now tell me what you want with me.”
“Nothing.”
Karl shrugged his shoulders in the darkness, then lit a cigarette. He hesitated a moment, wondering whether to go or stay. When at last he spoke, it was to say:
“I may as well tell you just what I think: the trouble with you is you’ve got some vicious kink in you!”
Some vicious kink in him!
He was on the boat. And once more he had succeeded in making everybody feel uncomfortable. This time he was traveling on a Wednesday — in other words, with the mayors of Staveren, Leeuwarden, and Sneek, with whom he had always played bridge during the crossing.
Kuperus knew perfectly well that they didn’t want to play with him, or even be seen in his company. But he also knew they’d find it very difficult to refuse. And when they got down to the saloon, they found him already installed at their usual table, shuffling a pack of cards.
What could they do but accept the situation? Even the steward was embarrassed. When the mayor of Staveren came to deal, he misdealt twice in a row. Each of them avoided saying anything except what was strictly necessary to the game.
A vicious kink! Did he really have something of the kind? Was he perhaps a pathological case? He played his hands, but all the time thought of other things, too. He thought of Karl, of Neel, and of Beetje bringing their coffee to them in bed in the mornings. He had insisted on her doing that.
For a while his mind wandered; then suddenly his thoughts were narrowed down to one — that everyone suspected him. No. It was more than that. Everyone was convinced he was the murderer. But they didn’t arrest him! They didn’t even question him! Perhaps they were waiting for some proof, like the ticket he hadn’t handed in. Perhaps they really were sorry for him and were ready to shut their eyes. Or it might have been merely to avoid a scandal.
