Kaj Bernhard Genell

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darkness

K. Bernhard Genell

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"We make an idol of truth itself; for truth

apart from charity is not God, but his

image and idol, which we must love nor

worship; and still less must we love

or worship its opposite, namely, falsehood.

I can easily love total darkness, but if God

keeps me in a state of semi-darkness,

such partial darkness displeases me, and

because I do not see therein the advantage

of total darkness, it is unpleasant to me. This

is a fault and a sign that I make for myself an

idol of darkness, apart from the order of God.

Now only His order must be worshipped."

Blaise Pascal, Pensées.

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CHAPTER ONE

Jewishness, von Neumann and darkness

I am Ruben. Ruben Rosenstein. Way back in History, my

kin were Orthodox Jews. Now, nobody in my family

cares anything at all about religion or ethnicity. We are

modern people, caring for life as it is and ought to be.

Some people think that if I am not orthodox in my

Jewish beliefs, I may just as well stop calling myself a

Jew. I tell them that I never call myself a Jew but that

my name tells people I am a Jew. Then they say that I

might as well consider dropping the "Rosenstein" name

and just calling myself “Rose” or “Lavender” or

something else less Semitic. I want to get on with my

life. Why should I change my name? There is no good

reason to do so. I am not calling myself a Jew. I am just

born in a family other people think are Jews.

Many famous Jews – by the way - have relatively early in

their life converted to Christianity or something to

publicly distance themselves from the suspicion that

they would have anything to do with the mysteries of the

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Thora. That Christianity also contains a lot of mystery is

not quite so controversial. Of course, many Jews have

wanted to avoid antisemitism and prejudices against

Jews. It has, through centuries, been much more

practical not to belong to the Semitic Community if you

tried to rise to the top of society in the Western World.

Thus, Sigmund Freud left the Jewish faith. So did many

a scientist, like Albert Einstein and Oppenheimer, I

think, as well as his co-worker on the Manhattan

Project, von Neumann. I am a fan of von Neumann, so I

know. It has been said about John von Neumann that

there has never been such an intelligent man ever

walking on Earth as he. He was a living, walking

encyclopedia, and he participated substantially in the

development of computer science, which in turn could

ensure that there would never be another von Neumann.

Nobody can have an encyclopedic knowledge in the time

of artificial intelligence. He said, and we will indulge a

bit into this later, that “there is no use being precise, if

you don´t know what you are talking about.”

Probably, he said many wiser things, too, but we will

still grossly consider this small epigram, and the

secularized “universal genius” J. von Neumann will play

a certain part in the story you are about to read..

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My apartment on the fifth floor at a student's

accommodation center in Tampa, Florida, was

minuscule ( 25 m2 , but had recently been refurbished.

Tampa is the town where I was born and always have

been living. In Greater Tampa, there live about four

million people. It is a flat town, and it is packed with

houses and cars. There are roads and parking lots

almost everywhere. You will probably never see as many

cars as in Tampa.

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In the harbor, thousands of tourists mingle on ferries

and electric boats every season, and the weather is

superb from July to November. There is a small zoo with

lion cubs and orangutans or an Adventure Park almost

every hundred yards. We have thousands of places

where they are selling hamburgers, advertising their

existence along the five file roads. The entire city area is

tourist-oriented, and people are friendly and helpful.

Twice yearly, at least, a typhoon also comes along. I like

calling them typhoons. My dwelling in South Tampa

would this summer be a host for my thoughts about

darkness. Why darkness? Well these are the facts:

Since I was a small boy, I have found it hard to fall

asleep at night if my room was not entirely dark. I had to

be subjected to point-black circumstances in order to be

able to sleep. Of course, that was very rare to the

condition as my family lived in the middle of a city and

did not have the money to buy but very cheap, very

ordinary blinds for the windows. However, when I got a

little older and eventually started to live independently,

one might think that I might have outgrown this desire

for darkness at night. But that has not at all been the

case. Entirely on the contrary, it is as if my need for

darkness at night only has magnified. And now, I suffer

every night if I cannot get complete darkness. And my

thought rarely leaves this subject, and I am generally

miserable.

Darkness is, as you may know yourself, not entirely an

outward thing.

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Darkness at night could just as well

depend on one's eyes and nervous system. Perhaps you,

as I have done, notice that there is some light beneath

our eyelids or hidden in the design of nerves that should

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Of course darkness is nothing in itself. I know.

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transport light signals to the brain. For example, it is a

classic that you can produce light sensations in your

eyes by pressing gently on the eye bulbs.

Thus, darkness at night is not a simple matter if anyone

thought so, and I must admit that the problem has gone

completely over my head. I barely meet someone before

asking them for advice regarding darkness at night.

Some people tell me that there have been wonderfully

effective blinds invented that I should try to get hold of.

Others suggest I should have a room without windows

sleep in the basement, hall, or bath. But then I tell them

I have an unwanted inner light source that does not

disappear. Then, they always stare at me as if I had lost

my mind.

I use to stare back, though.

Do you know any word in English that is more

beautiful than “though”?

My problem is very seldom taken seriously by people I

know, and the nature of it has spilled over in a not

unsubstantial way on my character. When I tell people I

want darkness at night, it is as if I am a heretic, a

sinner. I very often have to emphasize that I am not

searching for SPIRITUAL DARKNESS, but physical. I

think I am an enlightened soul, and I have always

sought rational knowledge in every possible way in all

matters at hand. Mysticism is not for me; it has never

been and shall not come to be. I just find myself

exceptionally susceptible to light when I am supposed to

sleep.

Many friends and acquaintances don't believe me when I

tell them all this. Regarding this matter, most people

think I am mocking them, that I am ironic, and/or that I

am just playing a game. Others suggest I am the victim

of a DELUSION or a TRAUMA. Very rarely do I meet

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someone who takes my problem seriously. And that – as

you know – is a huge problem per se.

People don't realize that I have insomnia. I simply

cannot fall asleep! And sleep is – as you also know – the

foundation upon which we all live our lives.

I feel effectively cut off from the world.

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CHAPTER TWO

Deep inside every human being, there is a deep desire, a

strong need, a quest to belong

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, to share experiences

and beliefs. Everyone wants to feel safe, surrounded by

others who share their values. And there is always a

need for love. No man is an island. No man is wise by

himself. Without a family, you are done. And so on, and

so on.

Thus, it is not strange that I also, from my very early

years, dreamt of a companion likewise in search of

darkness, in the same way that I was. I thought of this

person as a young girl, a ( pretty ) girl, and a very

intellectual one, and I soon sought after her practically

everywhere.

But she was nowhere to be found.

No girl in my town was looking for complete darkness.

I consequently again found myself very lonely, and I

soon fell mentally ill and had to set up an appointment

with a psychologist.

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To something, this is true, whatever, according to the

magnificent Carson McCullers. Probably here is the origin of

religion. There is not so much the longing for God, that has

brought about religions, but more the longing to belong to a

community. The more complicated a religion is, the stronger

the sense of community. An infinitely complex religion gives an

infinitely strong bond between the members of the faith.

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All this happened when I was in my early twenties, and

the psychologist I met was a long, well-built man in his

forties - Dr. Rinaldo - who happened to have written a

book about the right to love whoever you wanted to love.

I had read this book.

It was on a bright summer's day, and I walked into his

Florida office, a little tense, as I frequently was. I did not

speak until I was admonished to do so by the very

practitioner.

- Tell me why you think you need a psychologist!

he asked in an alluring fashion, grabbing a

pencil with his strong left hand.

-

How very often is it that psychiatrists and the like

are lefties?

- Well, some people think I am making this up.

But I, of course, know there is no such thing as

making things up, psychologically speaking….

- Why is there no such thing?

- Oh, because everything real for oneself is actual.

- I'm afraid I have to disagree. Of course, one can

make things up. But let me know what thoughts

you experience!

- My problem is … oh, I am so sorry, I am self-

diagnosing…

- Carry on; it does not matter if one is wrong or

says silly things. We are all wrong now and then.

- Thank you! Yes, my problem is that I cannot

sleep, and I think it is because I am

supersensitive to light.

-

- But you DO sleep, don't you?

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- Oh yes, eventually. At last, when I am dead

exhausted from trying to evoke darkness before

my sight, I usually doze off in some half-slumber.

- Then, you DO sleep.

- Yes.

- So, what is the problem?

- That is a good question, that one! I said with a

broad smile. I like that question.

- I generally pose it because it is relevant.

- The problem, perhaps, is that I am obsessed with

the thought that it has to be darkness before my

eyes when I am about to go to sleep. Or?

- That seems to be a reasonable conclusion.

-

The psychologist, Mr. Rinaldo, clean-shaven, was

sitting behind his desk, wearing just a black t-shirt

and jeans, and looked a little like an overgrown

teenager.

Why were there psychologists, I suddenly thought.

How could anybody be a psychologist? Was that a

profession? Was psychology a science?

The apartment where Rinaldo had his practioner´s

office was huge, and the rooms had extremely high

walls. The windows also were large, and they had

massive furnishes outside. Every window was like a

room for itself, I thought.

All the time I was in his office, I was more occupied

with the size of the room and the windows than with

my thoughts on the subject, which was myself.

- The whole thing destroys my life, I said

laconically.

- That seems clear. But you may not be completely

clear whether it is about a delusion. Are you not

confident that it is not a physical condition that

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prevents you from going to sleep very easily at

night?

- You put it so well, Mr. Rinaldo.

- You are putting things rather well yourself, too,

Mr. Rosenstein.

I thanked him with an elaborate, ironic nod.

- Exactly. I think I am different. Sometimes I think

so. I generally fancy that I am extraordinarily

susceptible. Due to my sensitivity, I often think I

will eventually come up with some great scientific

idea or someday create some remarkable piece of

art, like a massive novel of Modern Man or

something.

- And is it a problem that you have these

thoughts?

- No, not much. One has to have dreams, hasn't

one?

- I see. Now, what do you want me to do? What do

you think should be done?

I looked at him. Somehow, he looked like he was

on vacation, in that t-shirt and all. Did he take

his work seriously?

I answered almost as if I was an automaton:

- Is there a scientific way to determine if there is

too much light before my eyes, even if my room is

point black?

- Do you think that there is any scientific method

around to determine that?

- No.

- Neither do I. You are a very clever guy, Mr.

Rosenstein, only that you are not oriented toward

anything meaningful. What do you want with

your life, Mr. Rosenstein? What do you want to

DO?

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- I don't think you are taking my problem

seriously, Mr. Rinaldo. I don't come here to talk

about my career.

- You know, Mr. Rosenstein. I will tell you about

my profession.

-

I sat back in my chair, content that I had made

the psychologist try to explain himself. I was, at the

moment, the leader of the relatively trivial intellectual

game.

- Mr. Rosenstein. Most of my patients, in the

depths of their souls, enjoy having their

problems. They actually cannot live without their

favorite pain. I suggest you take a turn and try to

fancy what life would be for you if you had no

more thoughts about darkness. Would life be

empty?

I realized that I should leave. So I paid him his thirty

dollars and left. I thought about how he, in his book

"Love Indefinitely," even opened up for loving dead

corpses. When I was going down in the elevator, I

thought one might just as well be socially permitted to

love darkness.

When Rinaldo took the money, he left me with some

advice:

- You are almost a brilliant person. Very

intelligent! Your reasoning is very adept and

capable, but when you come close to

conclusions, you suddenly divert from the

subject, so I don't think you have ever drawn a

conclusion in your whole life.

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CHAPTER THREE

I often – as you might think - compare physical

darkness to a spiritual one, even though I know it has

nothing to do with my situation at all.

Sometimes I do think there is some connection. I am not

sure. Perhaps there is an inner-outer aspect to this. It

can be suggested that people overly interested in seeking

concrete darkness have this as a cover or a replacement

for the wish for spiritual darkness or interests in

mysticism or other shadowy philosophy.

It is wise, at least that was what Kierkegaard thought,

always to suspect oneself of having very shady

intentions.

My loneliness can most clearly be illustrated by how I

feel and behave when making love to a woman because

those things happen. Generally, I feel guilty when I am

in bed with a girl of my age ( late twenties ). I think that I

don't belong there. I like it, or I should like it because I

want sex. But at the same time, I feel I do not belong in

such a situation. Naturally, this ruins everything. After

the sex act, I might start a conversation with my darling

about darkness. This, of course, destroys the situation

further, if this is possible at all.

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- Yeah, I reckon it is not COMPLETELY dark, but if

I notice that, I leave it at that and just fall asleep,

she says.

- You know, I read something by Blaise Pascal, the

man who discovered air pressure, that sounded a

bit like this: "I can easily love total darkness; but

if God keeps me in a state of semi-darkness,

such partial darkness displeases me, and,

because I do not see therein the advantage of

total darkness, it is unpleasant to me. This is a

fault and a sign that I made myself an idol of

darkness, apart from the order of God. "…

- I am an agnostic, you know….

I am looking at Eunice. Her eyes are blue, her hair is

like bronze, and her skin is too. She is stark naked

and is lying on her elbow facing towards me. One of

her breasts has crumpled a bit under her. Her body

is gorgeous. It is so gorgeous that I don't know what

to do with her. When I tell her, she is offended. She

wants me to be interested in HER, not her BODY.

Eunice is from Dallas, Texas, and her family is

wealthy. Her father, Charles Hampstead, is an

engineer and inventor of surgical instruments.

I suddenly come to think of Jonathan Swift, the

author of Lilliputania, and how women repelled him,

since he had experienced that if you came infinitely

close to them, they were just pores and sweat and

nasty odors. Swift finally ended up in an asylum.

- I see. I am a bit obsessed, you know. Maybe I got

something that I found a way to real greatness.

Perhaps…

- Greatness??

- Yeah…

- Greatness??

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- I want to achieve something great.

She then says that she recognizes this. Many of her

former boyfriends have said the same thing. She

says it seems to be a culturally dependent mental

disease going on, she said. All men want to do

GREAT things. And generally, they don't achieve

anything, she says and sweeps the blanket around

her, so I can no longer enjoy her beauty.

She turns away and looks for her phone.

I am looking at her neck. Nothing in the world is so cute

as a girl's neck. I don't know why. The neck of a girl is

the last thing you get tired of a girl. Because what can

you do with a girl's body? After you have grabbed her

here and grabbed her there, there is really not much

more to do with a female body, no matter how beautiful

it is from certain angles. Not so with darkness. With

darkness, there are always new things and new

possibilities. That is also why I love darkness.

But why am I feeling this way? Because it is more of a

feel than an intellectual recognition. I am sure of that.

This has nothing to do with conclusions and is a feeling

and an inner urge. Or is it something else?

I am so sorry that I have nobody to talk to about these

issues. I will go mad if I have nobody to talk to about

darkness.

I wish I got hung up on something other than darkness.

But you don't choose those things. Do you?

Eunice is in love with me. She wants to marry me. She

has told her mom over the phone so. I happened to

overhear her call.

She is a medical student and has a degree in Chemistry.

Her IQ is something like Einstein's.

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However, she intends to be a practitioner and is not

involved in research. I don't know if she will become a

good doctor. But I admire her almost boundlessly.

Admiration is not a solid base upon which one might

build any close relationship. I know that.

Eunice is in the last term of her studies. She is 26 years

of age and younger than me. I am 25.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Almost immediately, I met Raoul Aronson. He was

ventilating his apartment, next to mine, on the third

floor of the Campus complex in the outskirts of Tampa.

It was spring, and the weather was superb. I had

managed to get my furniture from the storage, where all

my belongings had been taken care of during my time at

Saint Monica Hospital, where my psychologist at one

point had sent me. They did not think I was sick or

anything, so they decided to send me home without any

medication at all.

I don´t want to talk about these months at the asylum.

There is no need. Psychiatry is no science at all.

Thus, I saw my dear piano again, my large bed, books,

and wardrobe, not least my bicycle.

It felt as if life had begun. I had got rid of a lot of

unnecessary garbage before I was away, and now I

would have a clean start - if it weren't t for the thoughts

of the darkness.

Raoul – who seemed a little younger than me - waved

from across the space in the hallway.

- My new neighbor? he shouted in an almost

overly friendly manner, and his maltreated teeth

glowed ominously. I was in the poorer quarters.

But I didn't mind. I wasn't rich either. All I

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wanted was a friend. Maybe a girl, too. If he

perhaps knew some.

He let me into his place and gave me a cup of coffee and

a cigarette. I had quit smoking, but I didn't think a

couple of cigarettes would harm me. After all, I had

survived Sancta Monica's.

Raoul was slender, a Jew like me, very secular as well,

and had a darkish hue and black, almost curly hair. He

seemed enormously intelligent with his giant, coal-black

eyes and ever-smiling mouth and knew math and lots

about nature, as well as all the details about every

computer in the world. I never met anybody who would

not want to be like Raul, except maybe having his teeth.

They were nearly not nonexistent. The marvelous thing

about Raul was that you knew what you did to yourself

was alright after meeting him. His love made you feel

that you were entitled to your own greatness. I did not

have to pretend.

- I am focused on my sleep, I told him, and I let my

own dozen of ugly teeth show.

- You don't have to tell me anything, he said. I did

not like that he said that. I had just wanted to

present myself as forthcoming and was repelled

in that way. But I was sure there was something

else behind his rudeness. It always is.

The following day, we had a picnic in the small harbor

north of Tampa Bay. It was 35 degrees C and sunny. I

had brought biscuits and coffee, and he had only a tiny

book. We were dressed in a t-shirt and trousers, and I

felt almost like a teenager again, although I was 25

years old.

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The book was called "The Green Firestorm" by

Unknown.

I love Cornell Woolrich.

I don´t know if I am intelligent. I have never met

anybody in my life that I have regarded as truly

intelligent. Not even Raoul. I don´t know what it would

be like to meet anybody with an intellect that would

impress me. In test situations, my IQ is just 110. I know

I should not talk about intelligence. Raoul probably

scored 160. I don´t know. I don´t regard IQ tests as

scientific.

Among the first idols Raoul mentioned when we met on

this day in Tampa was John von Neumann. Since then,

he has also become somewhat of an intellectual hero to

me. I saw his picture on Raoul's wall and decided to try

to learn more about him.

Von Neumann was a mathematician initially from

Hungary, and he mastered all branches of mathematics

for 30 years, starting from the mid-1920ies. Von

Neumann did not write much else than books on

mathematical subjects, but he had made a deep

impression on Raoul. Among von Neumann's friends

were Oppenheimer, Einstein, Teller, and Gödel.

Von Neumann was the man who helped Oppenheimer

with the mathematics of the Manhattan Project, and

much time was spent by him at Los Alamos, adjusting

the two bombs that would later destroy Hiroshima and

Nagasaki.

Other fields he works with are computer science ( he

created the first computer virus ) and economic theory,

to mention just a few.

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He also predicted the takeover of humanity by

computers. He called it “singularity.” ( the "ever-

accelerating progress of technology and changes in the

mode of human life, which gives the appearance of

approaching some essential singularity in the History of

the race beyond which human affairs, as we know them,

could not continue.”) From the time of his early youth in

Budapest, von Neumann´s friends and teachers all were

afraid of him. He is said to have understood every

mathematical problem at once and was later

pronounced as the most intelligent man that ever lived.

Raoul and I sat on a cliff overhanging the Old Tampa

Bay portside, overlooked by seagulls and tortoises, and

Raul read aloud – his dark eyes glittering - while we

both drank our coffee and had our cigarettes, which

were French-made. The best thing on Earth is a

comrade. Friends are magic.

The book, which I never heard of before, was an odyssey

through paradise, in a hallucinatory fashion, like

Rimbaud or something.

It started exceptionally fervently:

"All our luggage bags are bent and broken,

All our limbs are sore,

But our hearts are swollen with the fire of glory

And we have drunk the majesty of Unforgotten."

I wondered who Unknown was, but Raul just showed his

teeth.

When I was fifteen years old, I remembered how I bought

an anthology of classical poetry, and the poems that I

loved the most were not by Philip Sydney, Wordsworth,

Coleridge, or Burns but those written by a strange fellow

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called "Anon." He was always super. I love books and

authorships. I am constantly dreaming about being an

author myself.

Once, the marvelous John von Neumann had said:

”There is no use in being precise if you don´t know what

you are talking about.” I think he hit something there.

That is what fiction is about being precise when you

don´t know what you are talking about.

Because I think that is what life is about, being forced to

be precise when we don´t know why we are on this

Earth.

The best books give us solace and comfort by talking IN

A PRECISE WAY about nothing at all.

Raoul and I laughed. Then Raul got bored and told me

he wanted to read a science book for a while. He took

out a book on the mathematical foundation of quantum

mechanics, and without further ado, he was wholly

absorbed by it, and it seemed as if he had forgotten that

I was present in the room.

I spent my time thinking a little about Eunice. Still, I

was soon distracted by a right-sided headache –

bordering on epilepsy - and decided to watch the telly,

something entertaining, like an old movie or something.

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CHAPTER FIVE

With problems like these, like the one I have with light

at night, one often tends to try to find the most tricky

reasons for them. How come nobody, almost like me,

had SUCH ENORMOUS issues concerning lack of

darkness by sleep? Since I – as I already have made you

aware, I am psychologically inclined and a big fan of

Sigmund Freud. I thought my problem might result from

childhood trauma, some unpleasant experience linked to

sleep and darkness.

I suddenly thought that my problem might have

originated with the tales my grandaunt Nena used to tell

me when I was just a toddler.

This day was a Tuesday and still August. I woke up with

my local radio station, WFLA, which I greatly enjoy. They

are progressive like I am. It is not anything highbrow

about that channel. But I am not pretentious. That, says

my inner Self, is the absolute pretentiousness. My inner

voice is, like inner voices tend to be, right.

I phoned my sister to find out if anybody remembered

what kind of tales it was because I had forgotten all of

them, and I thought this was a Freudian Verdrängung,

hysterical amnesia.

My sister did not remember that Nena had told any

goodnight stories.

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When I hung up on Bettie, my sister, good old Raul,

rang and said he would like to take me on a fishing trip.

I wanted a divertimento, so I agreed.

An hour later, with a small backpack on my shoulder, I

met him at the bus station nearby to hop on a bus that

would take us to the small marina, where Raul had his

motorboat. Raul knew all about the sea, and he brought

his dog today. It had been away at his brother's house in

Ingham. It was a black bastard, a little like a Rottweiler,

but it was no Rottweiler.

The animal was called a "Bandit." A friendly

creature, but rather significant, just like a Rottweiler.

I forgot to tell you that it did not seem like Raoul was

interested in girls. He was thrilled that I liked Eunice,

but I noticed that he looked at boys and girls similarly.

It was as if he was not very much for marriage and

family but loved when other people started a family.

I soon discovered, too, that Raoul was in love with me.

It did not bother me much at first, though. I was, in a

way, used to it. I have excellent looks, and since I was

about five years old, I have always attracted almost

everybody, equal sex.

Raoul had a very nasty habit when he was with me. It

was shocking. You see, he wore pants but with the

zipper open. When I pointed out that it was open, he

looked not much concerned but said that the zipper had

got stuck. He wondered if I could help him with the

zipper. I refused and told him that he was, if not

downright crazy, so utterly abnormal. People did not

have their zippers open, I growled.

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Thus, I concluded that Raoul did not refrain from

playing games to get what he wanted. And boy, how

right my hunch turned out to be!

When we embarked on the bus at the bus central on

the east side of Tampa, we heard a cry from behind, and

there, in a red summer suit, suddenly was Eunice, all

alone. She was nearly always alone because she did not

have any friends. The girl had put her bronze hair in a

horsetail on top of her head, vainly trying to look sporty.

She always looked more like a university lecturer than a

hefty coed. But of course, she already had a degree in

Chemistry. Now, it was Medicine for her.

Raul and I were equally baffled, but we told her it was

alright if she came along. I never knew how she found

out we were going to the sea.

We found ourselves on the marina Don Carlos after an

hour's ride on the small community bus. Raoul had

during the ride an intense conversation with Eunice

about Medicine.

Raoul was widely read, and he often – when it came to

Medicine – referred to a textbook he owned, Cecil's

Essentials of Medicine, that he almost knew by heart.

I almost trusted Raoul more than Eunice in health

matters because I relied on the Cecil book.

Eunice often got irritated when it came to talking about

disease. I don't know why. It was as if she wouldn't want

to be in love with someone who was subject to disease.

If I told Euince I had a sore throat, she merely got

angry.

I concluded that Eunice had an enormous ego, and I

thought that one had to put up with things like that. If

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one did not accept other people's weaknesses, one

probably would wind up in complete solitude.

I noticed that the conversation between Eunice and

Raoul now and then got my person as a subject. The two

of them discussed a suitable occupation for me in the

future.

I broke in and told them I wouldn't say I liked that they

talked about me as if I had not been present. They might

instead ask me what I intended to do with my life.

Neither Raoul nor Eunice had much humor, and they

ogled at each other earnestly.

Bandit, the Rottweiler-look-alike, sat on the bus all the

time very close to Raoul, and every minute, it seemed,

the big dog glanced up towards his master's face as if to

read the will of Raoul. In my book, Bandit seemed overly

well-trained, which was outright disturbing.

They were, in a way, very much alike in that they were

focused. They both knew they were, and they also knew

that I was not.

I was in great enthusiasm over the beauty of the

landscape. The nearer we got to the coast, the more

fantastic the landscape became, in contrast to the inner

parts close to Tampa, which were comparatively more

swamp-like.

I appreciate beauty, and in some instances, like when I

am with friends, I often get immensely interested in the

landscape instead of them.

I have never experienced so much beauty as when I am

with friends or with people I think are my friends.

The colors of the sky across the Big Gulf are

extraordinary. I never saw those kaleidoscopic scenes

when I visited my cousin Wesley in LA. I think I will

never leave Tampa.

26

CHAPTER SIX

It was already 2 p.m. when we arrived at Don Carlos

Marina. On this Tuesday, people mostly gathered

around a big auction in the small harbor nearby, where

items from a small navy vessel – a mine sweeper from

WWII - were auctioned out.

Thus, we found out that we pretty much had the beach

to ourselves. Because before we set out to the dolphins

at sea, out in the Gulf, we would swim by the beach

north of the marina.

Don Carlos was run by old Navy veterans in their 70ies

and 80ies, but they had been adamant about taking

care of the beach, which was white and had excellent

waters, shark-free, to swim into.

I had never seen such a well-tended beach, even if it was

a small one.

The wind was going from the beach on this day, and we

were alone, the three of us.

Eunice swiftly got into her bathing suit, and Raoul

played with the dog while I took out some coffee cups

and can and tried to set up a mall table and chairs,

which I found in the shrubs.

A seagull came and sat a few yards from me, and the

wind ruffled my hair. It was a fine day!

27

Eunice ran into the water, and Raoul told her he

wouldn't rescue her since he couldn't swim.

I did not believe he could not swim. He just was not in

the mood for swimming. Bandit lay on his guard,

monitoring the entire beach from a vantage point on a

small grassy knoll.

- Bandit could play with you in the water! Raoul yelled

out at Eunice.

- Oh no! she yelled back, violently shaking her head.

Nevertheless, Raoul laughed and admonished Bandit to

get out in the water and to swim to Eunice.

The soulless creature did so. Muscular and in great

speed, Bandit soon was out fifty yards into the sea and

closed up on Eunice, who cried out in pure terror.

- NOT THE DOG!

But Bandit laid his paws on her shoulders.

- GET AWAY!! Eunice shouted, and her fists pounded on

Bandit's head. GET AWAYYY!!!

But the dog shifted his paws from her shoulders to her

head. And the black beast pushed Eunice underwater.

It was not long before she was not seen anymore.

Raoul and I had done nothing. We stood side by side, me

with the coffee pot in my left hand, and looked upon the

drama.

I understood absolutely nothing. Why did Bandit do

this?

WHY?

I suddenly shouted to Raoul:

- WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

Then, I threw myself out in the waves and swam out to

rescue my love.

On the way out, I met Bandit, who looked very

concerned but refused to look me in the eye.

It looked as if even he did not understand what had

occurred.

28

I did not find Eunice.

Finally, an hour later, the police and the divers from the

fire apartment found Eunice floating dead a mile to the

south. She had distinct deadly bite marks on her throat.

29

CHAPTER SEVEN

I had NEVER SAW any human being in greater sorrow

than Eunice's mom. Eunice Hampstead's mom,

Caledonia Hampstead, a woman in her late fifties, was

like a trembling ghost, dressed in layer upon layer of

black chiffon.

- Ooh, my darling daughter, my darling daughter, she

cried. Eunice's three sisters, Abogaria, Debbie, and

Beatrice, were devastated, too. They all blamed me.

From Raoul, not much was heard. The police had

questioned him, and after not finding out anything other

than that the dog had gone mad, it had been decided by

a judge that they should euthanize the dog. This also

happened.

I could not stand to see Raoul, and I moved out of my

student apartment on the Campus to a cheap motel,

where I tried to compose myself and find solace from the

loss of my bride in spe.

I got a long letter from Eunice's mother explaining how

utterly useless, stupid, and ugly I was.

I understood Caledonia very well and would have done

almost anything to make friends with her. I even dreamt

– and I am ashamed to admit it - I made love to

Caledonia.

30

I had told the police that I thought that Eunice's death

was a result of a crime and that Raoul was the killer

who had used Bandit as a weapon. They did not believe

me. They had found out that I had been on a sojourn to

a Mental Hospital in Santa Monica and that I might be a

little out of my mind since it was my girlfriend that was

the one that had wound up dead.

I assured them that I was not crazy, but that I just had

some insomnia troubles and that Raoul was an

extremely clever and dangerous person who also was in

love with me. Hence, I was sure of the motive, too, and I

explained it to them.

The first officer, Hampton Bird, just shook his head.

- We have to have proof. We have no proof. It is just your

word. It might be just fantasies. Why couldn´t we just

admit that even a dog might go crazy?

- Bandit was NOT crazy. I never seen a dog LESS crazy.

The police investigations led to nothing. They even

nearly did not question Raoul. Raoul had just flatly

denied that he had had any communication with the dog

concerning any attempt of committing any drowning.

He never expressed any sorrow or regret. This was

strange to me. But Raoul was not like other folks. Not at

all.

31

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the following weeks, in my solitude, my sleep

deteriorated further.

I have NEVER understood why Mother Nature did not

make the eyelids of humans thick enough to shut out

ANY light. Maybe Mother Nature had her reasons, of

course. Perhaps it was a precaution of some sort. One

might be safer if one had a clue about what is

happening around oneself. If there were bolts of

lightning or fire, one could perceive that, even with

closed eyelids.

During this time, however, I had Skype conversations

with Deborah, a Goth girl, Eunice’s younger sister, who

lived in Sacramento, Texas. She also had grown very

suspicious of Raoul and couldn´t believe that the dog

had ended up drowning her sister all by himself.

But we had no accurate means and no method either in

proceeding in this matter.

Raoul was nowhere to be found, and without him, his

help, and the support of the Police, neither Deborah nor

I thought we would come nearer to the truth.

Deborah – a pale Goth girl with Satanist interests -

seemed very sensible; besides that, she had humor, and

nights after I talked to her, my sleep was nearly as good

as it should have been.

After all, one nearly – as an insomniac – always

underestimates the time one is asleep. At least, this was

what Raoul once said he had learned from Cecil´s

Essentials of Medicine.

32

I even thought that if Eunice had had as much humor

as Deborah, or if she had had any humor at all, she

would not have been murdered.

I know of a substantial number of failed authors or

authors who have made it halfway, who are entirely void

of a sense of humor. You have to have humor if you are

going to succeed as an author.

Deborah had two thin metal rings in her left nose wing.

Some people would say that I looked a lot healthier after

the death of Eunice. This is, of course, the epitome of

meanness. True is, though, that I was a bit relieved.

Eunice´s mother was right in that I was not nearly as

clever as her eldest daughter and that the marriage

between her and me would have been unequal in every

way, and it would have ended in some despair, only

unsure what sort.

I don´t know about you, but at least it is so for me that I

think that people are emitting signals, or even attitudes,

feelings, and moods, silently, without words, and that

we are all communicating in an infinite number of ways,

besides the verbal one.

Thus, Deborah and I had a way of breathing silently

together, yes, whisper, which made us both jolly. We

almost giggled at it, too, together. But this is off the

record, of course. We were both deeply troubled by the

loss of Eunice.

Deborah and I had some virtual sex meetings via Skype.

It was a disaster, though, sexually speaking, but we

had. Whispering, Deborah was a friendly type of girl:

helpful, almost to the border of insanity.

33

Eunice had been the angry type, and when I think of

Eunice, I find it strange that she never uttered anything

but yelling or asking. I never heard Eunice

COMMENTING or PRAISING. She had been a pain in the

ass!

But it is not uncommon that sisters are unlike each

other.

And if Eunice had been more kind and openhearted, I

probably would never have thought her sexy.

Eunice also had had an overwhelming energy,

something which Debbie did not possess at all.

Anyhow, hearing from Raoul did not take more than five

weeks.

This confirmed my suspicion.

He had not given me up.

Part of his plan was to get ME - at any cost.

After the disastrous Skype sex, Deborah and I decided

not to socialize anymore, and I was alone again.

Eunice had not yet been buried due to some legal

matters, autopsy-related. But I was constantly in

contact with Eunice´s mother.

Raoul seemed to be able to use this, and soon he had

talked me into meeting him in Baltimore, where he now

resided.

I took a plane to Baltimore for money he had

transferred, and soon I was sitting in his apartment at

another Campus area, the Loyola University Campus,

Baltimore, sipping on a cup of herbal tea served by his

room-mate, Andretta, who was a Jewish girl who studied

art in a school in the neighborhood.

34

CHAPTER NINE

Andretta had great cheeks. She was glowing and in an

un-Jewish way.

On the first night at Loyola, Raoul, who was in an

excellent mood, and Andretta, dressed in a blue summer

gown, though it was September, were sitting together

with me on the balcony, drinking red wine.

Andretta was an ashen, short ( 150 cm ), very pale in

her complexion, but a well-built girl. Almost athletic she

was. She did not say much, but you always thought she

reflected very much on everything.

I always thought of her as “Miss Beige.”

She had yellow-greenish eyes and came from the

countryside in Oregon.

She was a farmer girl who wanted to be cultural and

refined.

--------------------- ------------------------

The Campus at Loyola, a University superbly

surrounded by a lot of greenery, Chestnut and Oak, in

Baltimore, was a bit smaller than our Tampa student

complex.

35

But indeed, there were more than a thousand students

living here.

I don´t know about you, but balconies have always

fascinated me. Aren´t they rare and mind-boggling

pieces of architecture? I am not in love with architects,

and God knows that the man who invented the balcony

ought to have a medal!

Superbly, the balcony is the architectural form of

existential PAUSE. It is as if life takes a pause and as if

the persons on a balcony are all in a safe place, an

asylum, apart from life's troubles.

To socialize on a balcony is the most genuine happiness

of our lives. Nothing beats being with friends on a

balcony.

Many balcony stories have been written – yes, it is a

genre of its own. But I want to give you an example of

the bliss of balcony gathering by recounting the

conversation Andretta, Raoul, and I had on this mild

September evening when we were looking out over

Baltimore Bay and how the sailing ships under the

moon silently returned from a day at sea.

- Nobody KNOWS, Raoul said, his rotten teeth glittering

in the moonlight, what philosophy is.

- It might be different from person to person, I retorted.

Andretta cuddled in her chair, sipping at the glass of red

wine, now and then looking at Raoul and on me, looking

extremely secret.

- Wittgenstein once said he wished for a religion without

words, I said, but maybe I would even like a philosophy

without words.

Raoul glanced at me, and I saw he did not like what he

heard.

-What do you mean by that? he asked.

36

I HAD NOT considered Raoul´s relation to his former

dog, Bandit. But now, as he seemed to want to bring up

the old grudge, I upfront said to him:

- I mean that you might even silently be able to teach a

dog philosophy by showing things with your hands…..

- “What does the moon tell you?

What the grass, what the flowers,

On a dusky night

When the smell of day has gotten

To your nostrils,

Through your ears?”

Raoul improvised in a theatrical voice, and his eyes

shone from a strange fire.

- I mean, seriously! I insisted. I was almost scared.

New perspectives regarding life suddenly opened.

What was the meaning of Raoul´s pastimes?

Of course, it is not an easy thing to be young. Every

aspect of life has to be investigated. That is what youth

is for.

- I can tell what a person wants by the look in their eyes,

Raoul replied.

Andretta lost her guard and looked perplexed and a

little frightened.

The friendly atmosphere was gone.

It turned out Andretta knew nothing about the death of

Eunice.

Because now, on the balcony, I brought it all up and

thus confronted Raoul with my suspicion that he had

trained the dog to be able to kill people.

Raoul did not react at all, but to Andretta, it was all a

horrible thing, looked upon from all angles. First, it was

37

an awful event that Eunice was dead. That the dog was

the perpetrator also was terrible. Hen the fact that the

dog might be trained. Andretta also found it quite

horrible that two good old friends were accusing each

other in such a terrible way.

Because Raoul was accusing me, too, he accused me of

idiocy.

I don´t know about you, but for me, it has always been a

sensitive thing to be accused of idiocy. It is pretty hard

to defend oneself if someone accuses you of idiocy. And

almost everybody might, almost rightly, be subject to

such a violent attack on personality. One may even be

right to blame Einstein, Mandela, or Churchill for idiocy.

In some way, we are all idiotic. Some aspects of our

moral acts are always idiotic.

But now, I knew that Raoul had no actual defense. It

was a sign of guilt from his side that he called me an

idiot.

Andretta did not know what to think.

- It is not an easy thing, I think, to make a dog kill

someone…

- Piece of cake, said I. You might train a dog into

anything. Some dogs can handle machine guns. But I

would like to have witnessed when Bandit, the

Rottweiler, was led to execution. I would love to have

looked into his mind to see what he thought of his

master, the mastermind, Mr. Raoul! I cried out.

I saw in my mind's eye the sorrowful look of Bandit

before he got shot.

The three of us then fell into silence on our little

balcony. My words had wakened up an older man in the

flat under ours, and he had yelled up from below:

38

- INTERESTING, but do you have to SHOUT?

We soon left the balcony, and Raoul asked me if I

would like to sleep on the couch or in a bed in the hall.

Andretta approached me when I was lying on the couch,

running her fingers through my hair.

- It will all be alright, she said

-I am not so sure.

-What do you want? she asked.

- I want to get the guilty one.

- But if it was the dog himself?

- No way it was the dog. It was Raoul.

- But WHY would he do such a thing? Andretta cried

tears.

- Because he is in love with me.

-No way that he is. I can SEE such things. He is in love

with nobody but himself. He is a true narcissist!

- No. He is in love with me, I said bleakly.

Andretta´s – who had the body ( the corporal geometrics

) of a belly dancer from Beirut - cheek glowed intensely,

and I leaned upwards from the sofa and kissed her on

her soft, firm lips.

Soon, we were lying entangled in her bed in her room.

Several times during the night, we saw how the door was

opened, how Raoul glanced at us without saying

anything, and how he just as silently let the door lock

again, leaving us two lovers alone in our earthly bliss.

I guess that already, at this time, Raoul was planning

his next hideous move.

39

CHAPTER TEN

On the following day, we decided – when we had lunch

in the kitchen to take a stroll in the Baltimore harbor. It

is always lovely to be by the sea.

On the way to the tourist's inner harbor, which isn´t far

from Loyola University, which is situated pretty much in

the center of Baltimore, I asked Andretta about her

views on art. Of course, I had seen some of her work in

her room: large dusky paintings in green and brown,

and she said she wasn´t sure that art was her absolute

dream I wanted to explore, she said.

- I don´t know what to explore. So, this is just the

beginning. I am fond of literature and History, too.

Mostly French. I love French novels.

- Yes. I am the curious type, too. Raoul too. Neither

Raoul nor I know what we are good at. I am not at all as

clever as Raoul. Raoul could become just anything. He

has an astounding memory, and neither is there

anything wrong with his logic.

Raoul was walking on the sidewalk behind us. The sun

was sprawling, and in the alley, many birds, not just

orioles and seagulls, but dozens of crows, sat and stood.

- Ruben is overestimating me.

40

Raoul´s voice was dark and had a mischievous

undertone.

- I am just comparing you to me.

- You are underestimating yourself, Raul continued.

I laughed for the first time in a week. Maybe everything

was just a bad dream. Maybe Raoul and I were real good

friends, and nothing wrong had ever happened, and

Eunice was just inexplicably gone, and that was it.

Now, there was another day, and Andretta was telling

me a story about an uncle of hers.

- You know, I have an uncle who is very gifted too. He

has an ENORMOUS memory. He cannot forget anything

at ALL.

- Neither van I, Raoul echoed from behind.

We drew nearer and nearer to the boats, and the

amounts of seagulls and salty air gusts were appalling.

We passed a statue of an ancient mariner from the time

of the great ship trade.

The statue was comparatively small. I saluted it and

felt increasingly childish.

- Tell me about your uncle!

- He has the most remarkable memory. He can never say

that he remembered something because he never forgets

anything.

- But he cannot remember everything at the same time?

I corrected her. Her cheek was peach, but the rest of her

skin was pale and white. She looked a little sleepy.

- Still, he cannot forget.

I thought this was silly, but I did not tell her.

- Raoul has an excellent memory, I said. He can recite

the entire History of the Philippian War by Justin. ( Not

Justinian, a completely other person, and a Kaiser. )

Andretta – although she was kind of an intellectual -

had never heard of Justin. Since I am an author in spe, I

am very interested in authors. Even if Justin was a non-

fiction writer, I was interested in him. ( Nobody knows

41

anything about this very Justin except that he was a

writer of popular History. He lived almost

simultaneously with Jesus from Nazareth. The works

from his hand all are General History. )

My own stories were mostly ghost stories, and they had

been published on the internet and in Tampa Weekly.

They had not stirred up any debate, not been praised

nor bashed, and I had made zero money on my writings.

-----------------------------------

Now, we finally were at the harbor, Miss Beige, Mr.

Know All ( Raoul ), and Mr. Unpretentious ( me ) ,and

there were ships as far as we could see. We were mostly

sailing yachts. It was like every human being owned a

boat and was visiting Baltimore.

Raoul was sitting in the shade of a small boathouse,

trying to make contact with a seagull. From a human

perspective, Seagulls look very stupid and are often

afraid. This one, which seemed just half-grown, or was a

dwarf, was highly cocky, though. Raoul had managed to

get it involved in a game where the two of them were

rolling a pebble, or a small stone ball, to each other.

Raoul gazed at it and talked in a low voice, and soon he

seemed to have the bird in control, in a mental grip, and

slowly led it to come closer and closer to him. Soon, the

bird stood with its ches pressed unto Raoul´s hand.

They were both utterly still amid all the goings-on on the

boardwalk.

Andretta and I were equally mesmerized, and people

from outside our company also stopped and stared in

fascination. An old sailor was annoyed, though:

- Don´t play that way with them birds. They are wild

animals and shall so be!

42

Then Raoul slightly pushed the bird away, and the

white dwarf gull flew away.

We then left the side of the boat house and proceeded

out on the bridge.

“He is crazy,” I said to myself. “Always watch out for

people who mess with animals!”

Andretta was a bit worried, too.

- I love books about old Indochina, she said.

I love Indochina love stories.

- That is absurd, I said, glancing at her. I took it as an

invitation and immediately took her hand, and when we

looked at more and more ships from farther and farther

destinations, I clutched her little hand harder and

harder.

Raoul was silent. His hair was in array, and his eyes

looked wet.

- The word “Indochina” is romantic.

Andretta was elusive. I could not understand her.

Behind her green eyes, there was a silent dreamer.

In her pocket, she carried “The Lover” by Marguerite

Duras. He tried to look like 15½, the age of the heroine

in this French novel.

43

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When we got home to the apartment in the evening, we

had supper and decided to listen to music.

Raoul had put up his usual portrait of John von

Neumann on the wall in the living room. It was a giant (

40 x 40 inch ) black and white poster showing Neumann

in semi-profile. The eyes of the renowned scientist were

just amazing. His gaze was so clear and free-spirited.

I got along just perfectly with Andretta. She had an

excellent, normal mind, not fundamentalist in any way –

apart from that Indochina thing - and there was a

calmness about her that I thought I needed.

Raoul tried to make her uneasy and sometimes scare

her, but he rarely succeeded, to his great

disappointment.

Eunice´s mom, Caledonia, rang several times and cried

but said everything was ready for the funeral. She had

bought the most beautiful coffin in a cedar tree and was

expecting me.

I told her I would come on the funeral day but would not

stay because I had to concentrate on my studies. In

reality, I did not care a straw for my studies. I just lived

for the day. Raoul had that sort of effect on me.

Mr. Hampstead ( her husband ) sent his regards, and

Debbie´s too. Beatrice, their youngest daughter, had

been awarded a scholarship and was studying

44

microbiology at Harvard. She never seemed to take any

interest at all in her family.

I had never had any real conversation with Mr.

Hampstead - Charles - ever, on anything, but a short

one when he had shown me the house he had built

himself. He was a short man with a broad, reddish face

and a white beard. He had a severe stammer and chose

not to speak very much. The man, who was relatively

bright and still more successful, seemed to be in

constant love with his wife. He did not seem to care as

much about his children at all. He was tremendously

proud of the electrical installations and how one could

dim the light in every room without any other

disturbances on the electric supplies to the kitchen or

the washing machine.

It turned out he had made some groundbreaking

discoveries regarding the gall bladder. However, he was

not a medical scientist. Charles R. Hampstead had

received many prizes as well as a presidential medal.

----------------------

It turned out that Raoul had got a sudden interest in

hypnosis. He had a whole lot of books on the subject

and was convinced he had a talent.

Due to his enormous knowledge, he did not have to

study much, and it always seemed he was consumed by

this or that new hobby.

Raoul Aronson enjoyed discoveries and wore this

seemingly eternal grin on his face, blatantly showing all

his brownish teeth.

If I had all that energy, I thought, I would have been a

professor at Harward by now.

45

Outside the balcony, which was on the third floor, there

was a chestnut tree home to a dozen magpies.

Since we were a couple of hundred students on Campus,

and there were these birds in our neighborhood, it was

not unusual to see students experimenting with the

clever birds.

Or maybe it was the birds who were experimenting with

the students….

Anyway. Students always taught the raven birds how to

behave to get snacks. It was all sorts of things. If the

magpies cleaned up a sidewalk, they might get a feisty

breakfast with hamburgers.

This experiment, though, had been reported to the

University's Ethics Committee and, consequently, was

prohibited because it insulted the magpies. They should

in no way be trained to be our slaves, the Dean had

decided.

Raoul had grown interested in these birds as well. His

curiosity was boundless.

He told Andretta that since she was interested in young

women who were slaves to older men, he would like to

perform a study on how birds could be enslaved to each

other.

Thus, he made one of the magpies the owner of a corner

on his balcony. Raoul trained the bird to defend his

corner at all costs. If the bird did not regard his corner

as his property, Raoul would not give snacks to him.

Then, he managed to teach the bird to give orders to

other birds. If the other birds obeyed the top bird, they

would as well be rewarded with snacks.

This wasn't very easy. But the birds soon realized what

Raoul wanted. Soon, four magpies had surrendered to

the top bird, one with a white spot on his cheek.

46

We ( I soon got interested in this science, and Andretta.

Raoul had invited the fellows who lived in the next

apartment, two gamers in their late teens who were

engaged to each other and studied both of them their

first year to become biology teachers. Amaru and

Blessing were two kindhearted spirits, black trendy but

modest youngsters from Georgia, and when they did not

kiss each other or were consumed by this or that data

game, they played with the magpies on their small

balcony, which was just close to ours.

The two youngsters were both very short and uniformly

clad in yellow sportswear.

Amaru, who had a tiny mustache and an enormous

tattoo on his neck, laughed when Spot lectured the four

slave magpies. The wild birds were all sitting on the

concrete floor of Raoul´s and Andretta´s balcony on this

September Day at Loyola´s.

Blessing was filming with her Android phone, ready to

post the happening on TikTok and Dailyvision.

Amaru looked at the scenery before him, where Spot

pointed in different directions and bade his men abide

by the rules.

- I never thought of it, but I don´t think birds have

natural hierarchies.

- Oh, they probably have, I said, standing in the

doorway between the balcony and the main room of

Raoul´s apartment.

- Here, here! Raoul shouted with a piece of bread in his

hand, leading the magpie, who listened to the name

“Spot,” to become more aggressive towards his

subordinates.

The task that Raoul had set up for the birds was moving

a small wooden plate from one side of the balcony floor

to the other. The thing was that Spot would not at all

47

participate in the actual work, but he should make the

other birds move the object.

Spot finally understood how to get the small piece of

bread by watching repeated maneuvers from Raoul´s

hands.

Blessing, Amaru, and I cheered on while Andretta had

grown tired of the spectacle and had returned to the sofa

inside to continue rereading The Lover.

I continued to try to watch what was happening from the

perspective of the magpies. Thus, I could not avoid

making eye contact with Spot to find out who he was

keen to communicate with if anybody.

Then, after a few minutes, I found he wanted to

communicate with me.

I was amazed. I did not for a moment think that I was

the one who had created this marvelous contact, but I

all the time felt that it was Raoul. This shows in whose

hands I was, heart and soul, at this time.

Little Blessing now and then looked at me, under her

teenage sunlit eyelids, and said:

- You really like this, uh?

The magpies were all in the hands of Raoul, and Spot

turned out to be the perfect leader of a small pack of

birds that soon were marching on line to and fro on the

balcony.

Blessing had made a couple of short videos and posted

them online.

It did not take long for the rumor about the trained

black birds to have reached several students on the

Loyola Campus. As an effect, we could hear calls from

below on the street, where a dozen youngsters cried after

48

“Spot.” They all wanted to see with their own eyes the

marching birds.

Raul, however, wouldn´t let any of the boys and girls on

the street come up to our balcony to see for themselves.

The day was beautiful, with stark sunlight over

Baltimore, and although all the manifold trees around

our square houses had begun to shift colors into darker

ones, it was a sight of boundless beauty.

I have always enjoyed landscapes of all kinds, not least

cityscapes. The architecture on this Campus was rather

old, and the style was a neo-classicist one. The buildings

were dark red bricks, and the rooms gleamed brightly

from oxidized light green copper.

I had returned inside, where Andretta still sat on the

sofa, her feet under her legs, reading the Duras novel.

She seemed totally enthralled.

- That book sweeps you up, eh? I asked while gently

stroking her hair.

- Yes, submerged, she answered.

I playfully snatched the book from her and glanced at

some pages. I smiled knowingly.

- It is written in first person past tense. You cannot

expect any distance in a book written in that tense.

She looked up, and strangely, she seemed to lose

interest in the book and said:

- I am so bored.

Only young people get bored, I thought. I have never

heard older women complain in that way. But I said:

- Maybe you are hungry?

-Ah, you are a sweetheart, she said, looking very

common and beige.

Andretta was moody, I thought. I also regarded her as

pretty silly and not at all as sexy as Eunice. But Eunice

had been something special. I thought you could not

49

expect to find another Eunice in a hurry while talking to

Andretta about food.

Blessing and Deontay had entered from the balcony, too,

and they were in a good mood. Oth sang a popular tune

and tried to sing the song in different keys, eventually

ending in chaos.

I laughed, too, and asked them what Raoul was up to

now.

- He´s just talking to the birds, Deontay said.

- He´s just tanking the birds for today, Blessing laughed.

She had fine eyes—very kind, sweet regards.

Although Raoul was on the balcony, I felt his strength in

my body. All the time when I was with Raoul, although

he did not do anything special, I was envigoured. In the

evening – when he was around – I fell asleep just like

everybody else, had normal dreams, and woke up

refreshed.

Raoul was like a miracle to me. I feared the day when he

was not around anymore.

I had taken a massive liking to Deontay and Blessing.

They were people you wished you had for friends all your

life.

------------------------------

In the evening, when we were all dazed in front of the

telly, Caledonia rang for the fifth time that day. She

wanted me to come tomorrow, although the day for the

funeral was now set to the day after tomorrow.

I managed to ask why without seeming rude.

- I want to show you Eunice´s things…., she said, crying

loudly.

- I see, I answered, mumbling.

It was such a tragedy. I thought that I could not grasp

that she was dead. I planned to say just what I thought

50

when I heard Eunice´s mother´s voice, and she now

pronounced every word in a distinct, menacing way:

- I think she was murdered. I have hired a detective to

find out about Raoul Aronson!

I gasped.

I thought that I KNEW that Eunice was murdered, but

that I had my whole life to think about.

I could not possibly care for dead people.

- I don´t know if I can make it tomorrow, I answered,

and simultaneously, I realized how heartless it sounded.

I now started to get exalted, and I fantasized about

having sex with Caledonia.

- But you are not a monster, I heard her say.

I did not answer, but I excused myself by pointing out

that I had a company that craved attention.

When I hung up, I did not know if I would attend the

funeral anymore.

I WAS NOT COLDHEARTED. I just needed DISTANCE, I

thought, and I felt a little dizzy and wanted to take a

walk to clear my thoughts.

Andretta suddenly gave me a warm gaze as if she knew

what I was thinking. She was a sweetheart, and I felt

when I took on my little gabardine jacket and slipped

out of the small apartment for my evening walk.

When I walked among the large, expensive yacht down

in the Baltimore harbor, I was again caught by the

fantasy about Caledonia. Sometimes, it has been a

secret pleasure of mine to think of older or middle-aged

women in explicit situations.

I remember when I grew up and was fascinated by my

mother´s best friend, and made up childish plans to beg

her to have sex with me, to introduce me to the

forbidden land. I was about fourteen years old. But I

51

might have a better chance if I waited a few years. Her

husband was very sick; he had heart disease and was

panting when they were out walking.

I thought that after he died, I might visit her, and we

would have the most beautiful time.

When I turned seventeen, the old man was still alive and

even seemed a little healthier, while she had been hit by

severe dementia. She no longer knew her name and

could not orientate in the surroundings. She also had

lost every ounce of sexiness.

I then thought that sex must be organized immediately.

You can never postpone sex. You cannot plan sex but

must always make your advances directly or let it go.

Later in life, I often had nightmares where I met the

husband of my mother´s friend and how he, only using

his bleak blue eyes, accused me of having caused her

dementia by my filthy thoughts.

Now I thought of Caledonia, and I could not even refrain

from giving the health of Charles Hampstead, her

husband, some thoughts.

I suddenly feared for my mental health and thought I

should have a bath or something to clear my mind.

But instead, I slowly walked back to the Loyola Campus,

realizing I had to attend the funeral. If not for Eunice´s

sake, so for Caldedonia´s - or vice versa.

---------------------

52

CHAPTER TWELVE

The following morning, a Tuesday, I took the train to

Dallas. I wouldn´t say I like flying, and trains are

beautiful.

There were not any acquaintances to make in the coupé,

but I just sat philosophizing and looked at the landscape

that flew by outside the train window.

- Even IF Raoul was a murderer, why should he stand

trial for that? I thought.

- Was life better for anybody if Raoul got behind bars?

I wondered about Caledonia and what her detective,

whoever he was, had managed to dig up concerning the

background and character of my best friend.

The train zigzagged through the valleys of the Carolinas

on its way to Florida. I should change trains in

Tallahassee.

The way I see things is mighty strange. I think that IF

Raoul was the killer, he ought, IN PRINCIPLE, to be put

in jail or put to death. But since a perpetrator of a crime

is not alone, but since his incarceration in many

profound ways affects OTHER PEOPLE, one has to

consider THE GREATER GOOD.

I thought the greater good, at least for me, was that

Raoul never got tried for any crime because I needed

him so badly.

53

I could not sleep in an orderly fashion if he were not

around.

God knows I thought when the train rushed over a large

bridge, and it sounded like thunder, what my sleep

would be like when I came to the Hampsteads. I

probably would not be able to sleep a single wink in

Texas.

I looked around in the coupé and was nonplussed since

I did not find anybody I thought would understand my

new theory of justice among the people I saw.

Nevertheless, it was my firm belief at the time that in the

future, there would be two sentences delivered at trials:

1.) principal sentences and 2.) actual sentences.

The enormous problem of overpopulation in State and

federal prisons would eventually be solved.

I was convinced that I was not in love with Raoul. Not

even platonically. I had no warm feelings for him at all. I

just felt invigorated and blessed when I was in his

proximity. I NEEDED the crazy youngster with his ugly

teeth and malicious grin.

I thought that maybe later, I would come to love him.

You never know.

I cannot see any moral deficiency in my reasoning. I am

not judgmental, and I have very few prejudices. People

who have self-confidence are seldom prejudicious.

I watched South Carolina through the train window,

how all those early autumn colors formed a symphony

for my eye.

I have never wished to LIVE amid woods and pastures. It

is all right to be part of the world, watching nature

through windows. After all, nature is everywhere: inside

train wagons, inside me, and in my thoughts. My

54

thoughts are perfect examples of nature. They are

natural products, all of them.

Suddenly, A young girl entered the compartment,

carrying a massive traveler's bag on wheels. Since a seat

close to mine was free, she sat down after putting her

bag under the seat.

- I am Dona, she said.

I was thrilled. I had never seen such a pretty girl in my

entire life.

She was dressed like a fairy, too. Her coat was yellow,

her frock was orange, and her hair was ornated with

small strings of pearls. I would probably have thought

she was pretentious in ordinary circumstances, but I

embraced the opportunity since I was in a precarious

situation.

- I work with a circus, she excused herself.

- Damn, damn, damn! I said. You are a beauty!

She smiled.

The other people in the train compartment, beautifully

lit by sunrays from southeast, were three young men

from the northern states, equipped with several camping

kits and fishing gear. They had stopped chatting when

Dona entered and were, just like me, upset by her

appearance.

“What are you doing at the circus?” I asked her,

fumbling with my hands along the seat.

“I am a juggler.” She answered.

“Not with these.” She added and attempted to juggle

with her breasts, which were neatly pressed against her

body by an elastin sweater.

I had a T-shirt with the face of John von Neumann on it,

which I had borrowed from Raoul.

“Oh!” I said.

She asked me what I was doing and where I was going.

I tried to accidentally cut my thumb to try to lure her

away with me to the toilet.

55

This failed, and she laughed. She was not born

yesterday. Her folk came from Finland, she said. Her

name was Dona Dukelsky.

It turned out that I was left to nothing but my fantasies

about her soft and fit body. I don´t regard myself as a

sex maniac. But, of course, at times, I did not have

much in mind. After all, I was 25 years old.

When we got to Savannah, she departed with her giant

bag, beauty, and pearl strings in her hair.

-----------------

In Tallahassee, I finally got off to change trains.

It was now 02.30 p.m., and I figured I would get to

Dallas about 08.00 p.m. that evening. Charles and

Caledonia had promised to meet me at the station. They

had their mansion 15 miles south of Dallas.

56

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Without much hassle, I got on the Dallas train and tried

to get a little sleep before reaching my destination. At

this moment, I used my standard techniques, which I

had developed through all these years when I did not

have the presence of Raoul as a mitigator into sleep.

I was, of course, worried.

There was not only that I had to face Caledonia and

Charles, and the detective, and the accusations of

having allowed Raoul to meet with Eunice, letting Raoul

introduce Bandit to her, and so on. No, I also had to

meet with Eunice´s sister, kid sister, Deborah, alias

Debbie, with whom I had had an encounter via Skype of

a sexual nature.

I sweated, and I needed to relax. But it didn't seem easy.

I tried, though.

I closed my eyes, having placed my NY baseball cap over

my forehead, and then felt where the tension was. It is

usually on the right-hand side of my skull at 3 o´clock.

Then, when the disturbance, which I regard as epilepsy,

is located, I turn my attention to the left-hand side of my

brain. By mustering all remaining energy, I then

envisage a black cloud in the left hemisphere. I focus on

this area, and if I try hard, I eventually fall INTO THE

CLOUD and go to sleep. At least I sleep for some

minutes.

What I just described is ONE OF my methods to get

some sleep.

I generally do not dream very much on those occasions.

--------

57

Soon, I reached Dallas ( without having slept anything

at all ), and Charles and Caledonia were so thankful that

I had arrived. They both wept, but Caledonia wept

FLOODS.

As always, I thought she was a beauty, and she

reminded me of Eunice, and they were, in some aspects,

very much alike.

Charles was a master in handling the old Pontiac. We

swayed along at 200mph while darkness fell around us.

When we stopped at a gas station, he got out for a few

minutes, leaving Caledonia and myself in the car.

I looked at Eunice´s mom and took her hand, giving her

wordless solace.

When Charles got back, he had bought ice cream for

everybody. I was treated like a son.

---------------------

I have always wished to have a family like that. Both my

parents died in a boat accident when I was just five

years old, and I grew up with an aunt, Aunt Eleonore.

She was okay, but she was no real family.

I nearly indulged in the feeling of being their son, but

due to the circumstances, I did not dare to allow myself

to feel at home and like I was a son to them.

They did not talk much, and I did not dare raise

complicated matters while driving.

Thus, I decided to discuss the matter with the juggling

girl I had met on the train.

- Oh, I read about her in the newspaper; Charles

laughed and refrained from making a dangerous move

on the highway.

- Soo? I said. Is she famous?

- Sure. She is a swindler. Do you still have your wallet?

58

I felt for the wallet in my coat.

It was there. And I had my mobile too. Of course, Dora

was no thief.

We argued for a while, and I was happy to talk about a

more distant matter, if just for a minute.

I was lucky that I had my wallet and phone because I

did not want to feel naked when I was far away from

home.

I longed for my mini-apartment in Tampa, which I had

left empty and unattended. But soon, I would be back

there. And hopefully, I had brought Raoul with me to my

hometown again.

Perhaps all would soon return to normal.

I did not know how wrong I turned out to be.

I ought to tell you who Caledonia was, but I haven´t had

the opportunity. The fact is, that I learned about her

story many years later, and it seems not right in a

narration about actual occurring things to put in

information that was not available to me at the time.

But I think I have to tell you about her now, anyway, for

the sake of clarity and completeness.

Caledonia did not have very much education. She was

an artist in the kitchen, however. When Charles started

earning big money, she thought she would get a career

after the kids had started first grade. So she rang the

local TV station and begged them to let her try as a TV

chef and cook. And they took her in, and to make a long

story short, she succeeded manifold and became rich

and famous in her own right in middle Texas.

But misfortune struck.

59

In the third year of her food show, she poisoned one of

the TV anchors so severely that she died after just a few

days of illness.

After this, Caledonia never cooked any food in any TV

show.

---------

The Hampstead mansion lit up when we arrived on the

front porch. The doors to the garage were open, and

several cars were already inside.

A man came out from a side door in the garage and

helped us out of the Pontiac.

It was Mr. Verhaag, the detective.

In the doorway, pale and without a smile, Debbie lurked,

dressed in black, and I felt as if a hand clutched my

throat.

60

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Hampstead mansion, placed on the outskirts of a

40-acre land area, was built in the 1930ies in a classic

Texas style. It was a two-story building with a terrace in

front of it. On the first floor, there were five rooms, and

on the second, seven.

When we arrived, it was lit by external lamp posts on a

row; all of them emitted a mild yellow light, and I very

much thought that if Eunice had not deceased, I might

have had a chance at least to be once one of the owners

of this small architectural masterpiece from a golden

Texas era.

Soon, we were all seated in the parlor, with coffee and

sandwiches.

Charles, who in the car had forgotten his stammer, now

was troubled by it again and let his wife do the talking.

Debbie was not to be found. I had hitherto not changed

a word with her.

It turned out to be not a jolly evening at all.

I thought it was best to get the difficult part over with,

so I said:

- I respect your point but can´t entirely agree with it. I

think Raoul is completely innocent. The poor dog acted

out of some unknown impulse. We will never be sure

what was wrong with Bandit, as his name was.

- We know the dog's name, Caledonia said, and now her

face was dark.

61

- Mr. Verhaag ( she pointed with her pinkie towards him

) has thoroughly investigated Paul Aronson, and it

seems he is a shady fellow. Isn´t he?

She had turned to Verhaag, a slender man in his forties,

a typical lawyer type, with bushy eyebrows and a stern

chin.

- Exactly, I have.

Verhaag now laid bare the mirky character of my friend

for half an hour. G pointed out that he had found that

Raoul almost had no healthy interests at all, as far as he

had seen.

I protested meekly, and Verhaag continued.

- I have never run into any person who seems so entirely

destructive in his character, Raoul Aronson. It is

appalling, and it does not seem like he ever had a decent

job. No sports, no social life. He has been merely

interested in mysticism, hypnosis, role-play, gaming,

and computing.

I did not ask him what was so destructive with computer

science.

- I did find out that he had attended two separate

courses in dog training last year. Did you know that?

Louis Verhaag continued.

- No, I have never asked him if he had done so, I said.

- Well, I have phoned the police in Baltimore and told

them. We´ll see what they intend to do. The public

prosecutor may take an interest in that.

- Perhaps they already know. I said they do not pick up

every suspect on every circumstantial evidence.

Caledonia and Charles were silent, but they followed

every word of the small debate that played out between

me and Mr. Verhaag.

- Oh, this is so terrible! Caledonia cried out, and I saw

how all this hurt her.

62

- Perhaps Ruben was in on it? A voice, Deborah´s, was

heard from behind a sofa.

Deborah had been lying flat on her back behind the

sofa for at least fifteen minutes. Now she stood up.

- That man is a criminal! She continued.

- He wanted to have sex with me over the phone, over

Skype. But I luckily said “no.” Debbie started to cry

when she delivered her last lie.

There was a silence before Charles raised his voice:

- Now, this is not decent behavior. Mr. Rosenstein is our

guest, and I will no no no not permit anybody to come

with lose accusations against a guest. He is our guest,

and furthermore, he will stay and spend the night here

peacefully and in perfect safety!

His voice was steady, and the message was clear.

- I will not permit this!

Charles repeating these words had a calming effect on

me, and my pulse was almost regular after I had taken a

couple of deep breaths.

- I miss Eunice exactly as much as you do! I said, and

then looked at the red carpet on the floor.

- I am so sad. Caledonia mumbled.

Debbie walked out of the room with straight composure,

and I looked around to see if any coffee was left.

Charles and Caledonia had decided to walk Mr. Verhaag

to his car and wave him off. I sat in the big chair in the

neat parlor with my coffee and reflected upon what had

passed.

Everything went just as expected, was my conclusion.

The only baffling thing was, I silently supposed, that Mr.

Verhaag had been in contact with the Baltimore police.

I was sorry about Deborah. She looked suddenly so pale

and so frail. All this had struck her hard. I had genuine

63

– unmingled - feelings of remorse. I did not often have

true feelings, and I was surprised.

Deborah's parents indicated that the girl had been hurt

badly by her sister's death and that it had not dawned

upon her until lately that she was much more lonely

than before. Her other sister refused to come home and

had more or less severed the bonds between her and her

parents.

I decided not to make any more advances with Deborah,

and I certainly would try to leave Caledonia alone. I

would try to be entirely decent. This I promised myself,

and then the Hampsteads returned from the parking

plot.

While Caledonia laid her final hand on the supper meal,

Charles – who had aged some five years or so in just a

couple of days - took me aside and led me into the

library packed from bottom to top with all sorts of

expensive books.

He said:

- You know how hard it is for us. Our angel is … gone.

But I want you to know … that I do not for a moment

think that you are in any way guilty of her death so that

you know that.

I thanked him.

Then, the conversation was over.

Charles only talked when he was driving a car. Perhaps

car vibrations helped against severe stammer. Charles

might get a patent on that.

--------------------------

64

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After a small supper, where Deborah was absent, the

Hampsteads asked me if I would like to sleep on the

second floor or in a room in the basement that initially

belonged to a housekeeper.

I chose the room below.

Caledonia had taken countless photographs showing

Eunice from her first days to a few months from now. It

was all so sad.

The mom did not again ask me about Raoul; I could see

how tragic it was for her. Eunice had been the apple of

her eye.

All was set for the funeral the following day, and she

asked me if I had any black costume. I said there was

one in my portfolio. But I just had my walking shoes,

which were brown ones. Caledonia did not think that it

mattered much.

- You are a sweet boy anyway, she said.

I disagreed, but I did not protest loudly.

We bade each other tonight with the waves of our hands,

and I went downstairs to my quarter.

65

--------

The room was small but neat. I soon crept to bed and

shut out the lights.

Before I went to bed, I had looked at myself in the

mirror. Who was I? What I saw was the usual

impeccable face in all its beauty.

I have to stress that this is a story told by me. I know

that I have good looks. But I can assure you that if

someone else told this story, but me, this fact would

have been stressed so many more times, because it is

essential if you have a fantastic appearance, not least in

these times.

I was lying on my left side, trying to sleep.

Everything was absolutely terrible.

How on Earth could Eunice say to me that she thought

that “I was a sweet boy anyway” if she thought I was

covering up the murder of her daughter?

When my phone rang, I was just about to start my usual

procedure with the brain hemispheres. The time was

11.23 p.m.

I had put it on a small table beside me, and I now lifted

it and answered.

It was Debbie.

-“Zumzumzum”, she said.

- Stop bothering me! Please!! I told her anxiously.

- Heeeezy, breezy!

- You are a mean thing! I shouted and ended the call.

Now, it was high time for me to work on my sleep. How

was I going to sleep with all these problems? I tried my

tricks with the big black cloud to the left, wriggled my

toes ( like the genius electrical wizard Niccola Tesla

66

always did before he should sleep ), and took deep

breaths.

Nothing worked.

Once, during the m night, I went up to look at my black

costume. To ensure everything was ready for the

following day, I took all my things from my ordinary coat

and put them in the costume coat. Then I discovered a

small card in my breast pocket that I had never seen

there before, as far as I could remember. I took it out

and looked at it. It was small, white, and rectangular

with writing.

It simply read:

Dona Dukelsky,

Circus Artist

0334-47665-332-xxxx

I smiled. Perhaps someday, I thought, I would call that

number, but certainly not tonight.

This made me a little happier, though. I felt warmth in

my heart.

Even if she was a con artist and a thief, she had won my

heart. And she certainly had not mugged me!

I lay there in the dark all night without getting a wink.

At eight o´clock, when I was ready to rise in order to put

on my black suit, the phone rang again.

I swore, and sure that it was Debbie again, I almost

shouted:” HELLLLLO!”

It was Deontay.

I have often considered the famous quote by von

Neumann about preciseness. “There is no use being

precise if you don´t know what you are talking about.” I

have recently wanted to add that there isn´t even any

use being UNPRECISE if you don´t know what you are

talking about.

67

This is, of course, heresy. You are not supposed to

correct the magnificent John von Neumann.

Many times, historians focus on tiny details while they

are in complete disregard for the big picture. For

example, let us take unimportant things like HOW

Charles XII of Sweden or Adolf Hitler ( of Germany )

died. Historians have written countless articles about

the bullet that killed the Swedish warlord. Still, there

has been less research for the overall narrative regarding

the importance of his life and questions about why

somebody would want to kill him. The detail has

overshadowed the totality—the same thing about Hitler.

I couldn´t care less about Hitler´s end, but I am more

interested in why and how he could rise to power.

Thus, I agree with von Neumann. But I would add that

science is also no use taking those details lightly. It

would be best not to say about the bullet that killed

Charles XII when he tried to beat the Norwegians (e.g.,

the Danes ): "There was some bullet that killed him.”

Bullets do not fly around for no reason.

If you don´t know what you are talking about, you had

better not speak at all!

But I am not the mastermind here, of course. I certainly

am not. I am not a Historian either.

Deontay´s voice was tense.

- What is the matter? Deontay!? Speak up!

- Andretta is dead; Deontay finally let his throat tell me

with a hoarse whisper.

I nearly fainted.

- DEAD?

- Yes, with a knife.

- A knife?

At the same time, I heard that Caledonia and Charles

were in the kitchen. They slammered with kitchen

utensils and were probably making breakfast, ham, and

68

eggs or something. I could see the sunrise over the

Terxan fields through a small window in my room. An

old oil rig had its severe look neatly gilded by sun rays.

- Tell me all about it! I ordered.

And Deontay finally told me the whole story.

Blessing had early in the morning, when she had gone

out on her balcony, how the small magpies were

chattering on Andretta´s ( and Raoul´s ) balcony, which

was just to the left of theirs. But there was no answer

when she tried to contact Raoul or Andretta. All she

could see from where she stood was that some bird had

arrived and jumped inside her friends' apartment and

that the bird later left with a modest croaking.

Blessing took on her clothes and decided to knock on

the neighbor´s door. She did. But nobody opened it.

She knew that Raoul was not there because the police

had arrested him, in fact, the night before, at about

09.00 p.m., but Andretta ought to be at home, of course.

Blessing took out her phone, standing in the apartment

complex hallway, and rang Andretta.

There was no answer.

She tried the door, which was unlocked, to her big

surprise.

When she got inside the mini-apartment, she got the

shock of her life.

On the sofa, just under the giant poster of John von

Neumann, Blessing saw Andretta sitting, half erect,

bending lightly forward, with a knife right in the middle

of her stomach. Blood had been pouring out and down

on the floor, and the dark red fluid had proceeded up to

the hall in two rills.

Blessing had yelled for Deontay.

When Deontay came, he saw the dead girl.

The strangest thing was that on the head of the dead

girl, a black bird, one of the magpies sat, completely

69

still, watching the two intruders. When Deontay

approached the bird and the corpse, he saw that " Spot "

was crowning the girl´s head. Deontay remembered how

Raoul had pointed out that it had a white spot on his

cheek. It was him. It was the trained bird!

Well, then they had called the police, and this was the

situation.

The knife had come from the kitchen drawer, Deontay

added, sobbing.

I could HARDLY BELIEVE WHAT I JUST HEARD. How

could this have happened? It has to be Raoul behind it, I

thought. It was that shithole Raoul! I was mad from

rage. My arms trembled, and so did my voice.

Of course, he wanted to kill every girlfriend I had!

- Thank you, Deontay. I will be back tonight. We have a

funeral here. I have to attend this funeral. Will you take

care of Andretta and the apartment?

- Sure. But it is shut off. It is a roped-off area.

- I see. Well, I´ll be back.

I finished the conversation and silently put my phone

back on the table when I heard a slight knock on the

door. It was Caledonia, of course.

I answered that I would be right there in a moment.

I decided not to tell them about what had been

happening in Baltimore.

They would find out through mass media. Hopefully,

they would not be oriented about this case before the

funeral was over.

70

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Texas funeral is a huge arrangement. Black, shining

limousines picked us up around 11:00 a.m. We met

Charles´ old parents by the Evangelical Monastery

Church, where the altar posed Eunice´s casket. It was

clad with red chiffon and had golden letters that spelled

EUINICE. A cousin of Eunice also attended, as well as

Caledonia´s brother and two sisters. There were

classmates from the universities where Eunice had

studied and several of her teachers, from primary school

teachers to the professors that had appointed her Ph.D.

The minister, Duncan R. Kind, held a masterful sermon,

and we all cried like we had never done before. It was all

so enormously sad. The only one amongst the attendees

who did not call but stayed all pale was Deborah, who

had brought a set of flowers that she kept pressing to

her chest, and she could not make herself go to the

casket to put them there. I tried to help her, approached

her, and whispered in her ear that I would help her go

up to Eunice´s coffin to lay the flowers there, but she

refused. She just gave me a terrible glare.

The grandparents approached me, expressed their grief,

and gave me their condolences. They had understood

that Eunice and I had been about to get married.

I thanked them a lot.

When I left the church, I saw her flowers thrown in a

corner in the vestry.

71

- Maybe she lived her days in an ongoing shock. Maybe I

was on the brink of doing the same.

At the funeral dinner, which took place at a restaurant

downtown at 03.00 p.m., I heard one of the most

beautiful songs I had ever heard, a folk song performed

by one of Eunice´s childhood friends, who had lost a leg

in a riding accident. Sitting in a wheelchair, she sang

until all our hearts were completely broken.

At five o´clock, without speaking to Caledonia, Charles,

or Deborah about the goings in Baltimore, I hopped on

the train that would take me back there.

I was more tired than I had ever been before. Not only

had I not slept the night, but I had witnessed the most

tragic funeral I would ever attend.

My own feelings for Eunice were never present on this

day. I was merely trying to survive. But I saw many

others who were present with heart and soul and all

their love for Eunice.

When I was in the coupé of the train, I took out a picture

of Eunice that Caledonia had given me before I left in a

cab for the station. Eunice's eyes were big and black.

She looked at me. There seemed to be a question in

them, too. Maybe the question was, I thought:

“WHO KILLED ME?”

I had not yet adjusted my seat in the compartment

properly when there was a pinging sound from the

message function of my phone. It was Caledonia.

I took out the message, which was very short, and read:

“So, your friend has been at it again?”

When I took out the news on CNN, the murder of

Andretta was top news. And they also had made the

72

connection with Raoul and with the death of Eunice.

They had vigilant crime reporters on that TV channel.

They always liked to jump to conclusions; if it was not

about the effects of Hurricanes, it was about the

murderer's identity.

I was in a growing shock and unsure if I wanted to

return to Baltimore. Maybe it was best if I went back to

Tampa and locked myself up with some music by

Vivaldi?

I texted back to Caledonia:

“Dear Cal, I just could not let this destroy the funeral!

Forgive me!”

After 10 seconds, there was an answer:

“DON’T YOU “CAL” ME, MR. HANDSOME!”

I did not respond.

I was thinking of who she was.

I had noticed a peculiar thing about how she behaved in

public. She was very much AWARE. The more I thought

of it, the more I was convinced that in the case of

Caledonia, you just only did not have a firecracker, a

moody woman, an aggressive bitch, that was the role

model for poor Eunice, but you certainly had a self-

conscious person.

The self-conscious walk of a person can be described as

a “consciousness of the moment,” while average persons

are conscious of their goal. Normal persons do not refer

to themselves in how they move from point A to point B.

Still, they are in their walk referring to an imaginary

point C.. But Caledonia was referring to a fictitious point

D., which was the NOW, between points A and B.

A woman like Caledonia STOOD OUT in her self-

consciousness, in an ALMOST PHILOSOPHICAL BEING.

73

Her moving Self was more like a statement than an

existential expression of an existing human being.

That was how I thought of Cal.

But she was very sexy too.

-------------------

My thought, however, soon walked back ( I looked out

through the train window, and it was a dusky evening

with rain pouring down on the locomotive with its eight

wagons ) to the events that had played out at the Loyola

Campus in Baltimore.

And my thoughts eventually stayed with the fate of

Raoul. Now, he apparently was locked up in the arrest

facility in Baltimore State Prison.

Even if he was a maniac, IF HE WAS that, it was so sad.

And this seemed to mark an end to my mostly joyous

youth.

Now it was time to learn from this and transgress into

adulthood, I thought to myself.

But how had he managed to kill Andretta? Had he

hypnotized her? Or had he made “Spot” hypnotize her to

commit suicide? I was all questions.

Could such a thing be done?

Could I ever know about such things? How much

precise knowledge could a human encompass?

Without further ado, I must have dozed off.

When I woke up, the train was just five minutes from

Baltimore. There was no rain or wind in Baltimore—just

fog and night.

74

One generally does not need much sleep to survive.

Alexandr Solchenitzyn and John von Neumann never

slept more than four hours of sleep per night. They did

not sleep together, I might add. Von Neumann did not

live in Russia. He always was of the firm opinion that

one ought to bomb Russia before they bombed the USA.

According to John von N., the best tactic was to bomb

them not next month but TODAY.

75

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At 11:30 p.m. this Wednesday, I walked from the train

stations towards Portland Road, where I planned to take

a bus. I had a short conversation on the phone with

Deontay, who offered me a bed stay with them in a quick

text message.

Now, I was more inclined to take into a small hotel

instead. I needed to think the situation over.

But I changed my mind again and told Deontay I would

come to sleep on their couch for tonight.

Blessing and Deontay were such a pair of sweethearts.

Deontay was not a very talkative young man but very

sincere. Blessing was everybody's helper, and she

worked extra at Johns Hopkins´ Hospital three nights a

week, surveilling older people who had undergone

surgery. Deontay had extra work as a photo model and

as an Uber driver.

On this day, when I met him at the door of their

apartment, he had shaved off his small mustache, and

both Blessing and he had changed from their usual

baby blue sports outfits into dark blue jeans and a T-

shirt.

I also had changed from the funeral costume, and I wore

jeans and the black man, Raoul´s John von Neumann T-

shirt. Von Neumann looked from my chest upon the

world with his natural curiosity and intensity.

I thought I could not give in on my friend ( Raoul ) so

quickly. Everybody in this world has to stand trial. But

any mischievous demeanor must undergo the scrutiny

76

of the law before any final verdict could be established. I

did not favor the law of the jungle nor the parliament of

the street.

But it looked dark.

I could not understand how Raoul could be tried for

Andretta´s death if he – as it certainly was – was in

police custody when she died.

I was welcomed by Blessing and Deontay with all the

warmth I needed and hugs, too.

Although it was past midnight and we all realized that

we ought to go to sleep, we did not, but we spent an

hour in the kitchen, talking the situation over.

I sipped on the Ceylon Green Tea from a dark blue cup

and asked them:

- Did the police think that she ( Andretta ) could have

done it to herself?

- They did not say, Deontay answered, and his black

face tonight had not its usual thin film of sweat over it

but was dry, and he looked both tired and sorrowful.

- They referred to investigation secrecy.

- How about the birds then? Where is “Spot”? I changed

the subject.

- “Spot,” and the others are entirely gone, Blessing said,

clutching a small striped handkerchief. I searched for

them all evening. There are no magpies at all in our yard

anymore. It is so strange….

I was stunned, too. At least two dozen magpies, three or

four crows, and some seagulls had been in our yard.

- Are there any seagulls, then, I asked.

- Maybe. I saw one at least, and one oriole, too.

We sat silent.

- What do you think of the situation? I asked both of

them

77

- It is creepy! We don´t know what to think, Blessing

said, and she almost always cried. Poor, poor Anretta.

She was such a kind girl!

They were afraid. They probably did not think that Raoul

had anything to do with the death of Andretta, but it

was apparent that they were not sure. They were not

sure of anything. They seemed pretty sure that I was not

to blame, though.

They asked about the funeral I had attended, and I

recounted the ceremony and underlined the serenity

and earnest loveliness of it all concerning the unity of

the Dallas people.

Deontay took out some pictures from his phone.

He had taken several shots of the murder scene, and he

showed me the picture of Andretta´s head with the

magpie standing on it, with the c von Neumann poster

as a background.

I could not stop looking at it. Andretta had her face

leaned forward, so you could not exactly see her eyes,

but they were open. That much you could see.

- This is hideous! I said.

I got several of Deontay´s pictures of the dead friend

sent to my Dropbox.

I looked at the two youngsters, who both of them now

seemed so very young and innocent. I felt old.

I was convinced that we would never be the same again.

I also thought of the police and Hampstead´s detective,

Mr. Verhaag, and how Raoul would have little chance of

avoiding a witchhunt because of all these mystical

circumstances. He had played with fire, and now the fire

had got to his trousers.

I thought it would not take long before I met the Dallas

private detective again. And now he had yet more

circumstantial evidence to bring forth.

I made up my mind to visit him at the Police tomorrow.

But I did not reveal this to the youngster.

78

At 01:30 a.m., we decided to go to sleep.

I was – as usual – not sure if I would get any.

---------------------

After my two friends had gone to sleep in their bedroom

and I had arranged myself on the sofa, with two

embroidered pillows ( Blessing´s grandmother´s work )

under my head, I decided that I should try to message

Raoul.

He did not often use the message function on his phone

and did not like it. But I thought I would try. I had my

concrete errand. I wanted to see him. Thus, I texted:

“Dear Raoul, I am thinking of you. Can I visit you

tomorrow?”

There was no answer.

Maybe Raoul was not allowed to have any phone in the

cell and no communication at all with the outer world.

How could I know?

I put my head on the pillows, and despite their stiffness,

I fell into an unruly sleep and did not wake until

daybreak, when Deontay shook my shoulder and served

a cup of hot, black coffee.

I dreamed of hypnotized birds that killed each other

using large forks, like tiny pitchforks. They held the

knives with their claws and swayed them around so the

heads of the other birds flew around like wild apples in

an autumn storm.

I was so fond of those two young black people. If I ever

had some friends, I would wish they were just like

Deontay and Blessing.

It never dawned upon me that I could have Deontay and

Blessing as my life-long friends.

79

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the following day, we were summoned to the Police.

They wanted to get all the facts about Raoul we could

give. It took all day for Blessing, Deontay, and me.

I never had a chance to meet with Raoul, who was not

allowed to meet with anybody.

I felt sorry for him, and I thought that he perhaps had

dropped his usual smile and sunk from his ordinary

state of joyous curiosity into something more like

melancholia. I would at least have been appropriate.

I was interrogated by two policemen, two males, of

which the good cop, an elderly policeman named

Knowles, took the backseat. At the same time, the bad

one, Hibbert, repeatedly asked all the troublesome

questions in all 24 keys.

Later on that day, during the lunch break, when the

police officers served us some coffee and sandwiches

with eggs and sausages, I got a text message from

Caledonia:

“Our baby is laid to rest now. God bless us!”

She also sent a picture of the grave. There was, of

course, no gravestone yet. They would arrange some

80

behind glass, with her photograph in color on it. I

decided that I would visit her grave.

But I never did.

-------

During the interrogation, the police concentrated on how

much I knew about Raoul´s knowledge of hypnosis.

- Raoul is a person who is hard to get to know. He is full

of surprise, and what is more, I said He likes to surprise

people.

- You did not answer the question. How much does

Aronson know about hypnosis, as far as you can judge?

- I guess I don´t know.

During the interrogation, I tried some balance theory. I

tried to remember some of what Raoul had taught me

about von Neumannian equilibrium theory, and I said,

using more of Machiavellian tactics ( The princes of the

ancient Italian small states – according to Niccoló

Machivellis famous The Prince, - frequently used to play

one enemy out against another until it was time to strike

):

- If you let me speak with Raoul now, I think I can find

out more than you might get from me by putting this

kind of pressure on me.

- Don´t try to be wise, Mr. Rosenstein. We have talked to

your psychiatrist, Dr. Rinaldo. According to him, you

don´t know anything at all about anything. He said you

probably live in a grand delusion and never escape it.

I was stunned. I composed myself and answered:

- Then it is meaningless to question me.

After a while, Knowles and Hibbert decided to let me

meet with Raoul.

- If Mr. Aronson wants to meet with you, you might have

a chat with him. I´ll go and ask him. He is probably

asleep; he does not talk much, by the way. He actually

does nothing at all. He does not even sleep, they say.

81

- Listen, Rosenstein, Knowles said, you did witness

Raoul when he trained the magpies, didn´t you?

- Well, some of it. I don´t know if Raoul had trained

them for weeks. I have no idea.

- So he could have trained them for weeks.

- Yes, he had been in Baltimore for a couple of weeks.

- Okay, we´ll see what we can do. Wait here. Knowles

added a cup of coffee, maybe while he tried to loosen his

shoulders.

- Thank you, but I am fine.

- I am sorry if we have been a bit rude to you. It is part

of the procedure, so to speak. You know that, don´t you?

We are distraught by this murder. So young!

I nodded and tried to get some micro-sleep by shutting

my eyes, turning my eyeballs up, and then backward. I

guess it is an ancient Indian Yogi technique, but I am no

expert on India.

-------------------------------

82

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Raoul was sitting on his bed, which was not more than a

plane metal surface covered with a thin mattress.

He looked as he always did, but he was a bit pale. He

rose from his bed and took my hand. His joy was

unmistakable. He looked a bit like a miner who had

been locked into a mine for a month but had now been

found and recuperated by his compatriots.

- So happy to see you, he grinned.

- Oh, you look tired, I said, hugging him fervently and

patting his head a bit, almost like I was a soccer coach.

I have always been irritated regarding the way soccer

coaches pat their players on the head, players that are

millionaires and sometimes a hundred times more

wealthy than themselves.

Raoul and I sat on the steel bed, and the guard left,

locking us up for fifteen minutes in the small cell in

Baltimore State Prison.

- There is one thing I don´t understand, though, I said.

Why don´t you try to defend yourself more intensely? As

far as I know, you have almost said nothing in your

defense.

- I am innocent; that is the whole thing.

83

Do you mean you don´t want to be precise about the

crimes you are indicted for since you know NOTHING

about them?

- Exactly.

- But you might be convicted on circumstantial

evidence. They think you are a shady guy, a Satanist, or

something….?

- I remember that Sören Kierkegaard once wrote: ”He

who is writing his apology is writing his verdict.”

- He never was accused of murder, I contorted.

- He also wrote: ”Being an author is being in service of

everyone.”

- You are incomparable. You are one of a kind; I laughed

and patted him on his arm.

We sat silent, listening to each other's breath

I asked him again if he was guilty of having trained

Bandit to kill.

Raoul did not respond. He just repeated one single

sentence.

- I am innocent. I am so sorry about the death of

Andretta. She was a fine girl.

It slowly dawned upon me, the more I thought it over,

that Raoul´s method of defense might be the best in this

very situation. Why should he, in this tricky situation,

indulge in details in a matter that contained so many

details, where uncertainty was a prominent part?

I hugged him again and left.

- By the way, I said, you remember the magpies, I said,

They are all gone. They are nowhere to be found.

- Maybe they are trained to disappear, Raoul answered

with an ambiguous smile, almost blotting his brown

teeth to their roots.

I left the prison a lot happier than when I came there

and returned by bus to campus, where Deontay and

84

Blessing waited for me, having cooked fresh river salmon

for me.

- He was sorry for the death of Andretta.

----

Violent forces were fighting in my chest. Who WAS this

man? I suddenly missed Eunice´s little hand in mine,

and I felt a pang in my heart.

If Raoul had killed my sweetheart, he was the meanest

creature on earth. And – I DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO

THINK – if he was completely innocent, he was the

saddest victim of unlucky circumstances there ever was.

I had loved Eunice, and I was sure of that now. But I

also loved Raoul. Andretta had been a good friend, that

is true.

-------------------

My hosts nodded. They had met with Andretta´s

parents, who had arrived this morning and were in a

hotel in Fell´s Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Martinsen – Andretta´s parents, both

secular Jews of Danish origin – usually lived in Willow

Grove, Pennsylvania, a tiny village on the plain. It

turned out that they were very ordinary people, owners

of a small convenience shop.

Andretta had been their only child—the apple of their

eye.

They had repeatedly called Deontay to set up a meeting

and were anxious to meet the three of us to know as

much as possible about the death of their loved one.

“Not again!” I thought. I was not prepared to comfort

anybody. But I had been greatly strengthened by

meeting Raoul, so I thought of this encounter as

something that could help the silent accused.

Irma och Johan Martinsen rang the bell to Deontay´s

and Blessing´s small apartment at 04.00p.m..

85

Deontay opened the front door and let them in.

They were crying.

They looked around and said that they had been told

she had been stabbed and that Deontay was the one

who had found her.

It did not seem as if they knew that a magpie had been

sitting on the head of their dead daughter.

We all were anxious not to tell them about this.

If the police had not told them, we certainly would not

do either.

- But WHY? Why would ANYBODY want to kill our

Andretta? They kept asking, over and over again.

It certainly was absurd. If I ever had been in a situation

of absurdity, it was this one.

Deintay, Blessing and I could not take our mind's eye off

the mental picture of “Spot” sitting right in the black,

curly hair of Andretta while Andretta´s parents kept

asking about the reason for her death.

I was on the brink of saying:” The birds told her to kill

herself.”, but instead I said:

“Maybe it was a burglar.”

I thought it was better to say something than nothing to

ease the tension in their hearts. My heart is not made of

rock.

I felt relieved, even if I had broken the von Neumann

rule about not being precise in matters you knew

nothing about.

- But she did not HAVE anything, right? Johan said,

pounding his fits on his knee, sitting on the small sofa

where Blessing used to lie, reading science fiction

novels.

After an hour, the sorrow-stricken couple left, and the

three of us were left with a feeling of guilt.

We had not been sincere. But we had to do what we had

to do.

This was an awful day. Disgusting!

86

-

CHAPTER TWENTY

- Scientifically speaking, I said, when I was standing

with my three friends ( at least they were by now more

than just acquaintances) after the Martinsens had left,

on their small balcony, watching some students playing

with a basketball, “the magpies in this case are just

circumstantial evidence. They are not part of the

investigations as real acting subjects.”

- I am so tired, Blessing responded, suddenly spitting

over the balcony rail.

- Do you want a bourbon or something? Deontay asked

me growly, adjusting his belt on his trousers. His black

hands were restless.

The boys outside were very good with the ball.

I almost laughed when they repeatedly hit the basket.

I have always been envious of people who can handle a

basketball. I am just awkward with balls. I can´t dance

either. I am – regarding my bodily talents - clumsy.

Then we heard the doorbell.

I looked at my watch ( I wear a wristwatch ), and it was

05:00 p.m.

Deontay left to look who was calling. When he came

back, he said:

- We have got a visitor. He wants to speak with you. It is

a Mr. Verhaag.

------------------------

87

Louis Verhaag still wore the black suit at Euinice´s

funeral ( I forgot to tell you that he attended this

ceremony ). He looked just as tired as we all in the

Baltimore trio felt.

At least he had changed his tie and now wore a blue

one.

- I am sorry to disturb you, he said. Only this case

becomes worse and worse.

It was apparent that Verhaag had changed tactics, I

thought. He wanted to make friends, to point out that

we were all in the same boat and had been severely

stricken by an evil fate, which seemed to want to destroy

us all.

But, of course, the only thing he was after was

information that could put Raoul in the electric chair.(

That is, Raoul could only suffer death penalty for the

crime he was the prime suspect of in Tampa, FL, not

any crime committed in Baltimore, since Maryland has

abolished death penalty.

3

)

- We know nothing, I said, and I suddenly realized that I

was echoing Samuel in John Cleese´s Faulty Towers. “I

know nothing!”

- But you know Raoul, don´t you? And maybe you can

make him talk. He has to realize ( The meagre detective

raised his voice ) that these poor people have lost their

darlings. Aronson has to have a HEART!

The detective, also a lawyer, had brown, tiny eyes that

did not seem to belong to his face. His eyes were like

autonomous questioning creatures with their own minds

and purposes.

- Perhaps he is innocent; what if...

Verhaag interrupted, grunting and laughing:

3

1976.

88

- Come on, come on, Mr. Rosenstein. You know as well

as I do that the dog drowned Eunice and that no dog

ever drowns anybody UNLESS HE IS TOLD TO DO SO!

You SAW the drowning, didn´t you? Mr. Rosenstein?

I was stunned. Verhaag now shunned no means. Soon,

he would probably see to it that I myself was put in jail.

- I saw no dog drowning nobody, I spoke clumsily.

I continued.

- I saw Bandit swim out to Eunice, but I don´t know;

perhaps he was on his way to RESCUE her from

someone who tried to drown her. Maybe Bandit tried to

get at the perpetrator but missed his bite and happened

to hit Eunice´s throat. This is the way it could have

happened, you see!

Verhaag looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

- You have imaginative powers! You have creative

abilities, Mr. Rosenstein. You ought to write horror

stories! I never heard anything like that. Or perhaps you

should take a vacation or ….

Verhaag paused.

Deontay had raised his arm, pointing at the balcony

behind us.

On the railing, whipping his tail, “Spot” was sitting,

looking as if he wanted to cuddle in somebody´s arms.

Louis Verhaag backed off. He pointed at the bird and

seemed well-oriented about all the details concerning

Andretta´s death:

- Is this the bird that sat on her head?

- Yes, I answered.

Verhaag then backed off to the hallway. He looked as if

he wanted to leave immediately.

Deontay and I had a rapid exchange of gazes, and then

Deontay said:

- I don´t think he is in a bad mood today.

89

The rackety black little bird made some noise and

waved his tail.

Verhaag backed off more, adjusted the blue tie,

excused himself, and left the students´ apartment.

-----

In the middle of misery, we could not help but laugh

aloud. It was probably even so loud that Mr. Verhaag

heard it on his way down the stairs.

One should never miss an opportunity to ridicule

superstition and prejudice.

If I were to live another life, I would indulge in ridicule

100%; yes, I would do nothing else than ridicule

prejudice and superstition.

“Spot” did not say a word.

We took out some Maryland Cookies to feed him, and

his eyes shone.

Soon, he crept up in the bosom of Blessing and fell

asleep.

- Of course, he had nothing at all to do with her death, I

said to Deontay.

- Birds cannot kill adults with knives; he agreed and

turned on the telly for us to watch the latest news on

CNN.

90

CHAPTER TWENTYONE

The 06:00 news was concentration upon a hurricane

closing on Florida's west coast.

Deontay and Blessing had changed into baby-blue

jogging dresses they were most comfortable in.

We then had a game of cards. I won a little.

We almost forgot about our miseries.

“Spot” was walking around the apartment and had a

good time. I thought he was just like a little dog.

In the card game, Blessing suddenly won a lot of my

marks.

I was a bit shocked, and to regain my composure, I

needed a glass of water. I went into the kitchen and

found “Spot” on the kitchen counter on his way to try

opening a box of sleeping pills.

- Oh, NO! You BASTARD! I shouted, gripping the bird

around its neck.

I carried the mischievous creature, who did not even try

to speak, out on the balcony and threw it out in the

arriving dusk.

It flew away on unsteady wings.

The moon was full.

We wrapped up our game of cards and let Blessing keep

the money. It was 20$.

I decided to sleep on the sofa, and Deontay and Blessing

consequently moved to the bedroom and closed the door

after we wished each other a good night.

91

I promised them I would try to get some accommodation

of my own on the following day. Either I would try to get

an allowance to live in Raoul´s and Andretta´s

apartment, but if this were not doable, I would try to

make the police pay for a hotel room.

---

As often was the case, I was unable to sleep.

I tried all the means and tactics, but on this night, none

worked.

My mind apparently had decided that it was time to

think things over. I mostly think you have insomnia for

a reason. Sometimes, one can fall asleep only when the

day's problems are sorted out and when you have

decided to do better the next day. So, I decided to try to

recognize what was ailing most in my conscience.

I took an imaginary walk through my mind to see what

was bothering me the most.

All the time, I ended up wondering who Raoul was.

After half an hour recount of nearly every minute of the

time I had known Raoul, I sat up on the sofa and told

myself:

- I do like him, but I don´t really know WHO HE IS.

I tried different alternate realities:

a.) Raoul is an alien.

b.) Raoul is sent by the FBI or CIA.

c.) Santa Monica sends Raoul to try to find out if I am

crazy.

d.) Raoul is a journalist from The New Yorker.

e.) Raoul is a distant cousin of mine with an inheritance.

f.) Raoul is my friend.

g.) Raoul is my enemy.

h.) is not interested in anything at all but himself.

i.) Raoul loves me.

92

After a while, I realized that maybe none of this was true.

Raoul probably was Raoul in his complexity. I thought of

the von Neumann rule. DO NOT TRY TO BE PRECISE if

you don´t know what you are talking about. Maybe the

essence of this half-silly maxim was that one should not

waste one´s time.

I trust my own reason. I have no gods. I think Bob Dylan

is silly when he claims: ”You have to serve somebody.” I

don´t have to serve anybody at all. In the words of

Sancho Panza in the famous novel Don Quixote by

Calderon, “my own master, and my own slave.” In

Hegel´s Phenomenology of Spirit, from 1807, after

witnessing Napoleon take his troops through his

hometown, Jena, claimed that the Master was an

unlucky fellow, only waiting to be ushered from his

castle by his slaves.

I dozed off.

I slept until Deontay woke me up in the usual manner.

He presented me with a cup of smoking hot coffee.

-------------------

93

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

In the following weeks, not much importance to the

cases of Eunice and Andretta happened, and I started to

I feel a rising annoyance at my situation. Through help

from the authorities, I managed to hire a small flat in

Baltimore, quite close to the Loyola compound, and I

even bought a big black upright piano so I could be

distracted by indulging in music.

I got money to buy the piano from a publisher for some

translations of short stories from the French. I had

always loved the stories of Ottave Mirbeau, and

consequently, I translated some of them into English

and then introduced them to Suller & Sons, who had

promised to publish them.

I met with Blessing and Deontay now and then, but it

soon became apparent that we did not have much in

common, and I was looking in other places for company.

I heard nothing from Caledonia or Deborah, and I was

satisfied. I truly missed Eunice. I missed her more than I

ever thought I would miss her, and I remembered how

she sometimes snuggled her arm in under that of mine

and held her arm around me.

I almost cry when I think someone wants to hold an arm

around me hugging me gently.

Oh, it hurts so much!

I do not find any interesting people to associate with and

socialize with within this ancient town.

I sit by my piano all day, trying to make some music.

94

Recently, I stumbled on the music of Allan Holdsworth,

an Englishman, and I am fascinated. Imagine this man

did not think of scales the usual way. To an ordinary

musician, a scale runs for one octave. It comprises five,

six, seven, eight tones, or twelve, but it is always limited

by one octave, from, say, one C to another C, or from

one A to another A, one octave higher or lower, but not

for Allan. To Allan, sometimes a scale was constituted by

many tones ( or notes ) over, say, THREE OVTAVES.

Then music could brighten up! A new world dawned on

me, and I wondered how the music I had listened to

before Allan´s Wardenclyffe Tower could have fascinated

me! But to learn and to implement my knowledge about

the music of AH was another thing, and every time I try,

I feel that I haven´t got the energy to encompass the

findings of Allan Holdsworth into my mind.

But I still try.

I had thought of writing a miniature symphony in a

Holdsworth manner.

However, there were obstacles, more of them. Every time

I sat down to write music, I thought about Raoul. Even if

I thought I would write music for Raoul, it did not help.

After a few days by the piano, I shut the piano down and

started taking long walks on the outskirts of Baltimore

instead.

It was not that pleasing to me, but it was better than

just sitting and waiting for news about the case of Raul

Aronson.

I've visited him a couple of times. Even if he was in a

good mood, the circumstances were so depressing that

we decided not to see each other so often. Our usual

objects of conversations, like the ethics of science,

seemed obsolete or something like that.

95

I gave him a copy of my Mirbeau translation, which he

appreciated greatly, something I had expected. “The

Hallucinating Pen” would be one of his favorite books in

the coming months.

------------

In November, there was what they called a

“breakthrough.” The authorities in Tampa had decided

to press charges against Raoul, and it was agreed that

Raoul should be moved from Baltimore to Tapa State

Prison before a new investigation should be opened in

the case of Eunice Hampstead.

On the 7

th

of November, Raoul was transferred by a

small black guarded bus to the Jurisdiction of West

Florida.

I then decided to leave Baltimore as well.

After visiting Blessing and Deontay, who were willing to

take care of my piano, I moved my few other belongings

to Tampa by a small transport company and

transitioned my body by a train ride.

I did not meet anybody interested on the train, although

I looked for Dona and thought I saw her several times.

Back in Tampa, I went to my apartment, which was in

perfect shape and had been attended to appropriately by

the landlord during my Baltimore sojourn.

I felt as if my life would turn for the better again.

I was sure Raoul was going to make it, too. But it would

probably not be an easy win.

Raoul always thought he would make it. It is not enough

to call him an optimist. He was a winner in every

situation, no matter the circumstances.

Since Raoul was not wealthy, the state provided him

with a lawyer. As soon as he got to the court building,

he was taken into custody at their police station and

96

booked into the system. The arrest charges put forward

by the District Attorney against Raoul Aronson were

then reviewed by the district attorney of Tampa, second

district, 2nd DCA,1700 on N. Tampa Street, Tampa,

Florida. The charges were “First-degree murder where

the killing is premeditated or planned. Murder by

assault of trained dog.”. The defense lawyer was a young

J.D. Deidrick Saunders. As far as we all saw, the case

would most certainly go to a Jury Trial.

At the arraignment before Judge, M.L. Small Raoul had

immediately pleaded not guilty.

Now, we were set for the big battle. Mr. Saunders and

the public prosecutor, Theodor V Carambolas, had a

massive task before him.

I had the strong impression that Raoul did not want me

to engage too much in the process, so I did not contact

him often but tried to get going with my life in Tampa.

When I oversaw my situation at Tampa University, I

could not remember which courses I had planned to

take this term, nor did I even remember within which

area. I had lots of half-gone projects behind me.

Perhaps it was better if I took a pause from my studies

and got a job, translated a book or something, I thought.

This was very imprecise, and I felt bewildered.

It was like in the song where someone could not

distinguish “elbow from knee.”

Then I came to think of Dona Dukelsky.

When my reality had developed into such an enormous

mess, who could sort things out? Who had the mental

capacity among my friends? Nobody. Nobody but this

circus artist, I believed.

So, after a couple of days of latency and passivity, I rang

the number she had given me on the small card.

She was infinitely glad to hear from me, she said.

97

- What are you doing these days? Where are you? You

can´t help me in a tricky situation? I blabbered in my

phone.

- I live for the day, you know. It does not matter where I

am. But I can come and visit you or something, she said

calmly.

Dona Dukelsky always sounded as if problems were

something utterly unknown to her.

It was undoubtedly a relief.

I felt as if a huge burden had been lifted off my

shoulders. I had known I had a burden there but never

how to lift it off.

- You have no idea what I have got myself into! I said.

- Are you referring to the thing with the dog and the

Hampstead girl? She asked lightly.

98

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

She came on the following morning by train from the

north.

She had hung up on me when she said she would come

the following day.

I had no time to tell her I hadn´t any money either. I had

no clean sheets for my spare bed or food in the fridge. I

was broke.

But when I met her at the station, she just said she was

loaded. I imagined she had robbed a bank or two on her

way.

I wondered what Charles Hampstead had heard about

her on the radio that I had not been able to verify. When

I looked online for “Dona Dukelsky,” there was no

information whatsoever.

I had checked her name on the small white card and

double-checked the spelling of “Dukelsky,” but there

was no Dona Dukelsky – or Dhona - to be found

anywhere.

She had an oversized white Kaschmir-like coat, dyed her

hair all dark red, and was carrying an enormous,

expensive travel wallet ( without those terrible wheels on

it that trashy people always have ) that seemed made of

oxen with a gold locker on.

99

She wore sunglasses made on a turtleback, although it

was October.

When I was about to show her the way to the bus, she

ordered a cab and guided me into it while she lightly

touched the cheek of the young driver.

- Address! She said.

I told the driver my address.

- You look marvelous.

- It is my job.

- What is your job? I asked, and I felt like a schoolboy.

- To have fun.

- Give me a break! I said.

- Perhaps I am just one of those many people in this

country who are too wealthy.

- Of course, I have always wondered if I would meet one.

But I thought that they only socialized with each other.

- You are right. Most rich people are somewhat

secluded, of course. But I am not.

- Then we might buy some food on the way. I asked.

- We might call for some food when we are at your place,

she corrected me.

-----------------------

I love this, I thought to myself. It was like a movie. There

was a whole genre, I remembered, where either he was

rich, or she was poor, or vice versa. And those movies

were the biggest blockbusters.

When we arrived at my tiny apartment in the student

quarters at Tampa University Campus, she lifted off her

coat, laid her glasses on the hat rack, and relaxed.

- Oh, how wonderful to be at your place! She said and

poured herself on the sofa.

I sat down in my TV chair.

Before I had time to ask her about a possible food

delivery agency, she said:

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- Never mind food if you are not HUNGRY, but tell me

what´s bothering you now!

I was consternated. Once again, I thought I had to ask

her who she really was.

- I wonder: Are you a scammer, a con artist, a pick-

pocket?

Dona stared at me.

- Charles Hamptstead, the father of Eunice, said that he

had heard about you on the radio, how you emptied

people´s pockets on trains…. That you were famous…

She looked at me, her eyes widened.

- Oh, you are referring to that girl “Dupelsky”?

- “Dupelsky”?

---------------

When we were done with the laughing, I went up to her

and kissed her on her mouth. She felt so fit and fresh.

When I touched her arm, her body felt firm like a car

bumper. Yes, her body was like one giant, curvy car

bumper.

I was not sure, of course. I will never be sure, but it was

a relief that she denied being a criminal anyway. As long

as all my friends deny they are criminals, I feel safer.

- My folks are wealthy. It is that simple. Do you want me

to show you a picture of my father's estate?

I felt relieved and decided I would immediately bring

up my problems.

Since she already knew a lot about the Hampstead case,

it was easy to give her my version and my opinion on

that version.

During my talk, I felt wow; my heart was glowing from

luck to have her with me.

I could not believe she was in my home. It was like a

dream.

- Do you think he did it? Raoul? She asked.

The eternal question. The usual question.

101

I began to hate that question. I hated the situation. But I

DID NOT HATE RAOUL. All the time, I had that liking

for him, and it never disappeared. I had to give myself

that. I was the essence of perseverance.

When I had met with Raoul, he had never expressed any

yearning for ME. I would never kill anybody to be able to

be with me more easily!!

I had grown more and more sure of Raoul´s innocence.

- No, I don´t think he murdered anybody.

- Neither do I, she said without any particular facial

expression. Her large eyes were looking right into mine.

- So, there is only one thing left for us to do, she said.-

What is that? I asked with a toneless voice.

- We have to prove his innocence.

102

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Dona and I woke up the following day, I was still

unsure if I dreamed.

We told each other our dreams, and I assured her my

dream was nothing compared to reality.

- We don´t have anything else than those two, she said.

Either something is a dream, or it is accurate.

- You are quite a philosopher, I smiled.

(“Dupelsky,” I thought. Of course, there is no

“Dupelsky.” She is a con artist. A cheater. A defrauder. A

trickster. I was not easy to convince in any matter

whatsoever, and this was probably a mayor fault.

At least I had a good night's sleep, I thought. And I was

in love with her. But of course, she would leave

immediately, and if I had anything of any worth

somewhere, she would take that with her. But I said:

- Do you want a cup of coffee?

“It is the nature of a lie to increase itself to a tenfold

degree,” I thought, reciting something I long ago had

read somewhere.

- Of course, she said, looking around my room.

103

There was not much to see. Some clothes, a small

bookshelf. A small table. A rug. A tv-set.

- Who did it then? She asked and searched in the bed at

the foot end for her bra.

I thought I should say it was a good question, but I

halted.

- I thought you knew that already, I answered.

- No, who could I know that she said. She looked at me,

all sore.

- I am sorry, I said. I just am baffled that you are here. I

feel…

She said, "Never mind, " and sounded like when an

adult corrects a child.

- I think we ought to leave the dog out of the picture, she

said.

- But she had dog bites on her neck.

- I don´t think dogs are biting people by the neck when

people are swimming.

- So?

- It is just such an unlucky misunderstanding, the

whole thing. Of course, the dog was swimming out to

Eunice because it had noticed that she was threatened

by someone or something. Bandit was swimming out to

help her. She was drowned and mutilated by someone or

something out in the water, someone who was

swimming beneath the surface.

Because of the suspicion against the dog, the police

failed to perform an ordinary, sound investigation of the

crime, according to the standard scheme. They did not

look for suspects where they should have looked for

them in all the ordinary directions.

- What do you mean….

I was perplexed. Of course, Dona was right. The dog

thing had blinded the police!

- You mean…., I reiterated.

104

- Where do you look for suspects in a murder case?

Normally, you start with the family. The killer is almost

always somebody who knows the victim. And somebody

with an emotional motive. Who in the family is overly

emotional and wacky? ONE SINGLE person is overly

emotional and wacky. Her name is Deborah. Little

Deborah!

The easiest thing for her would be to steal some money

from her family and hire a hitman to get rid of her sister,

the beautiful, intelligent Eunice, who had such a

handsome boyfriend who did not even SEE HER.

A killer in a wetsuit could quickly follow you to the

beach, glide into the water, swim out and near Eunice,

and kill her, making marks on her throat that looked

like dog bites since the hitman saw the dog. Ince the

hitman was armed, probably with several weapons, the

dog did not dare to attack the hitman, but the dog swam

out, got dragged down under the surface by the hitman,

and when it got lost, it swam ashore again. Laer, they

executed the dog, who had failed to save the poor girl.

That is the whole story. That the dog was trained to do a

lot of things did not matter at all. Bandit could not fight

the underwater killer.

I stood in the middle of my room, coffee pot in hand,

and listened to Dona.

Of course, she was right. How silly we had been.

It was Deborah who was the killer.

- I am not finished, Dona said.

- So? I said and sat down, bewildered on my chair, still

holding a coffee pot.

- Deborah found out about your new sweetheart,

Andretta, and made friends with her on the net, then

talked to her hitman again. She knew about everything

and decided that she would tell him to stab poor

Andretta as soon as the police had got him in custody.

105

Se told the hitman to put some jelly on the girl's head

for the birds, that she knew that Raoul had trained, and

for the hitman, it was a routine job, much easier than

the diving job.

And the hitman knew that Deborah had arranged so

that nobody would be looking for any hitman at all.

Deborah planned to get P Raoul, your best friend, fried

in Florida as a punishment because you had ignored her

and had thought she was just a little Goth with a silly

ring in her nose.

I was stunned.

It all seemed so obvious. But even if I was bent on

believing every word she said, it was just a theory.

- We have to have proof, I said.

She nodded while putting on her bra.

Her breasts were magnificent, but I knew that already.

- I´m going to get them proofs! She said.

- Tomorrer, I am leaving for Dallas alone. And I will get

them proofs.

She had the most terrible accent. Miss Dupelsky…

We drank coffee from the same cup. We felt like that

was more safe.

Nobody knew how this would end.

We somehow had a feeling that Deborah would not

surrender without a fight. However young she was, she

was no fool. And we could not send the police on her as

long as we only had our theory.

After all, it might still be that Bandit had killed

Eunice.

- Perhaps we should talk to the police? I said.

- Since we would hurt their self-esteem, they would

mess it all up, and Charles and Caledonia might become

the next victims. There has to be someone with a little

brains to handle this.

I reckoned she was right. But that meant that Dona

and I would have to become the ones who would have to

106

take all the risks. And I wasn´t used to taking physical

risks. I was deadly frightened.

I thought of a line I had read in that Anthology of

Poems with a lot of poetry by someone called Anon.

There, I had read an epigram by a Mr. Philip Sydney,

which read:

“Everybody would be a coward if he dared.”

107

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dona and I went to the nearest Burger Restaurant for a

Big Meal.

I thought of Raoul and his defense lawyer and how

much effort they put into discovering things about dogs

and their ability to drown people.

Dona looked tense. I saw from the outside that her brain

was working at top speed.

I was not sure what she thought we should do to be able

to prove Deborah´s guilt.

- What do you think we should do to prove…

- We should get her laptop. I should do that while you

are taking her out to McDonalds.

- Should I?

I thought it would be advantageous if I acted a little

stupid.

- Do not pretend to be stupid, Dona said. I know that

you are competent.

I blushed. You cannot fake a blush.

When we were done at McDonald's, Dona asked me if I

had anything special to do that day or if I could take a

trip with her to Dallas immediately.

I agreed.

She went to an ATM and took out some money. Then I

looked up timetables for trains.

We decided to take a Greyhound to Dallas.

At 10:15, we boarded the bus at Tampa Street and got

two seats in the rear end of the old Greyhound-lady.

108

When I tried to snuggle my hand into hers on the bus,

she bade me to wait.

- I have to think, she said.

I like buses. Mostly, I like them because I get sleepy by

the vibrations, and I have a problem with insomnia.

Thus, I shut my eyes and thought it would take several

hours before we got to Dallas, so I might try to sleep.

But soon, I realized that I was wide awake and that I

was too troubled to be able to fall asleep.

The things Dona had told me were just too

embarrassing.

Of course, Dona was right! Deborah was the natural

killer in this case.

Why hadn´t anybody seen that?

Just because the dog had caught everybody´s attention,

and Raoul, the mystery man.

If Raoul had not been such a mystery, he had never

been a suspect.

When the Greyhound was about to cross the border

to Texas, I got a call on my phone. It was Caledonia.

I silently laid a finger on Dona´s knee and whispered

soundlessly, with large lip movements:

-“It is Caledonia.”

Dona nodded and had an intense look.

- How are you? I wondered, addressing Eunice´s mom.

- Oh, things are fine. How are you? I just wanted to

know if you were alright and if you needed anything now

when you are back in Tampa.

- I am fine. I don´t need anything, thank you, I said.

- You must have changed your mind about Raoul,

haven´t you? She asked, feigning nonchalance.

- No, not really…

- But it is obvious that it was Raoul who did it. You are

not dumb, are you, Mr. Handsome, she said

provokingly.

109

- I think he did not do it.

Dona bumped me into my side and signaled that I

should ask about “DEBORAH.” She whispered to the

girl's name.

- By the way, I said on the phone, is Deborah there, and

Charles?

- Oh, why do you ask? Yes, of course, Deborah is here.

She is always at home nowadays. She sits in her room

writing Fantasy stories. Almost every girl is an author

nowadays. She publishes her novels on Amazon. She is

pretty successful. I think she is feeling better and better

after ….

- Ah, GOOD. I am worrying a bit, I said.

- Charles then, I asked, how is he coping….

-Oh, you are a sweetheart, Ruben! I have always loved

you. No, he is not at home. He is always working, you

know. He is at the office, inventing things. Downtown. In

his laboratory.

-Ah, that is good. Well, I think I have to go now…

-Are you sitting on a bus? Caledonia asked.

Oh, mm, yes, we have buses in Tampa, you know…

-I see. Well, bye for now. We´ll hear from each other

when it draws nearer to the trial, sweetheart!

- Okay, take care and give my best!

I hang up.

Dona and I sat silent.

- Debbie is at home, writing stories.

- I heard, Dona said, scratching her arm.

I tried to kiss her cheek, but she pushed me away.

- Let´s sleep for an hour, she said.

I nodded, turned to the dusty bus window, and tried to

relax into the bus seat.

110

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

There was something wrong with her theory, I thought,

after having slept for a minute. I am an expert mini-

sleeper and mini-dreamer.

“The dream is the giant tube leading to the land of the

unconscious.” I quoted from my memory the famous

drug addict and essayist de Quincey, who lived in

England about 300 years ago.

I had seen “Spot” in the dream trying to open the

sleeping pill box.

It was, of course, possible that Eunice had been

drowned. But why did it have to be Deborah who was

the mastermind? Why couldn´t Eunice have other

enemies? She was not the nicest person on earth.

In many aspects, Eunice had been a selfish tart.

Suppose someone else than Deborah wanted her out of

the way.

After all, Deborah was in no way THAT SMART! Not at

all, I thought. She was not intelligent enough to do such

a thing, to be able to plan all this. She was not at all like

Dona…

I suddenly felt how my heart jumped in my chest.

Suppose it was Dona who was the perpetrator. Let us

see.

I pressed my temple towards the bus window, and after

a couple of swift calculations, I was clear that it was

much more probable that Dona, for some unknown

111

reason, could have SWAM OUT AND KILLED Eunice,

and it would have been easy for Dona to kill Andretta.

Dona knew how to blame Raoul. She could have silently

contacted all the girls online and could have known

about me, Raoul, and them.

Eunice, Andretta, and Deborah were all girls yearning

for company. Of course, they could have had their best

friend online under an alias like Moon Goddess.

And now we were on the way to Dallas to kill Deborah!

I also had her motive. She wanted everybody but

Charles out of the way so that she could marry Charles

and get the money, the estate, and all the patents.

Somehow, she had met with Charles, and she knew him.

I suddenly remembered how Charles had lit up in the

car and even stopped stammering when I pronounced

her name. “Dukelsky,” he had said,” Yes, she is a

famous con artist.” Of course, Dona was his mistress.

Charles wanted to turn my attention away by telling me

she was dangerous.

Of course, she was. But Charles did not yet know how

dangerous she was!

We were on the way to Dallas to kill her. That is, I

thought, SHE WILL MAKE ME KILL HER!

I slowly turned my head to get an undercover glance at

Dona. She sat, staring ahead, and it almost seemed she

was sleeping with her eyes open. Her beautiful eyes,

large as Vesuvi craters they were.

- What is the matter? she asked tonelessly.

- Nothing, honey.Nothing.

I turned my head towards the bus window again.

112

And I thought, who is next but Caledonia after Deborah

is dead?

How will I be able to stop all this? I started sweating. If

only I had been bright, like Raoul or … Dona!

My hands started to tremble.

- What is the matter? Dona asked, touching me gently

on my knee.

- Nothing. I am just afraid. Terrible thing. Murder is a

terrible thing.

It was a cloudy day—Temperature c: 55 F.

The bus continued its way along Route XX.

---------------------------------------

113

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

We had left the bus and were standing at the bus station

by the railway station in Dallas, looking for a cab to take

us a little closer to the Hampstead mansion. Dona was

confident but very tense.

- Call Deborah, and tell her you have something

important to say to her. Tell her you´ll meet at

McDonalds. Buy her some burgers and a Cola, and

while you are there, I will go to their house, talk my way

past Caledonia and into her room, and grab the

computer. I know how to do such things!

- It is best you collect her by the house. It seems more

earnest, Dona said.

I listened and did not what to do but play along, at

least for the moment.

My theory was not proven. I did not at all believe in

her theory. I was more trusting mine.

Some things did not add up, though.

Why ( my brain was working at top speed ) wasn´t I able

to recognize her name anywhere online when Charles

knew her name?

Of course, I had learned that Charles did not like

publicity, and he kept his entire business with all the

patents under the most profound secrecy, as he was

aware that they were valuable to many. He was an

inventor of medical instruments, but those instruments

114

could be helpful in many areas since they were

technologically advanced. I did not know the names of

any of his employees or partners.

- Call her up, take her to McDonalds, and let us get the

whole thing over! Dona said when we decided to split a

mile from the Hampstead mansion.

- She is at home, Dona continued. Caledonia said she

was.

--------------------------------

I thought of calling the police. But I did not know if my

theory was correct.

I thought of Dr. Rinaldo and how he had told the

investigators in Baltimore about me, that I was living in

a “grand delusion,” and that I could make anything up.

My greatest enemy was my imagination, I thought.

What was true?

I called Deborah while I was standing outside the

Hampstead villa, looking at the horse stable, where

Deborah's horse stood, its head in an opening in the

barn, looking straight at me, strangely moving its lips.

I have always been afraid of horses. They are like lie

detectors. They can discern truth from falsehood and

honesty from dishonesty, which I have never liked.

- Hello!

I heard the voice of Debbie in my Android Galaxy A52.

- I have to meet you and talk to you. It is urgent. Our

lives are at stake. Somebody wants to kill us.

My voice was trembling.

Deborah did not believe me. But she agreed to meet at

McDonalds.

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- I am outside your place. We can go together. Do you

have a car or something?

She had a car.

After a couple of minutes, she came out on the terrace.

She had a red dress on and a black hat. Very chic, I

thought. She was almost beautiful. She still had those

rings in her nose, but they did not bother me so much

any longer.

The horse was looking on from the barn. She did not

wave at him.

Then we drove off in an old MG, to Dallas City.

Suppose I was wrong, and Dona was right. Suppose I

was sitting in this car with a killer by my side.

I was looking at my hands. I needed to stay calm.

I took a deep breath.

Then, it dawned upon me that McDonald´s probably was

the most unsafe place in the world. McDonald's would

be the right place if someone wanted to kill or poison

you.

Then, I decided not to let Deborah consume anything at

McDonald´s. We would go there, but she would not bite

any burger or sip on any Coca-Cola.

-------------------------------------------------

116

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Deborah and I were sitting at McDonald´s with a burger

and a Cola in front of us.

I was sitting messing with the gallery on my phone.

Deborah was silent.

After a few minutes, I found what I was looking for a

picture of Dona I had taken when she slept in my bed in

Tampa.

- Do you know this woman? I asked Deborah and

showed her the picture.

- Oh, yes, not in a sleeping state, of course. But how did

you get that? She is my father´s assistant. One of them.

She is Dona.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the doorway. A big

clown rushed in, offering an advertisement for a fur

shop.

It rushed past everybody and continued along the

tables, throwing small sheets of advertisement around,

and when it got to our table, it tickled my back. It

swayed a paper over our meals, patted Deborah on the

head, laughed, and then ran out of the restaurant.

I was stunned. Of course, that had to be Dona. And

what she had done now was pour poison into Deborah´s

Coca-Cola.

I hadn´t seen it, but I knew it.

- Do not touch your food! I told Debbie.

She looked at me, her eyes wide open.

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- Dona is trying to kill us. First, she will kill you, then

Caledonia. She has already killed Eunice and Andretta.

Now it is your turn.

She started to cry.

-Don’t worry! I said, touching her arm. She drew it away,

not knowing what to think.

- I´ll call the police now. They will come here. DO NOT

WORRY. Now Uncle Ruben will take care of everything!

When the police arrived, I told them to take care of our

food and that I would say to them the whole story at the

station.

They evicted the entire restaurant, and even if they did

not believe me, they promised to pick up Dona to see

what she had to say.

The forensic apartment would analyze the Coca-Cola

cups.

Soon, I learned from a policeman that the clown who

had been at our restaurant had a car, a white van, and

that they had been given the number of it by a “meter

maid.”

I asked them if I could get in a police car to run along to

identify Dona when they caught up with the vehicle.

They would not initially, but they changed their mind,

and we entered the chase, where half a dozen police

vehicles were involved.

Soon, I saw the white van and saw the clown's face.

The clown waved its hand.

Then the car smashed into a pawn shop so that a bunch

of musical instruments, trombones, trumpets, and

clarinets of different sizes flew up in the air among all

the debris.

Dona was pronounced dead at the scene.

118

CODA

A couple of days later, Raoul and I were walking along

the quay in Tampa Old Bay, looking at the fancy yachts

and the tourist ferries that sailed by in the breeze.

Raoul had his winter jacket on. He never used to wear

many clothes, and indeed, not giant parkas when it was

October, but it seemed as if he had become a little more

susceptible to cold during his time in custody.

He smiled, though, and said, in his usual taunting way:

- I always knew, from the first time I saw you, that you

were a very reliable person.

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FINIS