The End of the World in Breslau by Marek Krajewski Read Free Book Online Page A

Elisabeth Pflüger climbed in. Both women were wearing furs, and their faces were hidden by veils.
“Menzelstrasse 49, please,” Elisabeth instructed the cabby, then turned to Sophie. “Do you feel like more of the same today?”
Sophie did not say anything as the mournful tones of Mahler’s 3rd Symphony resounded in her head. She came to moments later when Elisabeth snuggled up to her.
“Oh, please, not today.” Sophie was clearly upset, still thinking about her husband. “Do you know what that cad said to me this morning? That I provoke him on purpose to get slapped across the face. That I must like it! He thinks I’m a pervert!”
“And is he entirely wrong?” Elisabeth rested her head on Sophie’sshoulder and watched wet lumps of snow as they fell from the branching chestnut trees next to the school on Yorckstrasse. “Are you not a little pervertette?
“Stop.” Sophie resolutely moved away from her friend. “How dare he treat me like that? Spending day in day out with corpses has deranged him in some way. One day he beats me up, the next he pleads for forgiveness, and then, when I forgive him, he leaves me alone for the evening and begs forgiveness again the following day, and when I’m on the point of forgiving him, he coarsely insults me. What am I to do with the lout?”
“Take your revenge,” Elisabeth said sweetly as she watched a tram grating its way along Gabitzstrasse. “You said yourself that it helps and makes it easier for you to put up with the humiliation. Revenge is the delight of goddesses.”
“Yes, but he humiliates me every day.” Sophie observed a poor wretch as he heaved a double-shafted cart to the municipal stoneyard on Menzel-strasse. “Am I to take my revenge on him every day? If so, vengeance will become routine.”
“Then your revenge will have to get harsher and harsher, and become ever more painful.”
“But he can take even that away from me. He was highly suspicious yesterday when I carelessly mentioned something about a mint infusion.”
“If he deprives you of the possibility of revenge,” Elisabeth said seriously, tapping the cabby lightly on the shoulder with her umbrella, “you’ll be all alone with your humiliation. Completely alone.” The droschka stopped outside Elisabeth’s house.
Sophie began to cry. Elisabeth helped her friend out of the droschka and put an arm around her waist. As they went through the gate, they met with the friendly and anxious gaze of the caretaker, Hans Gurwitsch.
Five minutes later, the caretaker bestowed the same gaze upon the stocky, red-haired man who, with the help of a ten-mark note, was tryingto draw information from him about Miss Elisabeth Pflüger and the company she keeps.

BRESLAU, THAT SAME NOVEMBER 29TH, 1927 TWO O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON
    Bischofskeller on Bischofstrasse was alive and busy. The front room was crowded with corpulent warehouse owners greedily swallowing huge dumplings garnished with hard, fried crackling. Before Mock had time to work out whether the dumplings constituted a main course or merely a side dish, the polite waiter Max clicked his heels, smoothed down his pomaded whiskers and, with a starched white napkin, brushed away the invisible remains of a feast enjoyed by some other merchants who, in polishing off the spongy dough and hard crackling, had set their digestive tracts a difficult task only moments earlier. Mock decided to take the risk too and ordered the same dumplings to go with his roast pork and thickened white cabbage, to Max’s evident approval. Without needing to be asked, the waiter stood a tankard of Schweidnitzer beer in front of the Criminal Counsellor, as well as a shot of schnapps and a dish of chicken in aspic garnished with a halo of pickled mushrooms. Mock stabbed a trembling gelatine square with his fork and bit into the crispy crust of a roll. A drop of vinegar, trickling off the cap of a boletus edulis, seasoned the bland chicken. Next, he knocked back the tankard and