Fatal Lies by Frank Tallis (english love story books txt) 📕

he needed time to think things through suggests the existence of a complex situation in which many factors needed to be taken into consideration. I had always suspected Herr Sommer's involvement—from the moment you mentioned his accident; however, my suspicions were confirmed beyond doubt when he arrived an hour late. Again, his error speaks volumes. He did not want to be interviewed. He was still attempting to avoid you. And the question you must ask yourself, Oskar, is: why?”

Rheinhardt frowned. “What are you suggesting, Max? That Sommer killed Zelenka?”

“Zelenka died of natural causes.”

Rheinhardt rolled his eyes. “According to Professor Mathias, but you have already admitted that the more we probe the world of Saint Florian's, the more we discover conditions and circumstances ordinarily associated with murder.”

Liebermann stared at his hands, and continued to tap his fingers together. “He was lying about the article in the Arbeiter-Zeitung.”

“What?” said Rheinhardt.

“You asked him if he was aware of the article, and he replied: ‘No, no… I wasn't aware… no.’ He denied knowledge of the article four times. A perfect example of overcompensation.”

“But people often repeat things.”

“Not four times, Oskar,” said Liebermann. He paused, and then mischievously drove his point home with a repetition: “Not four times.”

“Why on earth would he lie about that?”

“Consistency. I think it highly unlikely that Professor Baltish's sanatorium takes a socialist daily… and needless to say, Sommer also lied about the numbers in Zelenka's textbook.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yes. Did you see how red his ears went?”

“I attributed that to embarrassment.”

“No. His laughter was completely false, and he was far too eager to stress that the numbers were random. His story about the memory game was complete nonsense—although, on reflection, I imagine it was probably the best bogus explanation that he, or anybody else, might fabricate.”

“So,” said Rheinhardt, his face becoming lined with intense concentration. “What have we surmised? First, Zelenka and Frau Becker were having a sexual liaison. Second, Sommer did not want to be interviewed after Zelenka's death, and third, he is a liar—his most notable lie being that the numbers in Zelenka's exercise book represent nothing more than a silly game.… What if…” The creases on Rheinhardt s face deepened. “What if Sommer learned of Zelenka's affair with Frau Becker, and conspired with Zelenka to blackmail her? He is clearly not a man of means. Their activities might have necessitated coded communications.”

Liebermann frowned, crossed his legs, and brushed a fold from his trousers. He was clearly unimpressed.

“Becker knew that Zelenka was ‘taking advantage’ of his wife. Therefore, his relationship with the boy must have been strained, difficult… and yet there is nothing to suggest that this was the case. In fact, Zelenka appears to have been something of a teacher's pet… sucking up to his science master and requesting extra assignments, which Becker was happy to provide.”

Rheinhardt suddenly remembered how Liebermann had behaved when Becker had left the room.

“Oh yes. Why did you taste Becker's medicine?”

“I wanted to know what it was.”

“And did you recognize it?”

“Yes, I think so—although it was an unusual prescription for headaches.”

Liebermann smiled faintly, and turned his face to the window, resuming his inspection of the runnels of rainwater. Rheinhardt, accustomed to his friend's irritating penchant for mystification, managed some halfhearted tutting to communicate his annoyance.

“It is all utterly infuriating,” said Liebermann. “Clearly, there is something going on at Saint Florian's… but it is almost impossible to ascertain what! I am reminded of the frustrating phenomenon of being unable to recall a familiar name. The name hovers at the periphery of awareness, and the more you try to remember it, the more it seems to evade recollection. Perhaps we should stop thinking about this right now—or Becker won't be the only one with a headache!”

38

THE SPECIAL TUTORIAL GROUP met in Professor Gärtner's rooms. On account of his age and seniority he occupied an entire lodge. It was his custom to spoil his favored pupils, and an impressive selection of pastries had been laid out on the table, ready for consumption when the tutorial was over: cheese and apple strudels, made especially for the professor by the school chef, and an artistically arranged spiral of ischler gebäck—fruit-conserve biscuits drizzled with chocolate.

The prospective feast was something of a distraction for most of the boys, who were gathered in a semicircle around their mentor. They stole quick glances at the spread, and their stomachs grumbled in anticipation.

Wolf, however, wasn't in the least troubled by the strudels and the sugary fragrances that sweetened the air. He had been transported by the strange declamatory prose that Professor Gärtner had been reading aloud from a slim cloth-bound volume. Even though the old man's voice was dry and wheezy, the text vibrated in Wolf's memory. Each word possessed a gonglike, resonance.

I teach you the Übermensch… the superman…

What is the ape to men? A laughing stock or a painful embarrassment.

And just so shall man be to the superman…

Where is the lightning to lick you with his tongue? Where is the madness with which you should be cleansed?

Behold, I teach you the superman: he is the lightning, he is the madness…

Gärtner sat in a high-backed leather chair. He was wearing his academic gown, and his short silver hair glittered in the lamplight. When he had finished his reading, he began a lengthy exegesis.

“What we are must be overcome. Man, as he is, must be destroyed. We must become something more than human… Homo superior. The philosopher is quite clear as to how this transition can be achieved. Man becomes Übermensch by his will to power—by abandoning old doctrines and replacing them with new ones, by rejecting societal ideals and so-called morality, by a continual process of overcoming arbitrary self-limitations.… The philosopher challenges us, throws down the gauntlet: Can you furnish yourself with your own good and evil, he asks, and hang up your own will above yourself as a law? Can you be judge of yourself and avenger of your law?”

The old man raised his head and looked around