Detective Story by Imre Kertesz

Author:Imre Kertesz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House

Something else happened that evening, something important, Enrique noted in his diary. Those few pages are like the record of a grilling—a genuine police interview in which he incriminated himself.

That was Enrique for you. He loved and hated, he was secretive and yet kept exhaustive records of his secrets.

I am opening Enrique’s diary. Listen to this.

It’s all been decided. Utterly unbelievable, and yet the most natural of all. It’s as if, at the depths of my most hidden instincts, I had actually long suspected it. I must write it down: I can’t go to bed now with this experience on my mind.

Let me try to sum up. That will be hard, so much has happened today, and now, late in the evening, all the complexions and events of this whole implausible day are spinning around at once in my head. Let’s get on with it, then.

So I drove Jill home: I owed her that much. Then I came home myself. I parked the car in the garage, stepped into the elevator, and came up. As I entered the apartment, I caught sight of Mother and Father somewhere in the deceptive succession of interconnected rooms. They were a long way off, each seated in an armchair. Father was wreathed in fragrant clouds of smoke. He was stretching out his long, muscular legs, his black patent-leather shoes gleaming in the twilight. He had unbuttoned the jacket of his impeccable suit and loosened his fashionable necktie.

Mother was sitting with a straight back, hands resting in her lap.

It was as though they were just waiting for something.

When they spotted me, Mother immediately jumped up and rushed toward me. The usual stuff: “Where were you?” “At the beach.” “You took a long time about it.” “Because the weather was fine.” One thing and another.

The old man did not stir, just kept on puffing on his cigarette. Finally, I said I needed a word with him. “Very well.” He got to his feet and let me go first, gesturing toward his study with one hand, the other loosely gripping my shoulder. I sensed his aroma: a smell of tobacco, cologne, and Father. All at once I also sensed the hand resting on my shoulder. Strength emanated from it. Strength, superiority, and assurance. It was stupid, but I nearly burst into tears so that he might take me in his arms, as he had done when I was a child. Maybe on account of Jill.

No matter. Anyway, I briefly told him the about business on the highway, just the essentials. He didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Did they find a camera on you?” he asked.

“No,” I said. By sheer accident—though I don’t say that to him. I had in fact intended to take some snapshots of Jill, but in my hurry I’d left the thing at home.

“They’ll probably fine you,” he dismissed the matter. “We’ll pay it off. A good thing we can still afford it.” He cracked a smile. He didn’t seem too upset. “What were you looking for out there?”

“I was at the beach.

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