The Weekend: A Novel by Schlink Bernhard

Author:Schlink, Bernhard [Schlink, Bernhard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Politics
ISBN: 9780307379528
Amazon: 0307379523
Goodreads: 9486518
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2008-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Ilse herself felt as if she were waking up from an anesthetic. That is my work, she wanted to make Jan think with his last glance into the bedroom, and as he passed the weeping chairman’s wife he was to think it coldly and proudly, and at the same time with a shudder of horror. Just as she looked at her work.

Twenty-one

When Christiane had cleared up and washed the breakfast crockery and emptied the basins and filled the jugs in the rooms, she went back to the terrace. Everyone had left. Even Karin and her husband, who had helped her in the kitchen and then joined her on the terrace, had disappeared.

Christiane had made plans; for a boat trip on the nearby lake, a picnic in the park, dancing on the terrace. But, sitting alone on the terrace, she no longer had any confidence that anyone was interested in that. She was also worried about bringing everyone together again. Jörg would accuse Henner of betrayal again, and Henner—what would Henner say? What would Jörg make of it if Henner rebuffed his accusation?

She caught herself wishing Jörg back in jail. Or at least in a place where he was safe—safe from information that confused him, from contacts that seduced him, from dangers for which he was no match. Most of his years in jail had not been a bad time. At first it was bad, when the prison administration wanted to break Jörg’s strength and he fought back with stubborn aggression against them by going on hunger strikes. But then the administration and Jörg learned to leave each other in peace. Jörg was almost happy. And he was never so much hers as during the years in prison.

She stepped outside the gate. Ulrich’s Mercedes and Andres’s Volvo were gone—all the guests could have gone off on an outing in the two big cars. Disappointed, concerned and relieved, she went into the house, picked up a lounge chair and was about to go lie on the terrace. But there was already someone there; Christiane recognized the voices of Jörg and Dorle. She set the lounge chair down, tiptoed through the room and leaned against the wall next to the open folding door.

“I was just terribly disappointed. That’s why I was so horrible. I’m sorry.”

At first Jörg said nothing. Christiane imagined him sobbing a few times and letting his hands rise and fall. Then he cleared his throat. “Of course I can see what a … a gorgeous woman you are. I just can’t.”

“Don’t be formal—call me Dorle.” She laughed softly. “Dorothea—I’m a gift from the gods. Take me. If you were with men in prison and now … I like that.” She laughed her soft laugh again. “I like being fucked in the ass.”

“I’m … I’m.…” He didn’t say what he was. He was weeping. He was weeping with the pitiful, halting sounds he had as a child. Christiane recognized them, and was irritated again. If her brother had to weep, it should be powerful, manly weeping.

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