Jerzy Sosnowski_A Body in the Raspberies_part 4

A BODY IN THE RASPBERIES – part 4

That morning, the day before Martha Bee was due in Poland, I woke earlier than usual. The investigation was one thing, but it was high time to splice together all of the fragments concerning the star’s Oscars, her work with the best directors in Hollywood and so forth. As I still felt a bit groggy, I switched on the radio, and that was the way to go, because it sobered me up instantly.

JOURNALIST:

It’s now eight o’clock and time for the news.

(Radio jingle)

Zoological stalemate in the Parliamentary Ethics Committee.

(Radio jingle)

Will a Korean scientist bring the world’s most famous terrorist back to life?

(Radio jingle)

The famous theatre director is back in Poland, after a triumphant overseas tour.

(Radio jingle)

And now, with the news in depth, here is Aleksandra Miłobrodzka.

The stale mate in the Parliamentary Ethics Committee continues. As we have already informed our listeners, the MP of the opostition Moderate Progress Party, Tomasz Jeżak, has compared infrastructure minister, Zdzisław Dogg, to a village mongrel. Minister Dogg retorted that he preferred being a dog without pedigree to a hyena without pedigree. As a result both MPs filed complaints with the Parliamentary Ethics Committee. The chairman of the Committee has assigned a court appointed zoologist to investigate the issue of whether such a thing as a non-pedigree hyena really exists. Meanwhile a representative of the Moderate Progress Party has claimed that the zoologist in  question is a supporter of the ruling party. The search is now on for a politically neutral zoologist.

Muslims around the globe continue their protest concerning the death of the long-sought terrorist, Abul Quasim El-Tamburi, who they claim was killed by the Americans without due process of law. Meanwhile the controversial Korean scientist, Kim Ping Goong, has announced that can bring El-Tamburi back to life, drawing on his research into amphibians. The Islamists have issued a statement in which they threaten the scientist with the death sentence for comparing their deceased leader to impure animals. Reuters remarks that none of the frogs, which Kim Ping Goong has worked on, have so far been successfully brought back to life.

After a hugely successful performance of “Waiting for Godot” in São Paulo involving five thousand actors, the famous Polish theatre director, Krzysztof Szamilski, has returned to the country. Now, the artist is working outside of Wrocław, preparing a huge outdoor spectacular entitled “From Now On We Are Not Afraid to Fly”. The extravaganza will include bungee jumping and stuntmen shot out of an especially prepared battery of cannons, which are being installed on the stage as of today. Let me just remind our listeners that Radio 3 is the patron of Krzysztof Szamilski’s show.

And now for the weather…

I turned of the radio and jumped out of bed. Szamilski, Martha Bee, all of them arriving, as if invited, at the grand finale of my investigation. And tonight I had a meeting with professor Mryk. But soon I started fretting again that my search for the truth about what had happened 25 years ago would lead me nowhere. The knife, which had been used to kill Gosia, Małgorzata Ledwoch, on stage could have been sharpened and blocked by anyone. Mryk, upset that she had successfully consoled herself with Górczewski after he had left her; Górczewski, uncertain if Gosia wanted to return to Mryk; Martha Bee, jealous about the part she was being forced to share with the future victim; and finally, though I had no idea why, the director of the play.  To say nothing of the rest of the cast. If the findings of the detectives who had conducted the original investigation were anything to go by, Mryk had had no time to sharpen the knife on the sly, but he surely had countless opportunities to place the nail in the handle. Also, Martha had been allowed to leave the country, even though “had she been the murderer, we would never have let her go, I assure you” – I heard Porąbany‘s guffaw. But the police had obviously made light of the whole affair. And I was the one burdened with finding the person responsible. “The time is out of joint: - O cursed spite, that I was ever born to set it right!” – I squeaked to myself and jumped in the shower.

I had taken me a few days to reach professor Mryk. When I finally succeeded I was so surprised that I forgot the pretext for calling him I had thought up. The straightforward explanation, that I was ringing him to check his alibi from a quarter of a century ago, didn’t seem as such a great idea.

But professor Mryk agreed to see me without even enquiring what it was about. It sounded as if my name was reason enough for him to agree.

– But, Sir – he boomed down the receiver. – I’m flying to Sydney the day after tomorrow for a gluon conference and from there straight on to CERN, so this is the last day I will be able to meet you. Let’s see… I have a lecture from noon until 2 pm at the university here, at 2.15 I start a seminar at the University of Biological Sciences which ends at 4 pm. at 4.30 I need to see the education minister, at a quarter past five I start exams with night students at the Main Physics University, that should go on until after six, so perhaps… Oh, sorry, no chance, I need to be at TV headquarters, they are recording me for a show and on my way there I have to pop into the Academy for a moment…

Along the way it was I who was loosing hope that we could come to any arrangement. But suddenly he said:

– Here we are. At ten pm, if that suits you. Right near where we are, near the physics department there’s St. Elizabeth’s church, it used to be a hospital chapel. I know the provost and have the unsusual privilege of being in possession of the key, which I use to lock myself in there for a moment of meditation. Doubtless they will take my privilege away as soon as the first robbery occurs but then again there is nothing to steal there. So, if it’s all the same to you, you can come to Lizzie’s at ten. See you there.

And, without waiting for an answer, he put the phone down.

Late in the evening I stood outside the huge gates of the neo-gothic structure, not fully believing that the door would yield when I pressed the handle. But, woe and behold, yield it did and, with a deafening racket, the door swung open letting me into the church’s murky interior. The only sources of light were a small lamp next to the altar and a weak reflector light illuminating a holy painting of a knight in the side chapel. Maybe it was the association with Kafka that made my skin crawl. Joseph K. also ended up being stabbed. A knife here and a knife there – could it all have been coincidence? I hadn’t told anyone about my planned escapade, the professor, when he was on the phone to me was probably alone, so what stood in his way of adding my body to that of Gosia – after all I was just another nosy journalist? “My only hope is that Mryk is not really the murderer”, I thought, trying to peer through the inky depths of the church in order to make out the professor. I realised I had no idea what he even looked like. In any case, the pulpit was empty – I looked up and simultaneously whirled round in a panic, nearly certain that I would see a looming shadow with a butcher’s knife poised above me, ready to deliver the deadly final blow. But there was only emptiness behind me, just as in front of me, to my left and to my right. No, hold that, not to my right.

– Hello, Sir! – I heard a distinct whisper.

Still a bit spooked, I started moving slowly in his direction. He was sitting in one of the pews, as if praying. I remembered the part of the Radio III programme I had listened to with Górczewski and felt surprised. “Maybe that’s a good sign”, I thought, “if he’s a Catholic, he probably won’t harm me while we’re in a church.”

– Have you converted? – I wanted to make sure. In the surrounding darkness I saw that he turned to me in astonishment.

– “Converted”?! To what? – then he looked around as if remembering where we were and shrugged his shoulders. – Oh, no. It’s just that I am overstimulated during the day, that’s what. While in the silence here you can hear the blood pulsing in your veins. The sound of blood in the veins is a very calming sensation.

Bloody hell! I almost ran when I heard that. But then again, if I only mistook his words for bloodlust, I would look a right tit, running away like that. So I stay put, even holding on to the pew to limit any spontaneous responses on my part. But to talk about the crime that had happened in the theatre struck me as too risky right now and I remained silent – as if we were meeting in order to meditate together.

– I know why you wanted to meet me – he said unexpectedly. – L4, right?

I swallowed hard.

– How did you know?

– Krzysiek called me from Brazil. Szamilski. He in turn was alterted by that wacko from Ostróda. You’re the reason we’re having to revisit this nightmare. Why you are doing this, I have no idea. But please, ask away.

There was no turning back. I moved a bit further away from him, and then, realising that I was exactly at arms length, I moved back, as close as I could. At least he wouldn’t be able to swing his arm properly in order to stab me harder.

– There is only one question – I chanced it. – Who dunnit?

Until now he had kept his hands folded. Now he unclasped them, which I would not have noticed, had I not been watching them so intently

– What do you think?

– That wacko from Ostróda, as you refer to him, thinks it’s you who is the culprit – well done to me for that one.

– It would be strange if he didn’t think that – I went hot all over and I thought he was going to mention something about being the prop master, but instead he just said: I was nuts about Martha, so if she had told me to kill somebody, I would probably have done it. The libido, you know.

– Why did the director say “It’s not you fault” to you right after it happened?

Mryk turned to face me and I prepared to attack, just in case. But he had no intention of pouncing upon me, rather he seemed somewhat surprised.

– How old are you? Were you there?

I shook my head. Now it was my turn to be all mysterious.

– Because, you know, it really was strange. We were standing backstage before and I was trying to convince him to reverse his decision that the next day the girls were to switch roles. I knew that if Gośka got to play the part of Balladina, no one would take that part away from her.  You know, I was bitching about her terribly and I was really sorry about that afterwards… That the last thing I had said about her when she was alive and all that… But I never took Krzysiek for someone especially sensitive to the nuances of interpersonal relations. He was always a bit of a loner, you know, really engrosed by his art.  And what does art mean, after all?

I sat there quietly, seeing that he was getting more talkative.

– You know, I never really understood him, just like I don’t understand you. And I never understood Martha. Maybe it’s me, and not you guys, who is in some way defective. We live in total darkness, just like in this church. We are heated by stars, which have produced the matter that contsitutes our bodies. But for the stars it was a step back, bringing them closer to destruction and eternal cold. Aren’t you cold here? – he suddenly became considerate. I shook my head again. – So, I am fascinated by anything that might make it easier for me to… muddle through all this. With my head held high. But to get involved without any self interest? Or even with selfish intentions, but to get completely lost in it? You can see where that leads to. You can see it in Martha.

– What about Marta? – I failed to see what he meant. – She has achieved incredible success – I only just managed not to say: “unlike the rest of you”; I was saved by the memory of today’s news flash about the artistic triumphs of Szamilski, though the radio could have been exaggerating a bit.

– But at what cost?! – he cried out. – Over dead bodies, sir! Literally over dead bodies! Why, it was her who had the knife in her hands the longest! Couldn’t she feel the nail? Not only did she feel it, she placed it there herself! And then those hysterics she performed, what a wonderful scene. Why, it’s obvious the one who killed her was the one who did it. That Martha Bee killed poor Gośka…

[END OF PART FOUR]