The Girl Who Wasn't There by Ferdinand von Schirach

never-ending number of decisions leading to this moment on the steps. Eschburg slowly closed his hand, the flesh of the fruit was squeezed through his fingers, juice spurted on his shirt, his hair and his face.

23
    The entrance to Linienstrasse through the gate in front of Eschburg’s building was almost dark. One of the two street lights had been out of order for weeks. All the same, Eschburg could see Senja Finks. A stranger was clutching her throat and pushing her back against the wall. The man was stocky, the nape of his neck shaved; he had broad shoulders and wore a peaked cap. He was stabbing her in the stomach with a knife; he was fast. Eschburg ran.
    The stranger drew back to thrust for the second time. Eschburg grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and tore him away from her. The stranger stumbled and lost his balance. Even as he fell, Eschburg turned and hit him. He put all his weight into the blow and struck the stranger’s chin. The man’s jaw splintered.
    Eschburg heard the whirring behind his left ear too late. He couldn’t swerve in time. The steel tip of the cudgel hit his head. He was lucky; the angle of impact was low, and the cudgel did not smash his skull. Eschburg fell to his knees. He saw the paving stones, blue-grey with sand and moss between them. Briefly, the pattern they made intrigued him, and then his forehead hit the ground.
     
    Long before he opened his eyes, he knew he was in a hospital. It was the smell: the mixture of disinfectant, sickness and boiled bed linen.
    The first thing he saw was Sofia, sitting by the window with a book. She had taken off her shoes and put her feet up on the windowsill. With the light behind it, her throat looked too slender.
    Eschburg didn’t want to speak yet; he just looked at her. Finally Sofia put the book down on her lap and audibly breathed out.
    ‘What happened?’ he asked. His mouth felt dry, his lips were split.
    Sofia came over and kissed him cautiously on the forehead. ‘You fell and lost consciousness. You have a hole in your head.’
    He tried to move, but the covers on the bed were stiff and heavy.
    ‘You must sleep,’ she said. ‘They’ve given you medication.’
    Eschburg felt her hand on his forehead; it was cool. He went back to sleep.
     
    When he next woke up it was dark in the room. He sat up in bed and stayed sitting until he was sure he wouldn’t feel sick. He was still wearing the hospital smock, but he was not connected to the drip now. He got up and shuffled to the bathroom. There was blood in his urine. His head was bandaged, the right hand side of his face was severely grazed, and he had a dressing over his right eyebrow. He sat on the plastic stool to brush his teeth. It was a strain.
    When he came back into the room, there was a woman sitting at the table by the window. It took Eschburg a moment to recognize Senja Finks. She was wearing a dark trouser suit, a pearl necklace and horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. The trouser suit looked expensive.
    ‘I waited until your girlfriend left,’ she said.
    ‘You look different,’ said Eschburg.
    ‘People never see anything but what they want to see.’
    Cautiously, Eschburg sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re not injured?’
    ‘It’s all right,’ she said.
    ‘Who were those men?’
    ‘It’s been dealt with,’ said Senja Finks.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    She shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. Eschburg lay flat on the bed. ‘Can you put the light out?’ he said. ‘It’s dazzling me.’
    Senja Finks switched the light off. She asked, ‘Have you spoken to the police?’
    ‘No,’ said Eschburg.
    ‘Then please don’t.’
    She opened the window. The air was cool and smelled of rain.
    He turned his head to her. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
    She picked Eschburg’s watch up from the bedside table. ‘Nice watch. From the sixties?’ she asked.
    ‘It was my father’s,’ he said.
    She put the watch down on the table