Fever Read Free Page A

waited. First of all the one in Basel, then the one in Bern. One was clever, she saw through me, I’ll save her till last. The other brought up my daughter badly, she must be punished for it.’ There was a laugh, then the voice fell silent. This time Collani was in such a deep sleep, I had difficulty waking him.
    â€œFinally his eyes opened fully and he looked at me, astonished. So I asked him, ‘Do you know what you have just told me, my son?’ At first he shook his head, then he replied, ‘I saw a man I nursed in Fez fifteen years ago. He died, he had a nasty fever . . . in 1917, during the Great War. Then I saw two women. One had a wart by her left nostril . . . The man in Fez, what was his name now? What was his name?’ Collani rubbed his forehead, he couldn’t remember the name and I didn’t prompt him. ‘The man in Fez gave me a letter. I was to post it – fifteen years later. I sent it. On the anniversary of his death, on 20 July. The letter’s gone, yes, the letter’s gone!’ he suddenly shouted. ‘I don’t want anything more to do with it. It’s beyond bearing. I did!’ he shouted even louder, as if he were responding to an accusation from someone invisible, ‘I did keep a copy. What am I to do with the copy?’ Collani wrung his hands. I tried to calm him down by telling him to bring me the copy. ‘That will ease your conscience, my son. Go and bring it now, at once.’ ‘Yes, Father,’ the clairvoyant corporal said, got up and went out. I can still hear the screech of his hobnails on the stone outside my door . . .”
    â€œAnd I never saw him again. He disappeared from Géryville. They assumed he had deserted. The battalion commander instituted an inquiry, which discovered that a stranger had come by car to Géryvillethat evening and left that same night. Perhaps he took the clairvoyant corporal with him.”
    Father Matthias fell silent. The only sound to be heard in the little room was the snoring of the landlord interspersed with the quiet tick-tock of the clock on the wall . . .
    The White Father took his hands away from his face. His eyes were slightly reddened, but their colour still recalled the sea – though now there was a bank of mist over the water, hiding the sun. The old man who looked like the tailor from the fairy tale scrutinized his audience.
    It was no easy task telling a ghost story to three seasoned members of criminal investigation departments. They let the silence drag on until finally one of them, Madelin, rapped the table with the flat of his hand. The landlord shot up.
    â€œFour glasses,” the commissaire ordered. He filled them to the brim with rum and said, in an expressionless voice, “A little something will do you good, Father.” Father Matthias emptied his glass obediently. Studer took a long, slim leather cigar case out of his pocket and found to his dismay that he had only one Brissago left. He went through the ritual of lighting it, then handed his matches to Madelin, who had filled his pipe, with which he gave his Swiss colleague a sign, clearly inviting him to start the interrogation.
    Now Studer pushed his chair back too, propped his elbows on his thighs, clasped his hands and, in slow, measured tones, began his questioning.
    â€œTwo women? Your brother hadn’t committed bigamy by any chance?
    â€œNo,” said Father Matthias. “He got a divorce from his first wife and married her sister, Josepha.”
    â€œDid he now? Got a divorce?” Studer repeated. “I thought that didn’t exist in the Catholic religion?” He looked up and saw that Father Matthias was blushing. A wave of red swept down from his high forehead over his sunburnt face. When it faded, it left peculiar grey blotches on his skin.
    â€œI converted to Catholicism when I was eighteen,” said Father Matthias in a low voice. “As a result I was disowned by my