The Door Read Free Page B

gaping wide. She buried it in the garden, where she had buried Mr Szloka, and that led to the man being later exhumed, which brought more slander on her name, because the cat-hangman called in the police. Fortunately the matter was smoothed over.
    But none of this brought much joy to the pigeon-breeder. He could never get her involved in an argument; she looked straight through him; and on official matters she communicated through an intermediary, the handyman. However, the animals remained linked in some sort of dark bond. One after another the pigeons fell over, dead. So the police returned. The Lieutenant Colonel was then only a Second Lieutenant. The pigeon-breeder accused Emerence of poisoning the birds, but the autopsy found nothing in their stomachs. The local vet decided that they had died from an unknown bird virus. Other people had lost pigeons too, so there was nothing to be gained from pestering his neighbour and the police about it.
    At this point the whole house ganged up against the cat-murderer. Mr and Mrs Brodarics, the most highly respected couple in the building, made a submission to the local council that the ceaseless coo-cooing at dawn was disturbing their sleep. The handyman declared that his balcony was constantly covered in droppings. The lady engineer complained that the birds triggered her allergies. The council didn't order the pigeon-breeder to destroy his stock, but they made it clear to him that people were disappointed, and wanted retribution, a proper punishment for the hanged cat.
    Punishment duly arrived. The cat-murderer suffered a fresh disaster. His new consignment of birds perished as mysteriously as the old ones. Once again he tried to lay charges, only this time the Second Lieutenant didn't bother with an autopsy, he tore a strip off him for wasting police time. The hangman finally got the message. He hurled abuse at Emerence on her porch and, as his final act, despite a complete lack of incriminating evidence, did away with her new cat, before moving away to one of the leafier suburbs.
    Even after his move, he continued to irritate the authorities with a stream of fresh charges against the caretaker. Emerence bore this persecution with such gentle serenity, and so much good humour, that both the council and the police came to like her very much. Not one of the allegations was taken seriously. They had come to realise that the old woman's character would always provoke anonymous accusations, the way magnetic mountains attract lightning. The police opened a special dossier on Emerence. In it they filed away the many and varied depositions, dismissing them with a wave of the hand. Each time a letter arrived, even the newest man on the job could recognise the pigeon-breeder's private lexicon, his rambling, baroque turn of phrase. Policemen regularly dropped in on her for a cup of coffee and a chat. As he rose steadily through the ranks, the future Lieutenant Colonel took each new recruit aside at the first opportunity and introduced him to her. Emerence prepared sausages, savoury scones, pancakes, whatever took his fancy. She reminded young men from the country of their old village, their own grandmothers, their distant families. They in turn never troubled her with the fact that the charges against her included murdering and robbing Jews during the war, spying for America, transmitting secret messages, regularly receiving stolen goods in her home and hoarding vast wealth.
    Adélka's revelations eased my concern, especially after I had to call in at the police station about a lost certificate of identity. While I stood dictating my particulars the Lieutenant Colonel passed through the hall. Hearing my name, he had me sit with him while the new document was being made out. I thought the reason for his interest must be that he knew my work, but it turned out I was wrong. All he wanted to hear about was how Emerence was and what she was doing. He'd heard that she was still working for us, and