The Perfectionist

Chapter Twelve

The solemn wretch thus slowly made his way to the monastery kitchen. Slowly, as he was yet half-reluctant, and slowly, as if lagging the time as best he could, towards his despondent goal. He did not care to be seen and made no effort to hide himself, but waved to those greeting him with unrestrained cordiality as he crossed the courtyard, and even stopped once to respond to one monk, who was asking ''Where is Brother Wolfgang? We were to further discuss the Numbers today''. All in all, he appeared cheerful and collected, and had almost fooled himself by such a false air. But what was going on inside him? How did he feel inside?

He tried not to think of what he was about to do, and put it upon himself not to imagine it nor the consequences it bore. Indeed he thought of nothing, paralyzed as he was from fear; and from this state of emptiness he dimly felt that he was walking towards an uncertainty; still it was, like the English termed the war, an Uncertainty to End all Uncertainties. He found, as well, that there was a great, great darkness in him which had inflicted him with considerable pain, though he had no time nor will to try and lighten it (as was his vain wont), and seemed almost to submit to it, walking with bated breath under the force of his dogged thoughts, to the kitchen.

For a brief, bright moment he thought that he should return to his cell- or the library, in fact- and forget everything at once, to ignore the fiend whispering inside him. Following that path, he thought, he would still smell the flowers, he would still read the words so expertly put together in those books he so adored, and he would still walk through that dark, still forest so captivating to him. He smiled at the soft memories of those pleasures, but knew, suddenly frowning, that they would weigh insignificantly against the monstrous horrors each hour visiting him, so that he would have either forgotten them before long, or grown to resent them merely for their littleness. He hated this pattern of thought, however, and grew sadder by the minute, wishing that he had never formed them. Still, sighing, he made his way.

After crossing the courtyard, and passing by the abbot and Brother Heinrich (who were laughing and chatting away as the gypsy women had done some minutes before) in a corridor in the main building, and descending some stone stairs at a dark corner, he arrived at the kitchen. It was a narrow, neat sort of a kitchen, and at the end of it, as with Dieter's library, were glass doors leading to the outside. Just before the kitchen started, at the foot of the stairs, lay another door perpendicular to it, leading directly to the outside. As it was partially open, Dieter happened to look outside by chance. Before a large, fruitful carriage Brother Friedrich (the cook) stood with his hands on his hips, speaking with a delivery-woman in a dark, low dirndl who looked about forty years of age. Her son, a young man of about fifteen, sat idling on the box of the carriage, not attending the conversation. With a careless turn of his head he saw Dieter standing inside, and called out:
''Hullo!''
Brother Friedrich and the woman turned their heads as well, and at once Brother Friedrich exclaimed, in a laughing tone:
''Good evening, Professor Dieter!''
''Good evening, Brother Friedrich, Maria, lad,'' he replied plainly, nodding to each as he spoke to them, and then quickly went out of sight.

He had been seen by accident, and hadn't wanted to be discovered. It was also a misfortune that Brother Friedrich and Maria were present, as he had wanted complete isolation. With an unsure conscience thus, he entered the narrow kitchen and leaned against one of the drawers, contemplating. He thought of relinquishing his mission altogether, as the time was inopportune and the circumstances unfavourable, but after a savage ''No, it must be done!'' from the workings of his mind, he sighed sorrowfully, and bit his nails.
''Perhaps I should retreat quickly somewhere else...''
''No, here is fine.''
''But they are here...''
''It is fine nevertheless.''
''Their presence mustn't be disparaged...''

Trembling, shivering, and quivering all over, with a terrified expression on his face, he opened the drawer which he was leaning on, grabbed a knife, and exited the glass doors into the evening. Perfectly beside himself, nescient of his actions, ignorant of the circumstances (that is, there being company not five meters away from him- he was even still able to hear them speaking to one another), he leaned against the stone wall, breathing heavily, and trembling almost convulsively. He could scarcely maintain his grip on the knife, regarding it as his inanimate assassin, and his violent tremors caused him to drop it on the damp grass below him. He thought he would collapse: his head was light, his heart pounded and throbbed violently, and his aching chest seemed to have been weighed down by a heavy, invisible pile of nothingness. Gulping, he bent down to pick the knife up, and, directing its sharp end towards his stomach, he let out, with a weak, faltering voice:
''Lord forgive me...!''

***

The entire monastery, which was previously tranquil, and ruled over by the chirps of the crickets, was suddenly awoken by a violent, untimely ringing of the bells, and the inhabitants and non-inhabitants of the monastery alike stopped in all their proceedings, and walked cautiously out into the courtyard, where they all joined. Like spectators around an ancient artifact (the artifact being the timid cherub fountain) they turned to each other with puzzled looks, hoping to attain an explanation. Suddenly the crickets were overthrown by a woman's terrible screams, which resonated all around the monastery, alarming all the company, and driving them confusedly, like several bodies of water colliding at once, into the main building, down the stony steps, through the kitchen, and out the glass doors, to find worthy Maria sobbing violently in the distance, with her juddering hands over her mouth and her knees on the grass, and worthy Brother Friedrich, with his back towards them, cradling someone fallen against the wall. The abbot stepped quickly forward, squeezing his way through the panting crowd, and forbade all onlookers, even Brother Heinrich, to follow him. He sped round Brother Friedrich to regard the figure lying on the grass and on the dismayed Brother Friedrich's knees...

Dieter lay unconscious on the ground, with his head lying on his shoulder, and with his habit, the grass around him, and his hands soaked with blood, the source of which came from a knife deeply submerged in his stomach.
''God in Heaven!'' the abbot exclaimed slowly, dumbfounded with shock, ''Men!'' he then fiercely demanded, ''Fetch a doctor! Immediately! Go, fetch a doctor! Disperse, all of you! Waste no time, go now!! Lord deliver us from evil! O Lord deliver us from evil!''

***

Through the excruciating pain, and the laboured, coarse, breath- more resembling a gasping for breath- and his hands and habit stained with dark, thick, blood, and the knife inside of him, and the confusion and softness of his mind, Dieter found himself partially unclosing his eyes. There was much noise all around him, shouting and crying and lamenting, and he felt several hands place him on a bed. In an instant the threadbare sheets dampened and then wetted with blood, and his exhausted person lay supine on the bed. His hands were put before his chest and his head rested on a pillow, and, not bothering to move the latter, he winced at the blurry, dim image of a short, unhatted man with round spectacles, and a serious, gruff man wearing an officer's helmet, looking directly down at him with the most fervent interest. Very faintly he heard:
''Leave now, all of you, please! You as well, officer, sir. Not a soul in here, except myself and him, please. Now, quickly, thank you!''

The officer then escaped from his sight in a haste, and there was more bustling and scuttling in the room, further disturbing Dieter from his senseless state. The unhatted man bent down, disappearing from Dieter's view, then climbed back up with something in his hand which Dieter had not the energy to discern. As the room became more or less quiet, Dieter found himself speaking weakly, attracting the immediate attention of the doctor:
''My blood...''
''Your blood what?'' the doctor inquired quickly.
''My blood... is it repenting for me?''
The doctor stared in stern perplexity at him, though, again acknowledging the little time that was afforded, he proceeded preparing the unknown thing which so baffled Dieter. He was about to repeat the enquiry, when the doctor had taken hold of his bloodied forearm, baffling him even more, and pressed the thing into it. He was not yet understanding what had happened to him, when all around him had suddenly returned to a tenebrous abyss once again...