Angela Lehner: Vater unser

Our Father.
Novel.
Hanser Berlin, 2019.
288 p.; Euro 22,70.
ISBN 978-3-446-26259-1.

EXCERPT: PART 1 – THE FATHER

DRIVE

My hands have been cuffed behind my back. I'm resting my head on a darkened windowpane. No one is smoking, but the seat cushions tell tales of nicotine once enjoyed. I'm sitting behind a metal grille. In front of it is an official, her ponytail bouncing in the wind.
The air conditioning is off. I'm surprised. My bet would have been that Austrian cops ride with the windows down and the AC on. But no. Apparently not. They're very sensible.
(...)
Four hours later, we turn on Hütteldorfer Strasse and someone starts humming. The sky looks kind of cheesy when we catch sight of the giant, fenced off compound. Mr. Eggcup gets out and does some back stretches. Forms are filled out, and my eyes take in Vienna. Summer evenings always convince me to give life another chance.
New people in new kinds of uniforms take over from here and I give my cops one last nod. A man leads me across the compound. Our footsteps crunch on the gravel. My leg muscles aren't used to climbing hills and I notice that it takes work to keep up. The tips of our shoes get dustier with every step. Just when I'm thinking that summer gathers what it needs from the earth, we turn onto a paved path and follow it for a few meters. Then we stop outside a white gate.
Above the building's entrance, I read the number fifteen. The hospital guard fiddles with his big ring of keys.
I take a look at the grounds of the institute – just a quick one, I don't want to see everything yet – and notice a small group of people wearing track pants in the vegetable garden. A broad-shouldered woman instructs a few of them while others place the harvest on a blanket.
"Looks very educational here," I tell my guard.
"That's right," he says.
He probably says that all the time. A sweetish, familiar odor fills my nose. I hear sudden resentful shouts and turn back toward the garden. A girl of around twenty with protruding ears is stamping on the nicely displayed harvested tomatoes, crushing them one at a time. She screams and raises her bound wrists to her head, which has a brown bun on top. The aide is alarmed, stops the tomato girl and reasons with her. Another figure approaches the two of them. He lifts his thin arm and places his hand on the girl's shoulder. The figure lowers his head and whispers. The girl stops crying. Then the figure looks up and catches my eye; his body stiffens. My guard pushes me through the gate, which is now open. Our steps echo between the walls.
"Someone you know?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say.
I'm naked now. I had to undress behind a screen. It's kind of funny that undressing has to be private but nudity is no big deal. A nurse examined me, then left. She left me alone in an examination room full of scalpels and surgical scissors. I wonder whether I can put my clothes on now, but then I sit back down on the examination table, just as I am, and dangle my feet. I don't want anyone to think I'm ashamed to be naked. The door opens and the nurse is back with a doctor. He's around fifty and going bald. When he sees me, he stays put. He asks the nurse in a whisper if she finished her examination. Then he turns to me:
"Why don't you get dressed, Ms. Gruber?"
[...]
I clear my throat: "I have a question."
Dr. Korb nods. "Yes?"
"I'd like to know if there's a patient here by the name of Bernhard Gruber."
He looks at me. Hesitates. He's about to speak, but I cut him off.
"That's my brother," I say. "I think I saw him in the garden earlier."

(pp. 11–16)

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