Authors: Morley Torgov

Murder in A-Major (22 page)

“My children are fatherless, Preissâ¦fatherless. God knows, I think of them often, and wish I could see them. But they are young; they cannot understand, can they?”

I wanted to say that being fatherless was not necessarily a bad thing; after all, during my own childhood, I recalled, the prospect of becoming fatherless held great appeal. I mumbled something banal about children being remarkably resilient, then instantly regretted it. Turning sharply to me, Schumann said, “How would you know, Preiss? You strike me as a man who has managed to insulate himself from anything that is remotely domestic. Your friend, that attractive cellistâ”

“Helena Beckerâ”

“Yes, FrÄulein Becker. Am I correct in guessing that you and she are still friends and nothing more?”

“I suppose you could put it that way, Maestro.”

Schumann chuckled. “I'm not surprised to hear this. Not surprised at all.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Because I noticed how smitten you were with Clara. The night you were summoned to our houseâ¦and Clara appeared at the top of the stairway, and you caught sight of her.” Schumann chuckled again. “Oh, don't look so embarrassed, man. You may be a police inspector, but you're still flesh and blood. And I may be incarcerated here, but there's enough sanity in me still to understand my wife's appeal. In fact, I have to tell you, it pleased me that you were so obviously taken with her.”

There was no use attempting to lie my way out of this conversation. “I didn't think it was that obvious, Maestro.”

“You see, Preiss, artists can be as discerning as detectives. As a matter of fact, it would not be beyond the realm of possibility that
you
killed Georg Adelmann, wanting to make it appear like
my
work in order to get rid of me and have Clara for your own.”

“That is utterly preposterous!”

“Calm yourself,” Schumann said with a slight smile. “Of course, it's preposterous. I was only jesting. Besides, the truth isâ¦
I
killed Adelmann.”

I smiled back at Schumann. “Now you are
really
being preposterous, Maestro,” I said. “I have already exhausted this subject with Madam Schumann. I saw with my own eyes the Adelmann papers.”

“Which, according to my dear wife, you committed to a fiery endâ”

“Absolutely.”

“You read the papers first, of course?”

“There was no need to. The title page was all I needed to see to be convinced.”

Schumann rose from his chair and went to the small desk. From the centre tray, he withdrew a thick sheaf of papers tied with a ribbon, not unlike the papers and ribbon produced by Madam Schumann on the occasion of my last visit to No. 15 Bilkerstrasse. Without a word, Schumann returned to his seat and handed over the bundle to me.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Well, see for yourself, Preiss,” he said, his eyes fixed on mine, as though he could scarcely await my reaction. “Go ahead, untie it.”

The ribbon slipped off easily, and I glanced at the title page. Quietly I read aloud: “Robert Schumann: A Life In Music.” My eyes went down the page. Again, quietly, I read aloud: “By Georg Adelmann.”

This time I turned the handwritten pages, not just a few at the top but those well down into the manuscript. I looked up at Schumann. “How did you get this? I thought there was only one copy.”

“There wasâ¦
is
â¦only one copy. This is it.”

“But how?”

There was no need to finish my question.

“That's right, Inspector Preiss. It was I who killed Adelmann and retrieved the monograph. Don't look for signs of remorse on my part. I have none. Besides, there is no necessity for me to demonstrate remorse in the hope of obtaining mercy. After all, Preiss, you cannot bring a madman to justice, can you?”

“One of youâ¦I mean Madam Schumann or youâ¦one of you has to be lying,” I said.

“The Chinese have an excellent proverb,” Schumann said. “âLife is a search for truth, and there is no truth.' And now, sir, on that positive note, let me order coffee for us. The cook here makes excellent cream-filled buns. They will fortify you for your return journey to DÃ¼sseldorf.”

Schumann and I spent the next hour mostly in silence. I was grateful for the coffee and cream buns, having had little to eat that day. Schumann, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to these refreshments and barely touched his. Instead he sat staring out one of the windows in his room, and I watched as the sun, beginning its late-afternoon descent, carved shadows into the soft features of his face. Finally, not just his face, but all of him was in darkness.

He did not stir when I announced that it was time for my departure nor did he make any response when I said goodbye. I could not be certain if he was even aware that I was leaving.

I was able to catch an early evening train to DÃ¼sseldorf and arrived back at my rooms well after midnight Too exhausted to sleep, I poured myself a brandy and sat re-living the events of the long day just concluded. Someday, I told myself, historians, musicologists, surgeons, psychiatrists, novelistsâsome of them clever, others foolsâwould attempt to understand what made Robert Schumann the way he was. As for me, I probably should have left well alone. For the truth was that I had travelled to Endenich privately hoping I could hack a clearing, no matter how small, in the thicket that was his mind. The truth was that the man remained as much a mystery now as he did that night when he stood before me unkempt in his robe and slippers and insisted that he was being driven insane.

My last thought, before the brandy dulled my senses and I fell into a deep sleep, was that he was a mystery not meant to be solved.

Afterword

R
obert Schumann died at 4 P.M., July 29, 1856, some two and a half years after he was admitted to the hospital at Endenich and following a steady decline in his mental and physical health. His death was hastened by self-starvation, a process no one was capable of reversing. Clara, who had returned to her career as a piano virtuoso, could not bring herself to visit her husband until just a few days before his death, relying on Johannes Brahms to visit Schumann periodically. Though Clara Schumann and Brahms continued to be close and supportive of one another's careers, she remained a widow until her death in Frankfurt am Main, May 20, 1896. Johannes Brahms died the following year, on March 3, in Vienna, a confirmed bachelor. While their devotion to each other was life-long, Clara Schumann's grief over the untimely and tragic death of her husband was genuine. From head to toe, she wore only black in every public appearance until the end of her days.

Morley Torgov was born in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Torgov's first book,
A Good Place to Come From
, was published in 1974 and won the Leacock Medal for Humour. His second novel,
The Outside Chance of Maximilian Glick
(1982), also received the Leacock Medal.

In 1988, a feature film of the novel was produced and exhibited at the Festival of Festivals. It won top Canadian entry and was nominated for five Genie awards. The CBC also produced a twenty-six episode television series based on the novel.

This success was followed in 1990 by
St. Farb's Day
, which won the City of Toronto Book Award and the Jewish Book Award for fiction.
The War to End All Wars
, a novel, was published in 1998.

In 2005, he received the Order of Mariposa, a lifetime recognition from the Leacock Society.

Morley Torgov lives with his wife in Toronto, Ontario.
Murder in A-Major
is the beginning of a new mystery fiction series with Rendezvous Crime.

Acknowledgments:

For their friendship, advice, and encouragement, my thanks to Beverley Slopen, Joanne DeLio, Henry Campbell, Malcolm Lester, Sally Zerker, and to my editors Sylvia McConnell and Allister Thompson.

NOTE TO THE READER

Because some of the principal characters in this novel actually existed, readers interested in tracking where historical fact and fiction cross each other's boundaries throughout the story may consult the following sources visited in my research into the people and their times:

Schumann: The Inner Voices Of A Musical Genius

Peter Ostwald, M.D., 1985

The Lives And Times Of The Great Composers

Michael Steen, 2003

Stories Of The Great Operas

Ernest Newman, 1930

Great Symphonies

Sigmund Spaeth, 1936

Franz Liszt: Volume 2, The Weimar Years 1848-1861

Alan Walker, 1989

Piano: The Making Of A Steinway Concert Grand

James Barron, 2006