Free The Strange Case of the Composer and His Judge by Patricia Duncker Page B

the strange unease, which padded back into the children’s room and coiled around the bunk beds.
    ‘Shhhh, André, don’t take on so. Their parents believed they were going home for ever. To their real home.’
    ‘But the sky was overcast last night,’ Schweigen declared bitterly, ‘for most of the night. The temperature rose. It snowed after midnight. They never saw those stars.’
    ‘But they knew they were there,’ whispered the Judge.
    *  *  *
     
    One of the forensic team emerged from a bedroom across the corridor.
    ‘Madame le Juge? We’ve just found this.’ She held out a book bound in leather covers, like an accounts book or a family Bible. The thing was massive, and resembled a Grimoire, a gigantic book of spells. A curious clasp sealed the pages and a gold inlaid pattern, worn away in places, circled the rim. No title marked the spine, just three worn gold crests.
    ‘Where did you find it?’ Dominique Carpentier replaced her white surgical gloves and reached for the evidence.
    ‘In Madame Laval’s bedroom. Under her pillow. I thought it might be a diary, but it isn’t. It’s too big. We did look. It is printed, but we can’t understand the languages.’
    They retreated downstairs. The Judge set aside her Christmas wrapping paper and holiday snaps and began to study the book.
    ‘André, is there anyone in this departure who has the initials R.B. or F.G.?’
    There was a pause as Schweigen scanned the list.
    ‘No. Neither.’
    ‘Or anyone in the Swiss departure?’
    ‘God knows. All those papers are back in my office. And yours.’
    ‘No. The details are all in my computer now. Gaëlle has scanned everything. And that’s in the car. Can you fetch it for me? We can check.’
    *  *  *
     
    At first, as she turned the pages, she sat startled by the enigma before her. The book was indeed written in no immediately recognisable language. A blocked-out code, which resembled unaccented Hebrew, filled the entire page. She tried to decipher a pattern, but could see none. Then she began to notice a sequence of recurring signs in Greek, which did not form part of the code. And she recognised these: Ursa Minoris, Ursa Majoris, Centauri, Tauri, Cygni , the unknown language addressed the stars. The Judge sat very still, frowning. Strange diagrams, carefully drawn, finely marked, printed on plates and protected by soft interleaved sheets, fine as muslin, were interspersed throughout the blocked-out sheets of opaque printed code. She ruffled the pages, and suddenly saw a language that she knew. Wir sind auf einer Mission: zur Bildung der Erde sind wir berufen . She turned to the man who was working through the bookshelves, borrowed a pencil and set to work. We are here on a mission; we are called to educate the earth . The German sentences lay scattered, like fallen columns amidst the code. Beside both languages, crouched in the margins, were two sets of handwritten annotations, the initials added carefully after each comment or interpretation: R.B. and F.G. The manuscript interpretations by one of the scribes also appeared to be written in German, but the minute, flattened Gothic script defeated the Judge. The observations signed by F.G. were all handwritten in the obscure code. Nevertheless, she noted each page where the marks occurred for the university philologist who helped them in their investigations, and then translated each printed German phrase carefully, pausing over the sentence structures, brooding on the verbs. The unintelligible language appeared to be a commentary upon the German or vice versa, but the German sections, taken together, suggested something of great constancy.
     
Leben ist der Anfang des Todes. Das Leben ist um des Todes willen. Der Tod ist Endigung und Anfang zugleich, Scheidung und nähere Selbstverbindung zugleich. Durch den Tod wird die Reduktion vollendet.
 
Life is the beginning of death. Death is the purpose of life. Death is at once an ending and a beginning, a