Free The Method by Juli Zeh

unexceptional – and it certainly wasn’t enough to give you transcendental wisdom. You were five years old!’
    ‘I was
six
,’ said Moritz. ‘I was six and I learned to accept that humans have only one life and a short one at that.’
    ‘Let’s not forget you were saved by the conformists you like to scorn. Without the Method, you wouldn’t have found a donor. Can’t you be grateful?’
    ‘I’m grateful to nature and not the conformists,’ said Moritz. ‘I’m grateful for an experience that stopped me being as narrow-minded as you. I’ve got feelings, real feelings.’
    Mia looked at him intently. Finally, she touched his shoulder. ‘What’s wrong with you? You seem so different. You sound very …’
    ‘Serious?’
    ‘By your standards, yes.’
    ‘I’m in training,’ said Moritz simply.
    ‘For a new you?’
    ‘For Sibylle.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘Remember what you said just now?’
    Suddenly he looked at her with an expression that made the argument implode, leaving fresh air, the smell of warm earth, and the river with a thousand luminous pennies drifting on its back.
    ‘I’m working on being in love,’ said Moritz. ‘Other people buy plastic roses, regulation perfume or chocolate-free chocolates but she wouldn’t like any of that. I’m going to give her a bouquet of words with the smell of freedom and the sweetness of revolution.’
    ‘Now you’re making fun of me.’
    ‘For once I’m not. Tonight I’m going to tell her everything that I’ve just told you, only she won’t wrinkle her brow and give me dusty answers: she’ll stare at me with her big silky eyes and understand every word. I’ve known her only three days and the things we’ve written to each other would get us three years in jail. Who cares, so long as we share a cell! She’s the one, Mia. I can feel it.’
    ‘What about deep-throating and doggy-style?’
    ‘Hopefully that as well,’ said Moritz, laughing. ‘Hey, I’ve got a bite!’
    The rod twitched, he held on with both hands and pulled a fish out of the water, splashing and fighting on the end of the line.
    ‘You’ll like her, I know.’ Moritz leaned across and pressed a kiss to Mia’s forehead. Then he picked up a fallen branch and struck the fish on the head. ‘If Sibylle thinks the way she writes, she’s wackier than me. You’ll have two of us to argue with in future.’

The Gavel
     
    ‘FRAU HOLL! FRAU Holl! Are you with us? Shall I summon a doctor?’
    Sophie’s dislike of anachronism extends to the use of her gavel. She strikes it three times against her desk, her rage increasing with every strike. The defendant, sitting to the left of the private counsel, looks up in confusion. She looks at the judge’s desk, peers at Barker for the prosecution, who is leaning back in his chair, eyebrows edging towards his temples. Finally she fixes her gaze on her own face, which is sitting majestically on her naked body like a religious painting at the top of a column and staring back at her from the screen. If Sophie has a problem with using her gavel, it is nothing compared to knowing that her character analysis was wrong. Mia’s soft mouth indicated a love of harmony, her bright eyes were a sign of mental clarity. And now Mia, the defendant, is staring into space. Yet again she has bitten the hand that feeds her. Sophie’s hand. This could be either the sign of a personality problem or an indication that she is depressed. Sophie can’t decide which is worse. Personality problems are a curse; the courthouse would be empty without them . Depression, however, is a corrosive force. People with depression reap the benefits of society’s generosity and goodwill, while making a religion of self-pity. Nothing could be further from their minds than overcoming their affliction. They are missionaries of unhappiness: a contagion. According to the Health Code, psychological illness is every bit as pernicious as its physical counterpart. And harder to