Free The Camera Killer by Thomas Glavinic

necessary, so I returned to the living room and sat down in the armchair in which I had involuntarily spent the night. I thoroughly perused the news online, which I had only been able to skim, thanks to Heinrich’s hurried mode of procedure.
    Under “Riots outside TV station”: The station that transmitted the so-called murder video was besieged during the night by demonstrators, of whom some unidentified late-stayers attacked the building with paint bombs at around 4:30 a.m.
    Under “Vigil in West Styrian town”: In Frauenkirchen, even on such a stormy, rainy night, hundreds of people kept a vigil in the street. Indignation was aroused by a report that the perpetrator might be a local inhabitant. This was inconceivable, said the mayor. The killer was a person of unprecedented brutality, and no such individual lived in this district.
    Under “Criticism of Referendum Plan”: Violent reactions have been provoked by the Freedom Party’s consideration of whether to petition for a referendum on the reintroduction of the death penalty. The parliamentary speaker declares that this would place Austria outside the European community of values.
    I returned to the kitchen. Eva was humming a tune as she poured boiling water into a pot, disseminating an aroma of coffee. My partner handed me a tablecloth.
    I went out into the paved drive in the front yard. It was exceptionally warm for the time of day. I had to shoo four cats off the table before I could spread the cloth, though my approach andmy gesticulations proved sufficient for the purpose. That done, I noticed there were some bird droppings adhering to the table. Although my intention had been to spread the cloth over the table, I fetched a swab from the house to wipe it first. Only then did I complete my task.
    I sat down on one of the wooden benches that had been placed on either side of the massive table. For around ten minutes, I watched the activities of the cats, approximately twenty of which had reappeared. Some frolicked with each other, others lay around in idleness. I also saw the fancy-dress cat I had encountered in the loft during the night. I wondered whether it was sweating inside its garments or suffering in some other manner.
    Meanwhile, my partner and Eva brought out plates, cutlery, glasses, bottles, napkins, bread baskets, bottled preserves, saltcellar and pepper pot, butter, jam, plates of cheese, sausage, milk, sugar, and last of all, the coffeepot. When my partner caught sight of the dressed-up cat, she burst out laughing and said she’d never seen anything so absurd.
    We decided not to wait for Heinrich any longer. Eva said it was silly of him to go gallivanting around in the car, and it was his own fault if he turned up too late for breakfast.
    The farmer emerged from the house next door. This morning too he was wearing his undersized hat and a jacket unsuited to the high prevailing temperature. Eva expressed the hope that he wouldn’t join us; he would be bound to talk about the killings and make her feel uneasy. The farmer waved. In his wontedly stolid manner, he plodded over to the stables, in which sundry animals were making themselves heard.
    My partner poured some coffee. She bit into an open sausage sandwich and looked up at the sun. Masticating, she said it was a glorious day and it mustn’t be spoiled by talk of murder and soon; Eva should bring influence to bear on Heinrich in that regard. She wouldn’t forgive me either if I dared to disturb this idyllic day of rest.
    While conversing about the length of time the Stubenrauchs had lived there, what the infrastructure was like (doctors, shops, gas stations), and how much of every day Eva and Heinrich devoted to driving to their respective places of work, we tucked into our breakfast. After a while, we were obliged to put up the sun umbrella. The butter on the table had nearly melted and the milk was threatening to turn sour. Because I was seated nearest the jam jar, it fell to me to shoo