Herr Schumacher was not in the Central. He had been there and the proprietor remembered him well, and the party of sympathizers with which he'd been surrounded.
'Seven daughters, poor gentleman,' he said - and recoiled from my basilisk glare.
He was not in the Blue Boar either, but in the Regina the trail grew warm again. An inebriated gentleman, supported by two friends, had lurched past half an hour earlier, asking the passers-by what he had done to deserve his fate.
'He went on about goldfish, too. Someone had killed his goldfish,' said the landlord. 'He went off towards the Graben. You could try the Three Hussars.'
And in that ancient hostelry full of antlers and oak panelling I found him. He was sitting between his faithful henchmen, the bank manager and the dentist, the centre of a veritable Pieta. Herr Schumacher's moustaches were limp with grief, glasses and a half empty bottle of wine littered the table. The dentist's heavy hand lay on the stricken father's arm; the bank manager's pince-nez glittered as he shook a commiserating head.
'Good evening.'
'Frau… Susanna!' Herr Schumacher recognized me, tried to rise.
'Herr Schumacher, I have just come from your house.'
'Eh… what ?' Tipsily he pulled out a chair which I ignored. 'Is there anything wrong? My wife's all right?'
'Physically she's all right. Emotionally she's not. She is very much upset.'
'Well, yes; anyone would be. I'm very much upset… my friends are too.' He waved his arm at his companions, knocking over a glass. 'I'll have to take in my brother's boy from Graz now. It's a disaster; its -'
I now lost my temper.
'Herr Schumacher, you make me ashamed to be a human being. Your daughter has a large birthmark on her right cheek. It is a serious and permanent blemish with which she will have to live. Your wife is exhausted and wretched - and you sit here like a sot; drooling with self-pity and drinking with your so-called friends.'
'What… ? What did you say?' He sat down heavily. 'A birthmark ? A big one, you say.'
'Yes.'
The dentist had now grasped the nature of the calamity. 'Hey, that's terrible, Schumacher. Terrible! Not just a girl but disfigured!'
'Dreadful, quite dreadful,' murmured the bank manager. 'You'll have her on your hands all your life.'
Herr Schumacher shook his head, trying to surface from his drunkenness. 'You say she's healthy?' he demanded. 'The baby?'
'Yes, she's perfectly healthy. In fact she's a very sweet baby otherwise. She has the most distinguished eyebrows.'
'Still, if she's got a strawberry mark no one'll look at her. Or rather everyone'll look at her!' The dentist, still bent on consolation, tried to put an arm round Herr Schumacher's shoulders.
The arm was removed. Herr Schumacher rose and managed to stay upright. 'Idiot!' he spat at the dentist. 'Half-wit!' He opened his mouth very wide and jabbed a finger at one of his back molars. 'Do you see that tooth ? You filled it a month ago and since then I've had nothing but trouble! Every time I drink something hot it's like a dagger!'
'Come, come Schumacher,' said the bank manager. 'He was only trying to -'
Herr Schumacher swung round to confront his comforter.
'And you shut up too or I'll knock you down. I'm surprised you've got the nerve to look me in the face! Two per cent on a simple loan with collaterals! Two per cent!'
He threw some money down on the table, staggered to the coat rack, jammed his hat on his head.