Me and Kaminski (5 page)

I realized Komenev had mentioned this painting. Or was it Mehring? I couldn’t remember what had been said and if I was supposed to like the thing or not. “Doesn’t look like Kaminski,” I said before I had time to think.

“In what way?”

“Because he . . . because . . .” I stared at the palms of my hands. “Because . . . of the brushwork. You know, the brushwork. What do you know about Therese Lessing?”

“Never heard the name.”

“How good a negotiator is he?”

“Miriam does all that. She started when she was seventeen. She’s better than a lawyer and a wife combined.”

“She never married.”

“And?”

“She’s been living with him for such a long time. Up there in the mountains, cut off from everything. Right?”

“Mmmm,” he said coolly. “Now you must excuse me. Maybe next time you should make an appointment instead of just . . .”

“Of course!” I got to my feet. “I’ll be there next week too. He’s invited me.” Bogovic’s handshake was soft and a little damp. “To Arcadia!”

“To where?”

“When I’m rich, I’m going to buy
Death by the Faded Sea
from you. No matter what the price is.”

He looked at me wordlessly.

“Just kidding!” I said happily. “No harm intended. It was a joke.”

“Haven’t a clue what the old idiot said to you. I never lived with Adrienne.”

It hadn’t been easy to persuade Silva to meet me again; I’d had to emphasize repeatedly that he could choose where we were to eat. He shook his head, his lips were smeared all brown with chocolate ice cream, not a pretty sight.

“I liked her and I felt sorry for her. I took care of her and the child, because Manuel didn’t want to anymore. Maybe he took it badly. But that’s all that happened.”

“Who am I supposed to believe now?”

“That’s your problem, nobody owes you an accounting!” He looked up at me. “You’ll meet Manuel quite soon. But you won’t be able to imagine what he was back then. He managed to convince everyone that he was going to be great one day. One had to give him what he wanted. Therese was the only one who didn’t . . .” He scraped the last drops of ice cream out of the glass and licked both sides of the spoon. “Only Therese.” He thought for a bit, but seemed to have forgotten what it was he wanted to say.

“Would you like a coffee?” I asked uneasily. The whole thing was already way over my own spending limit; I hadn’t yet had a conversation with Megelbach about expenses.

“Mr. Zollner, this is all old history! In reality, none of us exists anymore. Old age is absurd. You’re here and you’re not here, like a ghost.” For a few seconds he stared past me out at the roofs, and the other side of the street. His neck was so thin that the veins stood out clearly. “Miriam was very gifted, alive, a little hot-tempered. When she was twenty, she had a fiancé. He came to visit, stayed for two days, left, and never came back. It’s not easy to have him for a father. I would like to see her again.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Better not.” He smiled softly.

“I’d like to ask another few questions.”

“Believe me, so would I.”

“That we didn’t know anyone could get so old—write that! You have to write that!” She pointed at the birdcage. “Do you hear Pauli?”

“Did you know Therese well?”

“When she died, he wanted to kill himself.”

“Really?” I sat up straight.

Her eyes closed for a moment: even her eyelids were wrinkled, I’d never seen such wrinkles before. “That’s what Dominik said. I would never have asked Manuel about it. Nobody would. But he was completely beside himself. It was only when Dominik told him she was dead that he stopped searching for her. Would you like tea?”

“No. Yes. Yes please. Do you have a photo of her?”

She lifted the teapot and poured shakily. “Ask her, maybe she’ll send you one.”

“Who should I ask?”

“Therese.”

“But she’s dead!”

“No, no, she lives up north, on the coast.”

“She didn’t die?”

“No, that’s just what Dominik said. Manuel would never have stopped trying to find her. I liked her husband, Bruno, very much. He was such a fine human being, quite different from . . . do you take sugar? He’s been dead a long time now. Most everybody’s dead.” She put down the teapot. “Milk?”

“No! Do you have her address?”

“I think I do. Listen, do you hear him? He sings so beautifully. Canaries don’t often sing. Pauli’s an exception.”

“Please give me her address!” She didn’t answer, she seemed not to have understood me.

“To be honest,” I said slowly, “I don’t hear a thing.”

“What?”

“He’s not singing, he’s not moving, and I don’t think he’s actually doing that well. Please would you give me the address?”

V

S
HORTLY AFTER TEN
I was woken by the sun shining in through the window. I was lying on top of the bedclothes, surrounded by a dozen audio cassettes, the tape recorder had landed on the floor. In the distance I could hear church bells. I dragged myself out of bed.

I had breakfast under the same stag’s head I’d seen through the window the day before. The coffee tasted like water, at the next table a father was being mean to his son, and the little boy let his head drop, closed his eyes, and pretended he wasn’t there. Hugo crawled over the carpet with his ears held flat against his head. I called the proprietress over and said the coffee was undrinkable. She nodded indifferently and brought a new pot. I should think so, I said. She shrugged. The coffee was actually stronger, three cups of it and my heart was pounding. I shouldered my bag and set out.

The path I had come down last night seemed fairly broad and harmless by light of day, and the steep slope had turned itself into a gently slanting meadow full of flowers. Two cows looked at me mournfully, a man with a scythe, who looked like the old farmer in the picture, called out something incomprehensible, I nodded at him, he laughed and made a gesture as if he were throwing something away. The air was cool, and yesterday’s sultriness had dissipated. When I reached the signpost I was barely out of breath.

I went up the road at a fast pace, after barely ten minutes I saw the parking area and the houses. The little tower poked up into the sky. The gray BMW was sitting in front of the garden gate. I rang.

This wasn’t a good moment, said Anna aggressively. Mr. Kaminski wasn’t feeling well, he didn’t even say good night to his guests last night.

“That’s bad,” I said, reassured.

Yes, she said, very bad. Please come back tomorrow.

I walked past her through the hall and the dining room onto the terrace and squeezed my eyes almost closed: the semicircle of mountains, framed in the glistening morning light. Anna came after me and asked if I hadn’t understood her. I told her I preferred to speak to Miss Kaminski. She stared at me, then wiped her hands on her apron and went into the house. I sat down on a garden chair and closed my eyes. The sun’s warmth was soft against my cheek, I’d never breathed such clean air.

No, that wasn’t right, I had once already. In Clairance. I tried without success to push the memory away.

I had attached myself to a group of tourists around four in the afternoon. The steel cage headed down with a groaning noise, women laughed hysterically, ice-cold air came blowing up out of the depths. For a few seconds there was total darkness.

A narrow passageway, electric lamps with a yellowish light, a fire door made of steel that screamed as it opened and closed. “Ne vous perdez pas, don’t get lost!” The leader shuffled forward ahead of us, an American took photos, a woman touched the white veins in the stone with curiosity. The air tasted of salt. This was where Kaminski had got lost fifty years ago.

The leader opened a steel door, we went around a corner. It must have had to do with his eyes, I closed mine for a moment and groped my way forward blindly. The scene was important for my book: I imagined I was Kaminski, tapping my way ahead, blinking, touching, calling, finally standing still and calling out for so long that I knew nobody would ever hear me. I must be sure to crank up the prose for this episode as drastically as I could, I needed to get a first- serial deal in one of the major color magazines. Some idiot banged into me, I muttered a curse, he did the same, someone else groped my elbow, it was incredible how careless people could be but I withstood the temptation to open my eyes. I absolutely had to be able to describe the echo of his voice in the silence. It would work really well. “The echo in the silence,” I said quietly. I heard people going off to the left. I let go of the wall, took a couple of cautious steps, found the wall on the other side, and followed them. Or followed the voices:after a time I was getting the feel of it. A door banged shut, and out of sheer reflex I opened my eyes. I was alone.

A short passageway, lit by three lamps. I was surprised that the door was more than thirty feet away, it had sounded so close. I hurried over and opened it. More lamps here, and metal pipes running along the low ceiling. No people.

I went back to the other end of the passageway. So they must have gone right, not left, and I’d misheard. My breath rose in little clouds. I reached the door. It was locked.

I wiped my forehead, in spite of the chill I felt hot. Okay, go back to the fork in the passage, then left again, back the way we’d come. I stood still, held my breath, listened: no voices. Nothing. I had never heard such a silence. I hurried along the passageway, reached the next fork, and hesitated. Had we come from the right? Yes, from the right. So now I must turn left. The steel door opened without resistance. Lamps, pipes, another fork, not a human being in sight. I’d gone the wrong way.

I had to laugh.

I went back to the last fork and turned left. Yet another door, but there was no light in the passageway behind it, it was filled with a darkness more complete than any that existed up on the earth’s surface, in fright I slammed the door shut. The next group must be due to be flushed through soon, and then there must be workers down here, the mine was still operating as a business, after all. I listened. I cleared my throat and yelled; I was astonished to discover that there was no echo. The stone seemed to swallow my voice.

I turned off to the right, went through one, two, three doors in a straight line, the fourth was locked. Think logically! I went left, on through two steel doors, and found myself at a crossroads. According to what the guide had said, the doors were to prevent draft in case a fire broke out; without them one single flame could suck all the air in the mine toward itself. Were there fire alarms? For a moment I played with the idea of lighting something. But I had nothing combustible with me, I’d even run out of cigarettes.

I noticed that tiny condensed drops of water were hanging off the pipes. Was that normal? I tried two doors, one was locked, the other led into a passageway I’d already been in before. Or had I? I wished I had a cigarette. I sat down on the ground.

Someone would come, would come soon, no doubt about it. The mine complex couldn’t be all that large. Did they turn out the lights at night? The ground was as cold as ice, I couldn’t stay sitting. I stood up. I called out. I called louder. I realized it wasn’t doing any good. I yelled until I was hoarse.

I sat down again. An idiotic impulse made me pull out my cell phone, but of course there was no reception, you couldn’t find anywhere more perfect for blocking reception than a salt mine. Hard to decide: was my situation merely painful, or was it dangerous? I leaned my head against the wall, for a second I thought I saw a spider, but it was just a little stain, there were no insects down here. I looked at my watch, an hour had already gone by, either time down here was going faster or my life was going slower, or maybe my watch just wasn’t keeping time properly. Should I go farther or wait here? I was suddenly tired. For just a moment, I closed my eyes.

I examined the veins in the rock. They ran toward one another, joined, but never crossed, just like the branches of a river. A never-ending slow torrent of salt in the bowels of the earth. I must not go to sleep, I thought, then I heard voices talking to me, which I answered, a piano was playing somewhere, then I was sitting in an airplane, looking at broad, glowing landscapes: mountains, towns, and a distant sea, people walked past, a child laughed, I looked at my watch, but my eyes couldn’t focus on it properly. Standing up was an effort, my body was numb with cold. The steel door opened of its own accord, I went through it, found myself in Elke’s living room, and knew that I was expected at last. She came toward me, I flung my arms wide in joy, and opened my eyes, I was sitting on the ground, under the wet pipes, in the yellow light of the underground lamps, alone.

It was a little after six. I’d been here two hours already. I was trembling with cold. I stood up, hopped from one foot to the other, and clapped my hands. I went to the end of the gallery, turned right, then left, then right, then left again. Then I stopped and pressed my hands against the rock.

How massive it felt. I leaned my forehead against it and tried to acquaint myself with the thought that I was going to die. Should I write something down, a last message for—who, actually? I sank to my knees, a hand landed hard on my shoulder. A tour guide with a big mustache, and behind him a dozen people with helmets, cameras, camcorders. “Monsieur, qu’estce vous faites là?”

I stood up, murmured something, rubbed away my tears, and fell in with the tourists. Two Japanese looked at me curiously, the guide opened a door: a babble of voices broke over me, the gallery was full of people. There was a souvenir stand selling postcards, lumps of the salt rock, and slides of milky salt lakes. An exit sign pointed to a staircase, a few minutes later the iron cage was cranking me noisily back up to ground level.

“You weren’t supposed to come till tomorrow!”

I lifted my head. Miriam Kaminski was silhouetted in front of me in a nimbus of sunshine. Her black hair was shot through with fine lines of light.

“I just wanted to say hello.”

“Hello. I’m leaving in an hour and I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’d hoped I could speak to your father.”

She looked at me as if she hadn’t heard right. “My father isn’t feeling well. Go for a walk, Mr. Zollner. Explore a little. It’s worth the effort.”

“Where are you going?”

“We’re establishing a Kaminski Foundation. I’ll be glad to explain the details, it could be of interest for your book.”

“Absolutely.” I understood: as long as she was there, I would not be able to speak to him alone. I nodded slowly, she avoided my eyes. It was natural that I would have a certain effect on her. Who knows, if I weren’t someone she considered dangerous . . . But nothing I could do about that. I stood up. “Then I’ll go exploring.”

I went quickly into the house, I had to make absolutely sure she didn’t see me out. The kitchen door was almost closed, behind it there was the clatter of plates. I looked through the crack, Anna was in the process of washing dishes.

As I came in, she looked at me expressionlessly. Her hair was gathered into a thick plait, her apron was dirty, and her face was as round as a cartwheel.

“Anna!” I said. “May I call you Anna?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m Sebastian. Call me Sebastian. The food yesterday was wonderful. Can we talk?”

She didn’t answer. I pulled up a stool, then pushed it away again and sat on the kitchen table. “Anna, isn’t there something you want to do?”

She stared at me.

“I mean, that . . . you could do today. Yes?”

Through the window I saw the banker who’d been at last night’s dinner come out of the house next door. He crossed the parking area, hooked his car key out of his pocket, opened the driver’s door, and climbed in laboriously.

“Let me put it another way. Whatever you’d like to do today, I’d . . . no, let’s say . . .”

“Two hundred,” she said.

“What?”

“Just how dumb are you?” She looked at me calmly. “Two hundred, and I’ll be away until midday tomorrow.”

“That’s a lot,” I said hoarsely.

“Two hundred and fifty.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Three hundred.”

“Two hundred,” I said.

“Three hundred and fifty.”

I nodded.

She held out her hand, I brought out my briefcase and counted out the money. I never normally carried so much around with me; that was the sum I’d hoped would cover the whole trip.

“Okay, let’s do it!” she said. Her skin had an oily sheen. She seized the money, her hand was so large that the bills disappeared into it. “My sister will call this afternoon, then I’ll say I have to go to her at once. Tomorrow at noon I’ll be back here.”

“And not a minute earlier!” I said.

She nodded. “Now go.”

My legs were a little wobbly as I went to the front door. All that money! But I’d gotten what I wanted. And God knows I had set it up pretty cleverly, she hadn’t had a chance against me. I slowly set down the briefcase and leaned against the wall.

“Mr. Zollner!”

I whirled around.

“Lost your way?” asked Miriam.

“No, no—I just wanted . . .”

“I wouldn’t want you to have any wrong impression,” said Miriam. “We’re glad about what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, I know.”

“Things aren’t easy right now. He’s ill. Often he’s like a child. But your book is very important to him.”

I nodded sympathetically.

“When is it supposed to come out?”

I jumped. Did she suspect? “That’s not settled yet.”

“Why isn’t it settled? Mr. Megelbach didn’t want to tell me either.”

“It depends on so many factors. On . . .” I shrugged. “Factors. A lot of factors. As soon as possible!”

She looked at me thoughtfully, I hastily said good-bye, and set off. This time the descent seemed to go very quickly: everything smelled of grass and flowers, an airplane swam lazily through the blue; I felt cheerful and almost weightless. I got money from an ATM and a new shaver in the village drugstore.

I went up to my room in the boardinghouse and looked at the old farmer on the wall, whistling to myself and drumming my fingers on my knee. I must have been a little nervous. I lay down on the bed without taking off my shoes, and stared at the ceiling for a while. Then I stood in front of the mirror and stayed like that for so long that my reflection became a stranger and looked absurd. I shaved and took a long shower. Then I reached for the receiver and dialed a number by heart. It rang five times before anyone picked up.

“Miss Lessing,” I said, “it’s me again, Sebastian Zollner. Don’t hang up!”

“No!” said a high voice. “No!”

“Please, all I ask is that you listen to me!”

She hung up. For a few seconds I listened to the busy signal, then I dialed again.

“Zollner again. Please would you give me a short . . .”