Part 6 (1/2)
”On his biography.” He put his hat back on. ”Has to concentrate.” Why the h.e.l.l did he have to repeat himself all the time?
”My name is Zollner,” I said. ”I'm his biographer and friend.” I held out my hand, he took it hesitantly. His handshake was uncomfortably strong, I returned it. He looked at me sharply.
”I'm going to him now.” He took a step forward.
”No!” I said, blocking him.
He gave me a skeptical glance. Was he wondering if I could stop him? Just try it, I thought.
”Surely it's just routine,” I said. ”He doesn't need anything.”
”And why do you think that?”
”He really is very busy. He can't just interrupt things. There are so many . . . memories. The work means so much to him.”
He shrugged his shoulders, blinked, and took a step back. I'd won.
”I'm sorry,” I said generously.
”What was your name?” he asked.
”Zollner,” I said. ”Good-bye.”
He nodded. I smiled and he returned my gaze coldly. I closed the door. From the kitchen window I watched as he went to his car, put his bag in the trunk, got behind the wheel, and drove off. Then he stopped, rolled down the window, and looked back at the house again; I jumped back, waited a few seconds, went back to the window, and saw the car heading down the curve. Relieved, I went back upstairs.
Manuel, I'm not really writing this. I'm only imagining that I would write it, but that I wouldn't then stick it in an envelope and send it into the real world, to you. I was just in a cinema, de Gaulle looked as funny as ever in the newsreel, outside it's thawing, for the first time this year, and I'm trying to imagine that it all has nothing to do with us. When you get right down to it, none of us-not me, not poor Adrienne, not Dominik-believe that they could leave you. But perhaps we're deluding ourselves.
After all this time, I still don't know what we are to you. Maybe we're mirrors (you know all about them) whose task it is to reflect your image and turn you into something large and many-faceted and wide. Yes, you will be famous. And you will have earned it. Now you will go to Adrienne, you'll take what she has to give, and make sure that she believes it will be her own decision when she leaves. Perhaps you'll send her to Dominik. Then there'll be other people, and other mirrors. But not me.
Don't cry, Manuel. You've always cried easily, but this time leave it to me. Naturally it's the end, and we're dying. But that doesn't mean that we won't be here for a long time, that we won't find other people, go for walks, dream at night, and accomplish everything that a marionette can accomplish. I don't know if I'm really writing this, and I don't know if I'll send it. But if I do, if I manage it, and you read it, then please understand that this is what it means: Let me be dead! Don't call, don't come looking for me, because I'm no longer here. And as I look out of the window and ask myself why they all don't . . . . . .
I turned over the page, but there wasn't any more, the rest of it must have gotten lost. I went through all the sheets of paper again, but the missing one wasn't there. Sighing, I pulled out my notepad and wrote the whole thing down. A couple of times my pencil snapped, my handwriting was so hasty as to be unreadable, but after ten minutes I'd done it. I put all the papers back in the portfolio and put the portfolio all the way at the bottom of the drawer. I closed the cupboards, straightened up the piles of doc.u.ments, checked that no drawer was still open. I nodded in satisfaction: n.o.body would notice a thing, I had done it very skillfully. Just at that moment, the sun disappeared, the mountains looked rugged and enormous for a moment, then they retreated and became flat and distant. It was time to play my best card.
I knocked, Kaminski didn't answer.
I went in. He was sitting in his chair, the tape recorder was still lying on the floor. ”Back again?” he asked. ”Where's Marzeller?”
”The doctor just called. He can't come. Can we talk about Therese Lessing?”
He said nothing.
”Can we talk about Therese Lessing?”
”You must be mad.”
”Listen, I'd like . . .”
”What's the matter with Marzeller? Does the guy want me to croak?”
”She's alive, and I've spoken with her.”
”Call him. What can he be thinking!”
”I said, she's alive.”
”Who?”
”Therese. She's a widow and she's alive. In the north, up on the coast. I have the address.”
He didn't reply. He lifted a hand slowly, rubbed his forehead, and let it fall again. His mouth opened and closed, and he frowned. I looked at the tape recorder. The voice-activation function had kicked in, it was recording every word.
”Dominik told you she was dead. But that's wrong.”
”It's not true,” he said quietly. His chest was rising and falling. I worried about his heart.
”I've known for ten days. It wasn't even hard to discover.”
He said nothing. I watched him carefully: he turned his head to the wall, without opening his eyes. His lips were trembling. He puffed his cheeks and blew out the air.
”I'm going to be seeing her soon,” I said. ”I can ask her anything you want. You just have to tell me what happened back then.”
”Who do you think you are?” he whispered.
”Don't you want to know the truth?”
He seemed to be thinking. Now I had him in my hand. That was something he hadn't reckoned with; he too had underestimated Sebastian Zollner! I was so wound up I couldn't stay still, I went to the window and peered through the slats of the blind. From second to second the lights in the valley were becoming brighter. The bushes stood out round, like copper cutouts, in the twilight.
”I'll be with her next week,” I said. ”Then I can ask her . . .”
”I don't fly,” he said.
”No, of course you don't,” I said soothingly. He really was very confused. ”You're at home. Everything's fine!”
”The medicines are by the bed.”
”That's excellent.”
”You imbecile,” he said calmly. ”You need to pack them.”
I gaped at him. ”Pack them?”
”We're going to drive.”
”You're not serious!”
”Why not?”
”I can pa.s.s any questions on to her. We can't do this-no way. You're too-ill.” I'd almost said ”old.” ”I can't take the responsibility.” Was I dreaming, or were we really having this conversation?