Part 9 (1/2)

She frowned.

”What did you have to do?”

She took a step to one side, away from me. ”You saw.”

”And before that? That wasn't all . . .”

”Of course it was!” She looked at me in disbelief. ”You can see how old he is. What's your problem?”

He must have imagined the perfume. I pulled up the only chair, sat down, felt insecure, stood up again. ”All he did was talk? And you stroked his head?”

She nodded.

”Don't you think that's weird?”

”Not really.”

”Where did he get your phone number?”

”From Information, I think. He's pretty sharp.” She pushed back her hair. ”So who is he? There must have been a time when he . . . !” She smiled. ”Well, you know. He's not related to you, is he?”

”Why do you say that?” I remembered that Karl Ludwig had said the same thing. ”I mean, why not, why do you think that?”

”Oh, it's obvious! Can I go now . . .” She looked me in the eyes. ”. . . or is there something you still want?”

I went hot all over. ”Why would you think we're not related?”

She looked at me for a few moments, then she came toward me, and I involuntarily took a step back. She reached out her arms, ran both hands over my head, took hold of me by the neck, and pulled me to her. I pulled away, I saw her eyes up close to mine, and didn't know where to look, her hair was in my face, I tried to get loose, she laughed and stepped back, suddenly I felt crippled.

”I've been paid,” she said. ”Now what?”

I didn't reply.

”You see?” she said, raising her eyebrows. ”Don't make a big thing of it!” She laughed and went out.

I rubbed my forehead. After a while my breathing went back to normal. Well, great! Once again I'd thrown money out the window; it couldn't go on this way! I had to talk to Megelbach about expenses as soon as possible.

I pulled out the sheet of paper I'd torn off the notebook. A web of straight-no, very slightly angled lines that spread out over the paper from the two bottom corners in a fine network of s.p.a.ces that generated the outlines of a human figure. Or did it? Now I couldn't see it anymore. Yes, there it was again! And then it was gone again. The pencil strokes were confident, unhesitating, each running from its starting point without a break. Could a blind man do this? Or had it been someone else, a previous guest, and the whole thing was an accident? I would have to show it to Komenev, I couldn't clarify it on my own. I folded up the sheet of paper, stuck it back in my pocket, and asked myself why I'd let her go. I called Megelbach.

Nice to talk to you, he said, and how was I getting on? Terrific, I said, better than expected, the old man had already said things to me I could never have hoped for, I could promise him a sensation, but I wasn't going to give away anything more right now. It was just that I had unexpected expenses and . . . a hissing noise interrupted me. Expenses, I said again, that . . . the connection was terrible, said Megelbach, could I call back later? But it was important, I said, I urgently needed . . . not a good moment, said Megelbach, he was in the middle of a meeting and didn't know why his secretary had put me through at all. It was only a small thing, I said, a . . . good luck! he cried, good luck, he was sure we were on to something great. Then he hung up. I called back, this time the secretary answered. She was sorry, but Mr. Megelbach was not in the office. No, no, I said, I had just been . . . did I wish, she said cattily, to leave a message? I said I would try again later.

I went to Kaminski. A sweating waiter with a tray was just knocking at his door.

”What's this supposed to be?” I asked. ”n.o.body ordered this!”

The waiter licked his lips and scowled at me. Sweat was pearling on his forehead. ”Yes they did. Room three- oh- four. Just called. Daily special, double portion. We don't actually have room service, but he said he'd pay extra.”

”Finally!” Kaminski yelled from inside. ”Bring it in, you'll have to cut up the meat for me! Not now, Zollner!”

I turned around and went back to my room.

As I came in, the telephone was ringing. Probably Megelbach, wanting to apologize. I grabbed the receiver, but all I could hear was the dial tone. I had the wrong instrument, it was my cell phone.

”Where are you?” screamed Miriam. ”Is he with you?”

I pressed the disconnect b.u.t.ton.

The phone rang again. I picked it up, set it aside, and thought. Then I took a deep breath and answered.

”h.e.l.lo!” I said. ”How are you? And how did you get this number? I promise you . . .”

I didn't get to say any more. I walked slowly up and down, went to the window, leaned my forehead against the gla.s.s. I lowered the phone and breathed out: a fine mist spread over the pane. I put the thing back to my ear.

”Don't be ridiculous,” I said, ”abduction? He's in great shape, we're just taking a trip together. You can join us if you'd like.”

I had to yank the telephone away, my ear hurt. I rubbed my sleeve over the hazy window. Although I was holding the contraption almost two feet away from my head, I could understand every word.

”Can I say something too?”

I sat down on the bed. With my free hand I turned on the TV. A rider was galloping through a gulch in the desert; I changed channels, a housewife was gazing pa.s.sionately at a hand towel, I changed channels, a female talking head was pontificating into a microphone, I switched it off.

”Can I say something too?”

This time it worked. She fell silent so suddenly that I was unprepared for it. For a few seconds we both were listening, startled, to each other's silence.

”First, I am not even going to respond to the word abduction, abduction, I will not sink to such a level. Your father asked me to accompany him. I had to change all my other appointments, but out of my deepest admiration and . . . friends.h.i.+p, I did it for him. I have our conversation about it on tape. So forget about the police, you'd just be making a fool of yourself. We're in a first- cla.s.s hotel, your father's gone back to his room and doesn't want to be disturbed, I'll be bringing him back tomorrow evening. Second, I haven't been rummaging through anything! Not your cellar and not any desk either. That's a disgusting insinuation!” Now she must be realizing she'd picked the wrong person to go after. ”And fourth . . .” I faltered. ”Third, I'm not giving you any information about where we're going. He can tell you that himself. I feel very . . . beholden to him.” I stood up, pleased with the way my voice sounded. ”He's visibly blossoming! Freedom does him good! If I told you what he just . . . it was high time somebody got him out of that prison.” I will not sink to such a level. Your father asked me to accompany him. I had to change all my other appointments, but out of my deepest admiration and . . . friends.h.i.+p, I did it for him. I have our conversation about it on tape. So forget about the police, you'd just be making a fool of yourself. We're in a first- cla.s.s hotel, your father's gone back to his room and doesn't want to be disturbed, I'll be bringing him back tomorrow evening. Second, I haven't been rummaging through anything! Not your cellar and not any desk either. That's a disgusting insinuation!” Now she must be realizing she'd picked the wrong person to go after. ”And fourth . . .” I faltered. ”Third, I'm not giving you any information about where we're going. He can tell you that himself. I feel very . . . beholden to him.” I stood up, pleased with the way my voice sounded. ”He's visibly blossoming! Freedom does him good! If I told you what he just . . . it was high time somebody got him out of that prison.”

What? I listened in amazement. Had I misheard? I bent forward and put the phone to my other ear. No, I hadn't.

”Do you find that funny?”

I was in such a rage I banged my knee on the bedside table. ”Yes, that's what I said. Out of that prison.” I went to the window. The sun was low behind roofs, turrets, and antennae. ”Prison! If you don't stop laughing I'm going to hang up. Do you hear? If you don't . . .”

I hit the disconnect b.u.t.ton.

Throwing the phone away, I started pacing, so angry I could hardly breathe. I rubbed my knee. It wasn't smart to have simply broken off the conversation like that. I thumped the table, bent over, and gradually felt my rage drain away. I waited. But to my surprise, she didn't call back.

Actually, it had gone well. She didn't take me seriously, so she wouldn't take any drastic measures. No matter what she'd found funny, I'd obviously said the right thing. Once again, I just had this gift for it.

I looked in the mirror. Perhaps he'd been right. No bald spot, of course, but a barely perceptibly receding hairline, that made my face look rounder, older, and a little paler. I wasn't so young anymore. I stood up. My jacket didn't hang well, either. I raised my hand and let it drop again, my mirror image tentatively did the same. Or wasn't it the fault of the jacket? There was something off-balance in the way I held myself, that I'd never noticed before. Don't make a big thing of it! Don't make a big thing of it! Of what, for G.o.d's sake? Of what, for G.o.d's sake? Maybe you still have a chance. Maybe you still have a chance.

No, I had spent too much time behind the steering wheel, I was simply overtired. What were they all implying? I shook my head, looked at myself in the mirror, then hastily looked away again. What in the world were they all implying?

IX.

”PERSPECTIVE IS A TECHNIQUE of abstraction, a convention of the Quattrocento that we have accustomed ourselves to. Light has to pa.s.s through many lenses before we consider a picture to be realistic. Reality has never looked anything like a photograph.” of abstraction, a convention of the Quattrocento that we have accustomed ourselves to. Light has to pa.s.s through many lenses before we consider a picture to be realistic. Reality has never looked anything like a photograph.”

”No?” I said, suppressing a yawn. We were sitting in the dining car of an express train. Kaminski was wearing his gla.s.ses, his stick was propped beside him, and the dressing gown was rolled up in a plastic bag in the luggage rack. The tape recorder was switched on, and lying on the table. He had eaten soup, two main courses, and a dessert, and was now on his coffee; I had cut up his meat for him and made a futile attempt to remind him of his diet. He was in an expansive mood and full of good cheer; he'd been talking for two hours straight.