Fame by Daniel Kehlmann Read Free Book Online Page B

me.
    That’s completely different.
    And you won’t understand why an exception can’t be made for you.
    The two things aren’t comparable. You’re my invention and I’m …
    Yes?
    I’m real!
    Are you?
    Trust me. It’s not going to hurt. That much I can take care of, I promise. My story—
    Excuse me, but I couldn’t care less about your story. It’s probably not even any good !
    I’m furious and I say nothing, and to make sure Rosalie doesn’t start up again, I have her arrive at the airport a few minutes later—the taxi has made unbelievable time, the streets have become a blur of color, and she’s already getting out, no line at the check-in counter, no waiting to clear security, and she’s sitting at the gate, surrounded by noisy children and people on business trips, and has no idea how all this happened. Our conversation has slipped into the back of her brain, she’s no longer sure whether I actually said something or whether she invented my words herself.
    The plane is late. All planes are always late, that’s something not even I can do anything about. So Rosalie sits in the departure lounge. Sunlight filters softly through the windows. Until now she hasn’t felt afraid, but suddenly she is rigid with terror.
    At exactly this moment, things begin to move. The flight to Zurich is called, and as Rosalie stands up, a fellow passenger asks if she needs help. She doesn’t, but why turn down the offer of a little support and friendliness? So she allows herself to be assisted on board.
    Luckily, she has a window seat. She decides not to waste a moment, she’s going to look out as if she could take it all with her. It’s a fine thing to fly over the Alps one more time just before the end. The plane starts down the runway, engines screaming.
    Rosalie wakes as the plane touches down and the force of the brakes presses her against her seatbelt. Her eardrums hurt. She rubs her forehead. Did she really … the whole way? She can’t believe it. But out there the landing runway stretches away under a uniform gray sky. It’s true, she’s slept through it all.
    “Are we really already there?” she asks her neighbor.
    He shakes his head. “Basel.”
    “What?”
    “Fog in Zurich.” He looks at her as if it’s her fault. “We had to land in Basel.”
    Rosalie stares at the back of the seat in front of her and tries to think. What is this? The unexpected twist that’s meant to save her life? Have I intervened to interrupt her journey?
    But Rosalie, I reply. You have cancer. You’re going to die anyway. A break in your journey isn’t going to save you.
    It could turn into another kind of story, she says. I could discover life in the next two weeks. Do things I’ve never done before. It could be one of those stories about how nobody ever values the present enough and how you should always live as if it would be all over in the next few days. It could be a positive … what do they call them?
    Life-affirming. It’s called a life-affirming story.
    So it could be one of those!
    Rosalie, the airline will offer you two things. A connecting flight, but nobody will know when you’ll be able to board, because the fog in Zurich is extremely thick, or a train ticket. The train would get you there on time. You’ll take the trainticket. This isn’t a life-affirming story. If anything, it’s a theological one.
    How so?
    I say nothing.
    But how so, she says again. What do you mean?
    I say nothing.
    “I beg you,” says Rosalie’s neighbor. “It’s not so bad. You’ll get to Zurich—it’s not that far. There’s no reason to cry.”
    At the door to the plane she’s pulled herself together again. A man from the airline is handing out vouchers to the grumbling passengers. Rosalie does opt for the train, and because she looks frail and not very well, an employee is found to drive her to the station. Her train is already at the platform. “Mind the step,” says the young man. “Mind, there’s a gap. Mind