Me and Kaminski by Daniel Kehlmann Read Free Book Online Page B

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