Why We Took the Car by Wolfgang Herrndorf Read Free Book Online Page B

never heard a greeting because he started the lesson before he even walked in the door. I have to admit that I didn’t really know what to make of Kaltwasser. Besides Wagenbach, Kaltwasser was the only other staff member who actually did a decent job of teaching. But while Wagenbach was an asshole — as a person — you couldn’t really tell what Kaltwasser was like. I couldn’t, anyway. He came in like a machine and just started talking. That went on for precisely forty-five minutes. And then Kaltwasser left again. You never had any idea what to think of him. I couldn’t say what he was like as a person. I couldn’t even say whether I thought he was nice or not. Everyone else seemed to think he was about as nice as a frozen turd, but I’m not so sure. I could imagine that, outside school, he might be okay in his own way.
    â€œAgreeably short,” Kaltwasser repeated. “And I’m sure some of you thought you could keep an interpretation of the story just as brief. But of course it’s not that simple. Or did someone here find it that simple? Who would like to begin? Volunteers? Come on, people. The back row seems to be catching my eye.”
    We turned and followed Kaltwasser’s glance to the back row. Tschick had his head on the desk and you couldn’t tell whether he was looking at his book or sleeping. It was sixth period.
    â€œMay I be so bold as to disturb you, Mr. Tschichatschow?”
    â€œWhat?” Tschick’s head rose slowly. The ironic formality of Kaltwasser’s question set off alarm bells.
    â€œAre you there, Mr. Tschichatschow?”
    â€œOn the job.”
    â€œDid you do your homework assignment?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWould you be so kind as to read it to us?”
    â€œUh, okay.” Tschick looked quickly around, spotted his bag on the floor, plunked it down on his desk, and began looking for his notebook. As always, he hadn’t unpacked his things at the beginning of the period. He kept pulling more and more notebooks out and seemed to be putting real effort into finding the right one.
    â€œIf you didn’t do the assignment, just say so.”
    â€œI have the assignment — where is it? Where is it?” He put a notebook down on his desk, shoved the rest back into his bag, and started paging through the one on his desk. “Here it is. Shall I read it?”
    â€œI insist.”
    â€œRight, I’ll get started. The assignment was the Stories of Herr K . Here we go. Interpretation of the Stories of Herr K . The first question you have, of course, when you read Precht’s stories . . .”
    â€œBrecht,” said Kaltwasser. “Bertolt Brecht.”
    â€œAha.” Tschick fished a ballpoint pen out of his bag and scribbled in his notebook. He put the pen back in the bag.
    â€œInterpretation of the Stories of Herr K . The first question you have, of course, is who this mysterious person behind the letter K might be. Without overstating things, it’s possible to say that it is a man who avoids the spotlight. He hides behind a letter — the letter K . It is the eleventh letter of the alphabet. Why is he hiding? Because in actuality, Herr K. is a weapons dealer. Along with other murky figures (Herr L. and Herr F.), he founded a criminal organization that considers the Geneva Convention a joke. He’s sold tanks and fighter jets and made billions, but nowadays avoids getting involved in the actual dirty work. Instead, he cruises the Mediterranean on his yacht, where the CIA came after him. So Herr K. fled to South America and had his face altered by the renowned plastic surgeon Dr. M. And now he is taken aback that someone has recognized him and thus turns pale. It goes without saying that both the man who has recognized him on the street and the renowned plastic surgeon will soon find themselves in very deep water wearing cement shoes. That’s it.”
    I looked at Tatiana.