Me And Kaminski Part 7

He seemed to be thinking. He wrinkled his brow and his head trembled a little.

"Should we go back?" I asked.

He shrugged, took off his gla.s.ses, folded them, and stuck them in the breast pocket of his dressing gown. His eyes were closed. He ran his fingers over his teeth.

"Do I get breakfast?"

"We can stop at the next rest area . . ."

"Breakfast!" he said again, and spat. Just like that, on the floor in front of him. I stared at him, shocked. He lifted his big hands and rubbed his eyes.

"Zollner," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "yes?"

"Correct."

"Do you paint yourself?"

"Not anymore. I tried, but when I failed the entrance exam for art college, I gave up. Maybe a mistake! I should start again."

"No."

"I did color compositions in the style of Yves Klein. There were people who liked them. But it would be really dumb; if I just went at it seriously . . ."

"That's what I mean." He put his gla.s.ses ceremoniously back on his nose. "Breakfast!"

I lit yet another cigarette, it didn't seem to disturb him. Which, for a moment, I regretted. I blew the smoke in his direction. A sign pointed to a rest area, I drove into the parking lot, got out, and shut the door behind me.

I deliberately took my time, he could just d.a.m.n well wait. The restaurant was dusty and full of stale smoke, there were hardly any customers. I ordered two cups of coffee and five croissants. "Pack them properly, coffee not too weak!" n.o.body had ever complained about her coffee, said the sluglike waitress. I said she must be mistaking me for someone who cared. She asked if I was looking for trouble. I said she should get moving.

Balancing them carefully, I made it back to the car with the steaming cups and the paper bag full of croissants. The rear door was open, and there was a man on the backseat talking to Kaminski. He was thin, with horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, greasy hair, and protruding teeth, and next to him on the seat was a backpack. "Think, dear sir," he was saying. "Prudence is everything. Evil disguises itself as the easier path." Kaminski smiled and nodded. I got behind the steering wheel, slammed the door shut, looked inquiringly from one to the other.

"This is Karl Ludwig," said Kaminski in a way that implied any further question was superfluous.

"Call me Karl Ludwig."

"He's coming with us for the next bit," said Kaminski.

"We don't take hitchhikers!"

There was silence for a few seconds. Karl Ludwig sighed. "I told you so, dear sir."

"Rubbish," said Kaminski. "Zollner, if I'm not mistaken, this is my car."

"Yes, but . . ."

"Give me the coffee and drive!"

I held out the coffee, a little too high on purpose, he groped for it, found it, and took it. I put the paper bag in his lap, drank all my coffee, it was too weak of course, threw the cup out the window, and turned the key in the ignition. The parking lot and the rest area shrank in the rearview mirror.

"May I ask where you're going?" asked Karl Ludwig.

"Of course," said Kaminski.

"Where are you going?"

"It's personal," I said.

"I'm sure it is, but . . ."

"What I mean is, it's none of your business."

"You're quite right." Karl Ludwig nodded. "Excuse me, Mr. Zollner."

"How did you get my name?"

"Dear G.o.d," said Kaminski, "because I just used it."

"That's exactly right," said Karl Ludwig.

"Tell us about yourself!" said Kaminski.

"There's not much to tell. I've had a hard life."

"Who hasn't?" said Kaminski.

"Truly spoken, dear sir!"

Karl Ludwig tugged at his gla.s.ses. "You see, I was someone once. Piercing glance the world to muster, heart that feels each heart's desire, pa.s.sion's glow for women's l.u.s.ter, voice that sings, my own, my fire. And now? Look at me!"

I lit a cigarette. "What was that with the women?"

"That was Goethe," said Kaminski. "Don't you know anything? Give me one too."

"You're not allowed to smoke."

"Right," said Kaminski, stretching out his hand. I realized that all things considered, it was in my interest, and gave it to him. For a few seconds I could feel Karl Ludwig's eyes on me in the rearview mirror. I sighed and held the packet over my head so that he could take one. He reached out, I felt his soft, clammy fingers close over mine and pull the packet out of my hand.

"Hey!" I yelled.

"You two, if I may say so, strike me as really odd."

"What do you mean?"

His eyes in the mirror again: narrow, focused, malicious. He showed his teeth. "You're not related, you're not teacher and pupil, and you don't work together. And he"-he lifted a skinny finger and pointed at Kaminski-"seems familiar to me. You don't."

"There are reasons for that," said Kaminski.

"So I would guess!" said Karl Ludwig. The two of them laughed. What was going on here?

"Give me back the cigarettes," I said.

"How careless of me. Please forgive me." Karl Ludwig didn't move. I rubbed my eyes; suddenly I felt weak.

"Dear sir," said Karl Ludwig. "The majority of life is falsehood and waste. We encounter evil and we know it not. Would you like to hear more?"

"No," I said.

"Yes," said Kaminski. "Do you know Hieronymus Bosch?"

Karl Ludwig nodded. "He painted the devil."

"That's not confirmed." Kaminski sat up. "You mean the figure with the chamber pot on its head, eating people, in the far right in The Garden of Earthly Delights. The Garden of Earthly Delights."

"Further up," said Karl Ludwig. "The man growing out of a tree."

"Interesting idea," said Kaminski, "the only figure that's looking out of the picture and showing its pain. But you're on the wrong track."

Furious, I looked from one to the other. What were they talking about?

"That's not the devil!" said Kaminski. "It's a self-portrait."

"Is there a contradiction?" asked Karl Ludwig.

There was silence for a few moments. In the rearview mirror, Karl Ludwig was smiling. Kaminski, nonplussed, chewed his lower lip.

"I think you took the wrong exit," said Karl Ludwig.

"You don't even know where we're going," I said.

"So where are you going?"

"Not bad," said Kaminski, reaching back to pa.s.s him the croissants. "The tree man. Not bad!" Karl Ludwig tore the paper and began to eat greedily.

"You were saying you had a hard life," said Kaminski. "I can still remember my first exhibition. What a catastrophe."

"I've exhibited too," said Karl Ludwig through a mouthful.

"Really?"

"Privately. A long time ago."

"Paintings?"

"Something of that sort."

"I bet you were good," said Kaminski.

"I don't think one could say that."

"Was it tough for you?" I asked.

"Well, yes," said Karl Ludwig. "In principle, anyway. I had . . ."

"I wasn't asking you!" A sports car was driving too slow, I honked and overtook it.

"It was okay," said Kaminski. "By chance I didn't have any worries about money."

"Thanks to Dominik Silva."

"And I had enough ideas. I knew my time would come. Ambition is like a childhood illness. You get over it and it strengthens you."

"Some people don't," said Karl Ludwig.

"And besides, Therese Lessing was still there," I said.

Kaminski didn't answer. I gave him a sharp side-ways look: his expression had darkened. In the rear-view mirror Karl Ludwig was wiping his mouth with his hand. Crumbs trickled down onto the leather upholstery.

"I want to go home," said Kaminski.

"Excuse me!"

"Nothing to excuse. Take me home!"

"Perhaps we should talk about it in peace and quiet."

He turned his head, and for a long moment the feeling that he was looking at me through his dark gla.s.ses was so strong that it took my breath away. Then he turned away, his head sank down onto his chest, and his whole body seemed to shrivel.

"Fine," I said quietly, "we'll go back." Karl Ludwig sn.i.g.g.e.red. I signaled, pulled off the road, and turned around.

"On," said Kaminski.

"What?"

"We're going on."

"But you just said . . ."

He hissed, and I shut up. His face was hard, as if chiseled. Had he really changed his mind, or was he simply demonstrating his power to me? No, he was old and confused, I shouldn't overestimate him. I turned around again and drove back onto the road.

"Sometimes it's hard to decide," said Karl Ludwig.

"Be quiet," I said. Kaminski's jaws were chewing on nothing, his face had gone slack again, as if nothing had happened.

"Besides," I said, "I was in Clairance."

"Where?"

"In the salt mine."