Me and Kaminski by Daniel Kehlmann Page B

laughed at his pictures, he wouldn’t have cared less. Come in, Zollner!”
    I closed the door behind me.
    “Have you noticed how she smells? No expensive perfume, and a bit too strong, but what an effect! What’s your name?”
    She looked at me for a moment. “Jana.”
    “Sebastian, be glad you’re young!”
    He had never used my first name before. I inhaled the air to test it, but there was no hint of perfume. “This really isn’t okay,” I said. “She was noticed on her way in. The manager called.”
    “Tell him who I am!”
    Disconcerted, I said nothing. On the table was a small notepad, with only a few sheets on it, left behind by some previous guest. There was a drawing on it. Kaminski maneuvered himself laboriously into a sitting position. “Just a joke. You’re going to have to go now, Jana. I’m very grateful to you.”
    “That’s fine,” she said, and began to put on her boots. I watched attentively as the leather stretched itself over her knee, for a moment her collarbone was exposed, her red hair slid down softly over the nape of her neck. I snatched the notepad, tore off the top sheet, and pocketed it. I opened the door, Jana followed me out silently.
    “Don’t worry,” she said, “he’s paid already.”
    “Really?” And before, he’d insisted he had no money with him! But I couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip. “Come with me!” I led her into my room, shut the door behind her, and gave her a twenty. “There’s something I want to know.”
    She leaned against the wall and looked at me. She must have been nineteen or twenty, no older than that. She crossed her arms, lifted one foot, and ground the sole of her boot into the carpet, it was going to leave the most awful mark, then she took a look at my ravaged bed and smiled. To my annoyance, I could feel myself blushing.
    “Jana . . .” I cleared my throat. “May I call you Jana?” I had to be careful not to unsettle her.
    She shrugged.
    “Jana, what did he want?”
    “What?”
    “What does he like?”
    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