Me And Kaminski Part 15

He took off his gla.s.ses and turned his head toward me.

"Oh, Sebastian."

XIII.

A WEB OF CLOUDS WEB OF CLOUDS had spun itself across the sky. An umbrella with a broken shaft was stuck in the sand; a hundred yards away from us a boy had just gotten a kite up into the air and was letting out the string. A dock reached out over the water. Kaminski walked cautiously beside me, it was hard for him to keep his balance, with sand sticking to his shoes. Everything smelled of seaweed. The beach was strewn with broken mussels. had spun itself across the sky. An umbrella with a broken shaft was stuck in the sand; a hundred yards away from us a boy had just gotten a kite up into the air and was letting out the string. A dock reached out over the water. Kaminski walked cautiously beside me, it was hard for him to keep his balance, with sand sticking to his shoes. Everything smelled of seaweed. The beach was strewn with broken mussels.

"I want to sit down," said Kaminski. He had put on the dressing gown again, the creased material fluttered around him. I held him as he carefully lowered himself to the ground. Then he pulled his legs up and laid the stick down beside him. "Hard to believe. I could have died without ever having been here."

"You're not going to die any time soon."

"Rubbis.h.!.+" He tipped his head back, the wind tugged at his hair, a big wave slung a shower of spray at us. "I'm going to die soon."

"I have to go back one more time." It was hard to make myself heard over the roar of wind and water. "To get my suitcase."

"Is there anything in it you need?"

I thought. s.h.i.+rts, pants, underwear and socks, photocopies of my articles, writing stuff and paper, a few books. "I have nothing."

"Then throw it away."

I nodded. Then I stood up and walked out onto the dock. The planks groaned under my feet. Out at the end I stopped, opened my bag, and pulled out my notepad. Page after page, tightly written in my messy scrawl, interleaved with dozens of photocopies from books and old newspapers, and everywhere the letters, underlined in red, M.K. M.K. I hesitated for a moment, then let it fall. I thought it would float away slowly, but the water swallowed it at once. I hesitated for a moment, then let it fall. I thought it would float away slowly, but the water swallowed it at once.

As I went back onto the beach, I reached into the bag and pulled out the camera.

I weighed it in my hand. The entire series of his last paintings. I put my thumb on the b.u.t.tons that would erase all the pictures from the card.

I hesitated.

My thumb lifted itself again as if of its own volition, and I put away the camera. Tomorrow was another day; time enough to think. I sat down next to Kaminski in the sand.

He reached out his hand. I gave him the car key. "Tell her I'm sorry."

"Which her?"

"Both."

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know."

He raised his head, and for a moment he laid his hand on mine. "That's good, Sebastian."

I stood up and left, the sand crunching under my shoes. As I looked back, Kaminski was stretching his legs. The sky was low and wide. High tide was flooding in.

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Daniel Kehlmann was born in 1975 in Munich, the son of a director and an actress. He attended a Jesuit school in Vienna, traveled widely, and has won several awards for previous novels and short stories, among them the 2005 Candide Award, the 2006 Kleist Award, and the 2008 Thomas Mann Award. His works have been translated into more than forty languages, and his novel Measuring the World Measuring the World became an instant best seller in several European countries, selling more than 1.5 million copies. Kehlmann lives in Vienna and Berlin. became an instant best seller in several European countries, selling more than 1.5 million copies. Kehlmann lives in Vienna and Berlin.

ALSO BY DANIEL KEHLMANN.

Measuring the World