“Games aren’t in your line anyway, not if I’m any judge.” He stretched out his hand and said in English, “Fair play?”
I was still trying to figure out what I was promising while we shook hands. The gist appeared to be that I was to stop contradicting him on the subject of my alleged affair with Jola. Which didn’t mean I was admitting anything at all. In legal matters, a fundamental principle states that silence does not constitute a declaration of intent. Remaining silent means neither yes nor no. It means nothing at all. It’s a legal nullity. He who remains silent doesn’t lie. I pressed Theo’s hand. He slapped me heartily on the shoulder.
“I knew it,” he said. “You’re all right, Sven.”
He seemed to think our conversation had been of the utmost importance. We threw our cigarette butts away. “The great thing is, now we can talk,” Theo said. He looked up at the stars again. “Like me, do you sometimes get the impression that Jola’s not completely right in the head?”
The question took me by surprise. “I don’t know,” I stammered. “Actually, no. Maybe I haven’t known her long enough.”
He laughed as though I’d made a joke.
I said, “It’s a principle of mine never to judge other people.”
“No judgments, huh?” Theo nodded thoughtfully. “What a luxury that must be. Then I suppose you can’t say whether you think she’s pretty?”
I had to consider that one. Without a doubt, Jola was beautiful. To say so didn’t seem like a judgment but rather the statement of a fact that any normal person would observe and acknowledge. Of course, the very observation of a fact might contain judgmental elements; that couldn’t be ruled out, but I had no desire to discuss it. I had even less desire to talk shop with Theo about his girlfriend’s qualities as if we’d chartered a yacht together.
“I want to go home and get something to eat,” I said.
“Never mind,” said Theo. “This is new to you. You’re not used to it. And I appreciate your discretion. Wait a minute, I’ve got something to give you before you go.”
He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out some sheets of paper, folded at least four times into a little packet. He must have carried those pages around all day long.
“You wanted to read something of mine,” he said. “Hope you enjoy it.”
The packet he placed in my hand immediately started to unfold. The pages were typed. I pressed them back together.
“Say hello to Antje for me. Tell her we’re nearly out of wine. Fabulous sky, fabulous stars you have here.”
He’d reached the steps of the Casa Raya when he turned around again. “I apologize for throwing you in the water yesterday. And don’t forget to tell me how much I owe you for the chair.”
The door closed with a crash behind him. Only when the lights went on inside the Casa did I realize that it had been totally dark inside. As if Jola weren’t home. Except that when you were at the ends of the earth, you needed a car to go anywhere, unless you went to the water, so where was she? In her bed asleep, perhaps. Or maybe sitting in darkness at the dining-room table and staring into space. I tried to think about paella, but I didn’t feel hungry anymore.
That night I dreamed about Jola. She was dancing in front of a desk where two men were sitting. One of them was Theo, and I didn’t recognize the other. There was no music to be heard, so Jola’s bare feet struck the floor all the more loudly as she danced. She was trying out for a new role. She wore diving goggles and the red bikini. While the men watched her, they were jerking off under the table. Jola ended her dance before the men had reached their goal. A wrenching pain in my lumbar region made me aware that the second man at the table must be none other than myself.
“Lovely, Frau von der Pahlen,” Theo said to Jola as she stood before us, breathing hard. “And now please spell Montesquieu.”
Jola stuttered, Theo laughed. I wanted to go into action. I wanted to jump up and shout that I was no judge, that I would deliver no verdict, that I had nothing to do with the whole affair. But my mouth was so dry I couldn’t utter a sound, nor could I move my legs.
“Not even a guess?” said Theo.
Jola started crying. Now she was dressed like Bella Schweig, and she was telling her ex-boyfriend about the accident out on the street.
“Better try somewhere else.” Theo scribbled something on a little card and handed it to Jola. “Death is a business that’s always hiring.”
My hands flew forward and seized Theo by the throat. Before I could tighten my grip, Jola came closer. She wasn’t actually in the room, she was on a large video screen. She smiled and spoke to the camera. “Don’t turn us off. We’ll turn you off,” she said.
I screamed and sat bolt upright in the bed. Antje rolled over and looked at me in the semidarkness.
“Serves you right,” she said, turned on her other side, and went back to sleep.
The next morning I woke up in the living room. I needed a little while to get my bearings, but I slowly realized that I was on the couch. Antje was asleep in the bedroom, and the house was absolutely quiet. Apparently that “Serves you right” had been part of my dream. The pages of Theo’s story lay scattered on the floor next to me. Although I couldn’t remember reading them before falling asleep, I knew for sure they were somehow connected to my dream.
I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and sat up. For the first time in four nights, I’d had several hours of uninterrupted sleep. I felt sick. It occurred to me that I didn’t know why and for what I was alive. Then I got to my feet and went into the kitchen to make coffee.
14
At first I believed it was a coincidence and then that it was my imagination, but on my tenth day with Theo and Jola, it became a fact: people were crossing the street to avoid me. It happened three times in a row on the main tourist drag in Puerto del Carmen, where we’d gone for ice cream between dives. First there was a group of local Spanish women, possibly part of Antje’s circle of friends. Then a married couple who might have been the owners of one of the holiday houses that Antje managed. And then two older men I couldn’t connect either to Antje or to myself. They all came toward us, looked at me, and crossed over to the other side of the street. Jola and Theo didn’t seem to notice anything.
My paranoia was probably a result of Bernie’s telephone call. My telephone had rung that morning at breakfast. It was Monday; the great diving expedition on the Aberdeen was to take place in two days. A few questions still needed to be cleared up, but it turned out that Bernie was calling for another reason. He asked me how things were going in a tone usually reserved for addressing pregnant women and cancer patients. “How are things going?” Because I didn’t understand what he was getting at, I said nothing. Antje looked at me attentively, holding a slice of bread and honey in front of her mouth. I stood up and went out onto the terrace.
And then Bernie really started in on me. What did I think I was doing. What was going to happen now. Didn’t I care about my job. Didn’t I have any shame. What did Antje have to say about all this.
It took me a while to understand that his subject was me and Jola. Actually, I liked Bernie. He was a person with a strong foundation, a basic agreement with himself that prohibited him from being friendly without good cause. This made dealing with him uncomplicated. In my opinion, most problems arose not because people wanted to harm one another but because they didn’t know what to talk about. They’d cast about for a topic, and outside of the weather and malicious gossip, there was simply nothing that could keep a conversation between two people going. With Bernie, it was different. He was taciturn and gruff and therefore incorruptible.