Me and Kaminski by Daniel Kehlmann

next fork, and hesitated. Had we come from the right? Yes, from the right. So now I must turn left. The steel door opened without resistance. Lamps, pipes, another fork, not a human being in sight. I’d gone the wrong way.
    I had to laugh.
    I went back to the last fork and turned left. Yet another door, but there was no light in the passageway behind it, it was filled with a darkness more complete than any that existed up on the earth’s surface, in fright I slammed the door shut. The next group must be due to be flushed through soon, and then there must be workers down here, the mine was still operating as a business, after all. I listened. I cleared my throat and yelled; I was astonished to discover that there was no echo. The stone seemed to swallow my voice.
    I turned off to the right, went through one, two, three doors in a straight line, the fourth was locked. Think logically! I went left, on through two steel doors, and found myself at a crossroads. According to what the guide had said, the doors were to prevent draft in case a fire broke out; without them one single flame could suck all the air in the mine toward itself. Were there fire alarms? For a moment I played with the idea of lighting something. But I had nothing combustible with me, I’d even run out of cigarettes.
    I noticed that tiny condensed drops of water were hanging off the pipes. Was that normal? I tried two doors, one was locked, the other led into a passageway I’d already been in before. Or had I? I wished I had a cigarette. I sat down on the ground.
    Someone would come, would come soon, no doubt about it. The mine complex couldn’t be all that large. Did they turn out the lights at night? The ground was as cold as ice, I couldn’t stay sitting. I stood up. I called out. I called louder. I realized it wasn’t doing any good. I yelled until I was hoarse.
    I sat down again. An idiotic impulse made me pull out my cell phone, but of course there was no reception, you couldn’t find anywhere more perfect for blocking reception than a salt mine. Hard to decide: was my situation merely painful, or was it dangerous? I leaned my head against the wall, for a second I thought I saw a spider, but it was just a little stain, there were no insects down here. I looked at my watch, an hour had already gone by, either time down here was going faster or my life was going slower, or maybe my watch just wasn’t keeping time properly. Should I go farther or wait here? I was suddenly tired. For just a moment, I closed my eyes.
    I examined the veins in the rock. They ran toward one another, joined, but never crossed, just like the branches of a river. A never-ending slow torrent of salt in the bowels of the earth. I must not go to sleep, I thought, then I heard voices talking to me, which I answered, a piano was playing somewhere, then I was sitting in an airplane, looking at broad, glowing landscapes: mountains, towns, and a distant sea, people walked past, a child laughed, I looked at my watch, but my eyes couldn’t focus on it properly. Standing up was an effort, my body was numb with cold. The steel door opened of its own accord, I went through it, found myself in Elke’s living room, and knew that I was expected at last. She came toward me, I flung my arms wide in joy, and opened my eyes, I was sitting on the ground, under the wet pipes, in the yellow light of the underground lamps, alone.
    It was a little after six. I’d been here two hours already. I was trembling with cold. I stood up, hopped from one foot to the other, and clapped my hands. I went to the end of the gallery, turned right, then left, then right, then left again. Then I stopped and pressed my hands against the rock.
    How massive it felt. I leaned my forehead against it and tried to acquaint myself with the thought that I was going to die. Should I write something down, a last message for—who, actually? I sank to my knees, a hand landed hard on my shoulder. A tour guide with a big