Free Fame by Daniel Kehlmann

him he had to work on his stomach muscles: there would be scenes in his next film where he’d be stripped to the waist, he mustn’t be laughed at for no longer being young.
    He checked the film forums to see if there was anything new about him, but when he read a posting saying that he had sawdust in his head and was as ugly as an ox, he gave up for the moment. Who wrote such stuff, and why? He talked to his agent, then with Brankner the director, who was embarrassingly obsequious. He knew that Brankner didn’t reckon him a good actor but had to have him, because without his participation the movie would never get financed. Halfway through the conversation, Ralf hung up. He leafed through Miguel Auristos Blanco’s Peace, Reach Deep into Us for awhile, then paced up and down looking at the flowers in the tall crystal vases that were suddenly scattered all around the house. He didn’t like flowers, and had no idea how all the vases had got here. Had Ludwig bought them on his own initiative? He was getting stranger as he got older.
    Ralf paused for awhile in front of the mirror on the wall, and watched his face become less and less recognizable by the second. Then he left the villa.
    He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached Matthias Wagner’s street. Supermarket right there, newsagent nextdoor. The elevator car smelled of cooking. A fat woman greeted him casually. His room welcomed him like a lost refuge.
    He watched TV and drank beer out of the can. A newscaster said something about war, the Near East, a visiting minister, tomorrow’s weather. A housewife held up a colorful hand towel, then for some reason an elephant charged across a meadow, then Ralf Tanner appeared, steering a car through big-city traffic and talking to a blonde in the passenger seat. “ Time’s running out and all these people will be turned to dust! ”
    “ But maybe, ” said the woman, “ we can stop it. ”
    Then in rapid succession came a series of explosions: a car flew into the air, then an oil platform—flames rolling decoratively over the sea—then an apartment building, hit so hard that a blizzard of glass shards flashed in the sun. Then Ralf Tanner’s face again, and underneath, against a black background, the letters: BY FIRE AND SWORD. In theaters now.
    What garbage, thought Ralf. Cringe-inducing.
    That was when he realized he couldn’t remember shooting it. And that he’d never even heard of the movie.
    He channel-surfed for awhile, but the trailer didn’t show up again. He went downstairs and across the street to the Internet café. The owner knew him already and pointed him, smiling, to one of the computers.
    By Fire and Sword was listed on imdb.com . The film, which had apparently been reviewed very negatively in the papers the previous week, already had an entry in Wikipedia. In the MovieForum someone praised the intensity of his performance.But why had he gotten involved in such a film? Maybe, someone else replied, he needed the money, hardly surprising given the way he lived. A third person reported that Tanner was currently in Los Angeles, a fourth contradicted him: he was on a publicity tour in China. He’d also added a link, and when Ralf clicked on it, he found himself on the Web site of a Chinese newspaper. A large picture showed him grinning and shaking hands with two officials. He didn’t know these people, he had never been to China. He paid and stumbled out into the harsh morning sun.
    By Fire and Sword? Of course, said Nora, she’d seen it. And liked it. Who cared about the critics? She sighed. She’d worshipped Ralf Tanner since she was thirteen. She’d seen all his films.
    “So that’s why? Because I look like him?”
    “Oh, you’re not that like him. Maybe you should imitate someone else. You’re good, but … he’s not the right one for you.”
    His eyes slid to the mirror. There she was, and there he was, and suddenly he didn’t know anymore which side the originals were on and which side