Free Decompression by Juli Zeh Page B

ship I was going to dive down to in the following week and how this exploit would make me famous in diving circles. Along the way I praised his and Jola’s talent and stressed how enjoyable it was to dive with sensible people.
    He asked, “You find us sensible?”
    Aside from that he sat there in silence, smiling thoughtfully and drinking apple juice. After the meal he suggested we go for a walk.
    As a general rule, Tinajo’s streets were lively, but that evening the temperature had dropped below sixty degrees—unusually cool—and there was barely a soul in sight. Theo walked down the middle of the street, swinging his arms and watching his feet. For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten my presence. In the village square, we sat on one of the whitewashed benches near the little church. The dragon trees screened the light from the streetlamps. At regular intervals, the end of Theo’s cigarette glowed in front of his face. Now that we’d come this far, I found myself wishing we had simply walked back to the van after dinner.
    He said, “You’ve got the hots for her, don’t you?”
    I started to make some reply to this, but he waved me off. “Forget about it. It’s what she does. It’s like an addiction with her.” He offered me a cigarette, which I declined. “Basically, I just want to warn you.”
    It would have been easier for me to listen to him that evening if he’d been drinking. Unfortunately, I knew he was cold sober.
    “Jola comes from an old family. They got rich by exploiting other people and managed to preserve their fortune through twoworld wars. A woman like Jola has no idea what it means to work for something. She expects to be given what she wants. The only thing she’s never been able to get is recognition. And that’s precisely what makes her dangerous.”
    I wasn’t remotely interested in anything he was telling me. Nevertheless, I suddenly wanted him to go on talking.
    “Basically, she’s still just a little girl, trying her best to win her father’s respect. Hartmut von der Pahlen. Does that name mean anything to you?”
    I shook my head.
    “Film producer. One of the most important in the business. Also an asshole. Whatever.”
    Theo stubbed out his cigarette and lit himself another one before going on: “I’m a substitute father for her. She’s still looking for paternal love, and that’s where I come in. As long as I don’t give it to her, she stays with me. And exacts her revenge a thousand times a day.”
    “Only child?”
    I bit my lip. Listening was bad enough. Asking questions was even worse. Normally in such situations, I changed the subject.
    “She has two older brothers, one a doctor and the other a banker. Jola’s father never gets tired of enthusing about how successful they are. Whatever.”
    A motor scooter drove by. The young woman sitting behind the driver yelled something in his ear. They both laughed.
    “I’ll tell you a story,” Theo said. “It’ll help you understand how Jola grew up. When she was a child, she desperately wanted a pet. A guinea pig, a bunny, something she could cuddle with, something she could love. When she got a kitten for a Christmaspresent, she was overjoyed. She tended to the little animal night and day and carried it around with her wherever she went. Two weeks after Christmas, the heating in her house went on the blink. So the kitten wouldn’t freeze, Jola took it to bed with her and covered it with her pillow. The next morning she found the kitten under her pillow, cold and stiff as a piece of wood. Jola’s mother threw the kitten into the trash can, and from then on she told the story at parties. She’d pull Jola’s braid and laugh and say, ‘My little murderess.’ ” Theo looked around the square with narrowed eyes. “Whatever,” he said. It seemed that this was becoming his favorite expression. We fell silent for a while.
    “Maybe you’re asking yourself what I’m doing with her in the first place,” Theo