Tretjak Read Free

she can’t tell me herself... she needs somebody like you to tell me. How did she find you?’ He looked Tretjak in the eyes. ‘Are you sleeping with her?’
    Tretjak did not bother answering that question and remained silent. He gave Schwarz time. Some people fell apart when they received bad news. Others needed to utter the words, needed to repeat them in order to comprehend. Schwarz belonged to the latter group. He was hurt, one could recognise that much from his face. His hands were shaking as he poured himself some water. The bull was swaying.
    â€˜Spread her wings one more time, well, well... were those Melanie’s words, or did you make them up? A peaceful divorce... a small flat... just a small sum for a fresh start... What kind of start? And is that what we are now going to talk about? What do you hope to gain from all this, if I may ask?’
    The coffee arrived and both men, facing each other, let it grow cold in the cups. The whole restaurant was now empty except for one table in the back corner. The elderly lady sitting there was engrossed in a book. There was a faint clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen, a sound common to every restaurant all over the world at the end of a long day.
    Tretjak was satisfied. Now he only had to clearly explain the rules to this man sitting opposite him in a restaurant in Sri Lanka, who was soon going to disappear from his life again.
    He had to make it clear that there was not going to be any contact with his wife for the time being. That his wife was on holiday and only he, Tretjak, knew where she was. That she would only return when everything had been arranged the way she wanted. One more hour, that was Tretjak’s estimate, and he would step out onto the terrace and beckon the driver.
    At this moment the hotel’s receptionist came to the table. And it was this moment which Tretjak would go over in his mind later, again and again. He had caught sight of the man from the corner of his eye as the man had briskly crossed the lobby, stopped briefly when he reached the restaurant, looked around and then determinedly headed towards them. Tretjak was even convinced that he had seen him hang up the phone at the reception desk before setting off. With hindsight Tretjak knew full well that he had been annoyed at what was bound to be an unnecessary interruption.
    â€˜Mr Tretjak, there was a call for you,’ said the receptionist.
    The human brain is a decision-making machine. It continuously processes a huge amount of data, literally every second, to make decisions in a flash and for one purpose only: to secure survival.
    â€˜A call? For me? Are you sure?’
    â€˜Yes, no doubt about it. The caller said he had an important message for Gabriel Tretjak. He didn’t leave a name.’ He looked at the piece of paper in his hand. ‘“Winner in the fourth race, horse number six, Nu Pagadi.” That’s the message.’
    Even when crossing the street the human brain performs a massive achievement. It estimates the distance to the other side and calculates the time needed to cross, including stepping down and mounting the curb. It estimates the distance and the speed of the approaching car and calculates the time needed until it reaches the brain’s position, also considering the condition of the ground in the calculation and the two cyclists approaching from the right and then decides: to walk or not to walk? If only one of these calculations is incorrect it would mean the end and this particular human being’s brain would be splattered as grey matter all over the asphalt.
    In the New Oriental in Sri Lanka, Gabriel Tretjak decided, in this very moment, that this call did not signify any danger, that it must have been a mistake. Nobody knew where Tretjak was at this point in time. And he had never in his life attended a race.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Tretjak said, waiting until the receptionist had left before taking up his pen