I drove home, parked up and went out to the side walk down toward Idaplatz, passed the tables of the café Salon, its tables running out to the edge of the pavement. Someone waved at me from a table, I did not see who it was and went on. I wanted to get home. Idastrasse was deserted, and they were staking tables outside the Italian restaurant close by. My apartment was just across the street, a little way down Idastrasse.
Finn was out on the terrace when I arrived.
“Well,” I said. “I hear you had a wonderful trip in Amsterdam.”
“Just wonderful,” he said. “Amsterdam is absolutely wonderful.” We shook hands.
“So you didn’t burn the place down.”
“Of course not old boy.” I was getting some glasses, ice and bourbon.
“You look good, Harry.” He stood back slightly and rubbed his forehead.
“Thanks, you too.”
“Never too early for bourbon,” he said.
“Exactly. Good to see you.” We touched glasses.
“I tell you, Harry, this trip in Amsterdam almost killed me.”
“Of course it did.”
“Experiences like that ought not to daunt you though. Never be daunted myself. Secret of my success, I guess. Never been daunted. Never been daunted in public. That’s for sure.”
“You’ll be daunted after about three more bourbons,” I replied.
“But not in public.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Well, anyway, let’s eat,” I said. “Unless you want to tell me more travel stories?”
“Go on, let’s eat.”
We went downstairs and out onto the street.
“Where do we go?”
“I know a place.”
We walked over the street to Aemtlerstrasse.
“So who’s this woman staying with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. You have either decided to cross dress on weekends or there’s a woman staying.”
“Snooping, were you?”
“Please, there are girls’ clothes everywhere.”
“Yeah well, I don’t want to get into it right now.”
“Fine.”
We walked on and stopped at one of terraces lining of the Aemtlerstrasse. We had to stand up and wait for a table. Finn ordered a whiskey and soda, and I took a pernod.
“This town is a little boring.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Been here one night, an afternoon and this morning and it feels boring.”
“It’s really not that bad, Finn.”
“Don’t you miss Paris?”
“I was a fool to go away; one’s an ass to ever leave Paris.”
“Remind me why you left again?”
“I’d really rather not.”
“Maybe we should just sit here in silence then?”
“Don’t be so bloody dramatic.”
We ate lunch at a café on the far side of the avenue. It was crowded with locals. We had a good meal and finished it off with some apple pie.
“I see you’re not wearing your wedding ring anymore. At least some progress has occurred since I saw you last.”
“When was that again?”
“Perhaps two years ago in New York, you were out there talking to publishers.”
“Oh yes that’s right. I miss New York.”
“You were really in a dark place then old boy. And that story you had me read. Was just dreadful.”
“I don’t need reminding.”
After the coffee and a brandy we paid the bill and went out.
“I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking old boy?”
“As I’m already packed and it’s not too late in the day, why don’t we just head out?”
“Where?”
“Up into the mountains.”
“Why not,’ he said. “Good idea. Where do you want to go?”
“Depends on how many days you got?”
“Two days,” he said. “I already booked the boat.”
“Where do you leave from?”
“Le Havre.”
“Okay, so we got two days. What about a spot of camping and fishing?”
“Camping? What a novel idea,” he said.
“I’ve got all the gear and we could go up to a lake I know, it’s about an hour’s drive from here.”
“Splendid idea.”
We packed the camping gear, some food, three bottles of wine and a bottle of whiskey. I got the rod cases and landing nets and packed them into the car and shoved off.
Finn was in fine form during the journey. He told me a dozen stories from his travels with the paper and they all ended in the same way, with him needing to leave quickly. I mistrusted all frank and simple people, especially when their stories held together, with Finn, his stories were such embellishments of his imagination, that I always wondered why he never tried his hand at fiction. He had a rare quality that I admired.
We parked up and packed everything into two rucksacks and got off with our bags and rod-cases and hiked up a road that turned into a path. When the path ran out it turned into a meadow that led toward a blanket of woods. In the distance I could see the stream I had been looking for as a marker. I checked the map.
“I’m tired, is it close?” Finn asked.
“We have been walking less than thirty minutes and you’re already tired! What the hell is the matter with you?”
“It’s all this heavy gear!” He stopped and threw everything off his back and sat down. Taking the wine from the cooler, he uncorked it, took a big swig and passed it to me.
“Look, its less than two kilometers to the tree line and then we then just follow the stream down until we hit the lake,” I said, trying to show him the map. “There’s about another three kilometers to go.”
“Fine,” he said, ignoring the map.
“Come on.”
As we entered the forest, Finn was clearly struggling. He was covered in sweat and panting loudly. We could hear the sound of fast flowing water in the distance. We walked toward it and found a thick, dead tree lying across the stream with its roots above the ground and fanning out into the air.
Finn crossed it first with little problem. I threw over the sack and then came across myself. The trunk was damp from the water and made crossing difficult. The pine trees were big and the foliage was thick and everywhere we looked we saw damp brown and green foliage. The smell of the stream was fresh so I knelt down to touch the water. It was ice cold and I saw myself clearly.
“It’s getting late, Harry, we need to get down to the lake soon and set up camp before it’s dark.”
“Only one kilometer to go,” I said, standing up and looking away from the water. “If we pick up the pace we can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fine,” he continued.
We crossed a wooden footbridge, and stopped on the bridge and looked down stream. The trees were high against the sky.
“It’s pretty great,” Finn said. “I love to get back to nature.”
We leaned on the wooden rail of the bridge and saw a crow pass by, it was smooth and black.
“Hey, remember when we were stationed together in Libya, I think around forty-two.”
“Here we go.”
“And I was sitting outside one of the tents having a smoke and some white dust came over and bunt my eyes and I shouted out gas.”
“Of course I remember, back then we thought chemical weapons was just a load of old horses---.”
“Exactly, and the gas alarm went off and spread far and wide and soon I think I had everyone in gas masks.”
“Our unit was not happy with you.”
“It’s funny now, but at the time I was scared s---less.”
“Remember staff sergeant Jones?” I asked.
“How could I forget?”
“Well, he would be rolling in his grave if he could see you this tired after only a few kilometers.”
I thought
about the war and all the fun we had.
“Do you remember the time we were doing drills on the beach and there was that one guy, I forget his name and he couldn’t swim?”
“Sullivan, one of your lot.”
“Oh yeah, Sullivan. Irish chap. We were in the water up to our necks and he panicked and almost drowned, and then that other chap, Walsh, he was called and tried to help, and Sullivan wouldn’t let go and almost downed them both until Walsh punched him square on the face and knocked the old bugger clean out.”
“Poor Sullivan.”
We both laughed.
The last kilometer seemed long and I was also starting to get tired. I could not see the shoreline only the forest but through the trees I could see the tops of the hills that showed white as though they were snow-capped and the clouds that looked like high snow mountains above them. Soon enough we came out of the forest, onto a patch of grass that led to the banks of the lake. The water was very dark, as it always seems at that hour and the dark water made prisms in the water. I sat down and put my sack against a rock and Finn collapsed on the grass in front of me. We stayed for some minutes catching our breath, and then I went down to the lake.
“You sure this place has fish?” Finn asked.
“Dead sure.”
We stood and looked out to the lake and Finn blew his breath at me to show how cold it was.
“How about a hot rum punch to start us off?” Finn asked.
“Sure, but it won’t keep us warm permanently.”
I set up camp while Finn looked for firewood and then heated the rum. I put the sleeping bags outside to sit on.
“That really was a long hike with all that gear,” he said from the trees, coming back with an armful of dry dead branches.
“Thought you were in shape,” I said, settling myself down.
“I thought so too,” he said, still panting, throwing the sticks down in front of me. “It’s a good spot here though, Harry.”
We sat for a moment next to the fire and preparing dinner. When the meat hit the heat it gave out a loud hiss.
“It’s good rum,” Finn said, gulping down the last of it from the tin cup.
“Don’t get cockeyed.”
“You know I will.”
The sun was almost gone by the time the meat had cooked, and as we looked over the lake we could see the last light leaving. The stars were coming out and the fire lit up our faces. It felt peaceful.
“My God, it can’t be this cold tomorrow. I’m not going to wade a lake in this weather.”
“Relax, it’s fine. Actually it’s unusually warm for October.”
He didn’t say anything, just took off his glasses and wiped them on his trousers.
“You know, we have some of the best fishing out in the State of Montana. Mighty fishing you did on those trips.” Finn said.
“We also have great fishing in the Lake District in the north of England. I used to go with my father.”
“You see him much?”
“Never. Afraid, it’s just me these days.”
“Except for this girl of course? What’s the dirt there?”
“No dirt.”
“Are you f------ her?”
“Finn!”
“What?”
“No, I’m not f------- her nor have I f------ her.”
“But you want to, right?” he said, grinning. “Oh, come on, Harry. I’m teasing. Tell me. What’s she doing in Zurich?”
“Well it’s slightly complicated, but in a nutshell, we met in Venice over carnival, then I came back to Zurich. I had no word from her and then one afternoon, she just shows up at my door with her kid.”
“Typical women,” Finn said. I turned to see his eyebrows fully raised.
“She’s married by the way.”
“Of course she is. And I suppose the husband is sleeping in the next room?”
“Lives in Rome, I think. But at this very minute, he’s in a hotel in Zurich.”
“Right you are,” he said, nodding and clearing his throat.
“Oh, and let’s not leave out that I think my crazy boss has a crush on her.”
“Seems like you’ve got yourself in a pickle there, Harry boy,” he said with a sympathetic smile.
“That’s just the half of it.”
He shook his head and blew his breath out to show how cold it was again, and we sat there beneath the dark sky, watching the fast-moving clouds working their way across the lake.
After dinner, I got inside the sleeping bag and lay back next to the fire and smoked and read to keep warm. Only once in the night I heard the wind blowing. It felt good to be warm and in bed.
CHAPTER XVI
“HELL OF A COUNTRY!” his voice came over as I opened my eyes. I saw him standing by the lake in his shorts, apparently contemplating a swim.
It was cool outside in the early morning, and the sun had not yet dried the dew that had come when the wind died down. The early light the sun made in the water, now the sun was higher, meant good weather and so did the shape of the clouds over the land.
“S----, it’s freezing,” I heard him shout as he dipping a toe in before running back.
“Come on,” he said. “Get up.”
“What? Get up? I never get up.” I pulled the sleeping bag up to my chin.
“Try and argue me into getting up.”
“Not a morning person?”
“Not really.”
“You slept outside all night.”
“Yeah, I must have,” my sleeping bag was damp from the wet grass.
“Weren’t you cold?”
“I am now, but I guess not during the night, the fire must have kept going till dawn.”
“It’s really too early. What time is it?”
“Seven-fifteen,” Finn replied.
“God, what are we doing up so early?”
“There you go again. And you claim to be writer. You ought to wake up with a mouth full of words.”
“Oh go to hell.”
We made coffee on the small stove and ate buttered bread. The coffee was good and we drank it out of the pan.
I went over to the lake and tried to dig some worms for bait. The water was clear and shallow but it did not look fishy. On the grassy bank where it was damp I drove my knife into the earth and loosened a chunk of soil. There were worms underneath. They slid out of sight as I lifted the earth and I dug carefully and got a good many. Digging at the edge of the damp ground I filled two empty tins with worms and sifted dirt onto them. I washed my hands and the water was so cold that my hands felt numb. Finn watched on.
“What types of fish are there anyhow?”
“Pike mostly.”
“And we don’t need a license here?” he asked.
“I told you already, if we use live bait and one hook then we don’t need a license.”
“Strange rule!”
“So let’s go?”
“Do we fish here or take a walk?”
“I think we can walk a bit, but let’s keep the camp in sight.”
We picked up our rods and the cans of worms and our landing nets and the wine, and walked out along a path out to the far right.
There was dense forest and thick bush along the banks of the lake. Ahead I could see an opening in the trees and as we arrived there was a small, wooden jetty that came out onto the lake. It looked like a perfect place to fish. As we walked out, I leaned over and looked into the water. It was crystal clear. I could see all the way down to the bottom.
We sat down and baited both rods while Finn tied one end of the wine bottle to a piece of fishing line and the other end to the jetty. He slowly lowered the wine into the cold water.
“You sure about this? Won’t it scare the fish?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “If anything, the reflection from the sun might entice them to come over.”
I handed him his rod and we settled back. It was getting warmer now in the direct sun, so I took off my jacket. We both had our
legs over the side.
“So how’s the expatriate life? You haven’t lost touch with the empire, have you? Haven’t gone and got all precious? With these European standards? Spending all your time talking and not working? I bet you just hang around cafés, don’t you?”
“Sounds like a swell life,” I said.
He had been going on splendidly, but then stopped. I was afraid he thought he had gone too far. I wanted to start him again.
“I do hang around in cafés.”
“I knew it.”
“Cafés are a great place to write. A good cafes keeps you warm on the terraces and the people give you ideas. If I could, I would only write in cafés.”
“I do think you’re a good writer, Harry,” he said. “And you’re a hell of a good guy. Anybody ever told you, you’re a good guy?”
“I’m not a good guy, Finn.”
“You are a good guy.”
He stopped.
I picked up my rod that was leaning against a wooden stump on the side of the jetty and started to reel in.
“Anything?”
“Nope,” I cast out again with the fishing line and threw a couple of worms. It was a solid but flexible fishing rod. I sat there looking out past the line and onto the countryside.
In Switzerland the land looks very rich and green and the houses and villages seem very well off and very clean. The lake and the hills stretched off back toward the Alps, but you couldn’t see the Alps. They were too far away. You could only see hills and more hills, but you could always sense where the Alps stood.
A man in a dark uniform appeared to the far right where the lake curved out. I wondered if it was the grounds keeper. He came out to the jetty and threw his cigarette down.
“Guten Morgen meine Herren—was für ein schöner Tag. Darf ich bitte Ihre Lizenzen sehen?”
“What does he want, Harry?”
“Our fishing licenses.”
“But we don’t have any.”
“Relax, I’ll handle it.”
“Sprechen Sie Englisch?”
“Nein Deutsch. Wir sind hier in der Schweiz.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Wir fishen nur mit Haken und Live-Würmer.”
“Lasst mich das überprüfen.” He pointed to the rod-case, and I opened it and showed him the one hook and the can of worms.
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