by Peter Stamm
He passed an apple orchard, but the apples that were lying in the grass were still unripe. Under an expanse of black netting he found a bilberry patch. The gate in the fence was not locked, and he walked in and picked a few handfuls of the berries, which were far bigger and sweeter than those he remembered picking in the mountains as a child. He heard engine noise coming nearer. Still hungry, he crept out.
Next to one of the farmhouses a few alpacas were grazing and looked at him with their enormous eyes. They had faces like comic animals. Do not feed! it said on the fence that enclosed the pasture, and next to the sign a metal box with a lid that contained bread for the animals. Thomas opened it, and stuffed a few slices of the stale bread in his pocket.
His way now took him pretty sharply downhill through a group of new houses that were a strange cross between farmhouses and single-family homes. Swings and trampolines and wading pools sat on the trimmed lawns. There was a closed restaurant in the narrow valley and a sawmill, behind whose windows fouled with spiderwebs and dust no one seemed to be working. Between the road and the stream a few sawn-up tree trunks were stacked to dry. Farther down, where a narrow pool had formed against a small dam, Thomas stripped behind a pile of boards and dipped into the freezing-cold water. He washed himself, and rinsed the worst of the dirt out of his clothes and hung them up on the branches of an elderberry. Then he dunked the stale bread in the stream water. It tasted watery and fell apart in his mouth, but it at least filled his belly and, having eaten, he felt better. Stark naked he lay down in the sun to rest.
Although it had gotten chilly, Astrid went back outside once the children were in bed. She took the paper with her and a glass of wine, and sat down on the bench in front of the house. Just two days earlier, exactly forty-eight hours, she had sat there with Thomas. If she shut her eyes now, she could imagine he was sitting beside her. From inside she could hear Konrad’s plaintive voice. Will you go to him? she asked. Oh, just leave him be, said Thomas, he’ll stop by himself. Will you please, she repeated, and with a groan he got up and went inside. Shortly afterward, she could hear him talking with Thomas, and the two of them laughing. Go to sleep now, Thomas called from the top of the stairs. Then the light came on in the living room, and Thomas put his head out the window. Are you coming in now? In a minute, said Astrid. She heard him shut the window, and had the brief sensation that he was a very long way away. She pictured him going to the cellar for a bottle of wine. He checked the level of heating oil in the boiler, and worked out whether it was enough to see them through the next winter or if they would have to order more. When he came out of the cellar, he glanced at the thermometer that indicated the outdoor temperature, sixty, but it was due to warm up again in the next couple of days. Then Astrid heard the calming tones of the TV, sounds and voices, music. She set down the paper, remained sitting for a minute longer, as though biding her moment, then got up and left the garden. She looked up and down the street, as though it might offer some clue or prompt, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just the nocturnal street with its line of single-family homes. She saw Thomas, equally perplexed, standing in the street, uncertain which way to go. Once a week he played handball and afterward would drink a few beers with his teammates; other than that he spent almost every evening at home. Earlier on, he sometimes had gotten together with a friend from his boyhood, but ever since the man joined the Unitarians and would talk about nothing else, Thomas had allowed the friendship to lapse. Astrid briefly wondered whether to call him, but she was sure that even in some extremity Thomas would never have turned to him, and apart from that man, there was no one she could think of to whom he might have gone. He had no close friends; his superficial relationships to colleagues at work, his clients, and his teammates seemed to be enough for him. Neither of them had an especially active social life, and since the children, they hardly ever went out in the evenings. Astrid had sometimes encouraged Thomas to meet up with his old friends again, but he seemed not to feel the need. I’ve got you, he would always say. Nor was he close to his parents or his sister, although they seemed to get on okay. If Astrid didn’t remind him of their birthdays, he would probably have forgotten them as well.
Only then did she realize that tonight was Thomas’s handball evening. The team practiced in a school gym just a couple of hundred yards away. She popped back inside the house and listened for the children. Hearing no sounds, she pulled on a coat and shut the door quietly after her.
The gym was half underground. Astrid stood in front of one of the plate-glass windows and looked down where the handball team was training, as they did every Tuesday. Most of the men were stood in a line. They seemed to be practicing a particular game situation, getting the ball thrown to them by the coach, hurling it into a corner of the goal, and joining the back of the line. Astrid scanned the line for Thomas, but of course he wasn’t there. From where she stood, the sounds were like distant thunder, the squeaking of the rubber soles on the floor, and every so often a half-stifled shout for a bungled or exceptionally good shot. The endless recycling of the same repeated movements came to feel absurd to her, as though the team was made up of robots on an assembly line, producing some substanceless product. Astrid was unable to tear herself away, she watched until the moment the coach kept hold of the ball, clasping it to his chest, as though unwilling ever to surrender it, and called the team to him to discuss the next drill. Suddenly she worried one of them might catch sight of her standing by the window, and she took a step back into the darkness.
Most of the players she knew only fleetingly, having met them at matches or at the annual barbecue the team laid on every summer before the holidays. The players’ wives turned up with salads and put them out on a collapsible table. Thomas helped at the grill, and Astrid sat at a table with three couples who seemed to be friends and were sharing village gossip, with loud shouts of laughter. When the others joined her at her table, they had briefly introduced themselves and shaken hands, and after that they more or less ignored her. The children paid flying visits to pick up a handful of chips or hurriedly drink a glass of iced tea. When Astrid asked them what they were playing, they gave some breathless information and scampered away to rejoin the other children. By the time Thomas finally jammed himself onto the bench facing her, laughing at some comment or other that someone had called out, she said she was tired and wanted to go home. She felt like an utter spoilsport, but she had the feeling she couldn’t stand the noise and the merriment for another minute. In spite of that, they didn’t go home until much later, after midnight, when there was a chill in the air.
Astrid thought of the men going to the bar after practice was finished, and turning up at home half drunk, dropping their sweaty gear on the floor, and creeping into bed beside their sleeping wives.
She walked home. Before she disappeared inside, she hesitated briefly, glanced at the bench, where the newspaper still lay and the half-empty wineglass stood. She left them both outside, as though that were a way of keeping time from moving forward. She didn’t turn a light on. She imagined Thomas was already in bed, waiting for her. She slid under the cover next to him. What kept you? he asked with an amused tone, pulled her to him and started kissing her. He put his hand on her breast, let it slide down onto her belly, under her nightie, and between her legs. She thought of him on top of her, could feel his weight and his forceful movements, heard his breathing, his groaning. She came, and then started to cry. She didn’t want to sleep, she was afraid of waking up, of another day where Thomas would be even farther from her.
It was almost midday when Thomas awoke. The sky was overcast, the wind had got up. He was cold and felt exposed in his nakedness. Even though his things were still wet, he put them on. It took him a moment to get his bearings, then he walked on by the side of the stream until he came to a narrow valley that headed due south. He followed an asphalt road, climbing steadily, first through trees, then through steep pastureland. The stream was flowing far below in a narrow gully, its dis
tant rushing only feeble now. The smell again was of newly mown grass.
After a while, the valley widened out into a depression, the road divided, went past a group of houses, and was reunited at an isolated cheesery with an adjacent pigsty. The stink of the pigs reminded Thomas of human feces.
At the edge of the wood stood a cross, the ornamental flower bed at the foot of which was like a fresh grave. From a little horsepond, a gray heron flew up with languid wingbeats.
The farmhouses were cladded with wooden shingles, some of them painted in pastel colors. In front of one of them was a little vegetable patch, with beans, fennel, kohlrabi, and beetroot, and tomato vines in an improvised greenhouse of lathes and plastic sheeting. The plastic was rattling away in the stiff gale that was blowing down the slope out of the west. An earthenware pot with a withered hydrangea lay on its side on the ground. Next to the front door, some baby clothes were hanging out to dry, one window was half open but there was no sign of anyone. The entire valley felt abandoned, only once Thomas saw a woman wearing rough work clothes walking across a pasture, apparently looking for something. But before he reached her, she had gotten into an ancient Volvo parked at a passing place and driven off.
A path left the road and led even more steeply up the right side of the valley, past walnut and apple trees. Everything hereabouts looked crooked. There were no straight lines anywhere by which he could orient himself, and he felt mildly giddy. Eventually the path crested a hill, and then led on through pastures with a few dirty cows grazing in them. Everywhere spurge sprouted up in thick bundles. Farther on, where the grass was shorter, he saw the first autumn crocuses. Beside the edge of the pasture was a small cowshed. The ceiling was so low that Thomas was unable to stand upright, and the floor was so dungy that it couldn’t have been cleaned for several days. Beside the cowshed was a lean-to, where a couple of bales of hay were stored, along with some tools and fencing materials. He would have been able to hole up here, but he had nothing left to eat and had to go on.
The gale up on the top was even stronger than in the valley. The path seemed to be one that not many people walked; in spots there were only scant marks in the grass to indicate where to go. Cowpats were everywhere, and swarms of large rust-colored flies flew up from them at Thomas’s approach.
Finally he reached the highest point. For the first time he was afforded a view of dark wooded hills to the south. In the distance he could make out a section of a lake, and beyond that, in the haze, further chains of hills. As he descended, Thomas had the feeling that something had fallen away from him, a repression, a pain. He stepped out powerfully. At a forest hut, he looked at signposts pointing him in different ways. None of the place-names meant anything to him, so he crossed the woods, still heading south. The terrain grew steeper. Thomas slithered down the incline through neglected second-growth pine and beech that was mostly ineffectual against thorny scrub. Suddenly his foot was in midair, he only just managed to hold on to one of the young saplings. His pulse raced, and he felt a surge of warmth throughout his body. Breathing hard, he pulled himself back up to solid ground. He was angry with himself for being so stupid. The rocks below were not precipitous, but even if he just turned his ankle somewhere, it would be days or even weeks before anyone found him here. Painfully he clambered back, and then crossed the slope at a less steep incline.
Near the bottom of the ravine, he struck a path that went parallel to the crest, and that seemed to be coming from nowhere and going nowhere. A black moth fluttered around his head, and since Thomas didn’t have a clue where he was, he just decided to follow it. He thought about fairy tales in which animals helped people who had once been kind to them—tossing a fish back into the sea, kissing a frog, nursing a wounded deer back to health. He himself had always found animals alien, inscrutable, and a little frightening.
In the middle of the wooded slope, surrounded by low scrub, stood a tiny wooden huntsman’s shelter. The outside walls had skulls and antlers mounted on them. A rough picnic table and benches had half rotted away, and mushrooms were sprouting from the damp wood. Only a fountain next to the entrance was plashing away merrily to itself and gave the place some feeling of welcome. Thomas drank some water, and then walked on to the bottom of the wooded ravine. The ground became clayey, and the air took on a heavy smell. The narrow footpath that followed the stream downhill was undermined, even completely washed away in places, certainly no one could have walked this way for a long time.
At the end of the valley, the stream flowed into a little river with clear, greenish water. A forest road went alongside the river. Thomas identified north from the shadows of the trees and walked upstream. By and by the gorge narrowed, the sheer cliffs of conglomerate to either side, with their bulbous forms, looked like body parts of enormous fossil creatures. The rocks were full of seams and cracks, a moss-covered sign warned of the danger of rockfalls.
Just before the valley ended in a narrow defile, the road led steeply uphill. Thomas felt shattered. Ever since he had set out, he had eaten little and only napped briefly for hours at a time. His legs were heavy, cold sweat covered his face, and each step was a strain. He had to find a place to stop and rest, but the slope here was too broken. On the top, the woods stopped and a view opened onto a pleasant landscape, green hills, a few farms and villages, and, nearer now, the lake with two small islands in it, and the opposite bank, gently climbing.
From here on, he was going downhill, and Thomas forgot his tiredness, but he kept stumbling as he walked, and, in spite of himself, he was looking for somewhere to rest. The path followed a channel of swiftly moving water, hopping from side to side via numerous little footbridges. For a while Thomas was accompanied by a wagtail that flew beside him step by step, flicking its tail, so close to the surface of the water that it seemed sometimes to brush it. The stream disappeared into a narrow clump of trees; various benches and campfire sites indicated the probable presence of the bank, but none of them was discreet enough for Thomas. Finally he headed into the bushes at an almost level place. With his feet he scraped together some dried leaves, then spread his jacket out over them and lay down.
Normally Astrid found getting up easy, but on this day, after switching off the alarm clock, she went back to sleep and only awoke when Konrad touched her gently on the shoulder and whispered, Mama, are you awake? She put off her shower until later, and groggily got breakfast for herself and the children. Once Konrad and Ella were out of the house, she went back to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come, and she tossed and turned restlessly, without managing a clear thought. At nine the telephone rang. Sorry, did I wake you? asked Thomas’s secretary. How is your husband feeling? Do you know when he’ll be ready to come back to work? I’m taking him to the doctor this morning, said Astrid, playing for time. I’ll call you later on, when I know more.
When she went into the village to do her shopping, and passed the police station, she crossed to the other side and avoided looking at it. Back at home, she rang the police, and asked to speak to Herr Ruf. The woman at the other end asked what it was about. A personal matter, said Astrid. Shortly afterward he was on the line. Astrid asked if he had any news. The moment we hear anything we’ll call you, he said. Astrid said nothing. How are you doing? You all right? he asked. No, she said, and laughed hollowly. He apologized. I’m out on patrol all day, but if you like I can look in on you later. Would you, said Astrid. Maybe — But the sentence broke off, and she didn’t say any more. See you later then, said the policeman.
At ten, Astrid called the office and said Thomas had shingles. Oh, golly, poor man, said the secretary. My mother had shingles once. Where did he get it from? The doctor says it might have been getting too much sun while on holiday, said Astrid. She had come across the condition online and made notes on it. Do you know how long he’ll be off work? Thomas would definitely have to spend the next two weeks at home, said Astrid, and it might be more than a month. It’s highly infectious, she added. Well, give him all the best from everyone he
re, and I hope he’s better soon, said the secretary. You can bring in the doctor’s note at your convenience. Astrid promised she would, and hung up.
On the coffee table were a few books Thomas had been reading lately, plus a gardening magazine and a brochure for ecologically approved insecticides. Astrid dumped the catalogue and magazine in the recycling, and put the books back on the shelf. She picked up Thomas’s sweater off the sofa and dropped it in the washing in the bathroom, and likewise his pajamas and a pair of socks she found beside the bed. She took his toiletries off the vanity shelf and packed them away in the bathroom cupboard. She went through the house, picking up things he had left lying around, a half-eaten bag of dried apricots (a present from a client), a screwdriver, a tube of wood glue, a shopping list, a freebie ballpoint. She ate the apricots and tidied everything else away. In the bedroom was a desk that Thomas sometimes used. That too she tidied, stuffing loose sheets of paper into the drawers. In a plastic file folder she found restaurant bills from their vacation, the rental agreement for the holiday house, and a few cash withdrawal slips. Finally she wiped the work surface with a damp cloth, as though to remove every last trace of Thomas’s presence.
Shortly before midday, the doorbell rang. It was Ruf. As she led the way into the living room, she glanced through the curtains and saw the patrol car parked beside the garden gate. I’ve got my colleague waiting for me outside, said Ruf. For a while they sat facing each other in silence. Finally, Astrid asked him if he was married. My wife had her first baby in April, he said. Our first baby. A little girl. You think it could never happen to you, don’t you? said Astrid. He merely shook his head silently, she couldn’t tell whether he was confirming or denying her allegation. Then she admitted to him that she had sometimes left Ella, her older child, all alone when she was very little. I’ve never told anyone that, not even my husband. I think everyone has thoughts like that, said Ruf. But not everyone acts on them, said Astrid. Thank God. What would you do if you were in my situation? she asked. As I say, most people return within a few days. You should get in touch with everyone he knows, even friends from way back. If he uses his bank or credit cards, you’ll see confirmation of it in your records. Other than that, we’re relying on Inspector Chance. She could always engage a private detective, but they came dear and wouldn’t be able to do much more than the police. It’s not so easy to find someone who’s set on not being found. You must think I’m a bad wife, said Astrid, why else would he have left me. Tears ran down her face. Ruf hesitated, then took her hand in his, like a small animal he sought to protect or keep from fleeing. No, he said, no, and then with quite unprofessional agitation in his voice, you just don’t do something like that. He let go of her hand and stood up. I need to go, my partner’s waiting for me outside. Whenever you come here I have to cry, said Astrid.