by Peter Stamm
After midnight Thomas woke up. He had a sense of having been woken by a noise, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He felt reasonably well-rested, only his feet hurt him still.
He walked out of the woods and headed down the slope through the village, first through a residential quarter, then the center, which was traversed by a wide street. Most of the shop windows were still lit, but there was no one around. He had the sense that this village was inhabited predominantly by the objects in the window displays, by kitchen equipment and bicycles, cell phones and fashion items: Everything looked more energetic than the stylized mannequins over whose bodies they were draped.
Now Thomas knew where he was and which way he wanted to go. He was sufficiently far enough away from his house; he felt less shy; he didn’t straightaway go into hiding when a car approached, he merely lowered his head and averted his gaze, without slowing his step.
Next door to the station was a snack bar. Inside, an elderly gray-haired woman was just clearing things off the counter and wiping it down. Thomas hesitated, then gave a knock. The woman jumped. She went up to the glass door, gave Thomas a quick once-over, and unlocked the door. We’re closed, she said. I’m hungry, said Thomas, his voice sounded cracked, it was two days since he had last spoken to anyone. Do you have any food left over? The woman looked in the glass case behind the counter. There’s some börek, she said. Great, said Thomas, you don’t need to warm it up. And a beer. Efes okay? asked the woman. She packed them into a white plastic bag and thanked him for the tip. Thomas had spent the last of his money on the meal, but the thought didn’t oppress him, on the contrary, he felt freer than before.
The last train had left several hours ago. Thomas sat down on a bench outside the station building and ate and drank the ice-cold beer. As he did so, he leafed through a newspaper that someone had left lying around, but the short news items about the rescue of four stranded sperm whales, a naked statue of Satan that someone had built in Vancouver, and the man with the longest tongue in the world merely depressed him, and he threw the paper into the bin. He took off his shoes and socks and examined his feet in the harsh neon street lighting. They were swollen, and the ankles had abrasions, but luckily he had no blisters.
The village went on seemingly forever. He walked along the road, past a soccer pitch. Opposite was a large factory. There was light behind the closed metal shutters. He could hear the humming of air conditioning, the blades in the opening of the air vent were fluttering gently in the breeze, a sound that somehow reminded Thomas of America. From the conservatory of a crummy restaurant he heard the voices of a couple of drunks, getting worked up about something or other. Next came a sector with new apartment buildings and a bus stop still in the process of construction. The orangey light of the streetlamps made the grass on the shoulders look gray, the crowns of newly planted trees black. Finally the pavement came to an end, and with it the streetlights. Thomas walked on in darkness. Even though there was no moon in the overcast sky, it wasn’t completely pitch-black, the clouds gave a pale reflection of the light pollution of civilization. The air was warm and damp.
It was very quiet; no cars had passed for some time. When Thomas crested a hill, he saw in the distance the lights this side of the lake, making a straight line in the expanse of nocturnal landscape. Above it there was a suggestion of mountains, and on the highest peaks the red signal lights used to warn pilots. From time to time a truck went by or a delivery van. A solitary walker on the road was surely more striking at night than by day, but Thomas was obliged to follow the roads; if he had gone cross-country he would have instantly lost his bearings. And to walk through inhabited areas in the daytime, that was something he didn’t dare to do.
Once he thought there was a creature padding after him, and he stopped in terror and turned around, but there were no more sounds and nothing to be seen.
The road divided. Almost at random he chose the downhill fork. For about an hour he walked among maize fields and meadows, and past isolated farmhouses. To the regular rhythm of his steps, he started softly singing walking songs that came to him out of his childhood. In our eyes the flashing of starlight and the flames of nightly fires, in our legs the indomitable rhythm and our spirits that never tire.
He passed a small village perched on a slope over the road that seemed to consist entirely of new buildings, identikit concrete cubes, surrounded by wire-mesh fences. Lights were on over some of the doorways, but Thomas had difficulty imagining people actually living behind these façades, people lying in their beds, sleeping and dreaming, or waking up in the middle of the night, listening for sounds from the nursery, or thinking of the day ahead or just passed. Over a garage door hung a scarf in the colors of a soccer team, written on it in a spine-chilling font: Welcome to Hell.
Back out in the open again, Thomas heard soft rustling or fluttering sounds, as of dragonflies’ wings. Looking around, he saw for the first time the electricity wires that crossed the valley over his head. He walked down the middle of the road, thought he would keep his eyes closed for a hundred paces, and counted them too, but after ninety he couldn’t stand the suspense anymore and opened them again.
He was surprised not to have reached the lake long ago. He thought he must be heading in the wrong direction and decided to wait for it to get light and orient himself by the rising sun. He sat down on the shoulder and looked up into the paling sky, where there were barely any stars to be made out.
Finally it got light and Thomas saw that all along he’d been heading westward, parallel to the lake. He took the very next track left, and walked south over a wooded knoll. At the edge of a swampy clearing stood some old oaks, their contorted limbs in the gloaming resembling the outstretched claws of mythical beings. One more rise, and then the silence of the woods suddenly gave way to traffic noise as Thomas found himself standing at a lookout point with a cross and benches, and saw directly in front of him the lake, and off to the right an extensive industrial estate and behind that a town. He had meant to round the lake at its eastern end, but now realized that he was many miles away from his intended route.
The steep slope below was covered with row houses. He got through the area as quickly as he could. Then he walked along past office buildings and apartment blocks toward the lake. He would be better able to hide in the reedy bank during the day than on the wooded hill. In front of a half-dilapidated old apartment building he saw a neglected vegetable patch. In one bed were zucchini plants, probably a dozen enormous yellowed vegetables under white mildewed leaves. Thomas looked around quickly, scrambled over the fence, and picked one. He stuffed it under his jacket and trotted on in the direction of the lake.
On the shore was a campsite. The office was shuttered. There was a note on the door with a cell-phone number to call during office hours. There seemed to be no one around. Most of the trailers seemed to be long lets; they were up on cinder blocks, had awnings, satellite dishes on their roofs, and little front yards with flowers. Thomas had gone in intending to look for somewhere to hide, but when he spotted a row-boat on the edge of the reeds, he decided on impulse to row across the lake. The far side was less built up.
The lake at this point was no more than half a mile wide, but it was tricky to keep the tiny boat on course. Shreds of mist lay over the smooth surface. Even now, in the early morning, the lake seemed to give off a kind of exhaustion, a quality of sloth and heaviness that affected Thomas. When he turned around to check his course, he saw not far from him a motor-boat, and a fisherwoman, reeling in her net that was held in the water with a long line of white plastic canisters. Thomas thought about what he would say if she spoke to him. But she didn’t pay him any mind, just kept drawing in the net with repetitive motions of her hand, and freed the wriggling fish, while her boat moved on with a quiet put-putting sound.
The rowing was heavy going, and Thomas shivered in the cold that rose from the lake. But even before he could get to the other side, the sun had risen, and he started to get warmer.
He had aimed for a wooded point, and only as he approached it did he see that it was in fact the mouth of a little stream. Even at some distance, the current was perceptible, the murky water of the stream mingling gradually with the clear lake water.
He didn’t manage to make much headway against the stream, the current was too strong for him. He clambered out on a gravelly bank that was ringed by bushes and trees, and pulled the boat onto the shore. He sat down on a thick, barked tree trunk and with his little pocketknife cut the zucchini in pieces and removed the seeds.
He wouldn’t be able to go on like this for much longer, he thought, as he slowly chewed the zucchini pieces. Now, with the mountains ahead of him, he needed better gear, waterproof clothes, and food. He wouldn’t find any more snack machines or vegetable beds where he was going, or any dumpsters or dispensers of old bread. He toyed with the idea of stocking up in the nearby village; at least he was far enough from home by now that no one would know him. Also, since he had washed it in the stream, his clothing was sufficiently clean not to attract notice. He consulted his watch. He had at least two hours until the shops opened. He lay down in a sunny spot, stretched out, and closed his eyes. The sun’s warmth seemed to flow into him like a substance, filling up the void that the cold had left behind.
Astrid was relieved that the police car was gone before the children came home from school. This time, Konrad arrived almost at the same time as Ella. They were both quiet, but Astrid could feel the pressure of their unasked questions. No one felt at all hungry. What about some ice cream? she asked after clearing away the dirty plates. Ella’s thanks were so overwhelming that Astrid was almost reduced to tears again. Come here, both of you, she said. The children approached her with expectant looks. I don’t know where Papa is, she said, putting an arm around each of them, nor do I know why he went away, but I’m sure he’s doing well, and that he’ll come back soon. I didn’t tell anyone about it, and I don’t want you to talk about it either. All right? It’s our business and no one else’s. Papa’s and ours. The children nodded.
As it was a Wednesday, there was no afternoon school. Astrid asked the children if they had any homework. Usually she had to remind them several times before they did anything, but this time they both settled down at the dining-room table, and quietly and without bickering did what they had to do.
Astrid remembered what Herr Ruf had told her. Without any great hope she turned on the computer and went to the online banking site.
What’s the matter? both children exclaimed almost at once. Astrid had gasped with surprise. The latest statement showed three withdrawals since Thomas’s disappearance, one a day ago, the other two a matter of hours ago. She clicked on details of the transactions, the two recent ones were done in short order in Lachen on Lake Zurich — one from a cash machine, the other at a sportswear business. For a moment, Astrid sat there stunned, then she said to the children, All right, get a shuffle on, we’ve got to go. She got out of the drawer the photograph of Thomas that she’d printed out for Herr Ruf, and wrote down the name of the sportswear shop and also the details of the first withdrawal, which was credited to a certain M and K Entertainment in Frauenfeld.
In the car she told the children that their father had used his bank card a few hours ago on Lake Zurich, and that was where they were driving. There wasn’t much more to be said, and after they had all been silent for a while, Astrid turned on the radio and straightaway switched it off again because the music was still more insufferable than the silence.
In Zurich there was heavy traffic, even though it wasn’t yet the rush hour. Astrid felt increasingly nervous, as though every minute counted. At the end of an hour and a half they were there, and Astrid parked the car in a large gravel area not far from the lake. Ella jumped out, Konrad had fallen asleep. She woke him gently. He stretched and complained a little. Get a move on, said Ella impatiently, otherwise Papa’ll have gone again.
They got directions to the sportswear store, which was in a new shopping mall on the edge of town. There was a main nave with high glass ceiling, from where a supermarket and various smaller businesses branched off to the sides. What about waiting for me here? asked Astrid. Ella and Konrad sat on a stone bench outside the sportswear store. Before Astrid went in, she took a last look behind her. Ella was fiddling with her Nintendo, Konrad sat next to her with slumped shoulders, watching. For a moment Astrid was almost overwhelmed with sympathy for them. She herself would somehow manage to deal with Thomas’s disappearance, even though she couldn’t understand it, but the children were helplessly exposed to their feelings. For years already Astrid had the sense she couldn’t get through to them and was merely accompanying them through their lives like some distant observer.
A member of the sales staff asked if she could help. Astrid awkwardly explained what it was about. She held the picture of Thomas in her hand the whole time. The sales assistant hesitated, then said she couldn’t give out information about individual purchases. She didn’t seem to be terribly sure of her ground. Astrid wondered whether the woman believed a word she, Astrid, was saying, or if she maybe thought she was dealing with a madwoman. Do you think I could speak to the manager? she asked. I wouldn’t know anything anyway, said the sales assistant, I only came on shift at noon. Hold on a moment. She disappeared. Astrid looked at the stock: sports gear, sneakers and hiking shoes, camping equipment, freeze-dried MREs. She took a packet in her hand and read through the list of ingredients, as though they would tell her about Thomas’s intentions and whereabouts. Then she saw the assistant approaching her again, with a second, younger woman at her side. They were talking, but stopped just before they reached Astrid.
The younger woman shook hands with Astrid and introduced herself: Bordoni, I’m the manager of the store. She had to be more or less Astrid’s age, was petite and had a pretty face and long dark hair. Even though her staff member would certainly have told her what it was all about, she asked to hear everything again from the beginning. Astrid named the substantial sum of money that Thomas had spent in the store and the time of the transaction. The assistant had gone away to look after another customer. I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give you any information, said the manager, you see, I can’t even check your story. Astrid cast a despairing look out into the mall, but the bench where she had left Ella and Konrad wasn’t visible from where she stood. The strength drained out of her, she felt dizzy and grabbed hold of the nearest thing, which happened to be a green down jacket that slid off its hanger and fell to the floor. Astrid found herself gripping the stand, and hung there almost doubled up, and struggling for breath. Do you not feel well? asked the manager. Come with me. She took Astrid under the arm, and walked her to a back room behind the counter with the cash registers. Sit down, I’ll bring you a glass of water. She remained standing in front of Astrid while she drank. I’ve got my children waiting outside, said Astrid, I have to check up on what they’re doing. Better now? asked the manager. Astrid nodded. Is that your husband? asked the manager, pointing to the photo that Astrid was still clutching in her hand. Let’s see it. She looked at the picture quickly and gave it back. I was the one who served him this morning, but there’s not much more I can tell you. For a tiny moment, Astrid had the absurd thought that the woman was on Thomas’s side, his secret lover and co-conspirator, and the two of them were playing a hideous trick on her.
Jennifer, said the woman, shaking hands with her again. Her husband had come in soon after the shop had opened, she had asked him if she could help, but he had declined and said he just wanted to have a look around. Then I served another customer, she said. I thought he might have gone already, when he walked up to the checkout counter with a whole pile of merchandise. Can you tell me what he bought? asked Astrid. To give you precise details I’d have to check at the register, but I think I can remember most of it. A pair of hiking shoes, a pair of trekking pants, a waterproof jacket, a rucksack. She stopped to think. A battery torch, no, it was a headlamp. And socks, we’ve got them
on sale. I think that was everything. No, there was a pocketknife as well. I remember I had to unlock the window. One of the new ones from the Pioneer range, with black Alox scales. Did he say anything to you? asked Astrid. What he wanted it for? Where he was going? I made some remark about the weather, said the manager, that it was supposed to rain tonight. But he didn’t say much. I don’t remember. I see so many customers every day. How did he strike you? asked Astrid. What was his appearance like? His manner? Friendly. He seemed a bit tired possibly, and he was unshaven. His shirt was crumpled. Otherwise nothing. Just an ordinary customer.
Astrid took the children through the city. They walked into every restaurant and looked around, asked after Thomas in the few hotels, but there was no trace of him. In the station was a big hiking map, a dense web of green lines going in every direction, roads and trails, bus and train lines. It was almost ten hours since Thomas had made his purchases, by now he could be anywhere. If she hadn’t had the children with her, Astrid might have set off on her own to look. It had started raining gently, as the manager had predicted. The children complained, they were hungry and tired. What would you say to a pizza? asked Astrid. The children were jubilant, as though they had already forgotten what they were here to do.