by Peter Stamm
Thomas had the disquieting feeling that all this had been laid on for him, that the people in the village were actors who were merely waiting for him to come by, to assume their roles and speak their lines. It was an artificial world, a model construction under an expansive blue sky. The sun was shining, the houses gleaming in the morning light. An old lady and an old gentleman, both with dogs, stood by the side of the road talking about the weather; a woman going past on her bicycle called out a greeting to them; schoolchildren were practicing long jumps on the playing field; on the kindergarten playground smaller children were fizzing around. Thomas passed through the village, simultaneously extra and onlooker. Cars crawled past at walking speed, a sales assistant was cleaning the window of a leather goods store, two workmen exchanged banter with her. A young mother leaned over the baby carriage and spoke soothingly to her infant. The words and gestures seemed as exaggerated as those of amateur performers in a village theatrical.
Thomas asked a young man in suit and briefcase if he knew a sports shop, and had him show him the way. The shopping center was on the main road, not far from the station. It seemed not to have been open for very long, some of the premises were still unfinished, which only added to Thomas’s sense of moving about on a stage.
After days out of doors, even the lofty mall felt constricting, but Thomas enjoyed the fixed temperature, the bluish neon, and the simple artificial smells of shoes and textiles. Here was a limited world with no surprises and no dangers. A young shop assistant addressed him. He said he was just having a look around. While he gathered up the things he needed, he kept on seeing her. She was filling shelves, giving instructions to a colleague, serving a customer, who seemed to take forever before deciding on a pair of sneakers. The assistant radiated a kind of bustling happiness that suited this unreal place to a tee. As he paid, she asked him with a routine show of interest if he was planning a hike. I thought I’d go to the mountains, said Thomas, and after a brief pause for thought, as though he was reassuring himself, again, yes, the mountains. But the sales assistant was busy removing the security tabs from his purchases and seemed not to be listening. He looked at her hands, which looked older than her conservatively made-up face, the nails carefully manicured and lacquered; she wasn’t wearing a ring. Her hands brought him around to her. He felt almost certain that she had no husband, no lover, at the most a cat. He imagined her going home after work to her little apartment in one of the gigantic blocks he had seen at the edge of town. Surely her apartment would be just as tidy as this store, the town, the whole area. She would take a shower, fix herself a salad, keep the radio on while she ate. What would she say if he asked her if she had anything planned for tonight? He thought of finding refuge in her place. While she took her shower, he would be camped in the kitchen listening to the sounds from the bathroom. She would emerge in a kimono, with her hair wrapped up in a towel, take some food out of the fridge, get her dinner ready. He sat there in silence, watching her eat. He sat next to her in front of the TV, and later, when she went to bed, he of course slipped in under the sheets beside her. While she was at work the next day, he would be in the apartment waiting for her to come home. Until one day he moved on, now a long way from home in time as well as distance. Cash or credit, she asked. Credit, said Thomas.
At a cash machine he withdrew a thousand francs. In the supermarket next to the sports store he bought a large bottle of water and as much food as he could fit into his rucksack, things that were nutritious and would keep: biscuits and chocolate, salami, hard cheese, rye bread in slices, dried fruit and nuts, and — after a moment’s hesitation — a small bottle of inexpensive brandy. Then he went to the shopping center’s restroom and got changed. He dumped his old stuff in a trash can.
Thomas felt happy to be leaving the town. Ideally, he would have been walking out at night, but he hadn’t been able to find a place to spend the day unobserved. At least he looked like a legitimate hiker now, suitably dressed, with heavy boots and a rucksack. But his new equipment weighed him down, and he made slower headway than previously. He followed the yellow footpath signs under the motorway and then across the flatland to the next place, a farming village, at whose edges dozens of new buildings stood among barns and cow pastures. These buildings looked as though they had fallen from the sky, an enemy invasion from more urban zones. Ahead he saw a slightly elevated col and far at the back jagged rocks, but the footpath followed a little road that zigzagged up the side of the slope. The higher Thomas climbed, the more he saw of the densely settled flatland below. Ringed by mountain chains it had the appearance of a gigantic arena. In the distance he could see the lake, and beyond it a further array of villages, woods, and hills, the autobahn and the railway line. Again, he was put in mind of a scale model, a papier-mâché landscape, sprinkled with artificial green and dotted about with little houses and trees from catalogues.
Only right at the top did the trail lead into the valley, and along the western slope into the south. Isolated farmhouses were dotted about. From a wooded area below the road rose a column of smoke. On the opposite side thick high-pressure pipes led down to the hydraulic power plant on the plain. His road was now gently downhill, meeting the rising valley. After a couple of miles of easy walking, Thomas reached the valley floor. The landscape spread out and the wooded slopes gave way to green meadows with grazing sheep and cows on them. A substantial village followed, with a self-service gas station and a closed grocery store. At the upper edge of the village was a campsite that was stuffed full of old caravans. A few had improvised roofs of corrugated PVC or plastic sheeting. Outside one of them sat an old man and a little girl, both impassive, as though under a spell.
Soon after, the valley narrowed into a wooded gorge. The trail led along a streambed where some huge rocks lay, but no water. A signpost warned of the risks of flash floods, even in fine weather. Through the treetops Thomas glimpsed the crest of a dam. A narrow path led up the side of the slope and then zigzagged up a cliff. Some spots had been fitted with handholds and wire balustrades.
When Thomas emerged from the woods, he felt he had arrived in a different world. He was standing at one end of the dam, ahead of him lay the man-made lake, edged with woods and meadows. On the other side of the reservoir was a small village. The rough gray peaks on the horizon seemed to loom over him, very near. Cirrus clouds hung there, while Thomas still had blue sky overhead. He walked along the edge of the reservoir, then sat down in the grass to eat and rest. He heard a distant clanging of cowbells. He lay down and was soon in a sort of half sleep, where places and times blurred into a blissful feeling of endlessness.
No sooner had Astrid set off than the children were asleep, even though it was only a little after nine. She was relieved not to have to speak to them. Dinner had been laconic enough. The children had shared a pizza, and then Astrid bought them ice creams as though it was a holiday. She didn’t manage to finish the salad she had ordered.
She chose the route over the lake and the Oberland, so as not to have to negotiate the city a second time. There was a light drizzle still, and the headlights of the oncoming traffic made gleaming reflections on the wet asphalt. Astrid found the drive in the dark demanding. She’d had little sleep over the past few nights and was afraid of dropping off. She tried to be furious with Thomas, who was to blame for everything, but she didn’t manage it. If anything, she was worried about him. She sat bolt upright in her seat, sang quietly to herself, but her exhaustion was like a poison slowly seeping through her body and isolating it against other influences.
She stopped at the service station outside Winterthur and parked beside the little store. She went inside to get a coffee and stood under the awning, from where she could keep an eye on the children in the car. The hissing of the passing traffic, the reflections of the lights on the wet surfaces, the smell of petrol all reminded her of long drives on Sunday evenings following visits with her parents, and that settled her a little. The coffee was so hot that she had to drink it in ti
ny sips. Only now did it occur to her to phone the police to tell them about the latest turn of events. She took Herr Ruf’s card out of her purse and looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock. Hesitating briefly, she punched the mobile number he had written on the back. There were half a dozen rings before he answered. Am I bothering you? she asked. No problem, he said. I normally go to bed pretty late. She could hear a baby crying in the background. More than ever just lately, he said with a dry laugh. I was just changing her…Astrid didn’t want to know. She interrupted him, and talked about the three recent transactions on the account, and that she had been to the sportswear store. Well, that all sounds pretty encouraging, said Herr Ruf. Where are you now? At the service station outside Winterthur. The policeman hesitated. We could have a K-9 detail put on him. What’s that? A sniffer dog. Go home and call me again when you’re back. By then I should know more.
Astrid felt quite alert now. All at once Thomas seemed to be very close to her, but at the same time she dreaded the moment when he would be facing her and trying to explain his actions. It was as though their relationship had been frozen at the moment three days ago when she went into the house to settle Konrad. As long as Thomas stayed away, nothing would change. Only with his return would time begin to tick on again. And then everything could happen.
She parked the car in front of the house and woke the children. It took a long time before they had finally cleaned their teeth and were in their beds. A little before eleven, Herr Ruf called back. He said he would come by in fifteen minutes.
Astrid waited for him outside the door; she didn’t want him to ring and wake the children. She had brewed fresh coffee, and when she sat opposite the policeman at the living-room table, she felt a kind of satisfaction that he had left his wife and baby in the middle of the night to come and help her. There were more important things to do here. He said he had spoken to colleagues in the canton of Schwyz who had a sniffer dog, only it was based in the city. I’ve offered them one of our dog handlers, that’ll be quicker. We’ll drive off first thing tomorrow. The track will still be fresh. If the terrain turns out to be difficult, I’d rather not be out at night.
But only yesterday, you were saying you couldn’t help me, said Astrid. You said that Thomas had the right to disappear if he wanted to. Yes, he has such a right, said Herr Ruf, but we have a right to look for him. Still, he’s been gone for three days and three nights. He said every missing person case was different, there were no standard procedures, just gut instinct. And what does your gut instinct tell you? asked Astrid. I’m afraid that’s exactly what my boss will ask me tomorrow morning, said Herr Ruf. But that shouldn’t be your concern. The main thing is finding your husband. Now, do you have an item of his clothing? Preferably underclothing, something that will have only his scent on it. I put all his things in the wash, said Astrid. I don’t know why. She propped her head in her hands and started to cry. The policeman came around the table, put his hand on her shoulder, and said calmly, There, there, we’ll find something, a jacket, a sweater, something.
Once Astrid had calmed down, she went on ahead to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Despondently she stared into it. What about that sweater? asked Herr Ruf. He hasn’t worn that one for years. She looked at all the freshly laundered things, the pressed shirts, the carefully folded T-shirts he had worn on their vacation. Finally, she remembered Thomas’s handball things. In the sports bag on the basement steps they found a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Don’t touch them, said Herr Ruf, and he secured the item.
They went back down to the living room and drank a second cup of coffee each. At some point Astrid said, I think I need a brandy now. I expect you’re not allowed to drink when you’re on duty? That’s what the detectives always say on TV. The policeman motioned he wasn’t strictly speaking on duty, and he wasn’t a detective either. When they knocked glasses, he said, the name’s Patrick. They chatted for a while. He started telling her about his baby again. All of Astrid’s knowledge of the police came from TV shows. The policemen in those were always in broken relationships or lived apart from their wives, which seemed more appropriate to her than Patrick’s little domestic bliss. He refused a second brandy. She poured one for herself and felt much more mature and experienced than him. Even his indignation over Thomas’s disappearance struck her as naïve now, and she doubted whether he would be able to achieve anything in a case whose basics he didn’t grasp properly. After that she felt better disposed to him, and admitted that she didn’t understand what had happened any more than he did. Eventually the baby will sleep through, she said, getting up, it’s just some learn faster than others.
Do you know anything about the first withdrawal from the account? Patrick asked as they were already standing in the corridor. Some M and K Entertainment in Frauenfeld, said Astrid. I thought it might be a bar or restaurant. And how high was the sum? Twenty francs, she said. One moment, he said, I’m just going to make a call. He went outside, closing the door behind him. Astrid remained in the corridor. She looked at the time, it was already after midnight. A few minutes later, Patrick came back in. He seemed tired, it was as though something had robbed him of all his energy while he was outside. I’m sorry, he said, but there was something about the name of that company. It seemed familiar. Unfortunately it keeps cropping up in our records. The withdrawal must have been made in the Galaxy, which is a club in a place called Braunau near Wil. Astrid looked at him uncomprehendingly. A brothel, he said. She turned and ran into the living room. All she wanted was to be alone, not see anyone and have no one see her. But Patrick had come after her. Again, he laid his hand on her shoulder. She gave an angry twitch, and he took it away. I’m sorry. It’s only a small sum. Presumably all he did was have a beer. Astrid did not say anything. Well, I’ll be on my way, he said. Tomorrow will be a long day. I’ll keep you informed.
Astrid heard the front door close behind him. She filled Patrick’s glass. As she drank, she had the feeling of their lips touching. Then she carried the coffee things and the brandy snifters into the kitchen. She wondered if Thomas had been to that brothel earlier, whether he had possibly been deceiving her all along. He had clients in the area whom he visited from time to time, admittedly in the daytime, but places like that were surely not only open at night. She opened up the laptop and googled the place. A photograph of a bare-breasted woman popped up on the screen, and under the name of the bar, a flashing slogan: The Hottest Club in Eastern Switzerland. Hot, private girls, drinks at bar prices. Open seven days a week, 6:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.
She navigated her way through the site, found pictures of the rooms and a gallery of the prostitutes. These girls await your pleasure tonight: Milena, Brigitta, Amanda, Lora, Tina, Maria. Attached were pictures of women in their underwear or entirely naked. Some had their hair falling into their faces, others had yellow stars covering their faces and pudenda. When she clicked on the picture, a new page opened with a brief description of the woman and some more pictures. Insatiable, no limits, sex-addicted. This hot-blooded chick needs sex the way she needs air to breathe. She’ll show you desire and submission that you won’t get at home. Disgustedly, Astrid closed the browser and snapped the laptop shut.
It took her a long time to get to sleep. Again and again she saw the pictures of the anonymous women with their fantasy names, turning their bottoms to the camera, arching their backs to make their breasts appear bigger and firmer. Astrid saw herself walking into the nightclub in her nightie, with couples along the walls and little groups of masked men and women all naked. She sensed that these people knew her and saw through her. They came closer and ever closer, surrounded her. Astrid tried to get away, but they wouldn’t let her through; she felt hands pushing her back, plucking at her nightie, her underthings, arms wrapping themselves around her and holding her fast. Then through the crowd she saw Thomas standing by the wall. He had his arm draped over the hip of a naked woman and there was an amused smile on his face. His lips were moving, but with all the noise she coul
dn’t make out what he was saying. Suddenly she was wide awake. It was dark in the room. She groped for the alarm clock. It was four in the morning. She got up, threw on her dressing gown, and went out into the garden. And then she could breathe again.
The sun was over the other side of the valley, and the clouds had come nearer, otherwise everything was the same as before. Thomas thought about the paired images he had seen in his childhood, how many differences can you find. A cow was gone, one of the many flowers in the meadow had lost all its petals, the blackbird was no longer in the apple tree, the white cross had quit the Swiss flag. There was a fishing boat out on the lake, but the fisherman must be around the other side of the boat or in the cabin.
The road followed the lakeshore. The occasional angler sat, as motionless and quiet as though he belonged to the landscape. Otherwise there was no one in sight. Over everything hung a festive atmosphere. The sun was dazzling. Then there was a bend in the road, and he was walking through the blue shadows of a little alder wood. The trunks were scurfy and dabbed with moss, which didn’t seem to go with their luminous leaves. On the meadows he saw more autumn crocuses, which looked somehow feebler than flowers in spring, anxious, as though they could sense the shorter days ahead.
At the end of the lake was an area of buoys with a few small motorboats; on the shore were some vacation houses with lowered blinds and a restaurant. Open Today, it said on a sign over a drinks advertisement, and the glass door was open wide, but the terrace was empty.