In the River Darkness

by Marlene Röder

  Our swimming pool was old-fashioned in every way. The pool itself had been built in the 1920s and was filled by an inlet of the river. Even the changing rooms were from a different era. They were made of wood and had quite a few holes—most of them eagerly made with pocketknives so boys could watch girls as they changed. I could still remember my own excitement as I pressed my face against the warm, bleached wood, the feeling of doing something wonderfully forbidden as I peered through the narrow gap. Back then, girls seemed like creatures from another planet, mysterious and untouchable. Actually, not much has changed in that respect.

  The day dragged on. Kids shrieked. Occasionally, they were reprimanded by their mothers, who lay on beach towels sunning themselves and chatting with their girlfriends. The shade of the trees moved across the trampled grass; soon it would be a complete wasteland.

  From my spot at the snack bar, I had a good view of the diving boards. I watched the twelve-year-old boys endlessly doing pikes and flips from the high dive, or at least trying to. I could vaguely remember what it felt like when the days still stretched out before us, free and endless, and we had nothing better to do than to practice diving with our friends.

  “Hey, Alex. Do you still have chocolate ice cream?” My buddy Wolf sauntered up to the counter with a wide grin on his face. “What’s up, man? Enjoying the beautiful day?”

  I muttered something incomprehensible and slammed his ice cream onto the counter. “You’re much too aggressive, Alex. I think you urgently need a different job,” Wolf suggested. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in a very talkative mood today. “So tell me, what’re you going to do when you’re done with school?” he asked as he ate his ice cream with obvious pleasure.

  “Don’t know exactly,” I mumbled, and started scrubbing the countertop. “Community college, maybe. Or find some job or training program.”

  “I always thought you wanted to get out of here. Go on big trips. That’s what you used to talk about all the time.”

  Yeah, I used to talk about wanting to go to sea practically every minute of every day. I was twelve years old. Everything seemed so simple to me back then.

  “And I still want to!” I yelled at Wolf. “But it isn’t that easy, get it?” It would have been too much to explain to him about Jay and Grandma—that I couldn’t leave—because if I did, my family would fall apart.

  “Man, are you on edge today!” Wolf threw a few coins on the counter. “Here. When you’ve got yourself under control again, come down to the bridge for a beer later.” Then he took off.

  I hated the stench of oily French fries that clung to me after work. When my shift was finally over, I jumped from the high dive and hoped for the feeling it used to give me. But it wasn’t there, not a trace of it.

  Then I swam a few laps freestyle. But even the water couldn’t wash away the smell of stale frying oil that had attached itself to my skin.

  When I got home, I found Grandma and Mia in the garden. Mia came to our house often now, almost every day. Since then, the seasoning of our food had improved considerably. Grandma’s mood, too.

  At the moment, they were planting green beans. That is, Mia was planting the beans while Grandma sat on her old kitchen chair and talked—she was probably giving orders. They both looked rather content.

  I was about to call to them and say hello when this stupid thought occurred to me: I wondered what they talked about when they were by themselves. Quietly, I ducked behind a blackberry hedge—and shrank back in disgust. In the thorns hung a fish skeleton. The sun-bleached bones were still complete, and the half-rotted head stared at me with sunken eyes. The rancid, nauseating stench of dead fish filled my nose. My God, that was disgusting! I tried to breathe through my mouth so I could concentrate on Mia and Grandma again.

  It was a little like peering into those changing cabins as a kid. I could feel the hairs on my arms lifting. Because what I heard was something I definitely didn’t want to hear. But it was too late.

  “ . . . And then she met Eric,” Grandma was telling her. “He was good looking back then, with a big, wide smile. And broad shoulders to lean on. He radiated a calm that Katarina never had. It was like she was born without it, like some other children are born with a finger or a toe too few. But Eric never saw her restlessness as a fault. He told me once that he felt alive when he was with my daughter.” Deep in thought Grandma added, “It was as if they each had something the other was missing . . .”

  “And what happened then?” Mia asked as she continued to dig energetically, her eyes trained on Grandma. The hole for the next plant was already so deep it looked like she wanted to dig her way to China.

  “Things happened the way they had to. One morning, I found Katarina in the bathroom bent over the toilet getting sick. When she saw me she cried: ‘Mama, what should I do?’ I was flabbergasted. My sixteen-year-old daughter had gotten herself pregnant. ‘You’ll get married, of course,’ I told her when I could speak again and had pushed the damp hair off her face. ‘You’re lucky that your Eric is a respectable young man. He’ll marry you.’ But Katarina just looked at me. ‘And if don’t want a baby yet?’ she asked. ‘I want to see the world, I want . . .’ Katarina hammered her fists on the floor. Of course it didn’t help any.” Grandma sighed and stared at the poor bean plants, as if it was all their fault.

  Even from behind my bush, I could see that Mia had the word “abortion” on the tip of her tongue. Fortunately for her, she closed her mouth again—in Grandma’s presence a very wise decision.

  She, in the meantime, was reporting how she had managed the situation with her rebellious daughter: “‘Do you want to ruin your life, child?’ I asked her. ‘Shake the nonsense out of your head and thank the dear Lord for your Eric. You’ll be a good wife to him and a good mother to your child!’—‘But what about me? What about me?’ Katarina screamed. It was a scream and a sob all at once, and even today I get a chill up my spine when I think about it.”

  Grandma really did shiver then. “I told her that she wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last to have this happen to her. And that now she had to lie in the bed she’d made for herself, that she had to make the best of it, like all women do.”

  I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. I wished I hadn’t heard anything, or that I could forget it all again. Because it was my fault: my mother had been pregnant with me and that had ruined all her plans. I had stolen from her the life she had always dreamed of. And one day, she had left us to get it back again.

  The two blabbermouths kept right on talking, gossiping about my mother—their voices bored into my head. Dammit, they had no right to spout off about our family like some stupid stars in a trashy tabloid! It just had to stop, no matter what it took!

  Swaying, I stood up from my crouched position and came out from behind the blackberries. When the two of them noticed me, they instantly stopped talking. Grandmother’s mouth flapped open and shut, which made her look astonishingly similar to our singing plastic fish. In different circumstances, that would have made me laugh.

  “Hi,” I said quietly.

  “Oh, hello, Alexander. I forgot to . . . I need to . . .” She raised her hand and made a vague gesture in the direction of the house, then hobbled off to the patio. No doubt she would pretend the whole episode had never taken place. An excellent idea, in my opinion.

  Mia stopped in front of me. The expression on her face was a strange mixture of embarrassment, shame, and pity. I would have liked to shake her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “What exactly are you sorry about? About what happened, or for sticking your nose into things that are none of your damn business!”

  “Both, I guess.”

  We stared at each other for a while, sizing each other up. “Do you want a drink?” Mia finally asked and held out a battered old tin cup. I took it from her, tipped back a big gulp—and sputtered in surprise. “That’s brandy!”

  “Your grandmother loves the stuff.”

>   “Aha. Is there anything you don’t know about us yet?” I asked, kicking one of the bean stakes angrily with my foot. And almost stepped on a dead eel.

  It lay there oddly twisted, like a sign in a secret language. “What the hell is going on here?” I exploded. “What idiotic animal is dragging these fish into our yard?”

  Mia raised her eyebrows skeptically. “An animal that gnaws the bones so clean they look like the flesh was burned off by acid? An animal that hangs the rest of the fish in the bushes—like it was marking its territory or something? What kind of an animal would that be?”

  What was she talking about?

  “No idea,” I snarled. “Maybe a cat? Or that dog that’s always hanging around here!”

  “I’ve never heard of a dog that catches eels.” Mia sighed and nudged the fish with the toe of her shoe. “That’s already the third one this week. I find them in between the rosebushes, or in the fruit trees. Fortunately, I can usually throw them in the garbage before your grandmother sees them. She gets upset about it, you know? About the dead fish, the wreaths of mussel shells in the plum trees. Last week I found the torn-off wing of a bird.” Mia lowered her voice: “But that’s not all. I’m always finding footprints between the rows and the flowerbeds. Haven’t you seen them yet, the tracks that go around your house? Someone is watching you, Alex.”

  “That’s absurd!” I snorted. “Who would want to watch us? My family isn’t especially interesting.” Mia blushed a little. “It has to be some idiots from school,” I continued. “Well, I’ll teach them a lesson when I catch them! I’ll teach them not to pull these stupid stunts on us!”

  My rage slowly subsided, leaving me defenseless and exhausted. Thoughts of dead fish and my mother raced through my head. My legs felt weak, and I sank down onto the dusty ground—at a respectable distance from the eel. With glazed eyes, I stared at the bean stakes, which looked like the bars on a prison window in the harsh sunlight.

  How I would have liked to be at the ocean right then! Or anywhere else, far, far away! The main thing was not to be here. Not be me.

  Mia stood in front of me and was still looking at me. Her eyes seemed wise, like the eyes of a person who had already experienced a lot. I asked myself what those eyes might have already seen.

  “But tell me something about you,” I said, tipping back another gulp of brandy. “You seem to be very well informed about the dead fish lying around in our yard. Grandma’s already told you all about our family’s dirty laundry, but I don’t know a thing about you. What’s it like where you come from?”

  Against her will, Mia crouched down next to me on the ground. She probably only did it for her own conscience. But I didn’t let her off the hook. I needed a little distraction.

  “So, what’s it like in the city?”

  “Big,” she replied, without batting an eyelash. Apparently, she was playing that game where the first person who blinks, loses. At the moment, I had the feeling I was definitely at a disadvantage. She sat cross-legged next to me, her arms folded tightly over her chest, like a clam inside its shell. Determined not to reveal anything about herself.

  But I could play that game, too. “Do you miss it?” I prodded further.

  “I miss my cello lessons. I miss browsing in the little stores. But otherwise . . .” Mia shrugged her shoulders. She grabbed the cup with the brandy again. I glanced at her hands as she turned it between her fingers. She had lovely, slim artists’ hands, but I noticed that her fingernails were chewed down to the quick.

  “What about the people at your old school? Your boyfriend, if you had one?”

  “No.”

  I didn’t know if she meant she hadn’t had a boyfriend, or that she didn’t miss him. But her tone made it clear that she’d tear off my head if I dared continue asking questions.

  “And you? I bet you’ve already had a bunch of girlfriends,” she countered.

  “But the right one hasn’t come along yet,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes. Normally girls react to that somehow. They blush, look away quickly, or smile back. Not Mia. No reaction at all, she just shut down. That was a new one for me, a challenge.

  “Oh, a romantic,” was all she said, and raised her eyebrows mockingly. “I’ll bet you’re one of those guys who still believes in true love.”

  When I thought about it, I realized that I actually did. “Yeah, why not?” I said defiantly, because she was acting as if that was something completely ridiculous. “I think there are encounters that can change your life. The right person at the right time. Not forever, but at least for a while. Don’t you?”

  “Do you really believe that?” Mia’s eyes saw through me, and she pressed her lips together. “That whole rose-colored glasses thing is just a bunch of crap. It’s all about sex and control.”

  I stared at her. “If you mean that seriously, then I feel sorry for you.”

  “You don’t have a clue!” Mia jumped up, knocking over the cup. The brandy sank into the dry earth. Her face looked as if something had been spilled, too, and she hissed at me, “Why don’t you just get lost and leave me alone?”

  I refrained from pointing out that it was my yard I was supposed to vacate. Instead, I bet everything on one card. “Just smile at me one more time, then I’ll disappear,” I said, looking up at her. “I’ll move to Greenland and never, ever come back. And when I’m sitting between the polar bears, your smile will keep me warm.”

  I could see she was baffled. And I saw the smile sitting at the left corner of her mouth that had just been waiting to show itself. “Well, then get going,” Mia answered, “you’d better start packing.”

  And I had won. Or maybe Mia had won, because although she was laughing now, a hint of sadness remained in her eyes. I sat there and couldn’t do anything but look at her.

  And suddenly the feeling was there—just like that, no idea where it came from. That feeling I used to get when I stood up on the high dive, bouncing slightly, and then jumped. That sweet pulling in your gut when you fall—fear and happiness at the same time—and you don’t want it to stop. Until the water crashes together over your head and you surface again, laughing, breathless.

  Chapter 6

  Jay

  “Shhhh . . .” Alina placed a finger on her lips. There was nothing to hear but our breath, which blended with the wind, and the reeds swaying in the breeze like a woman’s hair. I sat completely still, like she had taught me, with my back leaning against the trunk of a silver-tipped willow.

  It was our favorite place on the island, shaded by a canopy of slender willow and alder branches woven together. The river rolled along in its bed in front of us, a sluggish, brown-green snake. Sometimes, a ray of sunlight made the water twinkle like a thousand glittering eyes. You should never forget that the river is always hungry.

  At the same time, although I couldn’t handle it anywhere near as well as Alina, I had tamed it over the years. We had measured our strength against each other while swimming and learned mutual respect. I knew every one of its mud holes for two miles upriver and down, every single rapid, every shallow and deep spot. And it knew mine.

  Alina nudged me in the side with her elbow again and placed a finger insistently on her lips. Listen . . . listen very closely . . . said Alina’s eyes, and learn!

  We were only visitors here. This was no place for humans but the realm of the rampant, thickly entwining plants. A foreign world. “The island doesn’t want us,” said people in our town, and rumor had it that this place was haunted.

  But the island seemed to accept us. Alina had even given it a new name; she called it the Island of Bliss. And what Alina said was the rule.

  So I tried it, I tried really hard. To listen. I heard the birds in the thicket, how they quarreled only to turn around and announce their reconciliation even louder. Occasionally, you could hear the slap of a wing or a splash as a fish sank back into the streaming calmness of the river. That was all.

  What was the point? I wrinkled my forehead
in a scowl. This game was getting boring, and one of my legs was already starting to fall asleep.

  The corners of Alina’s mouth curled into a mocking smile, and she smoothed the folds in my forehead with a finger. You think too much! Her left sleeve dripped. Her eyes were green-brown, like the river.

  Then she took my hand. And just like that, as if someone had turned the dial on a stereo receiver, the sounds suddenly seemed clearer. At the same time, my thoughts fled like sand. All at once, I was wide awake, fully present.

  Together, we fell back into the damp spring grass. High above us were the clouds in blue, the thin membrane of the sky that arched with our every breath.

  How long we lay there like that, I couldn’t have said later. I only remember the dragonflies that landed in Alina’s hair like glittering jewelry. I remember the disbelieving, astonishing joy it brought to simply lie there, breathing in sync with her. To look at her.

  No words. Just the humming of insects, an underlying, vibrating pulse. I felt it deep within me; it combined with my heartbeat. And then, in that moment, I heard it.

  My heart beat in the old willow tree I had been leaning against, pounded in the snail that glided across my arm in slow motion, leaving behind a silver trail. I was in the snail, in the blades of grass that cast feathery shadows on our bodies. Everywhere. I became immortal.

  I sank into the earth; the grass immediately sprouted through my fingers. The sound of growing grass surrounded us, the clicking and humming of the tiny creatures that inhabited it. No words.

  Just us, facing each other, as the new green growth shot up all around us with a rustle. Alina’s smile.