Unformed Landscape

by Peter Stamm

  That’s how you seduce women, she thought, when they were back in the hotel, and Christian was climbing the narrow steps behind her. But he doesn’t want to seduce me. She didn’t know whether she wanted to seduce him or not. It had been a nice evening, she had hardly thought of Thomas at all, or her son, or her village. Now she was tired, and she even felt a tiny bit sick from so much food and wine.

  Madame, your room. Christian disappeared into the bathroom, and Kathrine sat down on the bed. She was afraid of the moment he would emerge from the bathroom. She wondered what he would have on, and what she should wear. Usually she just wore a T-shirt in bed. She took it out of her suitcase. It was a tight, worn old T-shirt, with a faded beer advertisement on it. Macks Ol—the Most Northerly Brewery in the World. It must date from her time with Helge, he had probably been given it when he bought a case of beer once, and given it to her when it didn’t fit him.

  Kathrine felt ashamed. She felt ashamed of her T-shirt, of her entire wardrobe, of her panties, those same practical panties that she bought in packs of three, and that were worn by just about all the women in the village, young and old alike. She felt ashamed of her village, of her stories, of Helge above all, but also of Thomas, of her mother, and of the child she hadn’t wanted. She felt ashamed of her apartment, of her books, of not knowing how you tasted wine, or how you ate shellfish and snails. She felt ashamed of her whole life. She stuffed the T-shirt back into her suitcase.

  Christian emerged from the bathroom in loose-fitting, pale-blue-and-white-striped pajamas. He was wearing slippers, and he looked altogether like an English nobleman in one of the books she had read when she was little. He should, she thought, have been carrying a candlestick with a single burning candle in it. Christian smiled, switched on the bedside light, switched off the main light, and climbed into bed. She had the feeling that he was moving terribly slowly, like a figure in a dream.

  It was her turn to go to the bathroom. She got undressed, and looked at herself in the mirror, which was still steamed around the edges. Considering my age, she thought, and then, bah, who cares, whatever will be will be. She ran her hands over her hips, as if to sculpt fresh curves. This is me, she thought, this is my body. That’s all there is.

  Kathrine washed with a cloth, she didn’t feel like having a shower anymore. It was cold in the bathroom, but an English nobleman showered even when it was cold. He ignores the cold, she thought. He doesn’t allow it. She combed her hair, tied it up, and then shook it out again. She plucked a few eyebrows, sniffed her armpits, and washed her feet in the bidet. She squirted a bit of her new perfume on her throat. It smelled of a different country, of night and of love. Why not, she thought, he didn’t insist on having a second bed, after all. An English nobleman, she had once read, used the sugar tongs, even if he is all alone. She had never seen sugar tongs. She pulled on her panties. Then she took them off again, and stepped into the room quite naked.

  Christian was lying in bed. The television was on. An old film starring Catherine Deneuve. Kathrine slipped in beside him under the blankets, and pulled them up to her throat. Christian didn’t look at her, only moved a little to the side to make room for her, and turned the volume down. She felt his nearness, and the warmth of his body. He asked if she wanted him to turn off the television. She said it didn’t bother her.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” he asked.

  “What film is it?”

  “Belle de Jour. Catherine Deneuve.”

  “If I was French, my name would be Catherine too. What does the title mean?”

  “Beauty of the day,” said Christian. “It’s the story of a bored woman.”

  He looked at Kathrine. She smiled. She had never been bored, even though her life was monotonous, even though nothing happened in the village. Her favorite days had been the ones where everything was exactly as always. Only Sundays had sometimes bothered her.

  Shots rang out on the television, and Christian turned to see what was happening. She turned away and shut her eyes.

  When Kathrine awoke, it was light in the room. Christian was dressed, and sitting in a chair by the window. He was looking at his photos. Kathrine sat up in bed.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Christian.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not sure. My girlfriend never stays the night. My parents…”

  “But…?”

  “That was nice,” said Christian, and held out a photo to Kathrine. She knelt on the bed to look at it. The cover slipped away, and she realized she was naked, and she felt ashamed. But Christian kept looking at the photo he was holding out to her.

  “The aquarium at Vancouver,” he said. “They had dolphins…”

  He had sat down on the side of the bed next to her, and was flipping through the pictures.

  “Killer whale. Squid. They’re terribly intelligent. Have you ever eaten squid?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I was in the aquarium at Boulogne.”

  She took the quilt off the bed, and wrapped herself in it. “It’s cold.”

  “If you like, we can take the night train from Cologne to Copenhagen. Then we could spend another day here.”

  “Is that what you want to do with your life? Travel?”

  “No,” said Christian, “no.” He thought about it awhile, and then he said no again.

  It was a fine day in Paris. The city was very light, pale gray and silver. Belle de jour, said Kathrine.

  “The Sacré-Coeur,” said Christian, and pointed to the horizon, where a white church was shown in relief against the cloudy sky, “the blessed heart.”

  At five they were on the train.

  In Cologne, they changed to the night train. They were on the platform far too early. They stood and waited silently, side by side. This is it, I’m going back now, thought Kathrine. We’ll part at Kolding, and then I’ll go home, what else is there for me? I’ll go back to my apartment. Thomas will call sometime, or my mother. Thomas will ask where I’ve been, and my mother will say what did I think I was playing at, and poor Thomas, and didn’t I think of the child at all? And then she’ll tell me about old times, and the next time she sees Thomas she’ll apologize on my behalf, and pretend it wasn’t anything, and say I’d always been mulish like that. And he’ll take my side, and that’ll be the worst of it. Then she remembered she had sent in the lease, and that maybe there was someone else living there. She still had the key, but she didn’t have an apartment anymore.

  “Are you thinking about home?” asked Christian.

  “Are you? Are you glad to be going back?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Christian said he admired her. The way she managed her life, fought her way through, did what she wanted.

  “What else am I supposed to do? I’ve got a kid. I have to earn money. What does that mean anyway, doing what I want?”

  Christian said he was afraid of those things, renting an apartment, buying furniture, settling into a place.

  “Why don’t you move in with your girlfriend?”

  “I can’t make up my mind. I don’t really love her. She’s OK. She gets on well with my parents. And I suppose she’s quite nice-looking.” He laughed. “When I called my mother yesterday, she told me about meeting you. ‘An odd woman,’ she said, and ‘Who was that?’”

  “Do you think I’m odd?”

  “No. You’re something unusual. Belle de nuit.”

  “Do you think I’m pretty? Did you tell her we were traveling together?”

  “I don’t think so!”

  “Do you feel guilty about me?”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” said Christian, looking serious, as though he had to convince himself.

  Kathrine had to laugh. Then the train came. She saw people pushing their way through the narrow passages of the couchette coaches, and she was pleased that Christian had booked the more spacious wagon-lits. When the train moved off, she looked out of the window to get a last sight of the cathedral. She went into the co
mpartment where Christian had already stowed the luggage away. The ticket inspector came and collected their tickets and passports.

  “Up or down?” asked Christian.

  Kathrine sat down on the lower bunk. He sat down next to her.

  “I don’t want to go back,” she said, and after a while, “I want to sleep with you. Make love. What’s that in French?”

  “Baiser,” he said, and got up. He went to the window, and opened it. Cold air filled the compartment. Christian stuck his head outside. Kathrine went up behind him. The wind scattered his hair. She put her arm round him. He screamed against the noise of the locomotive, a long, high scream like the noise of a locomotive. Like a child, she thought, he’s like a child. She pulled him to herself, his body touched hers without wanting to. She tried to press herself against him. He resisted. She rubbed her face against his neck and for the first time sniffed his skin and his hair. Then she suddenly felt him yield, his body thrust against hers. He turned round and kissed her. He kept his eyes shut tight.

  They made love without a word, just the occasional yes or no, like a movement of the hand, nothing else. Christian was different from the way Kathrine had imagined him, fast and powerful, and still with something shy or irresolute about him.

  You can never quite imagine it, she thought later, it’s always more or less than you’d thought. She wasn’t sure if it had been more or less.

  They lay together in the dark in the narrow couchette. Sometimes a light flashed by outside, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of Christian’s face. His eyes were shut, and it was as though there was a man lying next to her whom she had never seen before. What she had seen of him before had disappeared, and what was left wasn’t much more than a naked body, well built, almost too well, which gave it something lifeless. When she stroked his chest with her hand, the skin felt like packaging material.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Kathrine. “What happens next?”

  “Sleep,” said Christian, “I’m tired.”

  And tomorrow we’ll see, and she wondered if she had made a mistake, and then she thought what’s done is done.

  What are we going to do? That had been her mother’s question in the year that had ended with them having to sell the boat. And her father said, I’m tired, and he had gone off to sleep. That was always the way she saw her father when she thought of him now, lying on the sofa asleep or dozing. The TV stayed on all day. Earlier, when they’d lived in Jukkasjarvi, he had always gone fishing in the streams. The fish are just there, he had said to Kathrine once, not like the reindeer, who all belong to someone, even though they run around freely. The fish really are free, they don’t belong to anyone. That was after he’d been caught once, poaching a reindeer. He had cut off its ears, but the police had established that it had belonged to Per-Nils, his uncle. They had left Jukkasjarvi not long after. There wasn’t yet enough money to pay for a boat, and her father had taken out a loan, which eventually ruined him. He didn’t understand about sea fishing. He bought the wrong gear, and he overpaid for the boat. At first he was seasick whenever he went out, and he didn’t catch much, and soon he couldn’t keep up with the payments. They battled on for two or three years. Kathrine’s mother worked in the fish factory, and the catches got gradually better. But then the fish stocks declined, and even the experienced fishermen didn’t catch much anymore. If I can’t catch a cod, I’ll just have to catch a whale, her father said. Moby-Dick, he said, and laughed. He had never read the book. He bought a new sonar system, and some satellite navigation equipment, all on credit. But he didn’t go out anymore. Then he began to drink. First, he went to the Elvekrog. When he no longer had the money for that, he bought black-market vodka from the Russian fishermen, and drank it at home. Sometimes he would get into his old Sami costume. Kathrine’s mother asked him if he would call Per-Nils, his uncle, and ask him for help. I’ll catch you a whale, said her father; that’ll keep us fed for two years. A whale. And then he got sick.

  The train drew into a station, and suddenly the compartment was brightly lit up. Kathrine woke up from her half-sleep. A couple of short-haired young men on the platform stared into the compartment, jeered, and waved their beer bottles. Christian had opened his eyes. He looked alarmed, but Kathrine pulled the blanket over him, and said don’t mind them, they’re just soldiers. When the train set off again, Christian stood up, drew the blind, and lay down on the top bunk. Dortmund, he said.

  Half an hour before Kolding, Christian got up. His travel alarm clock went off, and Kathrine awoke and watched as he got dressed. When he was done, he approached the window. He didn’t speak.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” she said with a smile.

  He turned and looked at her. There was a cruelty in his eyes that took her by surprise. He seemed to be furious with her, perhaps his conscience was hurting him, she didn’t know. Like a child, she thought, but she didn’t say anything, and he didn’t say anything either. The train was already slowing down as Christian finally spoke. He spoke softly. His voice sounded as gentle as it always did.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t right.”

  “Were you thinking about your girlfriend?”

  Christian didn’t reply.

  “I’m not asking anything from you.”

  “It’s all so complicated,” he said. “My girlfriend… I’ve got to talk to her, but… I always hoped things would be straightforward. That’s all I ever wanted. But now…”

  “Welcome to the world,” said Kathrine.

  He said he would write her an e-mail, and she repeated that she wasn’t asking for anything from him. He kissed her on the cheeks, and she asked him, and maybe that was a mistake, but she just had to ask, did he like her at all, a little bit at least. Yes, he said, but now I have to go. I’ll write you. Soon.

  The train had stopped only briefly in Kolding, it had gone on, and two and a half hours later it was at its final destination—Copenhagen. There was just time for Kathrine to buy a ticket and a cup of coffee, and then she was already sitting in the train to Stockholm. From there, she would go on to Narvik, and take the Hurtig Line for the last stretch. She didn’t have much money left.

  When she reached Stockholm at four o’clock, it was dark already. She found an Internet café near the station. It was a bare room in a community center, with a few computers standing on long tables. Most of them were occupied by youngsters, who were playing a game. They proceeded, heavily armed, down a subterranean passage, and shot at everything that moved. It was dark. The changing light from the screens lit up the intent faces, which sometimes convulsed with shock or rage.

  Kathrine checked her e-mail. She had been gone for almost two weeks, but there was very little in her mailbox. A pretty bland greeting from Morten on the day of her departure. Would she like to have coffee sometime. Some junk mail. Christian hadn’t written yet. Kathrine thought about writing him, then she let it go. She called up the home page of the village, and its Web camera. At 30-second intervals, the pictures emerged, always the same view from the town hall across the square to the post office and the Nils H. Nilsen fish factory. In the background the Elvekrog, and on the foot of the slope on the left, various houses and huts. Once, someone came out of the Elvekrog, the open door made a pale area on the screen and a blurry shadow, only a few pixels big. Kathrine looked at it more closely, and started to see other, barely discernible shadows, the inhabitants of the village. Then she started seeing shadows all over, as if the whole village had turned out onto the square to wave to her, but that was a delusion, a flickering, maybe it was snowing. The camera wasn’t very light-sensitive, and the image resolution was too low.

  Kathrine read the latest village news. British journalists on visit to Nils H. Nilsen’s plant, she read. Leather-stitching course in community center, soccer juniors triumph in Vadso.

  She thought of Morten, sitting in his office, writing his lit
tle articles. He had made himself some coffee with his electrical immersion heater, had wondered whether he should go to the Elvekrog tonight, had looked up what was on TV. He had gone shopping on his lunch break, left his shopping at home, and managed to be back at work by two. On the town hall stairway there was a relief map of the Arctic territories, with the North Pole at the center.

  Did Morten think about her at all? Another person disappeared, he wrote, a strange case. A young woman, a customs inspector by profession, well liked by all, with whom I spent a night, has disappeared, without leaving word.

  What had she expected? Maybe Morten hadn’t even noticed she was gone. The village might be small, but one could easily go several weeks without seeing someone. What about Thomas? Had he reported her as missing? And did he miss her? Did she miss him, her mother, Randy?

  If someone was missing her, if someone was worried about her, it should be an easy matter to follow her traces. You won’t find me, she had written on Thomas’s note, but the Hurtig route would keep a manifest of its passengers, or you could ask the stewards, or the captains. Harald would be able to supply a description. And she had shown her passport around, and in Paris she had taken out the last of the money from her account. She had read thrillers, she knew people left traces unless they were very canny and experienced. And she hadn’t been canny. She had known that no one would come looking for her. She was a free woman, who gave a damn where she was anyway. You won’t bother looking for me, that’s what she should have written on Thomas’s note.

  She logged onto a chatroom, but there were just a few crazies there, swapping perverted fantasies under assumed names. They must feel so pathetic, sitting in their living rooms, Kathrine thought. Their wives are asleep next door, and they’re firing their dirty imaginings into the ether. I wouldn’t like to meet them on the street at night, she thought, I suppose it’s better if they lie and pretend to be decent people.