Too Pretty For The Hills

by Ales Matko

  ''I confess, we really are hoarders. I just don't have the heart to throw any of it out.'' Erica pointed to a box full of brushes, pallets, and other painting paraphernalia. ''Anyway, here’s what we found.''

  There was so much dried up acrylic and oil on every piece of this impromptu set that it looked to Dora like a modest work of art in its own right.

  ''Will you be able to use any of it?''

  ''I think so,'' Dora mumbled, reading the label on one of the tubes.

  ''We took up painting ourselves years ago, but it was a lost cause. We simply didn't have the talent.''

  ''Do we have a canvas as well?''

  ''Won’t these do?'' Erica asked, pointing at the three leaning on the inside wall of the box and again touching Dora’s elbow.

  ''They have been painted on already as far as I can tell.''

  ''Oh, I thought there was still an unused one in there. Well now this is a pickle.''

  ''Though the coating is very thin on this one,'' Dora said, crouching down to break contact with Erica. ''I think I can paint over this. A couple of white layers should do the trick.''

  ''Really? Well that’s wonderful news,'' Erica enthused. ''I’ll go tell Dominic to ... Well, or we can carry it ourselves, I suppose. It’s not all that heavy.''

  They grabbed the box and started carrying it towards the stairs, but after three steps, one of the sides started tearing and they put it down to keep the whole box from falling apart.

  Erica excused herself and went upstairs to look for scotch tape, leaving Dora alone with her thoughts.

  She found the company of her hosts exhausting. All the pretending and the overwhelming politeness was like holding a sneeze in at a funeral.

  Looking over the junk that surrounded her, her thoughts turned once again to the old Gypsy woman.

  ''You really are a cuckoo, aren’t you?'' she murmured under her breath, as if confronting her again. But the only thing staring back at her presently was a sloppy and amateurish wooden carving, probably the one Dominic had spoken of earlier. Dora leaned in to get a closer look. Was it a giant platypus, perhaps?

  She ran her fingers along the sculpture and then walked on, gathering the dust on her pointer, sliding it along an iron case; she stopped when she ran across a green polyester bag. It took her a few moments to realise what had grabbed her attention about it in the first place - this particular object wasn’t covered in a thick layer of dust like the rest of them. It was slightly sticky, strongly smelling of fresh plastic and with a knot at the top.

  The latest addition to the club of the discarded, she thought.

  ''I found it!''

  Dora winced at Erica's reappearance.

  ''Great.''

  ''Help me patch it up, will you, Dora?''

  In the meantime, Dominic was rearranging the living room to make more space for their guest. Returning upstairs, Dora prepared the equipment, mounted the handhold, asked Erica for some water and paper towels, and finally asked the couple to take a seat on the divan.

  ''Perhaps a bit more...natural, Erica,'' she said, putting a first layer of white over the original picture.

  ''Oh. Okay,'' Erica said with an almost Napoleonesque expression on her face.

  ''Tone it down a bit more please ... That’s it, perfect. And you’re looking marvelous, Dominic.''

  ''Did you hear that, Erica? I’m looking marvelous.''

  ''Oh, be quiet, you.''

  An hour and a half later there was not a trace of the previous attempt at art left on the canvas, but rather a rough four-layer mock-up that was beginning to slowly shape up. Dora did indeed know her craft. There was no disputing that.

  ''How about we take a little break,'' she said as her arm was starting to hurt. ''I blocked in the shapes and now I’ll slowly start working on the details. You can stand up and take a look if you want.''

  Erica sighed with relief and started massaging one of her legs. ''It fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago,'' she explained.

  Dora was suppressing a smirk. ''You could have moved it. But I do admire your commitment. Do you suppose I could visit your bathroom?''

  ''No need to ask,'' Dominic said, also stretching his limbs and examining the canvas in amazement and admiration. ''It’s right down the hall and on the left, fourth door.''

  ''No, on the right,'' Erica corrected him.

  They exchanged an odd look and Dora pretended not to notice the awkwardness.

  ''I meant looking from the window,'' Dominic quickly corrected himself.

  ''Okay, I’ll be right back.''

  Dora could not help but get the feeling that there were small kids living in the house, the Zieglers' claim to the contrary notwithstanding. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something strongly hinted at the presence of offspring right there in the bathroom.

  The paint job? Something about the arrangement? The smell, perhaps? She kept looking around, trying to pinpoint the origin of her idea, but there didn’t seem to be anything tangible. She even peeked in the drawers under the washbasin, but all she found were cleaning supplies and a rather impressively sized strap-on that made her grin, half from delight and half from embarrassment. Yet in the next moment, she also somehow felt sorry for Mr. Ziegler, and in more ways than one.

  She was about to head back to the living room when that same odd feeling of the presence of children once again took possession of her, and she quietly peaked into some of the other rooms that lined the hallway. At the third one, which she swore to herself would be the last, she paused.

  It was a small room, furnished in the same sophisticated style as the rest of the house to be sure, but at the same time undoubtedly a nursery. In it she found a crib, some oversized stuffed animals and a little wooden rocking horse.

  She stood there for a few moments, stunned, not sure what to make of this. Stepping over to the crib, she found that it was empty, and yet fully prepared to accommodate a sleeping baby, complete with a stuffed teddy bear, pacifier, and a baby boy's dress.

  She hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered her head to sniff the covers.

  ''Did you get lost?''

  Erica was standing by the doorframe, smiling a tad uncomfortably.

  ''I’m so sorry,'' Dora said, flinching. ''I don’t even know why I poked my nose in here, I just ...''

  Erica joined her and looked down at the crib. ''I guess I might as well tell you now, even though we were keeping it a secret. I trust you won’t tell anyone. We're a month pregnant.'' She gently ran her hands along the wooden edge of the crib. ''Dominic made this last week. He was so ecstatic when we found out that he went to work right away, rearranging what used to be our little library of foreign literature and turning it into a nursery. He’s so passionate about this.''

  ''Congratulations,'' Dora smiled as Erica embraced her and let out a sob of delight. She tapped her on the back. ''Congratulations. And I won’t tell anyone, I promise.''

  Erica was crying.

  ''Should we get back to the painting now?'' Dora asked, trying to relieve the awkwardness of the moment.

  ''Right, I almost forgot. Sorry,'' Erica mumbled, releasing Dora from her grip, which had become disconcertingly vice-like, and wiping her tears with her sleeve. ''So ... How long until it’s done?'' she asked, fanning her face with her hand.

  ''Oh, we’re about a third of the way in, I’d say. The process from here on is rather tedious. I was thinking - how about we give it another half hour and then call it a day? I can come back tomorrow or maybe the day after. If that’s okay with you, of course.''

  ''You’re the boss.''

  As they were leaving, Erica gave the nursery a quick glance, a touch of something hard to specify flashing over her face for a brief moment.

  11

  At about half past four they decided to wrap things up.

  ''Yes, yes, a fine job,'' Dominic said, examining the work with one eyebrow raised. ''This is already looking marvelous, Miss Dora. My hat’s off to you.''

 
Erica said nothing, preferring to simply cup her chin in her hand and nod with a satisfied smile.

  The Zieglers insisted that Dora stay a while longer and have something to eat. She had already eaten lunch once that day, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she compromised and had lemon sorbet.

  When she was finally leaving, a bit tipsy from the alcoholic dessert of which she had gladly had seconds, Dominic pulled out his wallet and slipped a couple of German banknotes into her pocket. It was not petty change.

  ''Whoa. But I’m not even finished yet.''

  ''Shush now. Consider it an advance,'' he said.

  Before letting her go, Erica hugged Dora once more and one of them patted her lightly on the behind.

  Some ten minutes later she arrived back home, sweaty and breathing heavily. Her pace on the way back had been rather high. She did not want to get jumped by Gypsies again, certainly not now that she actually had something of value they could swipe. Luckily though, there were no incidents along the way.

  There was no sign of the grey-haired woman; only the dog was there, sleeping as usual. Dora let herself back into the house.

  ''Greta? Errol? Is anyone home? Kids?''

  No reply.

  She went up into the attic, recounted the money and stashed it in her bag. Then she leaned on the window sill and gazed down onto the neighbourhood, rather happy with herself. The nanny job was lucrative in its own right, but if she could also make a couple of Deutschmarks painting here and there, so much the better.

  The few unboarded windows of the house next door were dark as usual. Dora wished she had an air rifle to pop a couple of holes in them, but finding herself unarmed, instead went down to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed the number of someone she really should have called before but had simply forgotten amidst all the goings-on. It was her best friend, Katja.

  The speaker emitted a weird tune that sounded like a couple of ducks bickering. She tried redialing, but with the same result.

  ''It worked just fine before I left,'' she mumbled to herself.

  The house including the kids' room was spotless, courtesy of the ever-meticulous Errol Dietrich, so with nothing else to do, Dora watched the TV for some ten minutes and then decided she would go and ask the other neighbors if their phone was working.

  Heading over to the adjacent house, which was almost identical to the Dietrichs’ except for the color of the facade and the choice of decorative plants, a blonde, very muscular man with a bundesliga haircut opened the door.

  ''Can I help you?''

  She introduced herself and the man shook hands with her, but she forgot the fellow’s name the very instance it was said due to the rather hypnotising properties of his bulging pectoral muscles and sculpted arms, all trying to bust out from under his tight t-shirt.

  ''I'm afraid I can’t be of much help there, Miss. Mine doesn’t work either. There must be an outage. Happens sometimes. Can’t do nothing but wait.''

  Dora pegged him for a lumberjack. A handsome lumberjack.

  ''Does that happen often?'' she asked, eyeing the little dent in his square chin.

  ''Like I said - sometimes.''

  ''Right ... Sometimes ...'' she said, tripping over her own words.

  ''You’re the Dietrichs’ new nanny?''

  ''Yes.''

  ''I thought so. I’ve seen you with the kids. Got a few little monsters of my own, too.''

  ''Oh, you do?''

  She was surprised to hear the disappointment in her voice.

  ''Staying with their mother presently, down in Kleineohren.''

  ''So you’re divorced?''

  ''As a matter of fact I am,'' he said with a smirk. ''Listen, Miss, I’d love to chat but I am pretty swamped. Was there anything else you needed?''

  ''No, I’m sorry. I won’t take any more of your time,'' Dora said, wishing she could stare at him just a little longer. ''What did you say your name was again?''

  He told her, but somehow it slipped her mind once more by the time she returned to the Dietrichs’ house. Apparently the part of her brain responsible for data storage was temporarily inundated with more important sensory input.

  ''Well, well, well. Looks like there are plenty of good looking bachelors out here in the Alps,'' she muttered in a strange old-timey narration, again talking to herself, which was hardly a habit of hers. ''My goodness.''

  After a few minutes, the excitement passed, and she found herself again alone in the empty house with nothing to do and a burning desire to hear her best friend’s voice.

  She decided she would go on another stroll around the village, in an attempt to both tire out the dog - successfully this time - and to see if a working phone could be unearthed somewhere. The possibility of another run-in with the Gypsies being very much on her mind, she decided to arm herself with a screwdriver from one of the cupboards.

  ''Adolf! Here boy!''

  She exited through the back door, partially to avoid looking at the old woman’s house but also to catch a glimpse over at the lot belonging to that blond Bundesliga lumberjack.

  ''Adolf! Come on already!''

  The big St. Bernard finally appeared from behind the corner, dragging himself over with the usual enthusiasm.

  ''Who wants to go for a walk?''

  The dog yawned, and Dora followed suit. ''All right, let's get going already before we both fall asleep.''

  Fluffy white clouds were slowly starting to form up in the blue sky, occasionally veiling the sun for a minute or two.

  Accompanied by the laziest of animals, Dora backtracked a small part of the way to the Zieglers but then deviated and set off in an entirely new direction, exploring the area and casually asking friendly-looking locals whether their phones were working. It appeared that the whole town had indeed been cut off.

  Waiting for Adolf to relieve himself on the roadside grass, she glanced at one of the abandoned houses nearby and noticed that there were a couple of shady silhouettes, standing behind the screen door.

  ''Just you try something funny,'' she muttered under her breath, feeling the reassuring presence of the screwdriver in her back pocket. ''Just you try.''

  She pulled on the leash and went on. Yet every now and then, she couldn’t help but notice one or more silhouettes peering out from somewhere in the Gypsy settlements.

  ''They don’t like the sunlight, is that it? Is that what’s keeping them in?'' she asked Adolf, who was presently trying to swallow a pesky fly that kept settling on his snout. ''I bet that's it.''

  Although these thoughts weighed heavily on her mind, they were nicely balanced out by the smiles, greetings and invitations offered by the few people she met along the way. A nicer bunch, Dora thought to herself, would be hard to find anywhere. Emboldened by the kindless of the townspeople, she decided she wasn't going to let herself be bullied by a bunch of wackos.

  ''I’m here now and this little town is as much mine as it is yours,'' she snarled inwardly as she walked. ''And if you don’t like it, you can all take a hike ... Why in God’s name do I keep talking to myself?''

  Head held high and full of confidence, she marched onward. After a while, the paved streets turned to gravel roads and started to ascend, and there were fewer houses and more trees and hayracks along the way. After passing a couple of large estates and two or three farms, she stumbled onto a field, surrounded by pastures dotted with sheep and cows.

  She paused and a strange feeling came over her. Looking back, she could have sworn she saw that body builder neighbor of hers, stooping down to tie his shoelaces.

  For a moment Dora didn’t know if she should be flattered or alarmed. She turned the corner of an old stable, crossed a field, and crouched behind an empty bee hive.

  She waited for a few minutes, but no-one walked by, and when she finally gathered the courage to look out from behind her little hideout, her ‘pursuer’ was nowhere to be seen. Maybe his path had just happened to co-align with hers, she thought. And besides, there were c
ertainly far worse people to be stalked by.

  Enlivened by the fresh mountain air, she and Adolf climbed up a goat path that wound through the pastures and across the meadows before reaching a denser population of trees. There Dora noticed that the path continued snaking up into the hills, occasionally disappearing in the forest only to reappear further up. Following it, she thought, would surely afford some lovely views of the area.

  ''Come, Adolf. No slacking.''

  An orchestra of bees, crickets and other insects were playing one of their well-rehearsed symphonies as she and Adolf carried on, following along the path and enjoying the outdoors.

  She met a couple of hunters with scoped rifles hanging over their shoulders coming down the slope, and they greeted her, if rather curtly, before moving on. They appeared to be in a hurry.

  Dora wondered if these two could possibly be the Kundert brothers, the infamous woodcarvers.

  It had been a while since she had had any sort of real workout, and by the time she reached the first overlook point, she was sweating profusely and her calves were burning.

  She sat down on a stump, breathing heavily, shading her eyes and gazing with admiration at the sight that was opening below her - Graufirst in all its beauty. Only now did she realize that the town wasn’t all that small. In contrast to the center where houses were closer together, the outskirts stretched out great distances, especially to the east and north.

  She tried to locate the Dietrichs’ home but couldn't spot it. From up there, all the streets looked more or less the same. She did manage to spot the church’s bell tower though, jutting up out of the green blotch that was the poplar park.

  ''Well, Adolf, how about that?''

  The dog lay in the grass, his rough tongue rolled out as Dora gently stroked his head.

  Looking over the sunny meadows below the forest line, she noticed a small shack not too far away. Curious, she headed in that direction, dragging lethargic Adolf behind her. When they got to the shack, she was surprised to find a rather modern looking satelite dish sitting on top of it.