To the Back of Beyond(25)
Most of the men were on to their coffee by now. Astrid went from table to table, asking about Thomas. Over their food, the workers had been joking and laughing and Astrid was worried they would make fun of her and her questions, but it was as though the men sensed the seriousness and urgency of the matter, and they answered politely and without any inappropriate remarks. You should ask the guys over there, said a young man, whose dark blue fleece was covered with sawdust, pointing to a group in orange overalls, they’re from the building site on the main road. The road workers were no less friendly. A small fat man with a bushy beard, presumably their foreman, looked at the picture for a long time before shaking his head and passing it on to a colleague. Have any of you seen him? The landlady had stepped up to the table and looked at the picture over the shoulder of one of the road workers. Is there a hotel in the village? asked Astrid. The Post restaurant has a couple of rooms for guests, said the landlady. And up in Stalden there’s the Alpenblick, and a dormitory in the pass. The radio was playing a popular hit.
After drawing a similar blank at the Post and the Alpenblick, Astrid decided to drive up to the pass. The road was single-lane — it was lucky there were a number of passing places. Astrid was perplexed by the many sports cars coming the other way. Most of them had German plates. She had cracked open the window, and cold, fresh mountain air was coming in.
Fairly near the top, two bearded cowherds were coming down the road with twenty head of cattle, and she was forced to reverse back to the last passing place. The animals trotted past her with loudly clanging cowbells, and the men acknowledged her with a silent nod that had something surly about it. Astrid thought it was early for them to be going down the mountain, then she remembered the forecast had been for snow above six thousand feet.
At the pass, there was a croft with attached café and store. Behind the plain buildings in a fenced-in pasture stood about a hundred cattle, along with a few men and women who were separating them in different groups. The scene had nothing of the joyousness of the Alpine descents with which Astrid was familiar from tourist brochures and cheese commercials; there were no colorful costumes or flower-decked cows, just two heavily laden horses grazing at the edge of the pasture and a small herd of goats.
Astrid parked on the gravel. She was wearing a sweater, but she still felt cold. Dark clouds were massing in the sky, and she could almost smell the coming snow.
Only two of the tables were occupied in the large room. There was a couple at one, a man and a woman of Astrid’s age, both in biker gear and with their helmets on the table, and at the other there were four people playing cards, locals, to go by their dialect. A girl was serving at the bar, terribly shy, giving monosyllabic replies to Astrid’s questions, before finally saying she’d go and get her mother. It felt like much later when a wiry compact woman with black hair emerged. She was wearing rough work clothes and rubber boots. First she looked at the picture of Thomas, then at Astrid. Finally she said, Yes, the man spent the night here, and left in the morning. We have a little dormitory room under the eaves. Is he your husband? she asked. Come with me. She took Astrid to a table away from the other guests, and called to her daughter to bring two cups of coffee and to let her father know she’d be coming soon. I was just on my way to the cowshed, she said apologetically to Astrid. Now tell me about it. My name’s Bernadette. Astrid told her the whole story—she couldn’t say why. The farmer’s wife listened patiently, asked a couple of questions, and gave from time to time a word or two of comfort. When Astrid was finished, Bernadette had neither comment nor advice for her. She just put her hand on Astrid’s forearm and asked if she wanted more coffee. Then she told her what little there was to tell. Astrid’s husband had come in late yesterday afternoon and had asked about the possibility of staying the night. She had put him up in the dorm room, he was the only occupant. He had eaten his dinner here, but not said much. Astrid asked how Thomas seemed to her. Bernadette thought for a moment. Friendly, she said, quiet. A bit distant. No, he hadn’t said where he was going, she said, but if he came up the W?gi, then he was sure to be headed for the Muota valley, that was a popular hike. No one’s seen him there, said Astrid. Of course there’s other ways he could have taken, said the farmer’s wife. She couldn’t remember what time Thomas had set out. He had breakfasted late and paid up. Then she had driven down into the valley to shop, and when she came back at noon or thenabouts, and looked up in the dorm, he was gone. She asked if there was anything else she could do for Astrid. She had to go and milk the cows now.
Astrid walked across the flat upland plain. There were only half as many cows now on the pasture as there had been a moment ago. Where the gradient started to pick up, there was a small open chapel. Astrid spent a long time looking at Christ on the Cross. Her grandmother would have prayed for help; her mother would have crossed herself and had some vague feeling that help was at hand in her extremity. For Astrid it was just a piece of wood and metal.
Down on the road, there were the usual yellow signposts pointing in all directions. Astrid read off the names of the places: B?dmeren, Tw?renen, Eigeliswald, Vorauen, Charental, Silberen, Dr?ckloch. There were dozens of paths Thomas could have taken. Briefly she thought about setting off somewhere at random, just so as not to stand around helplessly anymore. But it was almost four o’clock and about to snow. She could feel the energy that had fired her on from the moment she had gotten up now draining out of her.