To the Back of Beyond(7)

He followed a little lane steeply down, and when it turned into the village, crossed a newly mown pasture. The hedge behind the supposed hotel was scruffy and full of gaps. An old trailer was parked on the paved area that surrounded the building. A ramp led down to two garage doors, while a narrow flight of steps led up to a half-concealed back entrance. Thomas was struck by the great metal door with peephole that looked as though it had just been installed. All the while the house seemed to radiate a great sense of abandonment, so that even if he wouldn’t have been able to explain why, he felt perfectly confident there was no one living there. The roof had a small overhang, enough to afford a little protection from the rain, which was now falling steadily. Thomas sat down on the top step and pulled out his cigarettes. The pack had gotten damp, the filters were full of water that got into his mouth as he drew on his cigarette and had a bitter taste. He got up and dropped the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray by the door.

He remained sitting on the steps for a long time, unable to think what to do. He listened to the rain streaming down, the cars on the main road in front of the building, the tires hissing on the wet asphalt, and the village church striking one quarter then two. He remembered rain in his childhood, rain in his year of military service, rain in the summer vacations in the mountains, and it seemed as though all rain were one, a category all its own, quite separate from time. He was tired, the only things that kept him from dropping off were the cold and the uncomfortable cement step he was sitting on.

A quiet creak directly over his head gave him a start. He looked up in alarm. The door was open and a woman in a leather miniskirt and fishnet stockings and a skimpy yellow top that exposed her midriff stood in the doorway, apparently just as alarmed as he was, though she recovered instantly. Yes? she said. Her voice sounded artificial, as though she had straightaway fallen into a practiced role. And who might you be? She lit a cigarette and started smoking it rapidly with nervous hands. After a few drags she dinched it in the ashtray and said, Why don’t you come in? It’s cozier. Without thinking, Thomas got up and followed the woman inside.

She led him along a red-lit passage into a large room with groups of easy chairs, a few tables, and a bar. There was a screen up near the ceiling; on it a young couple were arguing about something, but the sound was turned down so low that Thomas had no idea what it was about. At one of the small tables a couple of young women were knitting, one of them was in a robe, the other a shift that was so short he could see her panties. They glanced up at him and went on talking in a language that Thomas could neither understand nor identify. His guide had stepped behind the bar. Can I get you a drink? A glass of champagne? A beer? Do you have coffee? asked Thomas, and sat down on a barstool. Sure, said the woman. She took a thermos flask, poured two cups, and set them on the bar. Then she went back around the front and settled on the stool beside Thomas. I’m Amanda, she said, I’m from Hungary. She had an accent, though not a strong one. I was hiking, said Thomas, and got caught in the rain. We’re not supposed to open until six, said the woman, but I’ll make an exception for you. I just want to rest a bit, he said, and get my things dry. As though he had given orders, Amanda got up and went over to the table and joined the other women. The woman in the shift came across to Thomas and sat down beside him. She was blond, with pretty, girlish features. I’m Milena, I’m Romanian, she said, where are you from? She had a stronger accent than the other woman. Thomas gestured vaguely. How do you like Switzerland? he asked. I’m only here since one month, said Milena, before I work in club in Interlaken. Interlaken is pretty, said Thomas. Between two lakes, as the name suggests. Neither of them spoke. Milena smiled at Thomas and winked at him. Is this your first time here? Do you want a tour? Without waiting for him to answer, she got up and led him back out to the passage he had just come through. She opened a door to a room that had a big tub in the middle of it. This is our Jacuzzi, she said, in one hour you can go there with one or two girls. Sounds nice, said Thomas sheepishly. I show you my room, said Milena. She walked up a narrow flight of stairs, and he followed her as though he had no choice. Half an hour costs one hundred fifty francs, one hour is three hundred, anal is hundred more. We have loyalty card. If you buy six half hours, you get free blow job. Thomas had never been inside a brothel, and was bemused by the coolness with which she told him the prices. The businesslike tone had a certain charm, but he nevertheless said again he just wanted to rest for a while. Milena turned around, two steps above him. Her nipples made little bumps through the thin dress. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shimmied her hips slowly. You’re all wet, she said, and smiled. You should take off your clothes. I can give you massage. I am good. One hour is one hundred eighty francs, without penetration. She took Thomas by the hand, and drew him farther up the stairs. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite you.



Breakfast without Thomas felt almost normal, but after the children were gone, Astrid went restlessly through the house, picking up things and setting them down again. In the kids’ rooms she tidied a few toys away. She sat down at Ella’s little schoolgirl desk and gazed absentmindedly at all the clutter, magazines, a game console, plastic figures, a handful of coins, glitter-ink pens, the signs of a life that as yet had few contours and therefore stood in need of these material props. Astrid wondered what there was for her to cling to. Her clothes and shoes? The few pieces of jewelry she owned? The albums with her girlhood snapshots? Somewhere in the attic there was a cardboard box of her old stuff, exercise books and drawings and this and that she had for some reason held on to. But those things didn’t mean anything to her anymore, and when she ran into them from time to time they were less familiar to her than her children’s things. More than once she had almost thrown out the whole box.