To the Back of Beyond by Peter Stamm

Author:Peter Stamm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2017-10-03T04:00:00+00:00

The sun was over the other side of the valley, and the clouds had come nearer, otherwise everything was the same as before. Thomas thought about the paired images he had seen in his childhood, how many differences can you find. A cow was gone, one of the many flowers in the meadow had lost all its petals, the blackbird was no longer in the apple tree, the white cross had quit the Swiss flag. There was a fishing boat out on the lake, but the fisherman must be around the other side of the boat or in the cabin.

The road followed the lakeshore. The occasional angler sat, as motionless and quiet as though he belonged to the landscape. Otherwise there was no one in sight. Over everything hung a festive atmosphere. The sun was dazzling. Then there was a bend in the road, and he was walking through the blue shadows of a little alder wood. The trunks were scurfy and dabbed with moss, which didn’t seem to go with their luminous leaves. On the meadows he saw more autumn crocuses, which looked somehow feebler than flowers in spring, anxious, as though they could sense the shorter days ahead.

At the end of the lake was an area of buoys with a few small motorboats; on the shore were some vacation houses with lowered blinds and a restaurant. Open Today, it said on a sign over a drinks advertisement, and the glass door was open wide, but the terrace was empty.

The gravel track now turned through a wood up a steeply climbing valley. On either side of the path were enormous mossy boulders. Thomas had a stitch that wouldn’t go away, even though he kept stopping to get his breath back. The road ended at a half-wrecked croft, which had evidently not been in use for a long time. Even though it was early in the day, he decided to spend the night here. He didn’t know the area, and he was afraid that it might get cold higher up.

Above the former cowshed was a hayloft, where he made up a bed for himself. He spread the dusty leftover hay over the plank flooring and laid his dark green rain jacket over it. Then he emptied his rucksack and spread all his things out on the thin PVC. He felt like a child who had seen his presents on the eve of his birthday, satisfied but also a little disappointed, even at the fulfillment of all his wishes. It was the embarrassment of the possessor, who realizes that no object could satisfy or still his desires. He took out his penknife, opened and shut all the blades and tools, and attached it on a spring hook to the chain he had bought to carry it. Then he took out the calendar he had found in the jacket he had taken in the nightclub. He flicked through the pages reading the entries, names and times, a doctor’s appointment, a hairdresser’s. The name of one woman kept turning up, Brigitta.

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