When the Night (25 page)

I turn around; there’s someone sitting there. I didn’t hear him arrive.

Hold your wallet close and don’t fall asleep, that’s what my father told me. But I never paid him any mind. This man has wrinkled hands; I won’t look at him so he doesn’t get any ideas.

There are kids screaming. When did they get on? With all the empty seats, why did this man have to sit here? I put a hand over my eyes and between the fingers I glance over at him. I sit up. It can’t be him.

“Manfred.”

He looks older. His face is thin. Back then, his pale, sad eyes were hard; they never looked at me. I feel short of breath.

“When did you get on?”

“Just now.”

It’s him; the same voice. Of course it’s the same voice, it’s his voice. I run a hand through my hair; if only I had a mirror.

“I fell asleep.”

“I know.”

“Where is the bus going?”

“Into the city.”

“I wanted to get off near my hotel.”

He’s a mess; where did he come from? Did he run? Where was he, how did he come here? I don’t say a thing. After a silence, he speaks, amid the yelling and laughter: “How is your son?”

“He’s grown up. I have a daughter too now.”

She has a daughter. You can’t have her, Manfred.

“How are your children?”

“Clara moved to the city. Simon is here.”

Where should I take her? To a hotel, like Simon and his girl?

“Manfred.”

Now she’ll tell me why she came back. Women always take the first step. If only those kids would stop yelling, and the driver would turn off the radio with that horrible mountain music, always the same. Do I smell, or is it the bus?

She takes my hand and squeezes it. You’re a man, Manfred, try to pull yourself together. It’s not the first time a woman has touched you. She lets go.

“I saw you in the gondola and I decided to wait for you.”

“A tree fell across the road, and we were stuck.”

What I’d like to say is this: we’re on the same road now, Manfred. No trees will block our path. But my mouth is dry, my face is warm.

“Why did you come back?”

How can he ask? I won’t give him the satisfaction. “A vacation.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Enough—we can’t go back to the beginning each time.

“I came back because I wanted to see you again.”

“Oh.”

Stefan will know where I can take her.

“Manfred, we could have dinner together in the city. Do you want to?”

“Are you hungry?”

I laugh. “No, but that way we can talk, if you want.”

“Talk?”

He hasn’t changed. One word and we’re standing naked in front of each other.

HE’S SWEATY AND lean. His skin is not smooth, but his muscles are strong. I caress the thin leg that he can no longer feel, and open my mouth to his.

Embrace me, Manfred, take every part of my body. It belongs to you.

Tiny breasts, flat belly, black hair between her legs. Her nipples are hard; she wants me. She knows how to move, how to make a man want her. Where did she learn?

He stops my hands, pushes them aside, as if we were locked in a wrestling match. He stares at me and says, “Wait.”

“All right.”

This mother of two has a young girl’s body. If she touches me, I’ll lose control. I know her. Who knows how many men she’s been with; she plays with you, takes control. Don’t lose your head, don’t let yourself go.

He grabs my wrists. He’s hurting me. He stares at me; my body excites him, but he doesn’t touch me. Why? I ask him.

“Are you scared, Manfred?”

He smiles and the wrinkles on his face deepen. “Never.”

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

He holds my hands but he can’t avoid my gaze. His penis is stiff between his legs. “You’re in a rush. You’re too experienced.”

Suddenly I notice details of the room. I feel cold. “Why do you say that? What do you want from me, Manfred?”

“Nothing. You’re the one who came here. I wasn’t thinking about you. I had my life.”

I let my hands go limp and sit on the bed, on the cold comforter. I put one foot on top of the other.

“I’ve thought about you all these years.”

Don’t believe her. How can you know she doesn’t say that to everyone? She walks into the hotel without shame and looks at the woman who gives us the keys without lowering her eyes. She undresses as soon as we walk into the room and puts her
arms around me. Take me, look at me. Back then, she danced with Stefan just to make me look at her; now she embraces me, caresses me, and pounces. I won’t let her lead me by the nose and then leave me, laugh at me. It won’t work with me, Marina.

He sits in the armchair across from the bed. He has a small penis, like a child. What happened? We went into the hotel; I was embarrassed, but I didn’t show it. I don’t want to disappoint him. I want him, I’m already wet. The woman stares at me as if I were a whore; I don’t care. We walk upstairs, hand in hand, and I’m happy. I don’t see the room, only him, and I undress. My body belongs to him. His hands are on my breasts, on my neck, his tongue in my mouth. I feel everything as long as he touches me with his eyes. Then he pushes me away and looks at me with contempt. Hatred, incomprehension, rancor. So this is why I brought him here.

I’ve had other women, and I know I shouldn’t show her how much I want her. It’s better if I don’t care, that way I can watch her and control the game. Start things, and end them as I want to. This woman has made my head spin. She’s small and thin, with tiny breasts. Not my type.

I need to get up and gather my clothes. I feel ashamed sitting naked in front of him. I lower my head, trembling, and stare at the fold of skin on my stomach, my belly button. I feel dead. There are paintings of mountains, meadows, cows, and alpine streams on the walls. I can’t cry, can’t give him the satisfaction. I’ll get dressed. I’ll leave. I look up at him.

“It’s cold in here. The room is depressing.”

“This was the only place Stefan knew.”

Who is this crippled mountain man, sweaty and mean, sitting in front of me, looking at me with indifference?

“Does he bring his girlfriends here?”

“Perhaps, before he was married.”

These three brothers get older, fuck, get married, have children. For them, women must stay in their place.

“You Sane brothers are good husbands.”

Now she’s making fun of me.

“Not really. As you can see, I’m here.”

Bastard.

“So you often go to places like this one?”

“Not really. Maybe you do.”

His hatred has brought me here. Why?

“It’s the first time. Maybe your mother came here, all those years ago, with her American.”

She lands a blow. Don’t stand up, don’t react. That’s what she wants.

“No, it was another city.”

“Why can’t you forgive her, Manfred? Always the same story. When will you get over it? Your father is dead now.”

“She’s dead too; a tumor. The American is still alive.”

I get up. I’m too cold. I want to leave and never see him again, erase him from my dreams.

She’s leaving. Let her go. That’s how it has to end. She’s putting on her underwear, looking for her bra, her stockings, trousers, and sweater. She picks up her jacket and the black hat with the red flower. I feel like a piece of ice, like I did in the hospital bed. She turns toward me.

“I’m leaving, Manfred. I shouldn’t have come.”

She turns away. I feel a pain in my chest. Darkness before my eyes. I get up and yell, “You’re not leaving here.”

I pounce, tear the jacket out of her hands, remove her sweater. My mouth is on her breast, now our mouths come together; saliva on my body, on hers, my hand between her legs. Marina, you are my woman, my flesh.

Touch me, Manfred, before I die again, this thing that binds us together forever.

N
OW I KNOW. The life we lead, the one we choose once we’ve decided to be reasonable, is worthless. There are a few good things, like spreading gravel in front of the cars at six in the morning, even though none of those idiots will know that the reason they can move their cars is that you did your job well. There’s no one around, and you, the house, the sky, and the mountains exist in the same silence. Or when you see Simon talking on the phone with his girlfriend. He’s tall and stupid, but give him time and he’ll grow up to be like Albert, the best of us. You see Luna and Clara leave the hotel arm in arm; you have no idea what they’re doing, what they’re saying, but they look happy. You watch them from behind the counter, and wait for their return. You’re in the right place at the right time. But you can’t hide the truth. If your life had begun differently, you would be with her.

I put down the shovel and go into town to have my first coffee of the day. Another solitary pleasure. The soles of my shoes
break the ice, every morning, as I walk down the hill. I can see the piazza, and now I’m passing the bus stop; I stop for a moment and see her in the hotel room in the city. I penetrate between her skinny legs and come as I’ve never come before. I feel a pain in my chest and heat in my bones; the coffee seems almost cold to me. I’m the only happy man in the village, but nobody knows it.

I don’t know how long the feeling will last: walking by the bus station every morning, imagining myself in bed with her, with those paintings of flowers on the walls. Lying on the bed, we play games, imagine where we’ll go, the paradise no one ever told us existed. These are days in another man’s calendar. Who knew a woman could harpoon herself to your body? It’s been two years and thirteen days. I’m strong, our father prepared us for sacrifice. Life is hard, but nothing prepared me for this. If he were alive, I’d tell him.

The complaints about our mother and the American were nothing compared to this. He called her a whore, forgot her, took her children, burned her belongings, and left no trace of her. This is my woman, Gustav, not my wife or the mother of my children. Every day I try not to desire her, but I can’t help myself. You never told us how hard it is not to have the woman you desire. Nothing binds us together, but I yearn for her body as insistently as I do for my lost leg.

One day I went back to the hotel room; I rented it for a few hours. I wanted to remember. Maybe one day I will walk by the bus stop without seeing her.

The paintings, the bed, the armchair, the comforter. I found myself on the floor, behind the bathroom door; she was there
but she wasn’t. I started to cry, and I thought: if anyone saw me, they’d put me in the nuthouse.

ONE DAY LEADS to another. She left me her hat, the one with the red flower. She gave it to Bianca at the lodge, with a note containing two words. I tore up the letter. Like the letter she sent me the first time she left: words that mean nothing. The two words on the note are words we never said to each other. Neither of us. The hat is up at the lodge; Bianca kept it. She told me.

“Maybe she’ll come back for it, or you can take it to her.”

Marina trusts Bianca, and so do I. One day in the kitchen, I ask her, “What did she say?”

THE MORNING AFTER the storm, she was sitting where you are now. She was pale, and I felt sorry for her. I made some coffee and asked her what happened, where she had spent the night. She told me: “Manfred saved my son and me, Bianca. Nobody knows that.”

“But you pulled him out of the crevasse.”

“I wanted to stay, but he sent me away. I wanted to tell my husband not to come. Last night, we went to a hotel room in the city.”

Her lips trembled, she grasped the cup in her hands. Later, she came down with her suitcase.

“I’m leaving today, Bianca. If Manfred wants me, he can come and get me this time.”

I WALK INTO the bar. The man at the counter doesn’t say hello. He hands me a cup of coffee. For a while now, I’ve been in the mood to talk, just to egg people on.

“I thought you had mellowed with age, Manfred.”

Poor Luna. All she wants is peace and quiet. I provoke him: “Your coffee tastes like water.”

He glances over. “So why do you come here every morning?”

“There’s nowhere else to go.”

He cleans the coffee machine, the bar, the sugar bowl. Around here, people clean everything as if they were possessed. Soap, disinfectant. Nothing tastes like anything.