Peter Stamm - We're Flying

Anja hears the twittering of the birds and the quiet rush of distant traffic on the highway, and shouting children crashing through the undergrowth. A low-flying plane approaches slowly, seems to hang overhead forever, and moves away. The wind picks up and shakes the last of the dry leaves on the trees, which make a sound like rain. When she shuts her eyes, the space seems to expand; when she opens them again, the colors are unexpectedly pallid. Only the green of the pines is strong, and that of the fresh grass, just starting to peep up among the old dead grass, crushed by the snow. Everything here is alive, even dead wood is swarming with creatures, with funguses and beetles and ants. At the far end of the meadow is a high stand, creaking in the wind.

In autumn, there’s a hunter sitting up there. Anja has got up, put her clothes on, and brushed her teeth, when she suddenly becomes aware of him. Perhaps he made a noise, or she had a sense of being watched. He hasn’t leveled his rifle at her, even though for a moment she’s afraid she might get shot. Then fear gives way to a feeling of security. She carries on calmly, stowing her things under the groundsheet, and dives into the bushes.

The man comes again. For a whole week he’s sitting up there every day, watching her. He must realize she’s seen him, but he gives no indication of it, not so much as a nod or a little wave of the hand. She relishes the attention, but at the same time she can feel something being broken. The spell is shattered. One morning the hunter is no longer there. For a while, Anja carries on as before, waits for him to come back. She is impatient, comes up with various theories. For the first time she feels bored in the forest, and the cold weather gets on her nerves. She can feel that she won’t last out much longer. When she is found shortly afterward, she is almost relieved.

WITHOUT BEING WHOLLY AWARE of it, Anja expects to find the hunter in the bookshop. Even though they’ve only seen each other at a distance, she is sure she would recognize him. He has dark green trousers, a fleece top, and a funny little hat. His rifle is slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t say a word, only looks at her and smiles. His smile is kind, but it spells danger. Anja shrinks back, hides behind a bookcase, waits for him to come after her. She flees from him, luring him farther into the darkness of the shelves, the vaults full of books, full of boxes. She hurries through a labyrinth of passageways she has never seen before. The hunter is close behind. He won’t let her escape.

ANJA MET MARCO. He liked to visit the shop from time to time, to order books on automatics and robotics. They got talking, and finally he asked her out for coffee, so awkwardly that she couldn’t refuse. He courted her, she knew for ages that he would eventually try to kiss her, she was almost counting on it. It took a couple of dates before he finally got up the courage, and then everything happened very quickly. They married when Anja was pregnant.

Shortly after their tenth anniversary, Marco confessed one evening that he had a girlfriend. For weeks he had been troubled and nervous, and Anja couldn’t really say she was surprised. The indifference with which she greeted the news infuriated him. She didn’t hold it against him, he had to get rid of his agitation somehow, and the way he did it was blaming her, and shouting at her, and then immediately apologizing and weeping and then shouting again. Be quiet, she said, the children.

The separation passed off without strife or scenes. Only when Marco asked her to forgive him, she impatiently shook her head. She kept the apartment and the kids. Marco and his new girlfriend moved back into the city. The kids spent more and more time with their father, and before long got on with the girlfriend better than they did with Anja. Each time she handed the children over to Marco, he would ask her casually whether she was seeing anyone. He was hoping she would remarry, so that he could stop paying her support. Anja would have been happy for that to happen, but she didn’t need a man, or companionship wasn’t what she needed.

One time, the security guard sat down at her table. It felt as though he was in breach of a tacit agreement between them. Anja shook her head in annoyance. She walked off, leaving her half-empty plate. After that she avoided the supermarket for a while.

When Anja passes the school building, she can look through the large window into the classroom, but she doesn’t recognize any of the children. She walks through the business park. The sky is clouded over. She looks at the display of the domestic appliance store, which is right next to the erotic center. She feels the glances of the men walking in and out, they simultaneously disgust and fascinate her. At the pedestrian crossing, she has to wait for a long time after pressing the button. Trucks are bringing fresh goods; cars have their music turned up so loud, they seem to be throbbing. Behind the main storehouse and the rail tracks is a little creek, along which a footpath leads. Anja looks at the mural on the high wall around the recycling center, it’s of a jungle scene. Some things are merely hinted at, green and gray cross-hatched areas, a pale blue sky. Only a few details have been fully executed, crumbling temple ruins, a few enormous trees, a leopard that seems to leap out of the wall at the onlooker. The painter seems to have given up his work long ago, in one or two places the picture has been daubed with graffiti.

The path ends at a railway line. The other side of the line is the soccer field. The humming of the mower blows across, and the damp air carries the smell of freshly mown grass. Anja sits down on the field and watches the passing trains. She lies down and shuts her eyes. She has one more hour before she has to pick up the kids from school.

SHE IS STANDING in front of a staircase that leads straight up. She runs up it, encounters a heavy, battered steel door. She hurls herself against it, the door swings open, and she is standing in a back courtyard. Quickly, but without haste, she walks on. She has never been here before, but it feels familiar, she doesn’t hesitate for a moment. The hunter is close behind her, she doesn’t turn around, but she can feel his presence, his nearness. It’s early in the morning, there’s no one out. Only now does it dawn on Anja that she can’t hear anything, not a sound, it’s as though she were deaf. The road leads through a tangle of alleyways. Eventually Anja comes out on a large square. She walks to the middle of it, then stops and looks around. At this point she sees the hunter. He has emerged from one of the alleys and is standing quite still. Slowly he takes his rifle down from his shoulder, goes down on one knee, and takes aim. His face is rigid with concentration, his eyes expressionless. Even though they must be twenty yards apart, Anja can see his finger slowly curling round the trigger, and then the flash of flame in the muzzle, and at the same instant she feels a great exquisite pain in her breast and a warm dribble of blood—it feels a bit as though she has stepped into a hot bath. Then she is lying on the ground, and the hunter is kneeling at her side. He strokes the hair back from her brow. There are tears in his eyes. He makes to speak, but she shakes her head and smiles. It’s all right.

IT WASN’T UNTIL I locked my bicycle that I registered there was something different from usual. I walked back to the entrance of the industrial park and saw the lowered blinds in the porter’s lodge. With the annual Christmas whirl, I had forgotten that Biefer and Sandoz were both retiring at the end of the year. A month before, someone had organized a collection to buy them each a retirement present. I had contributed, signed a couple of cards, and then not given the matter any more thought. Now I felt sorry I hadn’t said good-bye to them.