Peter Stamm - Unformed Landscape

The hotel receptionist gave Christian a key. She called him Monsieur and Kathrine Madame.

“Madame,” said Christian, unlocking the room.

“I feel like…,” she began, and then stopped short.

“Shall we have something to eat?” asked Christian. He said he knew a good restaurant in the area.

They walked for about a quarter of an hour through dimly lit streets, then finally he admitted he had gotten lost. They had to stop three separate people before someone told them the way.

The restaurant was in a dark courtyard. Outside it was a stall with fruits de mer in baskets on ice. It was still early, there were not many people there.

“Why don’t your people eat shellfish?” Christian asked.

“I don’t know,” said Kathrine. “I suppose because there’s enough fish.”

“Do you feel like trying? I’ll show you how to eat oysters.”

He ordered a plate of fruits de mer , and showed her the way to extract the snails from their little houses, and how to get the oysters and the other shellfish off their shells. Kathrine was astonished to think she had never eaten shellfish before, but she didn’t especially like it.

“They don’t taste of anything,” she said.

Christian cracked a lobster claw for her. They drank white wine, ordered a second carafe, and left their water alone. Their hands touched, and once, Christian held out a morsel of lobster to Kathrine on his fork. Then they drank bitter coffee and calvados, and ate ice cream with hot chocolate sauce. The waiter came along with a little copper can, and poured molten chocolate over the ice cream until they called stop. The restaurant was now full. It was hot and noisy. Kathrine felt drunk with the wine and everything else.

That’s how you seduce women, she thought, when they were back in the hotel, and Christian was climbing the narrow steps behind her. But he doesn’t want to seduce me. She didn’t know whether she wanted to seduce him or not. It had been a nice evening, she had hardly thought of Thomas at all, or her son, or her village. Now she was tired, and she even felt a tiny bit sick from so much food and wine.

Madame, your room. Christian disappeared into the bathroom, and Kathrine sat down on the bed. She was afraid of the moment he would emerge from the bathroom. She wondered what he would have on, and what she should wear. Usually she just wore a T-shirt in bed. She took it out of her suitcase. It was a tight, worn old T-shirt, with a faded beer advertisement on it. Macks Ol — the Most Northerly Brewery in the World. It must date from her time with Helge, he had probably been given it when he bought a case of beer once, and given it to her when it didn’t fit him.

Kathrine felt ashamed. She felt ashamed of her T-shirt, of her entire wardrobe, of her panties, those same practical panties that she bought in packs of three, and that were worn by just about all the women in the village, young and old alike. She felt ashamed of her village, of her stories, of Helge above all, but also of Thomas, of her mother, and of the child she hadn’t wanted. She felt ashamed of her apartment, of her books, of not knowing how you tasted wine, or how you ate shellfish and snails. She felt ashamed of her whole life. She stuffed the T-shirt back into her suitcase.

Christian emerged from the bathroom in loose-fitting, pale-blue-and-white-striped pajamas. He was wearing slippers, and he looked altogether like an English nobleman in one of the books she had read when she was little. He should, she thought, have been carrying a candlestick with a single burning candle in it. Christian smiled, switched on the bedside light, switched off the main light, and climbed into bed. She had the feeling that he was moving terribly slowly, like a figure in a dream.

It was her turn to go to the bathroom. She got undressed, and looked at herself in the mirror, which was still steamed around the edges. Considering my age, she thought, and then, bah, who cares, whatever will be will be. She ran her hands over her hips, as if to sculpt fresh curves. This is me, she thought, this is my body. That’s all there is.

Kathrine washed with a cloth, she didn’t feel like having a shower anymore. It was cold in the bathroom, but an English nobleman showered even when it was cold. He ignores the cold, she thought. He doesn’t allow it. She combed her hair, tied it up, and then shook it out again. She plucked a few eyebrows, sniffed her armpits, and washed her feet in the bidet. She squirted a bit of her new perfume on her throat. It smelled of a different country, of night and of love. Why not, she thought, he didn’t insist on having a second bed, after all. An English nobleman, she had once read, used the sugar tongs, even if he is all alone. She had never seen sugar tongs. She pulled on her panties. Then she took them off again, and stepped into the room quite naked.

Christian was lying in bed. The television was on. An old film starring Catherine Deneuve. Kathrine slipped in beside him under the blankets, and pulled them up to her throat. Christian didn’t look at her, only moved a little to the side to make room for her, and turned the volume down. She felt his nearness, and the warmth of his body. He asked if she wanted him to turn off the television. She said it didn’t bother her.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he asked.

“What film is it?”

“Belle de Jour . Catherine Deneuve.”

“If I was French, my name would be Catherine too. What does the title mean?”

“Beauty of the day,” said Christian. “It’s the story of a bored woman.”

He looked at Kathrine. She smiled. She had never been bored, even though her life was monotonous, even though nothing happened in the village. Her favorite days had been the ones where everything was exactly as always. Only Sundays had sometimes bothered her.

Shots rang out on the television, and Christian turned to see what was happening. She turned away and shut her eyes.

When Kathrine awoke, it was light in the room. Christian was dressed, and sitting in a chair by the window. He was looking at his photos. Kathrine sat up in bed.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Christian.

“What about you?”

“I’m not sure. My girlfriend never stays the night. My parents…”

“But…?”

“That was nice,” said Christian, and held out a photo to Kathrine. She knelt on the bed to look at it. The cover slipped away, and she realized she was naked, and she felt ashamed. But Christian kept looking at the photo he was holding out to her.

“The aquarium at Vancouver,” he said. “They had dolphins…”

He had sat down on the side of the bed next to her, and was flipping through the pictures.

“Killer whale. Squid. They’re terribly intelligent. Have you ever eaten squid?”

“I wouldn’t do that. I was in the aquarium at Boulogne.”

She took the quilt off the bed, and wrapped herself in it. “It’s cold.”

“If you like, we can take the night train from Cologne to Copenhagen. Then we could spend another day here.”

“Is that what you want to do with your life? Travel?”

“No,” said Christian, “no.” He thought about it awhile, and then he said no again.

It was a fine day in Paris. The city was very light, pale gray and silver. Belle de jour, said Kathrine.

“The Sacré-Coeur,” said Christian, and pointed to the horizon, where a white church was shown in relief against the cloudy sky, “the blessed heart.”

At five they were on the train.

In Cologne, they changed to the night train. They were on the platform far too early. They stood and waited silently, side by side. This is it, I’m going back now, thought Kathrine. We’ll part at Kolding, and then I’ll go home, what else is there for me? I’ll go back to my apartment. Thomas will call sometime, or my mother. Thomas will ask where I’ve been, and my mother will say what did I think I was playing at, and poor Thomas, and didn’t I think of the child at all? And then she’ll tell me about old times, and the next time she sees Thomas she’ll apologize on my behalf, and pretend it wasn’t anything, and say I’d always been mulish like that. And he’ll take my side, and that’ll be the worst of it. Then she remembered she had sent in the lease, and that maybe there was someone else living there. She still had the key, but she didn’t have an apartment anymore.