Peter Stamm - Unformed Landscape

“This is the one he chose for you,” she said, and smiled. “We can hang it by the door to your apartment. Do you like the colors?”

Kathrine stayed for three days in the hotel with Johanna, Inger, and Linn. She took lots of photos. In the daytime, the four of them went skiing, in the evenings they went out to eat, and once they went dancing. There were even some men around, and they spent a cheerful evening together, but not more than that. Once, Kathrine wanted to go to the library, to look at her e-mail.

Morten had written to her. He hoped Kathrine would be back soon, he was missing her. She might at least say hello, wherever she was.

He doesn’t sound too worried, she thought, but she didn’t mind, and she wrote back quickly to say she was in Narvik, that she was fine, and would soon be back.

The others had had a look around the library by now. Johanna said there were probably more books than people who knew how to read. Just because we live up here doesn’t mean we’re thick, said Kathrine. Inger said she had once read somewhere that the brain activity of people in the North was diminished by the long evenings. “Just like with marmots,” said Johanna. “They spend their summers getting fat, and in winter they sit around at home, watch TV, and commit incest.”

“Did someone turn you down, then?” asked Linn.

“There isn’t anyone there,” said Johanna. “I wouldn’t be in a position to get turned down by one of those fishheads anyway.”

“Am I a fishhead, then?” asked Kathrine.

“There’s nothing I can see, but it might still come,” said Johanna.

That evening, the four of them went to a disco, and Johanna was aggressive again. Kathrine had danced with a man, quite close and quite long. And when she returned to the table where the other three were sitting, Inger said she thought the Norwegians were racists, because they didn’t ask Swedish girls to dance.

“To look at you lolling there, no one would have thought you wanted to dance anyway,” said Kathrine.

“Kathrine has more fun than we do,” said Johanna. “Nothing in her purse to buy a beer, but full of good cheer.”

Kathrine got up and left. Linn followed her to the hotel a few minutes later. Kathrine was sitting on the bed, crying. Linn sat down next to her, and put her arm around her.

“Johanna didn’t mean it like that,” said Linn later, as they were lying in their beds. They had the light out, and were talking a bit, as they had on the previous nights.

“I don’t fit with you,” said Kathrine.

“You fit with me, but maybe not with the others.”

“I’m not more stupid than any of you. And as for not having any money… I’m going home.”

“To your husband?”

“To my friends and my mother and my kid. Back to my village.”

“Johanna has such a hard time with her boyfriend,” said Linn. “He’s a successful lawyer, and he puts her under a lot of pressure. He wants her to have a career like him. But she’s not as good as he is. And then, as a woman… Inger is the best attorney of the three of us. I don’t know what it’s about. I don’t care. But Johanna gets upset.”

Kathrine repeated that she would leave in the morning, and she was a bit disappointed that Linn didn’t try to talk her out of it. That might be the best thing, she said, it’s a pity, but Kathrine should know what was best for her.

“Yes,” said Kathrine, and then, “No.”

“You can stay another day, can’t you?” asked Linn. She had gotten up, and sat down on the edge of Kathrine’s bed. “I’ll pay, it’s all right.”

“The Polarlys is coming by tomorrow,” said Kathrine. “I know the captain. I’d like to sail with him.”

“Do you need money? Just say. You don’t have to pay me back.”

“No. I’ve enough.”

“Can we stay friends?”

“Sure, if you like.”

“I do like,” said Linn, and kissed Kathrine. “I like you.”

Kathrine had to leave early. Linn awoke when the alarm went off. She didn’t get up, but she stayed awake, and watched Kathrine pack. Then they hugged, and Kathrine left. She took the early bus to Harstad, where the Hurtig Line boat was due to sail at a quarter past. On the Polarlys , she asked after Harald. He was still asleep. As she was sitting over breakfast, he wandered down into the dining room. He had shaved off his beard. He approached Kathrine’s table with rapid strides, she stood up, and the two of them embraced like old friends.

They drank coffee together, and Kathrine told her story. Harald said he had told his wife about her stay. At first, she had been furious, but in the end she believed him, and now everything was all right again, perhaps even a bit better than before.

“We talked. At least that.”

Then Harald had to go on duty, and go up to the bridge. Kathrine put away her luggage, and went up and joined him.

“Have you got a son or a daughter?” asked Harald. “And how old is your kid? And what’s he or she called?”

“He’s a boy. He’ll be eight in… two weeks.”

“And what’s his name?”

“Randy.”

“Tell me about him.”

Kathrine said she didn’t feel like it. She said she and Randy weren’t particularly close. And never had been, she thought. She was so tired after the birth, by cesarean section, and then the postnatal depression, and her mother was there the whole time, looking after her, and giving her advice. Kathrine had found breast-feeding painful, she had gotten a breast infection, and Helge hadn’t been any use at all, and had only offended her mother, until she stopped coming. Then things had gotten really difficult. Randy. Kathrine didn’t like the name, even. It was Helge’s idea, after some musician he liked. It hadn’t been an especially good time.

“Tell me about him,” repeated Harald.

“He’s going to end up like his father,” said Kathrine. “I once caught him torturing a dog.”

“All kids do that.”

“No, they don’t,” said Kathrine, “all kids don’t do that.”

“He’s not to blame for his father. You chose him.”

“And what if I did? He’s still like Helge.”

“Maybe he’ll grow up, like Helge grew up.”

“Did you study psychology?”

“My wife’s like you. That’s why I liked you straightaway. But…”

“But?”

“What’s good for a man isn’t necessarily good for a kid.”

“You’ve got no idea what it means, bringing up a child. You’re never home.”

“You don’t have to listen to me,” said Harald, and turned away. “We don’t have to talk, either. Look out the window. Maybe you’ll see a seal.”

They were silent for a long time. Finally Harald said, “Why did you marry him, if he’s so awful?”

“We were OK together. As long as he was sober. And then the baby came along.”

“They don’t come by themselves.”

“I slept with him. I didn’t want to be alone, and I’d had a few. OK?”

“And even if he does turn out like his father, give him a chance, at least. It’ll be hard enough for him, up there.”

“Randy,” said Kathrine. “My son Randy.”

“And anyway, what did he do to the dog?” asked Harald.

The night they were supposed to reach Hammerfest, there was a storm. Over supper, the head steward went from table to table, and informed the few passengers that after ten thirty there would be rough seas for a couple of hours, but there was no danger. The captain apologized. But it’s not the captain’s fault, said Kathrine. But we always get complaints when there’s a storm, said the steward, I don’t get it either.

And in fact the storm began within fifteen minutes of the predicted time. Kathrine was surprised, but the steward said, it isn’t the time, it’s the place. We’ve steamed into the storm, and we’ll steam out of it again.