Peter Stamm - On A Day Like This

“The hotel was wretched,” said Andreas, “but I was still young. There was one shower and one toilet for twenty guests. In summer, if it was hot, you had to queue up for a shower. You had to buy coupons for warm water. If we had no money, we made do with cold showers.”

“I couldn’t stand that,” said Delphine. “I need my own bath.”

She said she would stay here until she had found a place in Versailles. But she did want to leave before the vacation.

They paid and left the bistro. Delphine went on, without either of them having said anything. Andreas loved such moments, when basically everything had been decided, but nothing had been said or done. He followed Delphine. Before, they had walked side by side, now she was in the lead, and he so close behind her that he almost touched her. She was wearing cheap clothes, jeans, a white T-shirt, and a jacket with rhinestones. Andreas had a sense that she was walking differently from before, more confidently, as though she knew what he had in mind. They didn’t speak, not even when Delphine stopped in front of a building and entered a code on an electronic pad beside the door. She held it open for him, and he followed her through a courtyard and up a flight of stairs. On the fourth floor he came to a stop. He was out of breath, and coughing.

“You smoke too much,” said Delphine, who was already on the next landing.

When he got to the top floor, she had disappeared. A door stood open.

The room was furnished rather basically; you could tell it had been assembled by someone who wasn’t planning to use it himself. There were hardly any books on the shelf, and apart from an almost bald basil plant on the table, there were no plants. On the bed there was a sleeping bag on a bare mattress. Next to it on the floor was a huge blue IKEA plastic bag full of dirty laundry. Delphine said she would have to do her laundry tonight. Andreas went up to the little window and looked out.

“A pretty view.”

“I only come here to sleep.”

He turned around toward her. She had sat down on the bed and was looking at him inquiringly. He knew what she expected of him. They would kiss, make love on the stained mattress, then he would accompany her to the launderette before taking her out to dinner. Afterward they might make love a second time, while he kept an eye on his watch to be sure he didn’t miss the last train. He would get dressed, and she would see him to the door, and he would turn to look at her once more on the stairs, to leave a good impression. And that would be the last either of them would ever hear of the other.

Delphine had got up and joined him in front of the window. Their shoulders brushed, and he smelled her perfume, a fresh, lemony scent. Summer, sun, and flowering meadows, he thought — it made him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” asked Delphine irritably.

“I just remembered something,” said Andreas, “a story I was reading. A love story.”

He asked her what scent she used. She asked him whether he liked it. Yes, he said, he did. He started to laugh again. The whole situation seemed so hackneyed.

“What’s the big joke?”

“You certainly confused Jean-Marc.”

Delphine didn’t say anything for a moment, then she asked what Jean-Marc had said.

“That you had slept with him. And that you didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“What a moron.”

Andreas laid his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“I’m not worried.”

Andreas sat down on the bed. Delphine sat down next to him. The tension was gone.

“Well?” she asked.

“He really is a moron. My best friend, the moron.”

Andreas laughed, and then he started coughing. Delphine said it didn’t sound good. He thanked her. Delphine said he was a strange person, and that got Andreas laughing and coughing again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, once he had recovered himself a little. “I won’t say anything to him.”

“Say what?” asked Delphine. She said Jean-Marc had been a mistake. It had been one of those evenings where you would go along with anyone at all, purely not to be alone. Did he have those, ever? She couldn’t know that Jean-Marc was going to fall in love with her.

“He didn’t fall in love with you,” said Andreas. “It’s just his vanity. If you’d followed him, called him on the phone, pestered him, he would have dropped you soon enough.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I know Jean-Marc. I bet he showed you photographs of his children.”

“I could have murdered him,” said Delphine, laughing.

They lay side by side on the mattress, and looked silently up at the ceiling. It had begun to get dark outside. Andreas felt very calm. At last, Delphine sat up. She turned and looked at Andreas.

“The launderette shuts in two hours.”

“Is this one of those evenings you would go to bed with absolutely anyone?” he asked.

“No,” said Delphine, and she started to undo Andreas’s shirt. Her face looked quite impassive. She took off his shirt and pants, and then his shorts. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, and came back with a condom, which she carefully opened and put on him. With a few movements, she stripped off her clothes and left them bundled up on the floor. For a moment, she stood naked beside the bed, with her hands hanging down. Andreas was amazed by her pallor. He took her hand, and pulled her down on top of him.

He had meant to go to Brittany to visit Jean-Marc, who came from there, and went back every summer with his wife and kids for a few weeks. He telephoned him, and said he had to put off his visit by a few days. He gave no reason. Nor did he say anything about the biopsy to Sylvia or Nadia. He could imagine their reactions. Nadia would feel sorry for herself, first and foremost. She would be furious with him, the way people are furious with a glass when they break the glass. And Sylvie would straightaway set herself to solving the problem. She was bound to have a friend who was a lung specialist, and who would agree to examine Andreas, and treat him. He left them both thinking he was off on holiday. The only person whom Andreas told was Delphine. He was surprised himself that he talked to her, but maybe it was because she had no great role in his life, that he didn’t know her better than someone you meet on a trip abroad, and then soon lose track of. Even the fact that they had slept together didn’t seem to have brought them together. She asked him what he liked, and told him what she liked, and told him when he was too fast or too rough. When it was over, he really did go to the launderette with her, and while they sat in front of the machines waiting, he told Delphine about the biopsy. Once again, she was cool and objective. She didn’t try to comfort him, or to play down the whole thing. She listened to him carefully, and asked him what time he was due at the hospital and how long it would take. Then she said she would drive him there. He said he could perfectly well walk, it was only fifteen minutes, but Delphine insisted on driving him.

Five days later, she rang the bell punctually. She had left her car in the middle of the road, and when Andreas came out of the house, she was arguing with a truck driver who couldn’t get past. In the middle of a sentence, she broke off, got in the car, leaned over to the passenger seat to let Andreas in. She gestured at the truck driver, and drove off.

The hospital was right behind the Gare du Nord. Andreas walked right past it every day on his way to work, and had never noticed it was there. Delphine drew up outside the main entrance, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Good luck,” she said. She said she wouldn’t be far away. He was to call her when he was finished.