Peter Stamm - In Strange Gardens and Other Stories

She turned and walked back. I sat down on the sand next to the dead jellyfish, and lit a cigarette. I stayed there smoking for a long time.

When I got back to the house, the others were still sitting outside, talking and drinking wine. I went inside without a word. Maria followed me. We stood together in front of the sofa in the living room, where Maria had made up a bed for herself. She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t either. I went into the bedroom, got undressed and lay down. I couldn’t sleep for a long time.

I awoke because there was someone in the room. Outside, it was getting light. Maria was packing her things. She didn’t make any effort not to make any noise. I watched her secretly, but when she turned toward me, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. She carried her bag down into the living room and then came back once more and stood by the bed. She stayed there for a long time and then she left, closing the door softly behind her. I heard her making a phone call. After a while, a car drew up outside. It stopped, but the motor was running. Then I heard doors slam, and the car moved away. I stood up and went into the living room.

The sofa was empty. The bedclothes were folded up beside it on the floor. There was a piece of paper on the table. While I read it, Anita came out of her bedroom. She asked what was happening, and I said Maria had gone home.

“Something went wrong,” I said. “I don’t know what, I must have done something wrong.”

“What time is it?” Anita asked.

“Six,” I said.

“Is that all? I’m going back to bed for a while then.”

We went back to our rooms. There was a T-shirt of Maria’s next to the bed. I picked it up. It smelled of her, her sweat, her sleep, and for a moment I felt she was still there, that she’d just gone out for a while.

At breakfast we didn’t talk about Maria not being there. But later, when Stefan went to the beach to try to get his kite to fly again, Anita asked me why Maria had left me: “Was it something to do with Italy?”

“Yes,” I said, without much conviction, “it’s all so complicated.”

“Do you think you’ll get back together?” Anita asked.

I said I didn’t know, I wasn’t even sure I wanted that.

Anita said she envied us really. “I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time. If I wasn’t so passive …”

“I can’t imagine her life without me,” I said.

“That’s always the way of it, but life always goes on somehow,” said Anita.

Stefan came back. There hadn’t been any wind, and as he was dragging the kite across the beach, a dog had grabbed at it and chewed it up. Anita grinned.

“You should have buried it on the spot,” she said.

“When I was a kid I always longed for a kite,” said Stefan, “but all I ever got were clothes and books and schoolbags.”

“You haven’t given me my present yet,” I said, “the thing you brought back for me.”

“Maria’s got it,” said Anita. “She must have taken it away with her.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. We weren’t with her when she bought it.” Maria had been all secretive, and hadn’t wanted to tell anyone.

“I expect it was something stupid,” said Stefan.

“Maybe she’ll send it to me,” I said, “or I’ll call her.”

It was the last day of our vacation. We packed our things and cleaned the house. There was sand all over. In the evening we went to the promenade. We wanted to go and eat in a restaurant.

“Why do Italians always keep their shutters down?” Stefan asked, as we passed through the settlement of vacation homes.

“With that heat …” said Anita.

“They do it at home too,” said Stefan. “I used to have Italian neighbors. They always kept their shutters closed. And an enormous satellite dish on their balcony.”

“Maybe homesickness,” said Anita.

We strolled along the promenade. The sun had gone down, but it was still hot. There were tables and chairs out in front of the restaurants. There were big luminous signs showing the food they offered. The red was bleached, and the food all looked blue and unappetizing. One restaurant had fish and shellfish lying out in front of it, in baskets full of crushed ice.

“Can you smell anything?” Stefan asked. “I can’t smell anything. Surely you should be able to smell it.”

“If fish smells fishy, you shouldn’t eat it,” said Anita.

We were unable to decide on a restaurant, and we walked on to the end of the promenade. There we sat down on a low wall. The sky was empty, it looked locked up against the neon from all the restaurants. Stefan had lain down on the wall, and was resting his head on Anita’s lap. She was stroking his hair. I sat next to her. Our shoulders were touching.

“Look at that star,” said Stefan, “it must be a fixed star, it’s so bright.”

“It’s an airplane,” said Anita, “only airplanes give out that much light.”

“Airplanes blink,” said Stefan, “and they have red and green lights.”

The bright light slowly moved across the sky. We were quiet, and watched it disappear into the west.

“It’s a nice feeling,” said Anita, “to think there are people up there, flying into the morning. Somewhere another day’s beginning. Here it’s still night, and they’ll be seeing the sun already. The American sun.”

“I feel I’ve been here for ever,” said Stefan.

“I could live here,” said Anita, “and do nothing but look at airplanes, and eat and read. I feel really at home here.”

“I wonder where Maria is now,” I said. “I wonder what she wanted to give me.”

After five mild, sunny days on the island, clouds started to mass. It rained overnight, and the next morning it was twenty degrees colder. I walked over the reef, a giant sandbar in the southwest, which was no longer land and not yet sea. I couldn’t see where the water began, but I thought I had a sense of the curvature of the earth. Sometimes I crossed the tracks of another walker, though there was no one to be seen far and wide. Only occasionally a heap of seaweed, or a black wooden post corroded by seawater, sticking out of the ground. Somewhere I came upon some writing that someone had stamped in the wet sand with his bare feet. I followed the script, and read the word “ALIEN.” In the distance I could hear the ferry, which was due to dock in half an hour. It was as though I could hear its monotonous vibration with my whole body. And then it began to rain, a light and invisible shower that wrapped itself around me like a cloud. I turned and walked back.

I was the only guest staying at the pension. Wyb Jan was sitting in the lobby with Anneke, his girlfriend, drinking tea. The room was full of model ships, Wyb Jan’s father had been a sea captain. Anneke asked me if I wanted a cup of tea. I told them about the writing on the sand.

“Alien,” I said. “It’s exactly how I felt on that sandspit. As strange as if the earth had thrown me off.” Wyb Jan laughed, and Anneke said: “Alien is a girl’s name in Dutch. Alien Post is the most beautiful girl on the island.”

“You’re the most beautiful girl on the island,” Wyb Jan said to Anneke, and kissed her. Then he tapped me on the shoulder and said: “When the weather’s like this, it’s best to stay indoors. If you go out, it might drive you crazy.”

He went into the kitchen to get me a cup. When he came back, he switched on a lamp and said: “I’ll put an electric heater in your room.”

Anneke said: “I wonder who wrote that. Do you think Alien’s found herself a boyfriend at long last?”

Evelyn had suggested a café with a silly name like Aquarium or Zebra or Penguin, I can’t remember. She often ate there in the evenings, she said. When I arrived, only two of the tables were occupied. I sat down near the door and waited. I looked at the menu. It was one of those places where the dishes have strange names, and the portions are on the small side.