Peter Stamm - In Strange Gardens and Other Stories

“Goodnight,” said Rachel.

“I’m coming up,” said Luis.

“We’re tired. Thanks for the fun evening.”

Rachel followed Antonia up the stairs. Luis and I came after the two women.

“Goodnight,” Rachel said again.

“I’m not tired,” said Luis.

“But we are.”

“Come on, let’s go,” I said to Luis, and took him by the arm.

“I call the police,” said Luis. “I tell them everything.”

“Call the police. Do you think they’ll believe you?” said Rachel mockingly. She turned to Antonia. “Go on!”

Antonia pressed the bell, and a shrill metallic ringing came from inside the apartment. Luis climbed up another step. I passed him, and drew myself up in front of him. I pressed him back against the wall, but I knew right away that he was stronger than me, and that my chances of being able to hold him back were nil. His body was tensed, but he didn’t move. I was surprised he didn’t put up any struggle. Antonia rang the bell a second time. We stood there in silence, then finally the door opened. A fifty-year-old woman in a dressing gown peered out. She didn’t say anything. I let go of Luis.

“I call the police now,” he said once more, and went down the stairs.

“Get lost!” Rachel called after him. “You fucking idiot!”

“Come on in,” Antonia said to me, and the three of us stepped into the apartment, and went into their room. All this time, the landlady hadn’t said a word. She looked very tired, and she disappeared.

“Are you allowed gentlemen callers here?” I asked.

“I hope you’re no gentleman,” said Rachel. “Do you want a beer?”

She took three bottles out of the wardrobe and opened them. The beer was tepid. We felt a little easier, and at the same time more excited. We all talked at once, and laughed a lot.

“What an asshole,” said Rachel.

“He took us to dinner,” said Antonia. “Maybe he thought …”

“They won’t come,” said Rachel. “The police. And so what if they do. We’ll just throw the stuff out the window.”

She asked me if I wanted any. She had sat down on the bed beside Antonia. I shook my head.

Rachel said they were almost out of money. Could I lend them some? I gave them the last of my escudos. It wasn’t much, and I wouldn’t be needing it anyway, on the ship. Rachel whispered something to Antonia. Antonia pulled a face. She said she was going to take a shower, and she went out into the hallway.

“What was that you whispered?” I asked.

“I asked her what we would do for you in return for fifty thousand escudos.”

She laughed, and sprawled back on the bed.

“What we need now is a really wide bed,” she said. Antonia came back, and Rachel went to the shower. She stopped in the doorway and told us to behave ourselves. “Remember, Mama’ll be back in a moment.”

When I left the two of them, it was just starting to get light. We embraced. Rachel handed me an empty beer bottle.

“In case he’s waiting outside,” she said. “That way you can defend yourself.”

I went out on the street. There was no one around. I walked through the empty city with my beer bottle in my hand. I felt stupid. After a couple of hundred yards, I dropped it in the garbage. I hesitated for a moment, and then I threw away the piece of paper where Rachel and Antonia had written down their addresses for me.

Once I was on the ship, I lay down, but I wasn’t able to sleep, and soon stood up again. I trotted through the city some more. When I was tired, I went into a little church where Mass was just being said. I sat down in the back pew, and listened. From time to time, I managed to make out the odd word. At the end, the worshipers turned to both sides and shook hands with their neighbors. I had no one sitting next to me. I hurried to be first out of the church.

The secretary collected David from the airport. She had come in her own car. She asked if it was okay with him if she took the A4. He said he didn’t mind either way, he didn’t know the first thing about the place. After that they were silent, until the skyscrapers of the Docklands area came into view.

“Over recent years, the docklands have turned into London’s most important financial and business center,” said the secretary. “Living space is of the highest quality. There are also abundant facilities for rest and recreation.”

She talked like a tour guide, it sounded like something she had rattled off many times before. It was an area of twenty-two square kilometers, she said, larger than the City of London and the West End put together. David would find delightful pubs down on the river, there were fine shops, cinemas, and even an indoor stadium seating twelve thousand people. She talked about swing-bridges, sailing ships, and a city farm with real animals. She said her name was Rosemary.

“The Isle of Dogs is at the heart of the Docklands area,” she said. “The name is presumably given on account of the royal dog kennels which used to be located here. But my friends say the name might as well come from the many financial institutions that have their offices here.”

Rosemary laughed apologetically. She said most of her friends worked in other trades. She asked David what his hobbies were. Hobbies? he asked, and looked at her in puzzlement. What he was interested in, then? He said he wasn’t interested. I am not interested , he said. In what? asked Rosemary. In general , he said.

David didn’t know how long he was going to stay. The initial arrangement was for six months. A tour of duty, they had called it in Switzerland, a mission was how his new boss referred to it. The London branch had experienced difficulties recruiting qualified staff, and they had come to David because he was single. When he hesitated, he was informed that his taking the offer wouldn’t harm his advancement prospects, quite the contrary. A certain geographical flexibility was expected with the job.

It was a Friday, and the boss introduced David to his future colleagues, before telling him to come back on Monday. For now, he was just to find his feet in London, get moved into his apartment, and take a look around the area. Greenwich, the place where time began, was just across the river. He wished him a pleasant weekend.

“Rosemary will take you to your new home,” said the boss.

Rosemary was, again, taciturn. She drove south along the Thames, through building sites. It wasn’t far. They passed a small park, and Rosemary pointed out the building complex behind it, a line of interconnected brick towers. Some of the brick towers were on the river, others faced the park.

“Here it is,” she said, and turned off the main road. She waved to the security guard who manned the gate, and he waved back to her. She parked the car in one of the visitors’ spots in the underground parking lot, and said she would take David up to his apartment. He said that wouldn’t be necessary, he had hardly anything in the way of luggage, but she insisted.

“I’ll show you everything,” she said.

The apartment belonged to the company. It was on the seventh floor, facing north to the park. From the balcony, there was a view of Canary Wharf and the Thames.

“That’s where we’ve come from,” said Rosemary, pointing to the high-rise blocks. She had followed David out onto the balcony.

The last person to have lived here was a Swede, she said, but everything had been cleaned and disinfected since. The Swede had been transferred to New York, he was still very young, and had outstanding career prospects.

“It’s getting cool,” she said. “Shall we go back inside?”

She took David through the apartment, showed him the walk-in closet in the bedroom, the Italian designer kitchen,the vast TV set on wheels in the living room. She was familiar with the apartment, having picked up the Swede from the airport two years ago now, and taken him here. Perhaps she’s been here since as well, thought David. Her eyes had shone when she was speaking about the Swede.