Peter Stamm - All Days Are Night

It was almost midnight. Jill took off her socks and stepped out of the house barefoot. The air was cool, and the ground under her feet was cold. She walked down the road. A couple of years ago they had built a new bridge over the gorge, but she took the old way. The road down into the gorge was blocked off, in the spring floods there had been a landslide and the underpinnings needed to be secured. Jill scrambled over the barrier and walked past the machines that stood around like sleeping animals. There were lights on in some of the rooms in the cultural center, and the hotel was lit up as well. She crossed the meadow to the annex where the pool was. It had been rebuilt when the club took over the building. She peered in through the big windows, but she couldn’t see anything except the glimmer of some light switches. She leaned against the cold glass and looked out at the starry sky. Someone must have opened a window, because there was music coming from the hotel. Today it was Captain Jack Sparrow’s turn again, The Curse of the Black Pearl . Jill was freezing. She remembered she had a spare jacket in her office. She went around the annex to the main entrance.

Sitting at reception was a young Greek boy who had started there this season and whose name Jill couldn’t seem to remember. He asked her if she was going to the open-air concert. She said she had just stepped in to collect something from her office. When she came down in her wool jacket and a pair of sandals she slopped around in at work, a couple of employees were standing in the hallway. They wore colorful clothes and looked as though they were in disguise. The men greeted Jill rambunctiously.

Are you coming to the open-air? asked Ursina.

She was one of the few who came from here, she could even speak Romansh, but she was down on the locals and seemed to prefer the hotel to the village.

I don’t know, said Jill, I just came in to pick something up.

Oh, come on, said the masseuse and put her arm around Jill. When did you last dance?

At reception a couple of the men were teasing the Greek boy, who was on night duty and who therefore couldn’t come with them. Outside a minibus drew up.

Marcos is driving, said Ursina. Jill was pulled along by the others and finally clambered into the bus.

They took the main road up the valley. Marcos had put on a CD, a tinny-sounding guitar with a melancholy woman’s voice. From the backseats the men complained — wasn’t there any other music? — but the driver ignored them. Jill, on the front seat, asked what the music was.

Fado, he said, from Portugal, Amália Rodrigues.

And what is she singing?

Marcos didn’t say anything, at first Jill thought he didn’t understand her question, but then she realized he was listening. When the guitar was playing on its own, he embarked on his halting translation.

What a strange way my heart has to live. Lonesome heart, independent heart, not for me to command. If you don’t know where you’re going, why do you want to run.

That’s nice, said Ursina.

Her voice was very near. Jill saw that she had craned forward to listen. Marcos didn’t say anything. Only when they turned off the main road after half an hour and followed a narrow little mountain road into a side valley, did he ask what sort of concert they were going to.

It’s a Goa party, said Gregor, a young cook, from the backseat. Trance, you know.

He explained the difference between the various techno forms to Marcos. Jill didn’t listen, she was so tired her eyes were falling shut. They passed a village, and a little later a spectrally illuminated campsite. There were torches stuck in the ground, big fires were burning, and some of the brightly colored tents were lit from inside. Marcos slowed to walking pace. In the headlights Jill saw strange figures walking up or coming down the mountain, some were moving as though dancing, others had drooping shoulders. Finally they got to the entrance of the festival area. You couldn’t see the stage from there, but you could already hear the music, a monotonous boom-boom-boom . Marcos asked what time he should come back for them.

Tomorrow morning, Ursina said, laughing.

Someone said they would make it back on their own. There were shuttle buses. Suddenly everyone dispersed, only Ursina was left with Jill, and she took her hand and led her to the entrance.

Even as they approached the stage, Ursina started to move to the music. She had on a crop top, and her hair was in two braids.

Aren’t you cold? asked Jill.

She envied Ursina’s slim form and suppleness.

Not much farther now, said Ursina, and pulled her through the crowds. Most of the audience was half Jill’s age, and she felt badly out of place, but no one seemed bothered by her presence. The feeling was very relaxed. The music was now like a carpet of sound, she could hear sitars, a sort of crunching, and then the voice of an old man saying something in English about visions and peace. The DJ onstage lifted an arm and then made short hacking movements with his hand in the direction of the people, and suddenly a rhythm boomed out. The tones were so low that Jill felt them right through her body and had to put something against them. The people started bopping around on command, a mass of bodies, moving in time. Some rowed with their arms, as though swimming through molasses, others stood almost still, only twitching a shoulder or twisting their heads from side to side. Jill could not escape the rhythm and began dancing in spite of herself. Ursina turned briefly to her, smiled, and with a complicated and yet completely harmonious movement screwed her arms up into the air. Over the stage hung cloth sails lit by black light, the psychedelic patterns that were projected on a screen behind the DJ changed to the pulse of the music. Jill tried to empty her mind. Once, she felt a hand on her shoulder, it was Gregor the cook standing beside her. He was yelling something into her ear, but she couldn’t understand a word. At the same time she felt him press something into her hand. Jill looked down and saw a small pill in the flash of a beam. Gregor pointed to his mouth, yelled something else, this time Jill could make out: Fun! and No problem! She hesitated, then put the pill in her mouth. The cook pushed on and laid his hand on the shoulder of Ursina, who was a few feet away. She saw them put their heads together. Then Ursina shook her head, turned to her, and shook it again with a cross expression. Jill shut her eyes and went on dancing. The music seemed to be coming to some sort of climax that never happened. Sometimes the bass stopped, and there were spherical sounds left hanging before a rhythm set up again, sometimes it just accelerated steadily. For a while Jill kept up, then she gave up and drifted, and was pulled into the maelstrom of noises. She had the sense of going floor by floor through a tall building, and everywhere was music, colored lights, and dancing people. Suddenly someone held her. Jill opened her eyes and saw Ursina standing beside her.

Come, said Ursina, you need to rest.

I’m not tired, said Jill.

Ursina took her hand and led her to a stall where they were giving out water.

You need to drink a lot, she said, otherwise you’ll keel over.

I need to pee, said Jill.

A long line had formed in front of the toilet huts on the edge of the area. The music was less loud here, and mixed with the sound of a mountain stream flowing past them. Jill must have lost her sandals somewhere, at any rate she was barefoot and she felt the cold dew that had settled on the meadow. She wasn’t wearing a watch and had no idea what time it was.

Are you doing all right? asked Ursina.

I haven’t felt this good in ages, said Jill.

Where’s Hubert? asked Ursina. I haven’t seen him lately.