Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

He leaned as far forward as the wobbly rock allowed, raised a stick over the clear water, concentrating on something in it, below its turbulent wild rushing. A strange, never-seen-before creature among the stones. Perhaps the corpse or torn-off limb of a creature; just then a new current shoved it under another stone. He would not leave it there; in a little while he’d pluck it out from under the stone and trusting to the current would ceremoniously put it back. He could just barely reach it with his stick. Just enough to turn it over. Whether it was a living creature or a dead one, he wanted to see its belly. The rock wobbled a little, the water splashed, and it wouldn’t be pleasant to fall in. A pale piece of flesh that had lost its color in the water. A shred of flesh from the body of one of the suicide boys ripped on the rocks as he was hurtling down. Or a drowned slug, or torn-off crabmeat. At this spot the current was so powerful that it washed away any telltale blood, and bits of clothes were thrown out on the grass or stones.

He had not yet decided whether to consider his find an independent being, a dead body, or some kind of waterlogged piece of meat or flesh that couldn’t be dislodged from the stones, when from on high, a little above the waterfall, from the rim of the gorge hidden by the oaks, he heard the familiar rattle of rolling stones.

Someone was coming down off the Ochsensprung. And in the next moment he could make out that it was a female. The color of her skin and something red gave her away. Or multiples of red. A brief flash among the foliage as she continued lowering herself carefully, accompanied by the happy noise of the stones.

Whoever undertook the neck-breaking stunt of coming down the dangerous and twisting trail — used mainly by deer — had to watch their step. And look out for what to hold on to next, assess which root, branch, or sapling would give support or hold one up for a split second while shifting weight for the next step.

A simple slip might mean serious injury.

Hans straightened up a little. To see the figure better, though he knew he should flee. He did not want simply to throw away his stick. To run, to flee as inconspicuously as possible, careful not to step on wobbly rocks so as not to fall into the frothing, ice-cold water. He cast a last look at the strange phenomenon he’d neither fished out nor managed to identify. With a few well-directed jumps he was off and away, looking back at the dark mountainside where the rustling in the bushes grew louder, which was encouraging. He clambered up the steep riverbank and felt a childlike joy at having escaped, then waded into the high grass, which benevolently swallowed him and covered him up. He went on listening, and panting, while he retrieved his buttoned shoes and thick knee socks. They had become damp with dew, and within moments he too felt damp as he lay in the grass. The approaching girl’s arms and legs and the red flashing of her skirt disappeared behind a group of rocks. On that stretch, the serpentine path lessened the steepness of the slope. When she clears it, the landscape will come upon her as if she were at a comfortable lookout point. Before that happened, he had time to stuff the socks into the shoes and, bending low, start off. Back to the protection of the railway viaduct’s enormous central pier.

He had to step on stones. Barefoot, he quickly picked his way over the yellowish, body-colored stones.

Every step made some noise and was painful.

His plan was to use the cover of the pier to back into the woods. From there he could stroll along the riverbank without any danger of being discovered, over the rather prickly ground covered with pine needles under the hundred-year-old trees, so that at a more distant spot he could put on his socks and shoes.

He looked back once more to see who this person was, what she might want. He did not know what he feared discovering or what kept him there despite his fear.

She was a girl somewhat older than he; at the sight of her Hans grew a little uncertain. Her dark hair was in braids with bows at the end made of the same red material as her skirt. She was carrying a small basket, as if she were collecting berries or mushrooms.

For that, she was too late in the valley.

Where the serpentine section of the trail ended, the most dangerous stretch began.

The trail continued downward, deepened by water-worn gullies and blocked with fallen stones. She could not help sliding, or grasping at shrubs, tendrils, roots, or dried-out stalks that would not break or be pulled off when she tugged at them; she was becoming flustered. The red-bowed braids now fell forward, now snapped back, her breasts quivered under her blouse, her little basket slipped up to her shoulder and almost slid off her wrist; everything was crackling and snapping. Which the valley and the viaduct echoed many times over. She was rushing headlong down the trail; her skirt kept flying up. Hans saw her long brown thighs and pink panties, and then the same series of pictures again.

He was afraid she might have to cover this steepest stretch of the trail sliding on her bare bottom.

Such a stupid girl.

Who doesn’t know how to dig in with her heels and the outer edge of her shoes.

How can a girl be so dumb.

She was not in the least scared; the speed and danger made her rather determined.

Hans was whimpering and cheering her on. He clung to the base of the pier, craning his neck to see her better. As if for the first time in his life he was seeing a feminine being, fully exposed and with nothing held back, struggle with circumstances and the gravity of her body.

She thrilled him, though he could not imagine what she was doing here.

He would catch her.

If they sent someone with an urgent message from Annaberg, that person would come on a bicycle. When relatives came on foot from Wiesa or Wiesenbad to look for some staff member, they came from the opposite direction, from the Bismarck tower.

He will surprise her.

This is just crazy, that someone should be such a clumsy bungler.

But she reached the bottom without mishap, slamming against an uprooted tree. She grasped it, supported herself on it, and rested a little, panting and looking at the stream, which she still had to cross, and adjusted her skirt and blouse. Also her breasts, with a single movement under her blouse, which stunned Hans for a moment as he clung more tightly to the warmth of the pier.

He was incredulous; this could not be happening.

It was obvious that she’d have to take off her shoes to get across the shallows, which was not without dangers. For a second Hans imagined that in fact she was coming to see him. That she wanted to visit him in great secrecy. But this made no sense.

As if she had been exchanged for someone else during the lapsed time, she had changed completely. The change, for which Hans was unprepared, aroused unpleasant feelings. How could he have known that such a change was possible in the world. What he saw was that Ingke Einbock had grown taller and heavier. She had grown out of her little girlhood, while Hans, despite his summer adventure, remained a little boy, which made him ashamed. The girl had the upper hand now; that was his definite impression.

Which tortures every boy.

Not wanting to feel what he was feeling.

Not to think of what he perpetually thought about.

She had always seemed above him somehow, and this had bound them together as their deepest shared secret.

He watched eagerly to see what she was doing and how.

Perhaps readying himself to help her if the need arose. If she slipped on the stones, which was a definite possibility. Tripping and plopping into the water with her stupid panties; and if she did, she’d never be able to get up again. Dumb Ingke Einbock, but why did she come here. This sort of thing had happened to him when they tested their adroitness and played with this danger. There was an obvious basic rule for crossing the shallows that it was inadvisable to ignore. The current there was very strong, and slippery colorless algae covered the underwater stones. The cold of the clear, rushing water penetrated him to the bone. It felt as if a blade wanted to slice off his feet. Anyone who dared to put two feet down on an algae-covered stone was a lost cause.