We're Flying

by Peter Stamm

  That’s how we met, she said. And then—as though someone had pushed a button—she embarked on a list of caves she’d seen. She only listed their names and the years of the expeditions. Then she stopped, and Christoph wasn’t sure whether she had spoken or not.

  Why don’t we go on a tour together, the three of us, suggested Clemens.

  Christoph smiled vaguely, said, Well, one day, and OK, I’d better go, and waved the waiter over. For a moment there was silence, and then Clemens said, To Nirvana. He said it more quietly than he’d been speaking before, and at first Christoph wasn’t sure he could trust his hearing, and then Clemens said it again: To Nirvana.

  How do we get in there? he asked. There was something hungry in his look.

  The waiter came with the check. Clemens said he’d have another beer. Will you have something else as well? His voice sounded beseeching, almost fearful. Christoph ordered an apple juice. He waited till the drinks came, then he began to speak. As he spoke, he had the sensation he was making the descent all over again.

  He waded through a gallery deep in the interior of the mountain. The water was ice-cold and getting deeper, he was in it up to his belly, his chest, his chin. From the end of the grotto, where there were only a few inches between the ceiling and the water’s surface, a passage led steeply up. It was so narrow that once Christoph had crept into it, he was unable to put his hands back. He pushed himself up with the tips of his toes, inch by inch, just behind the guide. They didn’t speak, all that could be heard was the scraping of their boots and the occasional grunt or cough. He had long since lost all sense of time when the man in front of him stopped and said, We’ve reached the fault, it might take a while. Christoph was surprised by how close his voice sounded. Swearing, the guide pushed himself through the narrowest point. Christoph waited. The cold penetrated his neoprene suit and spread slowly through his body. He shut his eyes and pictured himself lying coffined in rock, a foreign body. We’re buried alive, he thought, we’ll never get out of here. Suddenly he became conscious that he was breathing fast. He forced himself not to think about where he was, tried to remember the words of children’s songs, added up the royalties he would get for his pictures, pictured landscapes, a wide expanse of sky, passing clouds. Then the man in front of him was gone, and Christoph looked through the fault and laughed nervously. You want me to get through there? You can do it, he heard the voice of his companion, which seemed to come from nowhere but was still very close. We’re halfway there. Christoph’s body pushed itself forward, mindlessly as a machine.

  Clemens had been listening with shining eyes. I’ve gotta get in there, he said, when Christoph stopped. Will you take me? Christoph said there were no tours to that part of the cave. You could put in a word for us, said Clemens. He said he was prepared to pay. Sabine looked into Christoph’s eyes with a mixture of skepticism and adventure lust. It would be simplest for you, he said, you’re slimly built. It’s not dangerous, he said, the only danger is being afraid. Fear, he repeated, is the only danger.

  Clemens went to the washroom. Christoph saw him exchange words with the waiter before disappearing downstairs. Even before he had returned, the waiter had brought a bottle of wine and three glasses.

  How long have you two been together? Christoph asked.

  Two years, said Sabine. He’s crazy, she said. He does all kinds of things, freeclimbing, canyoning, off-track skiing. Once he smashed into a snow slab because he was in slack country. He’s completely crazy.

  YOU CAN STAY WITH US, Clemens had said, and ordered another bottle of wine, which he’d gone on to drink almost alone. They talked about the equipment, dry runs, and the best time for the expedition. Sabine hardly drank anything, and was as quiet as before. Christoph still disliked Clemens, but he allowed himself to be caught up in the excitement. It was like a game, a contest. It was all about—suddenly it dawned on him—who was going to get Sabine. They were fighting over this cool, childlike woman, who wasn’t even paying attention. He felt he had blundered into a trap. When Clemens asked him to stay the night, he had no choice. The game had to be played to a finish.

  Christoph felt the alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. Clemens staggered up the steps of the apartment complex. It took him forever to get the key in the lock. From the very first moment, Christoph felt ill at ease in the apartment, he didn’t know why. His hosts seemed to have no sense of beautiful things. They had the bare necessities, and even so the apartment looked untidy. The furniture didn’t match and was in the wrong places, jumbled together by chance, it seemed, as though it had been unloaded and left standing there.

  Clemens had disappeared without a word. Sabine showed Christoph the guest room. He watched as she made the bed. She went out and came back with a towel. Clemens is asleep already, she said. He didn’t even get undressed.

  Christoph went to the bathroom. When he was finished, he found Sabine in the living room, leafing through a photo album. He sat down beside her, and she handed the album over to him and went to the bathroom herself. Gunung Mulu, Malaysia, he read at the top of the page. The pictures were not very good. You couldn’t light a big cave with a single flash. On some of them you could see Clemens, on others there was a pretty blond woman, with a gamine expression. The last picture showed them standing together in dirty overalls, with tired smiles on their faces. Between them stood a native, about a head smaller, and with an alert expression. At the back of the album was a sheaf of photos that hadn’t yet been stuck down. Christoph began going through the album from the front. Pictures from a different expedition. There was the blond woman again, this time in a diving costume.

  That’s his ex, said Sabine. She stood in front of him in leggings and an orange sleeveless T-shirt. She had narrow hips and a flat boyish chest. She asked him if he wanted a drink. What about a beer? A glass of water, said Christoph.

  She brought it to him and sat back down. He went on leafing through the album, and they saw photos of beaches and old temples, and over and over again the blond gamine. They broke up over that business of the snow slab, Sabine said. It took Clemens a long time to get over her. Do you like her?

  Her hands were folded in her lap. Christoph looked at her arms, which were anorexically thin, and covered with little black hairs. She gave off a smell—it took him a while to trace it—of camphor. It wasn’t till she pointed out something in one of the pictures that he noticed her knotty hands. Sabine must be much older than he first thought, perhaps older than himself.

  She laughed softly. He’s crazy, she said, but I’m crazy too. And you must be as well? We’re all crazy. Why do you think we want to go in that cave? Why do you want to go there? Nirvana. Because no one else has been there?

  Christoph shrugged his shoulders and shut the album.

  We want to fuck the planet, said Sabine. She stood up and held out her hand. We’re going to fuck the planet.

  SHE DIDN’T STOP WHISPERING. Never mind, she said. Her mouth was right up against Christoph’s ear, he could feel her lips brushing against it. They had tried hard, but that hadn’t helped. Christoph hadn’t been able to shake from his mind the caves she’d listed in the bar, and he’d thought she was just out for one more conquest, another name on another list.

  Never mind, Sabine said again, as if she wasn’t quite convinced the first time. Her breath was coming and going in pants. Then she started fiddling with him again, with a silly giggle that got worse the longer it went on. Stop that, he finally said. I don’t feel like it. Right away she stopped, and was quiet. He moved away from her a little, he couldn’t stand her nearness. But she came after him, pressed herself against him. In the end, he sat up on the side of the bed. It was dark in the room, and he sat there and stared into the dark. What’s the matter? Sabine asked. Christoph still didn’t speak. Endure the dark, he thought, tolerate the silence. He heard the rustle of the sheets. Sabine must have sat up as well. She didn’t touch him, but he could sense that she was right behind him. It was completely dark. He heard her voice c
oming out of the void, sounding very calm and objective. You’re not going to take us with you, are you? You won’t dream of it. The thought seemed to amuse her, and she started her giggling again. Christoph turned his head half toward her, and said he didn’t think he would ever set foot in a cave again. Sabine laid her hand on his bare back, as if to push him away. I can’t do it anymore, he said. And then, slowly and haltingly, on the way down to Nirvana he had been more afraid than he had ever been in his life. Previously, fear had lent him wings, it was a source of tension that helped him to concentrate. But there in that narrow crevasse, he had felt lamed. It was as though all his strength had deserted him. He had felt utterly helpless, his thoughts spinning in his head. I don’t remember how I got out. I can’t remember the way back.

  Sabine took her hand off his back and got up. He heard steps, a dull thump, and a stifled curse. Then the overhead light came on.

  I’ve never been inside a cave since, he said and pulled himself upright. Christ, I don’t even ride in elevators anymore. He laughed hoarsely. Sabine said she was going to bed. Her voice sounded dismissive. He said he would drive home, he felt perfectly sober. Sabine didn’t reply. She watched him dress and followed him to the door. She held up her face to him, and he kissed her quickly on the mouth. She seemed offended. Clemens will be disappointed, she said. What about? Christoph asked. She looked at him with an absurdly serious, censorious expression.

  The sky was clear, and the stars seemed to be burning in the cold air. Christoph felt the gratitude he felt after every expedition under the surface, the joy of having got back in one piece, and being able to breathe freely after days of being shut in. He walked through the silent village, got lost, and finally found himself in front of the village hall. He felt relieved, even strangely cheerful. Whatever sort of game it was, he had the feeling he’d won.

  Three Sisters

  HEIDI SKETCHED THE girl from memory. She drew the outline with swift strokes, the low, slightly heavy hips, narrow waist, and large breasts. She started to put detail on the sketch, worked on hands and hair, armpits and collarbone. Why isn’t she wearing anything? asked Cyril. Heidi was working on the face, which was hard to do in its girlish simplicity. My turn now, said Cyril, who was standing next to her, watching. Heidi went on drawing. The shoulders were tricky, the transition to the arms, which the girl had extended behind her, like a swimmer on the starting blocks. Carefully Heidi selected colors, brown and red for the hair, pink and white and a pale yellow for the skin tone. Those are mine, cried Cyril, and he snatched away the box of colored pencils and tried to snatch away the paper as well. She kept him off, and went back to the face. She had to catch the expression, the pert look of a seventeen-year-old girl with oodles of knowledge and no understanding. Mama, wailed Cyril, and when she didn’t react, he grabbed a red pencil and scribbled furiously across the drawing, until the point of the pencil broke off with a nasty click. Heidi tried to hold onto the drawing, the paper tore, and in a sudden surge of fury she pushed Cyril away from her so hard that he fell off his stool. He lay on the ground wailing, though not from pain, she knew his calculating cry, which was capable of driving her to white rage.

  Heidi went and shut herself in her bedroom. She lay frozen on the bed, while Cyril pounded on the door with his fists. After a while he gave up, and she could only hear him whimpering. Slowly she recovered herself. She took a few deep breaths. She was sorry she had given the boy a shove. In the evening he would tell his father, and he would give her a concerned look but say nothing. He had been afraid from the very beginning that the boy would be too much for her. After all, he treated her like a child. The pregnancy had been uncomplicated and it had been an easy birth. Anyway she wasn’t overburdened, she just had different views. He spoiled the child, and put up with all his nonsense, the way he tried to spoil her as well. Rainer is a pussy, Heidi’s father had said once, and laughed. He got on better with him than she did.

  Cyril whimpered quietly. Heidi opened the door, knelt down, and put her arms around him. No one likes me, he said. Of course I like you, she said, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Here, said Cyril, and she kissed the place. And here. You mustn’t scribble on Mama’s drawings.

  CYRIL HAD GONE next door to play with Leah, who went to the same kindergarten. Heidi had carefully smoothed out her drawing and stuck it together with Scotch tape, and hidden it in the box at the top of the closet. Rainer mustn’t see it, he wouldn’t understand. Heidi went into town to buy something she had forgotten this morning. She stopped at the station and ran her eye down the train timetable. The train now ran a minute later than it had six years ago, now it was two minutes past midnight. She went through the underpass and sat down on one of the benches on the platform. The station was deserted, only from time to time a freight train clattered through at high speed, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

  She had been all alone on the platform then as well. Her parents hadn’t seen her onto the train, they had been dead set against the idea of her going to Vienna, now that she had learned a trade and had such good final grades. But then she and her father had stopped speaking months ago. If he hadn’t been so concerned with what people might say, he would have thrown her out of the house.

  Heidi packed her things at the last minute, she didn’t need much, she would only be gone for three or four days. As she slipped into her shoes in the hall, her mother came out and watched her in perplexity. Then—Heidi was already in the doorway—she said wait, and went into the kitchen and came back with a bar of chocolate. Eat this before your exam, she said, it’ll settle your nerves.

  Heidi had got to the station much too early. She took a seat in the cafe garden opposite. The chestnuts formed a dense canopy, only a few dim strings of lights lit up the garden and made the night appear still darker. Only one table was in use—there was a group of men of whom she recognized none. Even so, the men greeted her exuberantly, perhaps to make fun of her. One of them was telling dirty jokes, one after the other. He kept his voice down, but in spite of that, or perhaps because of it, Heidi could hear every word. The men kept squinting across at her. She knew she looked younger than she was. When she went to the cinema, she had to show her ID, even now. The waitress came to her table, a girl not much older than herself, and said the cafe was closed. Last orders, she said, as she went by the men’s table. She disappeared into the restaurant and came back a few moments later with a couple of bottles of beer. We’re closed, she called to Heidi, who had remained sitting, and sat down with the men herself.

  Heidi stood up to go. As she turned around once more, she saw that one of the men was gazing at her drunkenly. He got clumsily to his feet, and she was a little afraid he would come after her, but he went instead to the little outhouse where the lavatories were.

  It was still warm. The foehn wind had been blowing for days, and even now at night the mountains seemed to loom unusually close. Heidi went over their names to calm herself, there was Helwang, Gaflei, the Three Sisters, the same peaks she could see out of her bedroom window. She remembered the story her teacher had told her at school. How instead of going to church on Assumption Day, the three sisters had gone up into the mountains to pick berries, and how the Virgin had appeared to them, and asked them for their berries. But the sisters hadn’t wanted to give them up, and ever since they stood there, turned to stone. Heidi had always been on the side of the sisters, she didn’t know why. She had sketched the forms many times and in all weathers, but she had never been up there herself. It was an exposed path, and she suffered from vertigo.

  Two border guards with a German shepherd emerged from the underpass, and at the very back of the platform a railway worker in a luminous orange vest suddenly appeared. Then in the distance, Heidi saw the lights of her train.

  She walked up and down, looking for her car. She was starting to worry the train would leave without her, so she finally asked a conductor who was standing in the open doorway of the sleeping car, smoking a cigarette. He pointed her
the way and said she had better hurry, the train was leaving in three minutes. The border guards had already boarded, they were just changing the locomotive at the front. Heidi ran along the platform, watching the time on the big station clock. When the hands reached the vertical, she jumped in and went on down the narrow corridors until she got to her car. While she was looking for her compartment, the sleeping car attendant came by and asked her for her ticket and passport. A little reluctantly, she handed them over. He sensed her unease, and told her everything would be returned to her in the morning, when he woke her. Then, with a jolt, the train departed. Heidi almost fell over, but the conductor caught her by the shoulder, and then let her go again immediately, as if he’d done something wrong. He said good night and disappeared into his own compartment.

  The train crossed the Rhine bridge. Now they were in Liechtenstein, and in a few minutes they would be in Austria. Heidi remained in the dimly lit corridor, gazing out into the darkness. Gradually her fear and tension began to melt away, and she began to look forward to the journey, and to Vienna, where she’d never been. The Academy of Fine Arts, she said the name over and over to herself, she was applying to the Academy of Fine Arts, she of all people, whom everyone treated like a little girl, and whose father even saw her going to Gymnasium as a waste of time, on her way to the Academy of Fine Arts. What makes you think you’re any better than us, he had said, and got her the internship with the council. If she hadn’t run into her old art teacher, it wouldn’t have occurred to her that she might become a painter.