know how to escape it. Then one day he worked it out. Do you know what he did?”
“No?”
“He had to get someone else to take over the oars. Do you get it? As easy as that. He just needed to get one of his passengers to row for a while. And then he’d be free and could get away, while the other man was left to row for all eternity.”
Max couldn’t stop laughing at his own story.
They had reached the park now. Moths were fluttering round the lamps. Then they were blinded by headlights and a moment later one of the funny electric carts came rolling down the path. A young man leaned out and called cheerily as he glided past: “So, this is where you’ve gotten to, is it? Evening round in twenty minutes, Max, don’t forget!”
“Oh God, we’d better speed up,” Max muttered.
Five minutes later they stepped inside the little cabin at the top of the slope, out of breath.
Without getting undressed, having a wash, or brushing his teeth, Daniel lay down on the bench by the wall that Max had said would be his bed. He felt ready to pass out. Max tossed him a blanket and pillow.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but it’s been a long day,” Daniel muttered, already drifting off to sleep.
A loud knock woke him up with a start.
“Coming!” Max shouted from the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth.
In just his underwear, with his toothbrush still in his mouth, he went over to the door.
“The evening round,” he explained as he went past, his mouth full of foam from the toothpaste.
Through half-open eyes Daniel watched as a woman in a pale-blue dress (a “hostess,” as they were evidently called) and a man in a pale-blue steward’s uniform (a “host”?) took a couple of steps inside the room and then stopped and nodded with friendly smiles. They glanced quickly round the room, caught sight of Daniel under his blanket on the bench, and the man whispered: “Your brother’s already asleep? Sleep well, Max, and have a good day together tomorrow.”
Max said something inaudible with his toothbrush in his mouth. The man and woman quickly slipped out again. Daniel heard them knock at the next cabin and exchange a few words with its resident. Then another knock farther away.
He closed his eyes. Everything he had experienced during this long, peculiar day was rushing through his brain, all out of order and muddled. Voices, sensory impressions, little things he didn’t even know he had noticed.
On the edge of sleep a memory popped up, crystal clear in every detail: the uniformed men who had stopped them at the roadblock. Their faces below the peaks of their caps. The metal detector. The deserted, shaded road. The rock face with its ferns, the little trickles of water, and the smell of rock and damp. For a moment his brain was utterly awake, full of an anxiety he hadn’t felt at the time.
Then he tumbled helplessly off into sleep. As he might have expected, his dreams were restless and confused. Only one of them etched itself into his consciousness and would stay with him for most of the following morning: Corinne in her laced-up dress. She was standing on the isolated road beside the rock face and was blocking his path by swinging her cowbell high above her head. He stopped the car—he was driving, there was no taxi driver in the dream—and got out.
She rang the bell and the sound was thrown back by the mountains. Then she came over to him and ran the cowbell over his body, first the back, then the front, playful and laughing.
As she held it over his chest she suddenly became serious, as if she had discovered something. (He was bare chested now, unless he had been the whole time?) She pressed the cowbell to his skin, right where his heart was, then frowned in concentration, her eyes narrowing to slits as she listened, trying to detect something vibrating.
He knew what she had picked up on, he could hear it himself now: His heart was pounding so hard and fast that it was close to bursting.
She’s
“No?”
“He had to get someone else to take over the oars. Do you get it? As easy as that. He just needed to get one of his passengers to row for a while. And then he’d be free and could get away, while the other man was left to row for all eternity.”
Max couldn’t stop laughing at his own story.
They had reached the park now. Moths were fluttering round the lamps. Then they were blinded by headlights and a moment later one of the funny electric carts came rolling down the path. A young man leaned out and called cheerily as he glided past: “So, this is where you’ve gotten to, is it? Evening round in twenty minutes, Max, don’t forget!”
“Oh God, we’d better speed up,” Max muttered.
Five minutes later they stepped inside the little cabin at the top of the slope, out of breath.
Without getting undressed, having a wash, or brushing his teeth, Daniel lay down on the bench by the wall that Max had said would be his bed. He felt ready to pass out. Max tossed him a blanket and pillow.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but it’s been a long day,” Daniel muttered, already drifting off to sleep.
A loud knock woke him up with a start.
“Coming!” Max shouted from the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth.
In just his underwear, with his toothbrush still in his mouth, he went over to the door.
“The evening round,” he explained as he went past, his mouth full of foam from the toothpaste.
Through half-open eyes Daniel watched as a woman in a pale-blue dress (a “hostess,” as they were evidently called) and a man in a pale-blue steward’s uniform (a “host”?) took a couple of steps inside the room and then stopped and nodded with friendly smiles. They glanced quickly round the room, caught sight of Daniel under his blanket on the bench, and the man whispered: “Your brother’s already asleep? Sleep well, Max, and have a good day together tomorrow.”
Max said something inaudible with his toothbrush in his mouth. The man and woman quickly slipped out again. Daniel heard them knock at the next cabin and exchange a few words with its resident. Then another knock farther away.
He closed his eyes. Everything he had experienced during this long, peculiar day was rushing through his brain, all out of order and muddled. Voices, sensory impressions, little things he didn’t even know he had noticed.
On the edge of sleep a memory popped up, crystal clear in every detail: the uniformed men who had stopped them at the roadblock. Their faces below the peaks of their caps. The metal detector. The deserted, shaded road. The rock face with its ferns, the little trickles of water, and the smell of rock and damp. For a moment his brain was utterly awake, full of an anxiety he hadn’t felt at the time.
Then he tumbled helplessly off into sleep. As he might have expected, his dreams were restless and confused. Only one of them etched itself into his consciousness and would stay with him for most of the following morning: Corinne in her laced-up dress. She was standing on the isolated road beside the rock face and was blocking his path by swinging her cowbell high above her head. He stopped the car—he was driving, there was no taxi driver in the dream—and got out.
She rang the bell and the sound was thrown back by the mountains. Then she came over to him and ran the cowbell over his body, first the back, then the front, playful and laughing.
As she held it over his chest she suddenly became serious, as if she had discovered something. (He was bare chested now, unless he had been the whole time?) She pressed the cowbell to his skin, right where his heart was, then frowned in concentration, her eyes narrowing to slits as she listened, trying to detect something vibrating.
He knew what she had picked up on, he could hear it himself now: His heart was pounding so hard and fast that it was close to bursting.
She’s
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