You Should Have Left Page 5

  Unable to think of any other way to distract her, I jumped up and danced around: Right leg up, left leg up, and I let out a yodel and looked at the distant, gray sky and at the glaciers, which wouldn’t help me, and down into the green-gray shadow colors of the valley. For the first time in my life, as I sang and jumped and clapped my hands, I seriously asked myself whether I had gone crazy. But how could you know that, how could you figure it out? Wasn’t the very fact that I asked myself the question proof that I hadn’t? I clapped and jumped, and Esther, who in her astonishment had forgotten about watching television, mimicked me. No, I thought, it’s not that simple. The fact that I’m thinking about it proves nothing.

  When Esther was tired, I searched through the contents of the garbage can in the kitchen: apple peels, clumps of oats, small lakes of milk, greasy tinfoil—and there was the crumpled bill from Gruntner’s General Store. Address and phone number were stamped at the top of the slip of paper. I took my phone and dialed.

  It rang for a long time. Five, six, seven times. It kept ringing. I had been afraid that Esther would cry again, but she just looked at me questioningly. Now it had already rung twelve times. Thirteen, fourteen. Just as I was about to hang up, he answered.

  It’s me, I said. I need a taxi. Someone has to get us.

  Who is this?

  What did you want to show me? I asked. With that triangle, what did you want to show me?

  Show? he said. Show? Then he was silent for a while.

  Yes, they don’t fit together, he finally said, right? They never fit, the angles, up there.

  But why?

  Someone from here…He was huffing. It was audibly hard for him not to speak dialect. Someone from here, Hans Ägerli, who owns the Lindenhof, he said an ant doesn’t know what a cathedral is or a power plant or a volcano. He coughed, then he said thoughtfully: But Ägerli has been drinking again. He says a lot of things.

  What was here before? The house is new, but it has its own road, when was that made?

  There was a different house before.

  I know, but what sort of house?

  Don’t shout like that. A different one. Also a vacation house. People came, vacationed, left again. Often left early. That’s why Steller always takes payment in advance. Once something happened.

  Daddy, Esther called. I want to show you something!

  What happened?

  Daddy!

  Not now. What happened?

  Someone disappeared. A vacationer was there. Then he wasn’t there anymore. Was never found. Probably fell off. That happens fast in the mountains. All the crevices. The smooth slopes. Our paths aren’t well marked. Ägerli is responsible for the mountain rescue service, but as you know, he drinks. And people have always disappeared here. In the past too.

  What was here before the old house?

  A different one.

  What sort of house?

  Just a different one. And at some earlier time there was a tower there, they say.

  A tower?

  Or maybe not. That’s a legend. But the road is very old.

  How old?

  It has always been there.

  Always?

  Always.

  And what sort of tower?

  The devil built it and a wizard destroyed it, with God’s help. Or the other way around, a wizard built it, and God destroyed it.

  Is the legend recorded somewhere? Is there a village chronicle?

  What?

  Village chronicle.

  He laughed. We don’t have a village chronicle.

  Daddy, Esther called. Daddy, now look, look, Daddy!

  Her voice sounded so piercing and urgent that I went cold with fright, but she just wanted to show me something that she had made out of Legos.

  Really great, I whispered. Really wonderful!

  Esther bent down and began to untie my shoelaces.

  I have a customer here, he said.

  Wait, I cried. I need a taxi! I need a number!

  What am I, information?

  My wife left with the car. I need a taxi service. I need someone to—

  The sound that interrupted me was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was half clang and half snort. It didn’t sound like electrical interference, more like something alive.

  Hello! I cried. Can you hear me?

  But on the phone it was silent, and the screen indicated: No network.

  I raised the device, I lowered it, I went to the window. No network. I tied my shoelaces. Come on, I said, and took Esther by the hand. With small steps she followed me. I pushed down the handle, the door was locked. It took me a moment to remember that I had locked it myself last night. The key was in the lock, I turned it, we went out.

  Esther squealed with surprise. We were back in the living room.

  Indeed, we had left the living room, but the door through which we had gone had led us back into the living room.

  Well, how about that, I said with all the cheerfulness I could feign. Then I turned on the movie that I had stored on my phone for emergencies like train trips or restaurant visits, The Jungle Book, the old animated movie, and handed her the device. She grabbed it gratefully.

  I didn’t know where it came from, but I had the vague idea that things would settle down somewhat—the way agitated water smooths itself out when you wait a little while.

  —

  The comparison with the ant isn’t good. A better one would be with a creature that is drawn on paper. If it could live, it would live entirely on the paper, on its surface. Now imagine there was a mountain on the paper. If the creature made a circle around the mountain and measured the enclosed area, this wouldn’t help it understand what it had in front of it. There would be much more paper than, according to its reason, could fit in the circle. For this creature it would be a miracle.

  —

  I’ve written everything down so that anyone who finds the notebook will know what happened. The thought is too terrible, but it’s still necessary to think it. My little girl is sitting there and suspects nothing. She’s watching her movie. And later they’ll say that these two also disappeared: His wife left him, who knows what was going through his head, and the mountains have a lot of crevices, you start having bad thoughts, and something happens fast.

  Rainy afternoon outside. More and more clouds, fog in the valley, and I can no longer see the glaciers. I’d better plug in my phone. In case we make it out of the house, the battery needs to be charged.

  —

  Now she has watched the movie three times, the tiger Shere Khan has fled in flames three times, Mowgli has returned three times to the man-village. I pull the plug. The battery is fully charged. No reception. I’ll leave the notebook on the table. I’ll stand up and take Esther’s hand and walk backward toward the door, backward down the corridor, backward out of the house. I don’t know why, but I have the feeling that it could help if we walk backward.

  If we make it, this is the final entry.

  December 7

  Or still the sixth? St. Nicholas. Yesterday was St. Nicholas Day, not even the kid thought of that. I don’t know whether it’s past midnight yet.

  —

  Strange that I used to find the sight of the stars soothing. I once read that a lot of astronomers think the universe might be infinite. Full of stars, full of galaxies, going on and on and on, going on literally forever.

  I don’t know why I’m thinking so much about stars now.

  Esther is sleeping on the sofa again, after the march she was at the end of her strength. My shoulders hurt. A four-year-old is heavier than you think.

  And this infinite universe might be only one of an infinite number of infinite universes, each with different laws. One is unreachable from another, they are strictly separate. Normally.

  —

  So in the early evening I stood up, took the phone from Esther, grasped her hand, and said that we weren’t allowed to turn around, it was a game. Then we walked backward. We actually did ma
ke it into the hall: wooden floor, white walls, on the left the door to the washing-machine room, next to it a half-open door, which I had the feeling hadn’t been there before. As we went by, I peeked in. The room was empty, on the ceiling hung a naked lightbulb, in the corner was a wooden chair, which was missing a leg. For a moment I was overcome with the confusingly strong desire to go in, but I resisted and pulled Esther onward.

  I have to go potty, she said.

  Not now.

  Our down jackets hung on the coat rack, I took them with my left hand. Without letting go of Esther with my right, I clamped the jackets under my elbow and felt behind me for the door handle. For a moment I was afraid the door wouldn’t open, but it did.

  Don’t turn around, I said.

  No, no, no, Esther said, giggling.

  We stepped backward into the open. It was ice-cold. Our breath steamed. I closed the door, then I kneeled down and carefully put the jacket on Esther. With chattering teeth I then put on my own, zipped it, and turned up the collar. Now the child-carrier backpack would have been useful, but it was upstairs in the suitcase.

  What are we doing now? Esther asked.

  We’re going on a little outing.

  Walking?

  I know, you don’t like it. But it won’t be long.

  We set off.

  There’s someone in the house, she said.

  I looked back. I hadn’t turned off the light in the living room; behind the bright rectangle of the large window loomed a silhouette. Someone was standing there with hanging shoulders and tilted head, looking down at us.

  Nonsense, I said.

  Don’t you see it?

  There’s no one there. Come on.

  Now the figure seemed to be standing farther to the left than just a moment ago, and now there was another next to it, and now none at all again, while the front of the house rippled around the window. For a moment the size of the building was completely unclear; it projected far into the distance, pointed and gigantic, but not upward, rather in a direction that I hadn’t suspected existed.

  The house looks so small, said Esther.

  Stop looking at it, I said.

  As we walked, I was seized by the image of a woman who would stand at the window in several years or had perhaps stood at a window a long time ago and watched paralyzed with terror as two specters, a man and a child, receded hand in hand into the night.

  The window behind us still cast a little light on the road; from the parking area it could be seen running straight for about another fifty yards. Then came the first bend.

  I have to go potty, said Esther.

  Here, I said. Fast.

  When she was done, we walked on. After the bend it was so dark that we might as well have been walking with our eyes closed.

  I pulled out my phone. Fortunately I had fully charged the battery while Esther had been watching her movie. The little flashlight on the back provided enough light to illuminate our way on the steeply descending road. I didn’t let go of Esther, her hand was warm in my ice-cold hand.

  Where’s Mommy?

  I told you already.

  Where is she?

  At home. Where we’ll soon be too.

  It’s so dark!

  That’s true, I said. But isn’t this fun? Isn’t it interesting? It’s an adventure.

  She began to cry.

  Tomorrow I’ll buy you a Lego set, I said. Whichever you want. It doesn’t matter how big. I promise.

  Any?

  You can pick it out.

  For some time we walked in silence. She wasn’t crying anymore. We reached the second bend, then the third. Outside the beam of light, the darkness was impenetrable. When I pointed the little flashlight on my phone—which still had no reception—at the roadside, I saw bushes, I saw rocks and some earth. I stared in what I assumed was the direction of the valley, but clouds must have gathered, because not a point of light could be seen. I looked up, but the moon wasn’t visible.

  Daddy, said Esther. Do you know why—

  There was a crunching sound next to us. She cried out, I jumped protectively in front of her, a large body bounded past us on four legs and galloped down the road. Esther was crying. I picked her up and kissed her. Her tears tasted salty.

  An ibex, I said. Or something like that. Probably an ibex.

  The pirate ship too?

  What?

  Can I have the pirate ship too? The big one?

  Of course. Even the really big pirate ship.

  After two more bends, the world was extinguished. So silent and so black was it around us that there seemed to be nothing left but Esther and me and the sound of our footsteps in the biting cold. I began to hum. As I listened to myself, I recognized the melody: London Bridge is falling down…

  Sing along, I said. Falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down…

  She tried, but then she stopped, and I could no longer bear the sound of my voice and stopped too, and immediately she was crying again. I picked her up. Her face was warm and wet against my cheek. After the next bend I heard myself panting already, and I had to be twice as careful not to lose my balance.

  My greatest worry was the cell phone battery. We needed the light, we had to make it down before it died. I tried to carry Esther in a different way and then in a different way again, each time this brought relief for a moment, but then the pain returned. Before long my muscles were trembling, and my fingers felt like they were going to break.

  I want to go home, she murmured.

  I sensed her fear, and I knew that she snuggled up to me so tightly because she felt safer with me. The fact that I couldn’t do the slightest thing to protect her was hard to bear.

  We’ll be home soon, I murmured.

  Soon I couldn’t carry her anymore and put her down. I took a deep breath and exhaled and shook my arms. When I closed my eyes, I saw geometric patterns, which intertwined and grew and turned on their axes. The sight was abhorrent, I quickly opened my eyes again.

  No need to cry, I said, picking her up again. We’re almost there.

  Almost where?

  We’ll ring the doorbell at some house, I said. First at the store. There’s only one store in the village, the owner is a friend, he must live in the same house. And he has a telephone. From there we’ll call Mommy.

  The sky now seemed a little brighter, I dimly made out the tree trunks. After the next bend they became more distinct. Between the trunks shimmered the light of a house.

  Made it, I said. My arm muscles were trembling from Esther’s weight, but now I didn’t care. Wasn’t that fun, wasn’t that great? Was really a crazy thing, right?

  She didn’t respond. In my relief I took longer and longer strides, I was almost running. I turned off the flashlight. The phone still had no reception. The woods thinned, the road led toward the bright window. I took a few more steps, then I stopped. For a moment I still hoped with all my strength that it was only a resemblance and therefore a mistake: the pointed roof, the wide front door, the empty parking area in front, and the large, illuminated window through which you could see the long table and the kitchen and the open door to the hall. But it was no mistake.

  We’re back, I said.

  What?

  Back, I said, and put her down. I felt like I was going to vomit, but I struggled against it, that was not allowed to happen. Not in front of the kid.

  But we were going down the whole—

  It’s complicated, I said hoarsely. I’ll explain it to you tomorrow, now you have to go to sleep.

  But—

  It’s really late, I said. Adventure over. Wasn’t that fun? Now you have to go to sleep.

  But I’m hungry!

  No problem, I croaked. The fridge is full. I’ll make you something to eat. We’re home.

  —

  Now she’s sleeping on the sofa, I covered her with my jacket.

  A short while ago there was a man in the room. He didn’t look dangerous, more tired. He wasn’t
the man from the framed photo, because he didn’t have a beard, but I think he resembled the woman with the narrow eyes. I couldn’t really tell, because he wasn’t standing on the floor but on the ceiling, and he was looking down at me as if he wanted to ask for help. But he was here only briefly, and I’m so exhausted that I might also have imagined him. Just as I might have imagined that the empty room with the lightbulb and the broken chair now had another door on the other side. I saw it as I carried Esther down the hall, the other door was open, and behind it was another empty room with lightbulb and open door and behind that one a third; I saw it for only a moment, which is why I’m also not sure whether there was really something moving on the floor of the third. We were immediately in the living room, and I locked the door.

  It’s the place itself. It’s not the house. The house is harmless, it’s simply standing where nothing should stand. I suspect there are more places like this, but the others are probably unreachable, on the sea bottom or in mountain caves in which no one has ever set foot. Or there’s really only one here, and the next is light years away in the infinite universe. The thought makes your head reel—not a fictitious but a real infinity, filled with things and creatures and galaxies and galaxy clusters and clusters of galaxy clusters and so on and so on, without an end in either direction. And now and then spots where the substance gets thin.

  Words. They don’t capture how it really is.

  —

  I know now why they all have faces like that. Why they look the way they look. It’s because of the things they have seen.

  —

  When I close my eyes, I see patterns: Sharply defined, they creep along like insects. The place isn’t evil, but it’s a trap—like a crevice out of which you could at first climb, but you see the sky above you and think, it’s not dangerous, and so you dawdle and look around because there are interesting crystals there, and when you finally do want to climb out, you realize too late that every movement brings you down deeper.

  I think it has to do with consciousness. That’s why it doesn’t hold everyone with the same strength, me more than the kid, for example; maybe I should have sent Esther down by herself, but maybe that would have been wrong too, how can I know?