Read Online Unformed Landscape by Peter Stamm - Free Book Online

her face, and she heard the voices of the sleeping-car conductor and a young man. She wanted to speak, to tell the conductor that this compartment was reserved for women, and that there must be some mistake. But she didn’t say anything, and even shut her eyes when she noticed him stoop to have a look at her. Then the conductor went out, and the man shut the door and bolted it. He put his bags away and sat down on the bunk facing her, and when he saw her eyes were open, he said hello. “In here is for women,” she said inEnglish. The man shook his head and replied that the compartments were not separated by sex. Then the word
sex
seemed to embarrass him, and he said, men and women.
    Kathrine pulled her clothes, which she had beside her on her red suitcase, under her blankets. She was only wearing panties and a T-shirt, and she hoped the man would take one of the bunks over her head. But he remained sitting opposite her, and asked her where she was going, and when she said Paris, whether she knew Paris, and where she came from, and what her name was. He said his was Jurgen.
    “Where are we?” asked Kathrine.
    “Bremen,” said Jurgen. “Paris is beautiful. I’m going to Brussels.”
    He explained that he was an intern with the European Commission, and when Kathrine said she was from Norway, he asked her lots of questions about fishing regulations, and wanted to know her views on catching whales, and the overfishing of the seas. He seemed to know all about Norway. More than I do, thought Kathrine, he knows more about my own country than I do. She said that where she came from, they didn’t hunt whales anymore. Then she said she was on her honeymoon, she didn’t know what prompted her to say that. Perhaps because she had been afraid, or perhaps just to get him to stop talking about Norway.
    “Where’s your husband?” asked Jurgen.
    Kathrine hesitated. She really didn’t want to talk about her marriage with him, and she said, “He’s waiting for mein Paris.” She thought, it really doesn’t matter what I tell him. And then she wanted to see what it felt like, lying to somebody, and making up a story. Her husband, she said, was a genetic scientist, and was giving a lecture at the University of Paris. And she herself? She was a dancer. She had attained international renown, and had been all over the world. But a couple of years ago, she had given up dancing, and was now living in Oslo with her husband. As stories went, it wasn’t very plausible. What was she doing in a second-class compartment, if she was a famous dancer? But Jurgen didn’t seem to suspect anything. He was just as stupid as she had been. He beamed, and asked her what places she had been to. She talked about going on tour in Europe, in the U.S., in Japan. And when Jurgen asked her about Japan, she was quite happy to tell him. She had once read a book about Japan. The trip had been fantastic. Every evening, she had had a show in a different city, and in the daytime, she had visited all the different temples and gardens.
    “There was one man who used to send me roses every day. He followed us on our entire tour, and saw every performance. He was besotted with me. He was on the board at Sony, a very rich man. He filmed me with a video camera, even though that wasn’t allowed. A tiny little thing. A prototype. Not for general sale. He was in charge of developing new products.”
    She stopped. She didn’t enjoy inventing stories. She felt wretched doing it, and she couldn’t think of what else shewas going to tell Jurgen. She couldn’t talk to him if she was lying to him. She felt even more alone than she had felt before Jurgen had come into the compartment, and the more she went on, the more baffled she was by Thomas.
    “So what is it exactly that your husband does?” asked Jurgen.
    “Look, I’ve got to go to sleep now,” she said. “I’ve got a hard day ahead of me.”
    Jurgen took off his pants and shirt. He was wearing light blue