which wound its way around a wide curve here. About thirty feet away from the bank, the black outline of the island rose above us like the prow of a large ship. Jay and I had played there when we were little kids. There had been a tree house, high up in the branches of a willow . . . my mother, her laugh like a silver bell . . . the three of us letting the sun dry us after we’d been swimming.
I hadn’t been here a single time since.
Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I genuinely remembered and what I had only dreamed or made up. Everything was mixed up, all jumbled and confused. Memory was like a treacherous body of water. Maybe I only remembered things I wished had happened just that way. Maybe I turned things around, distorted them without knowing it, and made them my own reality.
But no matter what had happened over there on the island, now we were in the present. This particular night everything was still and lightly touched with the silver shimmer of the full moon.
According to Wolf and his numerous female companions, this was the most romantic spot for miles around—maybe precisely because there was something disreputable about it. About a hundred years ago, the body of a drowned woman had been dragged to shore here. The old people in town claimed that occasionally you could still hear her voice wafting over the water. In spite of myself, I listened for it, and a chill ran up my spine. The sleepy rushing of the river did sound like the quiet humming of a woman.
Suddenly, I started to doubt whether it had been such a good idea to come here.
Mia, on the other hand, was completely enthusiastic. “Wow, this place is so beautiful, Alex!”
“What would you think of a little picnic?” I asked. “I brought something to eat. Bread, fruit salad . . . even a few pancakes left over from brunch this morning.”
“Fabulous!” Mia’s shell earrings swung back and forth jauntily. “But could we go swimming first? Or is the water not clean enough here?”
I should have told her something about dangerous salmonella and other bacteria. Unfortunately, lying has never been one of my strengths. “Uh, no, it’s okay,” I muttered hesitantly.
“Oh, crap!” Mia slapped her forehead. “We didn’t bring bathing suits with us!” Her expression was so disappointed that I said without thinking, “It doesn’t matter. No one will see us here anyway, right?”
Thin ice. Mia and I had never seen each other naked, much less slept together. For a while, Mia seemed to struggle with her modesty, but in the end she said, “Okay, but you’re not allowed to look, promise?” With those words she disappeared behind a bush. Shortly thereafter, I heard the tapping of bare feet—and then a splash as Mia threw herself into the water.
When I had undressed, too, and stepped to the edge of the water, I saw her already happily paddling around. The dog sat perfectly still on the shore and didn’t take its eyes off her.
“Come on in, the water’s perfect!” Mia called impatiently, sending a splash in our direction. I threw the dog a resigned glance and then started to wade into the river.
Unlike my brother, who moved so gracefully in the water that he seemed to be more at home there than on land, I didn’t like to swim—at least not in the river. That murky soup was kind of creepy. But I didn’t want Mia to know about that.
By now, the water was up to my chest. With every step deeper, I felt the muck on the river bottom welling up between my toes. The smell of the river rose to my nose: the scent of stagnant water, fish and slightly sweet, like dead, decomposing plants . . . the smell of decay.
Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped. Reflexively, my hand felt for the small silver chain with a cross that hung around my neck. Jay had one just like it. Our grandmother insisted that we wear them all the time, for protection. Grandma’s scolding voice echoed in my thoughts: “It’s dangerous . . . dangerous.”
It’s
I hadn’t been here a single time since.
Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I genuinely remembered and what I had only dreamed or made up. Everything was mixed up, all jumbled and confused. Memory was like a treacherous body of water. Maybe I only remembered things I wished had happened just that way. Maybe I turned things around, distorted them without knowing it, and made them my own reality.
But no matter what had happened over there on the island, now we were in the present. This particular night everything was still and lightly touched with the silver shimmer of the full moon.
According to Wolf and his numerous female companions, this was the most romantic spot for miles around—maybe precisely because there was something disreputable about it. About a hundred years ago, the body of a drowned woman had been dragged to shore here. The old people in town claimed that occasionally you could still hear her voice wafting over the water. In spite of myself, I listened for it, and a chill ran up my spine. The sleepy rushing of the river did sound like the quiet humming of a woman.
Suddenly, I started to doubt whether it had been such a good idea to come here.
Mia, on the other hand, was completely enthusiastic. “Wow, this place is so beautiful, Alex!”
“What would you think of a little picnic?” I asked. “I brought something to eat. Bread, fruit salad . . . even a few pancakes left over from brunch this morning.”
“Fabulous!” Mia’s shell earrings swung back and forth jauntily. “But could we go swimming first? Or is the water not clean enough here?”
I should have told her something about dangerous salmonella and other bacteria. Unfortunately, lying has never been one of my strengths. “Uh, no, it’s okay,” I muttered hesitantly.
“Oh, crap!” Mia slapped her forehead. “We didn’t bring bathing suits with us!” Her expression was so disappointed that I said without thinking, “It doesn’t matter. No one will see us here anyway, right?”
Thin ice. Mia and I had never seen each other naked, much less slept together. For a while, Mia seemed to struggle with her modesty, but in the end she said, “Okay, but you’re not allowed to look, promise?” With those words she disappeared behind a bush. Shortly thereafter, I heard the tapping of bare feet—and then a splash as Mia threw herself into the water.
When I had undressed, too, and stepped to the edge of the water, I saw her already happily paddling around. The dog sat perfectly still on the shore and didn’t take its eyes off her.
“Come on in, the water’s perfect!” Mia called impatiently, sending a splash in our direction. I threw the dog a resigned glance and then started to wade into the river.
Unlike my brother, who moved so gracefully in the water that he seemed to be more at home there than on land, I didn’t like to swim—at least not in the river. That murky soup was kind of creepy. But I didn’t want Mia to know about that.
By now, the water was up to my chest. With every step deeper, I felt the muck on the river bottom welling up between my toes. The smell of the river rose to my nose: the scent of stagnant water, fish and slightly sweet, like dead, decomposing plants . . . the smell of decay.
Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped. Reflexively, my hand felt for the small silver chain with a cross that hung around my neck. Jay had one just like it. Our grandmother insisted that we wear them all the time, for protection. Grandma’s scolding voice echoed in my thoughts: “It’s dangerous . . . dangerous.”
It’s
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