The Wall

  That morning scything was torture, every movement hurt, and I made slower progress than I had the first day. And again I lay down exhausted under a hazel-bush after three hours and slept. I woke at midday. Lynx was sitting beside me, staring fixedly into the valley, where the grass stood wild and high, speckled white with the dust from its flowers. In a land without bees, grasshoppers and birds, a deadly silence grew warm beneath the sun. Lynx looked very serious and lonely. It was the first time I’d seen him like that. I made a very slight movement and he immediately turned his head and gave a joyful bark, and his eyes became animated and warm. The loneliness had passed, and he forgot it straight away. Then he trotted to the stream, and I started to turn the hay. I was able to bring the previous day’s hay to the barn immediately; it was quite dry, apart from some that had been too shaded. This time it was eight o’clock before I got back to the pasture to let out Bella and Bull. Tiger grew tiresome. Since he had been alone all day long he wanted to play now, and I was barely able to move.

  The following day I did less scything, for the higher I got the sooner the sun caught up with me. The weather stayed fine for the whole week, and I was pleased to have kept to the old rule about the waxing moon. On the eighth day it rained, and I stayed at home. Half of the meadow was harvested and I needed a rest, as I was just dragging myself along. I was so tired I had hardly eaten anything, and drunk nothing but milk and tea. It was also good for Bella to be milked regularly, as she had been before. She wasn’t giving quite as much milk now. It rained quietly and greyly for four days. The rain fell in tiny drops. Resting on the bed I could see the meadow and the mountains as if through spiders’ webs. I sawed up a few sticks and got us some meat. Because it had been hot I had been obliged to throw away a third of the last stag, a waste that had cut me to the quick, but I could do nothing about it. I spent most of the four days sleeping or playing with Tiger, who didn’t like going into the meadow when it rained. My hands were sore and covered with bites and took a long time to heal. Every muscle and every bone still ached, but the pain barely touched me, as if it didn’t have anything to do with me at all.

  On the fifth day the weather cleared around midday, and in the afternoon the sun broke through the clouds. The wet coolness still lay in the air, and the water trembled in the grass. Bull galloped boisterously back and forth in the meadow, and Tiger cautiously dipped a paw into the grass before deciding on a little hunting-expedition. Lynx brightened up as well, shook the sleep from his coat and set off on little reconnaissance expeditions. I cut some grass (there was a scythe at the Alm, of course), and carried it into the stable. Bella and Bull’s halcyon days were almost over. The weather stayed fine for four days, then it grew close and the sky clouded over again.

  I had harvested two-thirds of the meadow, and migrated back to the Alm in the dull heat. My heart ached. Perhaps only from overexertion, but some of the rheumatism might have lingered with me as well. Even Lynx trotted behind me ill-temperedly and seemed beset by a paralysing fatigue. I thought about the fact that the work was getting too hard for me and my food was too monotonous. Walking was painful too, as I’d rubbed a blister on my heel in my hard climbing-shoes, and my sock was sticking to the little wound. Suddenly everything I had done seemed a pointless nuisance. I felt I’d have been better off shooting myself long ago. But if I hadn’t been able to do that, since it isn’t easy to shoot yourself with a rifle, I should have dug my way under the wall. There was either enough food for a hundred years over there or a quick, painless death. In fact, what was I still waiting for? Even if, by some miracle, someone were to rescue me, what use could that be to me, if all the human beings I had loved were dead? I wanted to take Lynx with me, the cats could escape all by themselves, and as for Bella and Bull, well, I would probably have to kill them. They would starve in winter.

  The cloud layer was now slate-grey, and a feeble light lay over the mountains. I hurried to get home before the storm. Lynx panted along behind me. I was too tired and too despondent to be able to comfort him. In any case everything was completely meaningless and trivial.

  When I emerged from the forest I heard the first rumble above me. I let Lynx into the hut, took my shoes off and ran into the stable to relieve Bella of her burden. While I was working in the byre the storm broke. It swept over the grassy slopes, and the clouds scudded low, grey and yellow and ugly. I was frightened, and at the same time I was furious about the violence to which my animals and I were being exposed. I tied Bella and Bull up and closed the shutters. Bull pressed against his mother, and she tenderly and patiently licked his nose as if he was still a helpless calf. Bella was no less frightened than I was, but she tried to comfort Bull. While I was absently stroking her flank I suddenly knew that I couldn’t leave. Perhaps it was stupid of me, but that’s just how it was. I couldn’t flee and let my animals down. This decision wasn’t the result of any thought or emotion. There was something planted deep within me that made it impossible for me to abandon something that had been entrusted to me. I calmed down immediately and stopped being afraid. I bolted the stable door so that the storm couldn’t wrench it open and then ran to the hut, taking care not to spill the milk. The wind banged the door shut behind me, and I bolted it with a sigh of relief. I lit a candle and closed the shutters. We were finally secure, in a small and pathetic way, perhaps, but protected from the rain and the storm. Tiger and Lynx already lay snuggled up against one another in the stove door, not stirring. I drank warm milk and sat down at the table. It was stupid to allow the candles to burn down, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit in the dark. So I struggled not to hear the rumbling in the clouds, and examined my sore foot. The blister had burst, and was crusted with blood. I took a footbath and then applied iodine to the wound. It was all I could do. Then I extinguished the candle after all, and lay down on the bed with my clothes on. Through the slits in the shutters I could see the bolts of lightning jerking down. Finally the storm subsided a little, and it started to rain over the Alm. The thunder and lightning continued for a long time, but the sound of the rain was a comfort to me. After a long time the thunder became a distant grumble, and straight after that I woke up and saw the sun shimmering through the shutters. Tiger was miaowing plaintively, and Lynx was prodding me with his nose. I got up and flung the door open, and the two of them dashed outside. I was cold, because I’d spent the whole night without a blanket. It was eight o’clock, and the sun was already above the forest. After letting Bella and Bull out I took a look around.

  The meadow lay in the damp morning brightness; all the terrors of the night had fled. Perhaps it was still drizzling in the valley, and I thought, as I always did when the weather was bad, about the cat. Well, she had chosen this free life of her own accord. But had she really? After all, she couldn’t choose. I saw no great difference between her and myself. I could choose, certainly, but only with my mind, and as far as I was concerned that amounted to not being able to choose at all. The cat and I were made of the same stuff, and we were in the same boat, drifting with all living things towards the great dark rapids. As a human being, I alone had the honour of recognizing this, without being able to do anything about it. A dubious gift on the part of nature, if I thought about it. I dismissed these thoughts and shook my head. Yes, I clearly remember that, because I gave it such a shake that something clicked in my neck and I walked around with a stiff neck for days. Having come down to earth I spent the next few days sawing wood and allowing my heel to get better. I walked barefoot and made myself cold poultices and the inflammation actually subsided. I drank a lot of milk, churned butter, scoured out the hut, darned my ragged socks, washed a few clothes and sat on the bench in the sun. Only on the fifth day after the storm did I go back to the valley with Lynx. Over the next few days I brought in the rest of the hay. I finished at around two o’clock and brought the last load from the edge of the forest to the barn on beech-branches.

  A colossal task was completed; a task that had lain before me for months like an enormous
mountain. Now I was tired and happy. I couldn’t remember having felt such satisfaction since my children were little. Back then, after the strain of a long day, when the toys were cleared away and the children lay in their beds, bathed and dried, back then I’d been happy. I was a good mother to little children. Once they grew bigger and went to school I failed them. I don’t know how it happened, but the bigger the children grew the more insecure I felt with them. I still looked after them as well as I could, but only very rarely was I happy around them. Then I became very dependent on my husband again; he seemed to need me more than they did. My children had gone away; hand in hand, their satchels on their backs, their hair blowing about, and I hadn’t known that that was the beginning of the end. Or perhaps I’d had an inkling. Later on I had never been happy again. Everything changed in a wretched way, and I stopped really living.

  I put my scythe, rake and fork in the barn and bolted the door. Then I went to the hunting-lodge. The stream had risen a little where it met the wall. I waded through the icy water and called Lynx to the shore. Later I boiled up some tea on the stove and shared my lunch with Lynx. The bed bore the impression of the cat, and that was a great comfort to me. Perhaps in the autumn we would all be united again around the warm stove. I stroked the bed smooth and then had a look at the beans. All through the summer they had had white and red blossoms, now they were already covered with little green pods. The storm had scattered the petals of the flowers, but hadn’t snapped the vines and canes. I decided to make a big extension to the bean-garden, and gradually give myself a filling substitute for bread. August had arrived in the meantime, and in a few weeks we would be returning to our winter quarters. I made sure there wasn’t a spark left in the stove, and set off with Lynx on the return journey. I was happy that the great strain was past, that Bella and Bull could go to the meadow in the daytime and that we could keep to our milking times.

  This time Tiger didn’t welcome us with a cry, but crouched crossly beside the stove with his shoulders hunched, miaowing quietly and plaintively. I stroked him, but he didn’t move, and when Lynx sniffed at him he gave an angry and irritable hiss. Later, when my work was done, I saw that he was limping on three paws. It isn’t very easy to examine an injured cat, still less a tom-cat with Tiger’s temperament. I laid him on his back and tickled his stomach until I managed to hold his paw quite gently. He had trodden a thorn or a splinter into the pad. I tried at least ten times to get it out with tweezers. I only managed to do so because a bird swept past the hut door at that moment and distracted Tiger’s attention from me and the tweezers. The little operation was successful. Tiger jumped up furiously, knocked the tweezers from my hand and dashed out of the hut.

  I later saw him eagerly licking the little wound, sitting on the bench. In fact he had behaved more or less reasonably. Cats panic very easily; any rustle of paper, any sudden movement can send them into a complete twitch. Solitary creatures, they have to be constantly on their guard and ready for flight. The enemy could be lying in wait behind any harmless-looking bush, behind the corner of any house. There is only one thing about them that is stronger than suspicion and caution, and that is curiosity.

  Dusk had fallen in the meantime, and I cooked supper. I had brought back the last jar of cranberries from the hunting-lodge, and made pancakes without eggs. Even that’s all right if you’re used to it. The end of the hay-harvest seemed to me to be the occasion for such a feast. At that time, however, I had ceased to suffer so much from my desire for unattainable pleasures. There were no longer any external stimuli to feed my fantasies, and the craving slowly passed. I was just happy that I was able to satisfy myself and the animals, and that we didn’t have to starve. I hardly missed sugar, either. That summer I went only twice to the raspberry-patch and filled a bucket with berries. The journey was too long and arduous for me. There were also fewer berries than there had been the first summer, perhaps because it had been too dry. The fruits were small and very sweet. I saw that the patch was starting to get overgrown. In a few years it will be entirely covered by thickets that will have suffocated the raspberry-bushes.

  After the hay-harvest I stayed quietly at home, and spent a lot of time sitting on the bench. I was tired and a bit exhausted, and the mysterious magic began to cast its spell over me once again. My days now passed very regularly. At six o’clock I got up, milked Bella and let her and Bull into the meadow. Then I cleaned the stable, carried the milk into the hut and emptied it into the earthenware pots in the bedroom so that the cream could settle on the surface. Then I had breakfast and fed Lynx and Tiger. Lynx had his meal in the morning, while Tiger got only milk. For some reason, perhaps because he was a nocturnal animal, Tiger wanted to eat in the evening. Lynx would then have his milk in the evening. Then there came Tiger’s morning game: catch-as-catch-can around the hut. I sometimes had to force myself to join in, but it did me some good, and Tiger needed it for his well-being. The game had strict rules, all of them invented and enforced by Tiger; it always had to follow the same route, and the same hiding places were used every time. The corner of the house, an old rain-barrel, a stack of fallen wood, a biggish stone, a corner of the house and an old chopping block. Tiger dashed around the corner and I had to play dumb and go looking for him, plaintively and anxiously. I wasn’t allowed to see him lowering round the corner until he finally rushed at my legs with a wild leap. Then came the rain-barrel, which I had to tap blindly past, and, having been given a powerful, but not too painful bite, I was allowed to let out a yell, while Tiger, tail in the air, disappeared behind the woodpile, which I had to circle around for ages because I simply couldn’t see the little cat with his protective colouring, until he emerged again, delicately stepping sideways like a horse on tiptoes, his back in a great arch. Everything was designed to show that he, a proud and clever predator, could terrify a stupid and ridiculous human being. But as the stupid human being was also the agreeable and beloved human being, she didn’t get eaten, but was licked tenderly once the game was over. Perhaps I shouldn’t have played those games with him. Possibly they induced in him a kind of megalomania that made him incautious in the face of any real danger. Tiger could have managed twenty rounds of the game, while ten at the most was enough for me. All the same, it always left him so satisfied that he went back to the cupboard to sleep for a while. At first Lynx wanted to join in, and circled around us barking and jumping clumsily. But Tiger sharply rebuked him and he now only followed the game from a distance, twitching his tail and yapping loudly. Only if I had no time and absolutely refused to co-operate was Lynx allowed to step in for me. All the same, neither of them seemed to enjoy it much then.

  After a little rest I attended to the milk. It always needed something doing to it. The cream was skimmed off, and Bull got most of the skim milk. Sometimes I was able to churn butter, too, or render clarified butter from the leftovers. Of course my store of clarified butter never grew very big. It took days for me to skim off enough cream. I drank a lot of milk myself so as to stay healthy, given my monotonous diet, and I also needed a little every day for Lynx and Tiger. Then I tidied up the hut, aired the bed, did the washing or cleaning and prepared lunch. It was nothing special, and I usually looked for a few edible herbs in the meadow to spice up the meat a little. There were mushrooms in the meadow as well, but I wasn’t familiar with them and didn’t dare eat them. They looked very tempting, but since Bella didn’t touch them I suppressed my hunger.

  After lunch I sat down on the bench and dozed sleepily. The sun shone on my face and my head grew heavy with fatigue. When I realized I was about to fall asleep I got up and went into the forest with Lynx. He needed this daily expedition as Tiger needed his morning game. We generally went to the vantage point, and I looked out over the countryside with the binoculars. I only really did it out of habit. The church-towers always gleamed the same red, and only the colour of the meadows and fields changed a little. When the foehn came everything looked close enough to touch, quite brightly coloured, and when
the wind came from the east the countryside was masked by fine bluish veils, and sometimes I couldn’t see anything at all when mist lay over the river. I never stayed sitting for long, because Lynx found that too boring. We made a great detour through the forest and usually returned to the hut from the opposite direction at around four or five o’clock. On my peregrinations I saw only red deer; roe didn’t come up to this altitude. Through the telescope I could sometimes see a few chamois on the white chalk cliffs. In the course of the summer I found four dead chamois that had crept off into the bushes. When they went blind they came into the valley. These four hadn’t got far. Death had claimed them quickly. They should actually all have been shot to eradicate the plague, and to release the poor creatures from their suffering. But I wouldn’t have hit them from that distance, and I had to be economical with my ammunition. So there was no alternative but to watch their misery.

  Once our expedition was over, Lynx took up his position on the bench and fell asleep in the sun. His coat seemed to protect him, since he could doze for hours in the heat. In the meantime I got busy in the byre, sawed a little wood or mended something.

  Often I did nothing at all and watched Bella and Bull, or observed a buzzard gliding and wheeling over the forest. I couldn’t tell whether it actually was a buzzard, it might just as easily have been a falcon or a hawk. I’d got used to calling all birds of prey buzzards, because I liked the word so much. I was always a little uneasy about Tiger if the buzzard turned up too often. Fortunately Tiger preferred to stay close to the hut, and seemed to be afraid of crossing the wide meadow to get to the forest. There was enough prey for him around the hut in any case. The fat grasshoppers even jumped over the doorstep, right in front of Tiger’s paws. I was very fond of the buzzard, although I had also to be wary of him. He looked very beautiful, and I gazed after him until he disappeared in the blue of the sky or plunged into the forest. His hoarse cry was the only strange voice that reached me up in the Alm.