A Treatise on Shelling Beans (3 page)

When I was still living abroad, one time in the fall, round about this time
of year, I decided to come for a visit. In fall, when no one would be here. And I stayed in Mr. Robert’s cabin, like you. Mr. Robert had told me where to find the key. Under the deck, hanging on a nail in the beam. That’s where you found it too? There you go. Before that I’d only ever been here once, one Sunday during the season. Mr. Robert and I arrived together then. This time Mr. Robert couldn’t make it. Of course I could have the use of his cabin, he said when I phoned him, but unfortunately he wouldn’t be able to join me. He told me where things would be, and where I’d find the key.

The sun had already set by the time I crossed the border. I figured I’d arrive in the night and maybe even get a decent night’s sleep. As long as I was on the highway everything went OK, it was a starry night, the moon was out, I could see clearly. But I turned off onto a side road, then onto another, and the fog started. To begin with it was sparse, and it only appeared here and there, I’d just drive through strips of mist lying in places across the road. My fog lamps worked just fine. I was even driving pretty fast for the time of day. But with every mile the strips of mist grew thicker. After a bit, it seemed like barriers of fog were starting to rise up in the road. You could only see anything in the towns, where there were lights. But as I’d leave each town I’d find myself in even thicker fog. It got denser and denser. The fog was in front of me, on top of me, to the sides, behind. It was like the world had gone away and there was only fog. I tried turning on all the lights I had, but nothing did any good. I was well aware that full beams are the worst in a situation like that. You turn them on and immediately you have a white screen in front of you. You can only use your sidelights and fog lamps. Best of all is if someone’s with you in the car, they can crack the door open and watch the road surface, tell the guy at the wheel which way to go. But I was on my own. On top of that, there were no other cars either in front of me or behind. Because you can agree with another driver to take turns at leading, him for a bit, then you for a bit. In fog, the best way to know where to go is to follow someone else’s red tail lights. At moments I almost lost confidence in whether I was even on the road, I was scared I’d drive into the ditch or hit a road sign or
a tree. Honestly, I’d never driven in fog that bad before. Every now and then I’d stop and get out to take a breather. I’d stretch a bit, climb back in and drive on.

All of a sudden I see these strange faint little lights along the sides of the road. What could it be? To start off they were only here and there. But you could see they were in people’s windows, even though the windows themselves were barely visible, let alone the houses, which were no more than faint outlines in the fog. I guessed I must be driving through some town, especially since there were more and more of the lights, they came closer together, and soon they formed a shining chain on either side of the road so it was like driving down a kind of avenue. Well, I wasn’t exactly driving, more like inching along. The fog in front of me was still as dense as before.

Then, out of the blue two figures emerged from the fog right in front of the hood. It looked like two men. I didn’t have time to hit the horn, I just slammed on the brakes. I broke out in a sweat and my heart pounded so loud it almost made the car shake. I was convinced they’d go for me, start hammering on the car windows, pull the door open, start calling me all kinds of names. And they’d have been right, because what of it that they’d been walking in the middle of the road? But can you imagine, they didn’t even notice the car. I think they were arguing, I could hear hoarse raised voices. They were waving their arms, pushing at one another. It looked like on top of everything else I was about to witness a scrap in the middle of all the fog.

I wound the window down a bit and turned the radio up to the max. There was some booming music playing, I thought maybe they’d hear and get out of the way. Not a bit of it. They stood there swaying every which way, then all at once they threw their arms around one another, hugged affectionately, and kissed each other on the cheek. They were so drunk they each had to take turns holding the other guy up when he started to slip to the ground.

In the end I sounded the horn once and twice, and to my surprise they patted each other’s arm and one moved to one side of the road, one to the other. My foot was already poised over the gas pedal when they suddenly came back and
started hugging each other again. And this time they stayed there, holding on to each other and rocking, as if they’d vowed that they’d never part, they’d simply lie down and sleep where they were, on the road. But luckily they put their arms around each other and set off into the fog, taking up the whole width of the road. I crawled after them, hoping I might be able to get around them when one of them pulled the other to one side of the road. But whenever one of them pulled his companion toward one side, the second man would pull him back the other way. They zigzagged forward, plus they’d come to a halt every so often, clapping each other on the back, shaking the other guy or tugging at his hand. And I had to stop with them.

At a certain moment a gateway loomed up out of the fog over the road. Actually, it shone there. A chain of faint little lights, like the ones in the windows, marked it out from the roadside on one side. The lights climbed up then broke off in the middle over the roadway, probably the bulbs in the other half were burned out or there’d been a short circuit. On the half that was lit up, one word could be seen: Welcome. The message for sure was longer, but the other half of it had gone out.

They stopped in the gateway. They weren’t hugging anymore, or shaking one another, or slapping each other on the back. They just shook hands, and I started to hope that maybe they’d finally go their separate ways. They couldn’t let go of each other’s hands, as if they weren’t sure they could stand on their own two feet. In the end, though, they managed to pull apart, and one disappeared on one side of the road, the other one on the other.

I breathed a sigh of relief. But I didn’t move off right away. I got out of the car and stood there for a while to calm down. The chill of the fog did me good. Only then did I get back in the car and move off very slowly. I’d gone maybe a few dozen yards, and here they appeared out of the fog again, in the middle of the road. I didn’t know what to do. I pulled up. But they must have noticed the car, because they turned around clumsily to face me, still arm in arm. I rolled the window down and leaned out.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Do you think you could …?”

They gestured as if to tell me they’d get out of the road right away. And in fact, a moment later they staggered forward. I decided to wait a while. I found some music on the radio and listened for a bit before I set off again. I drove with my heart in my mouth, my eyes peeled, worried they might loom up yet again out of the fog in the middle of the road. You may find it hard to believe, but it was like I’d grown attached to them. I’d even begun to miss them.

The lights came to an end and I sped up a little. A few miles further on I suddenly felt so tired that when I saw a lighted sign saying “Inn” I decided to stop.

The place was quiet and the owner polite. He advised me against driving in the fog. Fog like this, you’ve no business driving in it. Get some sleep, some rest, let the fog clear. Our rooms are comfy, reasonable. Would you like something hot to eat? We can make it right away. Will you have a beer? These days you can get any kind of beer you want. Imported even. Or would you prefer something a little stronger? We’ll have a room ready for you in no time. We’ve had a busy day today.

“What were all those lights in the windows? And the gateway?” I asked without thinking. “Was it because of the fog?”

He gave me a distrustful look.

“Where are you from?”

“I live abroad.”

It was only then he softened:

“There was a procession with a holy picture.”

But you know, I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I was even weighing up whether I should keep going or turn back. You got a decent night’s sleep, though, right? Because when I woke up, or rather when the dogs woke me, and I glanced out the window a couple of times, there was still no sign of you. The car was there so I gathered someone must have arrived. I only wondered who it could possibly be this time of year, in the fall. Especially as it was a different car, no one around here has a car like that. What kind is it? Thought so. I used to have one
of those. Went like greased lightning. And never a problem. I’d take off from the lights and be half way down the street before the other drivers had even moved. I’d step on it and the thing would almost leap under me. Hardly anyone ever overtook me on the open road. I liked to drive fast. Drive fast, live fast. I used to think that if I lived fast, life would last shorter. Was I afraid? Of what? It was no big deal. There really isn’t that much of a reason to respect life. My life at least. Oh yes, I got plenty of speeding tickets. One time my license was suspended for a year. Accidents? Can anyone drive without having accidents? Just like you can’t live without having accidents. Once I broke my leg, right here, in this place. Once I had a broken collar bone, once three ribs, another time I had a concussion. One time they had to cut me out of the car. But can you imagine it, I was all in one piece. Just a few scrapes and bruises, nothing more. I was lucky? Perhaps. Though I don’t know what luck is. It was only when I came down with rheumatism that I didn’t drive at all for three years. Then after that I drove much slower.

What’s your license plate number? I didn’t see it, and I have to note it down. I write down every car that comes here. Not just the number. Make, model, color. Not the owners of the cabins. I’ve had their cars written down from the beginning. Except when someone gets a new car. But otherwise I already have them all. During the season all kinds of friends of the different owners come to visit. Often I have them show me their auto registration document, and I check to see whether the car has any dings or scratches. You can never be sure with friends. He’s a friend, but he could turn out to be anyone. And you can’t count on witnesses if something were to happen. Ten witnesses and there’ll be ten colors, ten makes and ten different models, not to mention all the license plate numbers. I don’t trust witnesses. I even write down when they arrive and the time they leave. I have a separate notebook for cars. I’ve a different one for the cabins, who and when, for how long, how many people. And a third one for other business. You can’t keep proper order with just one notebook.

I didn’t realize at first that you were staying in Mr. Robert’s cabin. It was only
when you opened the curtains. Could it be Mr. Robert? I thought to myself. I couldn’t believe it. It’s been such a long while since he was last here, but here he is after all this time, how about that. It must have been after midday when you came out, right? You stood on the deck, took a look around and it was then that I saw it wasn’t Mr. Robert. Though not right away. You’re the same height as him and you’re both slim. Also, your hat was covering your face. The dogs started pawing at the door to be let out, and that was when I knew it wasn’t Mr. Robert. But I wouldn’t let them out on their own with a stranger. I decided to wait till you came over to my place, you’d tell me who you are, why you’re here, how long for.

What puzzled me the most was how you knew where to find the key. Aside from Mr. Robert and me, no one knows it’s on a nail in the beam under the deck. I even thought you must be a close friend of Mr. Robert, so all the more I won’t go over there, especially with the dogs, asking you questions and checking on you like with other visitors. You’re sure to come see me, tell me what’s going on with Mr. Robert, where he’s living, how he’s doing. I once tried to find out where on earth he’d moved to, but even his closest neighbors on the same floor didn’t know. He didn’t leave a forwarding address with anyone. He sends me the money regularly. In an envelope, not by money order. But he never even includes a note, just money folded in a blank sheet of paper. And the postmark’s so faint I can never read where it’s from. He must have a friend at the post office. If it’s not from him, who could it be from? Why would some stranger keep sending me money? I don’t get it. He might at least visit just once. To see how things are here. Or at the very least send me his address so I can write and tell him everything’s fine. The cabin’s still there. I’m looking after it. So he needn’t worry.

I look after all of the cabins, so I look after his also. I sometimes go inside as well, make sure everything’s all right. Air the place out, dust, make repairs if I see something’s broken. That’s not part of my duties, but since I have the keys I see to it all. That’s right, I have keys to all the cabins. Soon as they all leave I go around, check the cabins one by one, make sure the doors and windows
are shut and locked, because you never know. When something needs fixing I make a note, then over the fall or winter I see to it. There’s always something needs repairing after the season. I can’t just leave it. I can’t stand to see when something’s broken. It hurts to look at it. If only it were just those kind of things. Sometimes I’ll go into a cabin and it’s like they fled the place in panic. The refrigerator’s still running, the TV’s playing. The stove is on, water’s not been shut off, bed’s unmade. One time I went into one of the cabins and there was an iron plugged in, standing on a blanket on the table, and the blanket was smoking. A moment later and the whole place would have gone up in flames. The neighboring cabins as well, because it was a windy day. Ever since that time with the iron I watch for when they move out.

Sometimes they even leave unfinished food on their plates. Dirty dishes. Empty bottles and beer cans on the table, empty vodka glasses, trash cans overflowing, used tampons or condoms on the floor. Someone just took it off and dropped it. It’s partly my fault, I’ve gotten them all used to the fact that I see to everything. But I couldn’t do otherwise. I won’t deny that there are some cabins it’s a pleasure to go into. Sometimes I’ll even sit down and listen awhile. What to? You can hear all kinds of things if you’re inclined to listen.