Seven Years by Peter Stamm Read Free Book Online

anyway, she’s a devout Catholic, I added. The woman doesn’t interest me, is that so hard to understand? But you walked her home. That was politeness. The way you talk about her isn’t especially polite. I rolled my eyes. When women get sisterly with each other, it’s best not to say anything. Sonia didn’t speak for a while either. She seemed to be thinking. Then she said she was going to Marseilles the following week, to see Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse, and would I like to go with her. She was going to drive there, and we could stay with a friend of hers, a German painter who lived in the city, on account of the light.
    I thought a couple of days off would do me good after the stresses of the exam, and the trip wouldn’t cost much. Maybe I would finally be able to shake off Ivona if I went. I wouldn’t have to be thinking about her all the time if I was with Sonia. Sure, I said, I’d like that. Even though it’s not my scene. Sonia laughed. I know you don’t like any other architect except yourself, that’s the presumption of genius. I looked at her with mock condescension. I knew she was making fun of me, but even so I liked it when she called me a genius.
    We were going to leave on Monday. If we set off early, Sonia said, then we could do the drive in a day. So I just had Sunday to make my preparations. I got up early and went to the laundromat, which was in the basement of one of the buildings. When I stepped outside my house, I looked around. I was probably scared Ivona would get wind of my plans. I felt I was betraying her in getting ready to go on a trip with another girl. There was no one to be seen. I didn’t think Ivona knew where I lived. She was probably in church, busy praying for me. That threw me into a rage, and for a moment I thought of sending her a note telling her to leave me alone, and that I never wanted to see her again. But what could I hold against her? It wasn’t her doing that I had to think about her all the time, that she had some power over me, a thought that simultaneously fascinated and infuriated me. I was almost certain her hold would only last as long as she kept me at a distance. If I really wanted to get free I would have to sleep with her.
    I put the laundry in a washer and slid in the coins. Back in the bungalow, it was baking hot. I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was in the sort of feverish mood I often got into when there was a trip ahead, and I couldn’t face doing anything, and could only sit around and wait. Maybe that was why I got further and further into something till I couldn’t think straight anymore.
    I walked rapidly through the almost empty streets, where the heat bounced off the pavement and walls. I broke into a sweat, and the few sounds I heard reached me as though through a filter. The thought churned around and around in my brain, I’ve got to have her, I kept thinking, she wants it too, she’s waiting for me. Outside the student residence, I stood under the projecting shade of the roof for a moment. My T-shirt was sweated through, and I was out of breath from walking so fast. I could still turn back, I thought, and nothing would have changed. For one disembodied moment, time seemed to stand still, but it wasn’t hesitation, it was more the moment at the start of a race, a moment of maximum stillness and absolute concentration. Then I saw my finger press Ivona’s bell, and I imagined I could hear the shrill of it tearing the silence. A minute later, I saw Ivona through the glass door as she came downstairs. She was wearing a dark blue skirt and a white blouse, her church clothes, I guessed, her Sunday best. When she saw me, she paused for a moment, then hurriedly took the remaining steps and unlocked the door. I took her hand, and she stood there, twisting a little, something that would have been appropriate in a little girl but looked ridiculous when she did it. I followed her upstairs and into her room. I was still very