Free Indigo by Clemens J. Setz Page A

world-famous cable car, which is also touted as a tourist attraction by the neighboring town of Seelwand. It’s part of those foothills that—as Elfriede Jelinek writes in her masterpiece The Children of the Dead— the mountain stuffs in its pants pockets.
    When I arrived in Gillingen by train, pleasantly broken clouds hung in the evening sky over the town, the famous gondolas of the cable car hovered in the distance over the western slope of the mountain, and in the covered waiting area of the small train station I noticed to my great delight a man pushing an old-fashioned high-wheel bicycle out into the sun. I loitered a bit longer in front of the train station because I wanted to see the man climb onto his high-wheel bicycle and ride away on it. But he did nothing, he seemed to be waiting for something, looked at his watch, turned in all wind directions and stared. After about ten minutes I left in disappointment.
    On the way to the hotel I called my girlfriend, Julia. She listened to my description and afterward asked whether the man had had a mustache. I said yes, even though I wasn’t at all sure. Then we agreed that men with high-wheel bicycles must absolutely always have a mustache, and ended the conversation. I had almost reached Pension Tachler anyway.
    The large building with the vacancy sign under the gable was in the immediate vicinity of a spacious tavern named Ernst’l. Written with chalk on a blackboard on the sidewalk was today’s lunch menu: Pork schnitzel with fresh potatoes; ½ a fried chicken; boiled beef with sauerkraut.
    The pension itself made a pleasant impression. Next to reception a large bird with a strikingly long beak perched in an open cage. A young woman sat in front of a computer and looked up.
    â€“ Good evening.
    â€“ Hello, I said. Clemens Setz. I reserved a room for two nights.
    â€“ Aha, yes . . . let me see . . . Yes, here.
    She had found the entry on the calendar.
    â€“ Have you ever stayed with us before? she asked.
    â€“ No.
    â€“ Okay, then please fill this out.
    She gave me the form, I entered the requested information, and signed it. While I was writing, I saw out of the corner of my eye the young woman grab her right breast and adjust it a little with a straightforward movement. I made a mistake on my own address and asked for a new form.
    â€“ It’s all right, she said with an enchanting smile. Are you one of the ski lift people?
    â€“ Ski lift? No. I’m just here on a visit.
    â€“ I see, said the woman, apparently a bit disappointed. Well, anyway, there are so many people here because of the ski lift, yeah . . . It gets a bit weird after a while. But you’re visiting someone, fine, fine . . .
    She put the form in a drawer and looked for the room key. She found it under a small breakfast plate that someone had evidently left here in her workspace. With a sigh she placed the plate next to the cage, jolting the exotic bird out of its semiconscious state. It took a few steps sideways on its perch and eyed skeptically the strange world behind the bars.
    â€“ Room fourteen. That’s on the second floor. The elevator is back there to your right.
    â€“ Thanks, I said. I have one more question.
    â€“ Go ahead.
    â€“ Do you know your way around here?
    â€“ Of course, she said with a nod. Where d’ya have to go?
    â€“ I wrote it down here . . . I have to go there tomorrow morning . . . One second . . .
    I rummaged around in my coat pocket for the piece of paper, made the whole thing a bit more suspenseful by pretending not to find it right away, tried the one pocket, then the other. In reality I knew the address by heart and had even studied the satellite image on the Internet, but here, in this little town where everyone knew everyone, it would undoubtedly be revealing to find out how people felt about the Stennitzer family.
    I pushed the piece of paper toward the young woman and focused on her face.
    Stennitzer