walked slowly, you’d always win. It twisted and turned, and in the places where it meandered it gotovergrown with sweet rush, bulrushes, water lilies, white lotuses. When it all bloomed you can’t imagine what it was like. Or if you could only have heard the nightingales in May.
It wasn’t all shallow. Most places it was shallow. But it had its deep moments too. One of them was the deepest of all. People went there to drown themselves. Mostly young folks, when their parents wouldn’t agree to them getting married. They said most of the ones that had drowned there, it was for that reason. That people had always gone there to drown themselves, because that was where it was deepest. Though they did it for different reasons. And not just young people. Though they didn’t always choose drowning, some people hung themselves. And the Rutka just flowed on.
You might find it hard to believe, but to me it seemed the biggest river on earth. I was even convinced that all rivers were called Rutka and that they all came from the Rutka, like from a single mother. I’d already started at school but I still couldn’t believe there were much bigger rivers in the world, and that they each had their own name.
We had a boat. Sometimes I’d drag it into the densest rushes, everyone would be calling me, mother, father, but I wouldn’t answer. I’d just lie there in the bottom of the boat feeling like I was nowhere at all. And if you were to ask me whether I’d ever been happy, it was only ever then. You’d rather not ask me that? I understand. Or I’d take the boat out into the middle of the stream, lie down in it and float and float, and the river would carry me. What do you think, do rivers like that disappear? I really don’t know. Sometimes I go and stand down by the lake and look out there wondering where it must flow now. And you know, one time I managed to make out one of its banks. Which one? To know that, I’d have to have known which one I was standing on.
I couldn’t tell you where it came from or where it finished up. Back then no one went that far. It was scary to walk such a distance, the woods in these parts stretch on and on. Nowadays I don’t go walking that far either, because why would I. Besides, you go into the woods on this side or the other, and right bythe edge you have everything you could need. Blueberries, wild strawberries, blackberries, mushrooms. Not at this time of year, of course. You’re too late for that. Now there’s only cranberries. But you’d need to wait till the frosts set in, because they mostly grow in the bogs. The bogs aren’t far from here. I could give you a jug, you could go pick yourself some. Cranberries are delicious with pâté. Especially when you add pears as well, and if it’s pâté made from hare.
I don’t go picking. I don’t have time, I have to mind things here. Now for example, in the off-season, aside from me and the dogs, there’s not a soul here. Once in a while someone’ll come by to check on their cabin. Though in fact they don’t need to. Everyone knows that it’ll all be OK. It couldn’t not be, because I’m here looking after things. They’ve had many an opportunity to see that for themselves. But I’ve no right to stop them if they want to come and see what’s what. They belong to them. But that’s usually in the morning. This time of day no one’s likely to show up. At this time nothing happens. And dusk is starting to fall a lot earlier. A month ago I wouldn’t have needed to turn on the lights. I could see the letters perfectly well, even the tiniest ones. And I wouldn’t have needed my glasses. Whereas now, like you saw, it’s dusk, and there isn’t even the faintest ripple on the lake. You’d be forgiven for thinking the water had hardened into solid ground. Especially on a day like today, when there’s no wind, someone might imagine they could cross from one shore to the other without getting their feet wet.
So you’re staying