“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.
Usually, twice during the day and at least once in the night, I do the rounds of all the cabins on both sides of the lake. Early morning, soon as the sun’s up I check all the windows and doors in every cabin, make sure nothing’s been smashed or broken into. If something doesn’t look right I’ll go peek inside. Actually, the dogs are always the first to sense when something’s amiss. They run around each cabin and they give a short bark to say everything’s fine. Then they run to the next one. If there’s something wrong they wait for me, barking like there’s no tomorrow.
And again in the evening. At that time I look in on every cabin, turn the lights on. Inside, on the deck. I leave the lights on and move to the next one. Cabin after cabin, it all gets brighter and brighter as I go. It’s like a chain of lights round the lake. The whole place glows, as if the lake was shining, and the sky above it, and the woods. You have no idea how much the dogs love it then. I’d never have imagined dogs could enjoy something so much. Most of the time they’re real quiet, alert, they don’t bark unless they have a reason. They never howl like some dogs do. Not even to the moon. Or one time someone died in one of the cabins, not even then. Unless they’re imagining something to themselves, when that’s the case there doesn’t even need to be anything happening. You wouldn’t believe what they’re capable of imagining. So maybe when all those lights are lit, they imagine it’s their paradise? I mean, dogs don’t have to see paradise as a flowering garden that contains everything there is. All that matters to them is that there aren’t any people. What about me? Maybe they think I’m the one that looks after paradise for them.