Too Pretty For The Hills Read online

  Errol finally stopped hugging Dora and joined his wife over by the pots.

  ''Shouldn’t be too long now, I reckon. Fifteen minutes, give or take.''

  ''Listen, Dora, how about I show you where you'll be staying.''

  After showing her the upper floor, where the kids’ room was, together with a second bathroom and another room that could not be labeled with any traditional name, Greta then brought a folding wooden ladder up to the attic.

  It had already been tidied somewhat and prepped for a collapsible bed made with fresh sheets, one of the closets emptied, the others crammed with all sorts of junk that the family had given up on. The place was bathing in yellow light - courtesy of a very large skylight.

  ''I hope it’s not too messy, honey. What do you think?''

  ''It’s lovely, Greta. Thank you.''

  ''I’ll leave you to unpack, dear.''

  But just before she went down the ladder, Greta stopped. ''Oh, one more thing,'' she said in a playful tone. ''I advise you to stick to the bathroom on the upper floor. Once Errol uses the downstairs one, you can’t get the stench out for a couple hours. It's like mustard gas.''

  ''Upper bathroom, understood.''

  Greta left and Dora began to settle in. After unzipping and unpacking a part of her travel bag, she headed to the skylight and gazed out.

  The sunlight was intense, illuminating the polen in the air and making the roofs of the houses gleam. The image reminded Dora of a certain painting by Peter Angermann, and she suddenly felt a strong desire to do some painting herself. But the sounds of the children laughing and shouting snapped her out of it and reminded her of why she was there.

  She gazed down, spotting the three Dietrich kids on the lawn below. The boys were a picture of carefreeness, playing and giggling and running around the inflatable castle. But the girl, Anne, didn’t seem to be participating in their games at this stage. She stood to the side as if in a spasm with an odd, almost stricken expression on her young face.

  3

  ''Are you married, Dora?''

  ''No, still single, I’m afraid.''

  ''Well, you’re still young. An art major, huh? How fascinating,'' Errol remarked as he was distributing pork, piling the fatty meat on Dora's plate as if she'd been found starving in the desert.

  ''Hardly,'' Dora said. ''Since I left school I barely finished five or six paintings. Not that I lack inspiration, it’s just that ...''

  ''... Stop it. I said stop it!'' Anne growled.

  ''Kids! Quiet down and eat!'' Greta snapped at the boys, who were kicking their sister under the table. ''I won’t say it again!'' She turned to Dora. ''I’m sorry, honey, go on. You were saying?''

  ''No, it’s just that the cognoscenti mostly hunt for old and rare paintings, and I suspect they haven’t much need to add anything made in this century to their collections. Certainly not anything by a local artist such as myself. And if you’re lucky enough to actually find someone who commissions a piece of art, they're so capricious that it becomes more a burden than a blessing. A friend of mine, a curator at a small gallery in Immstadt, had this old lady commission a portait of herself not too long ago. Even after three tries the woman still wasn’t satisfied. So what my friend did in the end was draw an idealized portrait of her that looked nothing like the original photograph. And that, of course, she loved.''

  ''A conceited old hag,'' Greta chuckled. ''But not everyone is such a dogged customer, surely. Now me, I don’t care much for art to be honest, but I'm pretty sure I could find you at least a couple of prospects here in Graufirst who would be more than happy to commission a piece. And these folks are no cheapskates. Most of them would pay out their ears for a piece by an artist with academic qualifications.''

  ''Sure would,'' nodded Errol. ''There are the Shultzes, the Bauers, Walter Krause and his daughter ...''

  ''And don't forget the Zieglers!'' Greta interjected eagerly.

  ''Of course, the Zieglers,'' Errol nodded. ''Should have been the first ones I thought of. They fall for anything that even hints at sophistication. I bet they will go bonkers when we tell them an esteemed artist is living under our roof.''

  Dora choked on a bit of meat.

  ''Errol, you're too kind,'' she squeezed out, coughing. ''But I am no esteemed artist, not by a long shot.''

  ''You musn’t devalue yourself,'' Greta said. ''If you graduated from a recognized art academy, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you're the genuine article. And this town doesn't see much culture, which can only drive up the demand for your work. I’ll introduce you to some big spenders, don’t you worry.''

  ''I haven’t brought my suplies though.''

  ''Well how about the kids’ painting supplies then? They may not be something Picusso or what's-his-name would use, but as far as I’m concerned, colors are colors and brushes are brushes.''

  Dora was normally quite sensitive to reckless assertions about her craft, and she nearly came back with a sarcastic rejoinder. But the warm and trusting faces of her hosts disarmed her.

  Once finished with lunch, Greta insisted their new nanny leave the dishes alone and go out and play with the kids instead.

  ''They can hardly wait to spend some time with you, honey, I can see it in their eyes. I’m gonna go lie down for a bit. My headache is acting up again; they come and go these days, must be the pollen. And Errol will wash the dishes. Right, darling?''

  ''Of course. You and the kids just go out and enjoy the sun, Dora.''

  She was more than happy to oblige, but as soon as they got outside Dora saw how much attention the children would be demanding from her.

  ''Dora, look at me! Look at me!''

  ''No, look at me! Hey, Dora!''

  ''Dora!''

  ''Dora!''

  The mildly rambunctious behavior Greta’s boys had displayed at times during supper was apparently merely the tip of the ice berg. Once they got accustomed to their new nanny and their boundaries fell, suddenly it was open season.

  ''Emil, please come down from there,'' Dora beseeched one of the boys who was climbing an apple tree while the other one was busy eating dirt. ''That’s so unsanitary, Thomas, ugh!''

  ''I'm Emil,'' the boy objected with dirt in his teeth.

  ''Right. Please spit out the dirt, Emil.''

  ''They're just messing with you, you know,'' Anne mumbled quietly, meekly sitting in the shade and wrapping her long blonde hair around her fingers.

  ''Well, whatever your name is, come down from there, please! You will fall and break your neck! And you, spit out that worm already.''

  It was hard to be both strict and friendly at the same time, though Dora was quite good at it.

  Thomas wiped his dirty hands on the bottom of her fancy red tweed pullover and smiled wide, his mouth a chocolaty brown.

  She cringed.

  ''Really?''

  ''Are they giving you any trouble, Dora?''

  She paused and turned towards the house while scrubbing dirt from the fabric. She noticed Errol was peeking though one of the back windows.

  ''I can handle it!'' she shouted out with fake confidence, her cheeks glowing red.

  Errol warned the boys that he will would inform their mother if they didn't behave, indicating rather clearly who wore the pants in this household. And sure enough, the boys calmed down immediately, one ascending from the tree and the other spitting out the remainder of the dirt. Yet, as soon as their father disappeared back inside, a spark of mischief reappeared in their naughty eyes.

  ''How about we toss the ball around?'' Dora hurried, attempting to get a jump on the situation before it could escalate again. ''You kids do have a ball, don’t you? And I know a wicked fun game, I promise!''

  The boys wouldn’t be fooled as easily as that, though. Seeing through the ‘wicked fun game’ that, as it turned out, consisted simply of passing the ball back and forth, Emil decided to put their new caretaker to the test by kicking the ball over the fence and into the lot next door.

 
''Ooops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that!'' he lied.

  ''It’s okay. Just stay here, kids, I will be right back,'' Dora mumbled, wondering if Greta would consider this grounds for a spanking.

  Because the wooden fence was too tall to jump over comfortably, at least for her, Dora headed to the gate and into the street.

  The lot next door was abandoned and most windows on the house were bricked or boarded up. The lawn was overgrown and it took Dora a full minute of prowling around to finally find the ball.

  ''Dora, we're bored!'' one of the boys shouted.

  But just as she was about to backtrack through the tall grass, something caught her eye. A person was standing behind the screen door of the dilapidated house. It looked like the silhouette of a small woman.

  ''Hello! I’m terribly sorry, the ball went over the fence,'' Dora said, smiling apologetically. But the figure just stood there.

  Dora had goosebumps all of a sudden. She waved hesitantly, then quickly turned back towards the gate, sneaking a peak back at the shoddy house once she was back with the kids.

  4

  She really liked children, but having spent the afternoon with the mischievous boys, Dora was beginning to wonder whether her nerves would be able to take much more of this. But at some point while she was attempting to read a story to them, she made a salvific discovery. Oddly enough, the boys lay down on the lawn in front of her as if tamed by some spell. They cupped their heads in their hands and were suddenly attentive and obedient.

  ''... the prince crept deeper and deeper into the cave and his friend, the woolly elephant, was right on his heels,'' Dora read. ''The air was moist and it smelled something awful. But suddenly the prince stopped. His heart fell into his royal boots!''

  She showed the children the illustration of the handsome prince’s face, eyes open wide in shock. They were holding their breath in anticipation – or the boys were at least, Anne again looked distant.

  ''What did he see?'' Emil whispered.

  ''Yes, what did he see? I wonder ... Well, there's no knowing, is there,'' Dora said, holding back a smirk, ''seeing how we’re done for today.'' It was a risky bluff, and when she theatrically started to close the book and yawn, the boys eagerly protested.

  Dora couldn't help laughing.

  ''Well, let’s carry on reading, shall we?'' She quickly flipped the page. ''There, in a wide opening, filled with shiny treasures and knightly weapons, stood a princely throne made of white gold with rubies on the arm rests. And on this throne, a creature sat. A blind mole. And when he spoke, the entire cave shook ... Who goes there?'' Dora snarled, her voice hoarse and shrill like some bizarre creature from Middle Earth so that even Anne couldn't help laughing. ''Who disturbs my slumber?''

  ''He doesn’t talk like that!'' she objected.

  ''Well I’m sorry, but I think I know just a little bit better than you how he sounds.''

  ''You do not!''

  ''Oh, but I do. And do you know why, kids?''

  The children shook their heads.

  ''Because I’m a mole too! Ughaahaha!'' And she jumped up from the pavilion swing and started shrieking like a monster, chasing them, the kids howling and laughing, running around the yard. And soon after that they were back once again in the shade, continuing on with the story. And after the first one, another. And a third.

  Time flew and Dora’s throat was starting to hurt from continuous reading, but she didn’t mind.

  At about five in the afternoon Greta brought them lemonade. She approached quietly, and was impressed to see that the boys were displaying nothing of their usual wildcat behavior. They were excited to have lemonade and gulped it down with great gusto. But as soon as the pitcher was empty, they lay right back down in the grass.

  Greta winked at Dora when she finished the chapter and the children demanded more.

  ''Well, I hate to break this up, but it’s almost five o’ clock. And you know what that means, kids. Time for some studying.''

  An eager protest flared up, but their mother remained steadfast. In the end, Emil, Anne and Thomas headed back into the house with downcast faces.

  ''I see you managed to tame the boys quite nicely, Dora.''

  ''They fancy stories. So as long as I don’t run out of books, I reckon I should be fine.''

  She finally had a chance to take a sip of the lemonade herself. It was too sweet. Way too sweet.

  ''Yes, perhaps I should have told you earlier, but it slipped my mind,'' said Greta. ''Errol reads to them when he finds time, which isn’t all that often these day. He is a lumberjack. Oh, and don't worry about running out of material. There's a woman here in the village that runs a ... Well, it’s sort of like a library but a lot more informal. I can tell you where she lives and you can pick up something for the children one day. And maybe a nice book for yourself?''

  Dora nodded in agreement, but she was listening with only half an ear. Most of her attention was on the shoddy house next door.

  ''I went over there,'' she said, motioning toward it with her head. ''We were playing with the ball and it went over the fence. When I tried saying hello to your neighbours, they weren’t exactly eager to socialize.''

  ''Ah, well,'' Greta said, lowering her voice. ''Try to steer clear of the lot altogether if you can, honey. What can I say? There are bound to be some wackos in every town. It's just the way things are.''

  ''Right, I see ... Yes, I suppose that’s true.''

  ''It’s a creepy old woman living there alone. We don’t have much contact with her. Or her kind.'' Before Dora could ask what she meant by that, Greta changed the subject: ''So listen Dora, a tutor visits every day during the week for two hours of intensive work. It’s easier this way, because the nearest school is quite far away and the local excuse for one ... Well, let’s just say the curriculum there is such that even our dog wouldn’t have any difficulties with it. Perhaps you could join us when you come back, to meet the tutor.''

  ''Come back?''

  ''Oh, I’m sorry. I was just hoping you would take the dog for a walk, like we agreed earlier? Unless you’re not feeling up to it, of course.''

  ''No, no, the dog. I mean yes, of course I will.''

  Dora finished her lemonade and then followed Greta around to the other side of the house.

  ''You’ll be okay, sweetie. If you manage to get lost, the locals will be more than happy to point you in the right direction. Apart from that, just stick to the main roads and don’t go wandering out into the forest, okay?''

  ''Got it.''

  Greta suddenly stopped.

  ''Adolf! You naughty boy!''

  The big St. Bernard was no longer sleeping, but rather fluttering in the flowering beds in what appeared to be a pupping maneuver.

  ''Get out of there! Get!'' Greta yelled, attempting to swat him on the behind. But the dog dodged her and hid behind Dora with a furtive look on his face.

  ''My Petunias!'' Greta lamented, gazing at the damaged beds. ''My beautiful Petunias! Look at what he’s done! This is the last straw, you damn mut! Dora, the leash is in the shed over there. Please, please take him out of my sight, before I lose it! There’s no telling what I’ll do to him!''

  Dora fetched the leash and clipped it onto Adolf’s collar and as they headed down the asphalt road, they could still hear Greta’s furious complaining.

  ''So you’re a bad boy, huh?''

  Dora found herself almost needing to drag the big St. Bernard to keep him moving. It was like dealing with a stubborn mule.

  ''Oh come on now, don’t be so difficult, Adolf.''

  ''A fine day, isn’t it, ma’am?'' said a voice that made Dora start. An older man with a funny mustache and short shorts that left far too little to the imagination had crept up behind her.

  ''Yes…I suppose it is,'' she said, quickly regaining her composure.

  ''Yes, a fine day,'' the man reiterated, smiling and nodding in a strange fashion as if he and Dora shared some esoteric secret, and then continued on his way without anothe
r word. Dora watched him for a few moments before heading the other way, grinning and shaking her head.

  She followed Greta’s advice and stuck to the main roads. Occasionally someone would pass by - a dusty car, a tractor, a man with a cartwheel, or someone on an old rusty bike – but this was rare.

  Curiously enough, she felt on multiple occasions that several locals, seemingly just going about their daily lives, were actually watching her carefully as she walked past their houses and workshops. Yet as soon as she turned and looked at them, they gave the impression that that they hadn’t even noticed her. And when she continued on her way, she again felt their gazes on her.

  This bizarre phenomenon persisted for some time and she could not shake the feeling even when she passed some of the neighborhood's abandoned, boarded-up houses.

  ''Yoo-hoo!''

  A couple about Dora's age were having a picnic on the lawn in front of their house. They invited Dora to join them for a beer and some grilled meat, but she politely declined, citing Adolf's obvious need for exercise.

  ''On your way back, then, perhaps?''

  ''We’ll see,'' she said, pulling on the leash as hard as she could to pry the drooling St. Bernard away from the plates of food.

  Despite the gradual setting of the sun, the heat did not die down significantly. Looking for a shady place to sit down, she stumbled upon a massive park full of poplars. It was surrounded by a tall iron fence, but the gate was open and cold, fresh air was blowing out.

  As Dora led her lazy charge along the tidy avenue through the park, an old church with a high bell tower came into view. Yellow crumbling walls and stained glass windows with checkered ‘Irish’ patterns gave it an odd, almost Drakulean appearance, and Dora could not help but stop and stare at it. She felt cold all of a sudden – the sun’s rays couldn’t break though the thick canopy of trees and the scene now turned uncomfortably chilly and gloomy.