Too Pretty For The Hills Read online

  ''What did you say?'' A vein popped out in the middle of Greta’s forehead. She was furious and looked like a Slavic Olympic fighter. ''I am your mother and I order you to ...''

  ''No! You’re not my mom!''

  A moment of tense silence followed, then Greta rushed to the bed and slapped the girl across her defiant mouth.

  Anne screamed in pain and humiliation and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door.

  Greta was shaking and staring with her bulging eyes at the spot where Anne had been standing a few moments earlier with a red streak drawn over her left cheek.

  7

  ''Miss Dietrich ... I-I mean Greta ... I’m so sorry, it was my fault entirely. I was the one who went and provoked her,'' Dora said as she stared into her plate.

  They were sitting at a rather morbid dinner, the dark purple hue of the warm evening leaking in through the windows, candles lit, and only Anne missing.

  ''It wasn’t you, dear,'' Errol said reassuringly, never for a moment losing that smile that seemed forever plastered to his face. ''She has been difficult for quite some time now,'' he explained. ''I blame the influence of this...modern culture. Pop music and posters of sugarboys,'' he said with the utmost earnestness. ''Back when I was a kid, there was none of this. Books, helping my dad in the shop and going to church, maybe an occasional game of kick ball. But the way the world’s turning nowadays, traditional values and common sense have all but crumb...''

  ''I would do anything for that girl,'' Greta piped up, interrupting her husband’s rant. ''Anything! But lately it seems she is drifting away from me and when I notice I can’t reach her anymore, I just get so frustrated and so so very angry.'' She looked at Dora in desperation. ''I know I shouldn’t have hit her, but I just lost control. God, the look in her eyes. It was so horrible. I’m a terrible mother!''

  ''No. No, no.'' Her husband patted her on the leg as she wiped her tears with a napkin.

  Tonight, the boys ate in silence for once. They finished quickly and asked to be excused to go play.

  ''Oh, go on, you little rascals,'' Errol said, but when Dora stood up to leave, he stopped her. ''Please, dear, sit, sit. I’m sure they’ll manage without you for a bit. You finish your dinner now, you hardly ate any of it.''

  ''I am not really all that hungry,'' she said as she sat back down.

  Greta reached across the table and took Dora’s hand. ''Really, sweety, don’t bring yourself down because of what happened. If it's anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I promise, you're a good influence on Anne, a buffer to our situation, so to speak. Before you arrived today, she was acting so horribly and it was a really nice change of pace when she finally mellowed thanks to you.''

  ''But she looked so shy and reserved,'' Dora observed. ''I mean earlier today, when we met.''

  ''She did, didn’t she?'' Greta nodded, an imploring look on her face.

  The conversation came to a halt.

  ''Well. I guess I’ll join the boys and maybe read them a bedtime story and then call it a day,'' Dora said at length and stood up for the second time.

  ''Sounds like a plan.''

  ''Dinner was really good, Errol, thank you.''

  She located the boys in a small room with large darkwood closets and an ironing board which she wouldn’t have discovered if she hadn’t heard muffled voices as she went past. She went back and peeked into the room, deciding not to turn on the light. Now it was quiet.

  ''I wonder,'' she said out loud, ''where those two little devils could be.'' Deep silence. ''Pitty I can’t find them. It just so happens I came across another fascinating book up in the attic. ‘The dragons of Zimthimmel’. But I don’t have anyone to read it to.''

  Emil and Thomas stormed out of one of the closets, screeching and laughing. They clung onto Dora’s legs like a couple of heavy duty boots, shoting ‘Ticks! We’re ticks!’

  ''One story and then you'll go brush your teeth, agreed? And maybe another one if you do a really good job.'' She was pleased she finally had some leverage to bargain with.

  Sitting on the sofa, Dora in the middle and one boy on each side leaning against her, they sank yet again into the world of imagination. Yet, despite their initial enthusiasm, Emil and Thomas soon fell asleep. Their father came and carried them upstairs.

  ''Don’t worry, they’ll brush their teeth first thing in the morning, Dora. It would be most unwise waking them up right now as we’ll have a rather lively night on our hands, all of us.''

  ''Okay. Thanks for helping me bring them up,'' Dora whispered as both boys were tucked in bed. She plugged in the night lamp. ''Is Greta going to be okay?''

  ''Oh, she’ll be fine,'' Errol smiled for once. ''She's still a bit emotional because of what happened, but it’s no biggie. They’ll make amends, they always do.''

  He said good night and then headed out of the kids' room and downstairs but did not go into the master bedroom and instead sprawled out on the sofa. Dora heard the springs moan under his weight.

  She gazed at the sleeping children. Anne had apparently tucked herself in at some point during the evening. Dora felt really sorry for her having to go to bed hungry, and she quietly approached and kissed her on the cheek, adjusted her covers, then left, leaving the door ajar.

  ''Good night, little angels,'' she mumbled.

  She took a quick shower, brushed her teeth and then went up into the attic. Wearing underwear and one of those big t-shirts that she normally wore to bed, she cracked the window, turned off the light and lay down, listening to the chirping of the crickets interrupted every now and then by a fox barking in the distance.

  Twenty minutes later she was still trying to find a comfortable position on the springy matress. It was rather hot in the attic and the pillow that was nicely fresh and cool every time she turned it around never stayed that way for long.

  Just about the time she finally dozed off, something woke her up. It took a few moments for her to realize, what it was. It sounded like music.

  She got up in a half-lucid trance, trapped somewhere in between reality and REM dream land. Bumping her toe on a nearby chest of drawers snapped her back nicely.

  ''Son of a ...'' she cursed under her breath, crouching and rubbing her poor toe, waiting for the dull pain to die down.

  Arriving at the window, she looked out, yawning.

  It was both a weird and entrancing sight that awaited her. A little scattered procession was snaking down the middle of the street, illuminated not by street lamps - there weren’t any - but rather by flashlights and torches.

  It was a bunch of people in worn out clothes, their faces morose and tired-looking, their voices hollow, like some ancient group of marauders. Some were carrying musical instruments, and playing a quiet accompaniment.

  It was the Gypsies. Dora opened the skylight fully and listened to what they were singing.

  ''... The night is ours,

  the stars are mine,

  the moonlight hours,

  I own this time ...''

  They were singing slowly, as if in mourning. In a matter of minutes, they had disappeared down the street, leaving the neighborhood once again shrouded in gloom.

  Right then, something else caught Dora’s attention. The window on the dilapidated house next door, approximately on the same level as hers and perhaps some fifteen yards away, was open and lit. A figure was there, leaning out and looking at Dora as if it were a reflection from some parallel universe - only in that one, Dora was an old woman.

  The elderly neighbor smiled and waved, and Dora returned the greeting, if in a slightly more reserved manner.

  The woman gestured toward the garden, and when Dora looked, in the moonlight she spotted the silhouette of the big St. Bernard, who was snooping around Greta’s flower beds, apparently not tired at all from their little stroll earlier that day.

  ''Shoo! Get out of there!'' Dora hissed. But the dog was singularly unimpressed and continued about his business.

  She looked back over at the lit window, and th
e old neighbor motioned for her to come over.

  ''Well, I ... It’s a bit late ...'' Dora said, shaking her head to get the message across as the woman was out of earshot. And yet the elderly neighbor kept vigorously motioning to her. ''Thanks,'' Dora said, raising her voice, ''but I’m rather tired. Tomorrow, maybe?''

  She was starting to feel uneasy. There was something unsettling about this neighbor. Maybe it was her face, which looked as if it hadn’t hosted a propper smile in years, but was now all of a sudden stretched into a slightly grotesque grin. Or it was just the fact that she was inviting the girl next door, a complete stranger, over at such a late hour. Or it might have been the woman's teeth, which Dora even at a distance could see were crooked and yellow.

  ''Well, good night then,'' she said, starting to slide back in. ''I’m going back to bed now.''

  Suddenly, the old woman shrieked like a suffocating buzzard and pushed her jaw out, instantly transforming herself into a picture of what might have been pure spite or obsessive desire or even lust. Whatever it was, Dora was quite sure she didn't care for it.

  She froze and watched petrified for a few moments as the neighbour clawed the night air in front of her as if trying to make her old, dried up hands stretch out and reach over.

  Dora quickly crouched down, her heart pounding in her throat. She didn’t know what had just happened or what to do. The crickets were silent.

  When she finally dared to sneak a peak over the window frame, the light in the house next door was off. Yet she could have sworn that the sinister old woman was still there, watching her from behind the curtain of darkness.

  8

  Nightmares devoured what should have been Dora’s peaceful sleep.

  Tiny Gypsy kids the height of toothpicks, hiding in her pockets and trying to grab hold of her fingers; the sinister old woman, waiting in the gloom, sticking her deformed head out and trying to bite her with her yellow, cracked teeth; the ghastly midnight parade; the delighted faces of the crazed townspeople. Part of this last image transfered to reality as she woke up to the ever-cheerful countenance of Errol Dietrich.

  His grin made him look like he'd been injected with Botox, Dora thought. Was he even able to not smile? She didn’t know why, but on this particular occasion she took offence at his chipper demeanor.

  ''Good morning, Dora. I hope you'll excuse my intrusion, but I brought you breakfast.''

  She sat up in bed and rubbed her bleary eyes, sneaking a peak at the little clock on her cupboard. It said a quarter to twelve.

  ''Twelve o’clock?''

  The strong light shining in through the window confirmed that that was indeed correct, as did Errol’s sheepish nod.

  ''Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll get up and attend to the kids immediately!''

  ''No, that won't be necessary. Greta took them to see their aunt up in the Rockies. They won’t be back till evening.''

  ''But that’s even worse! I should have gone with her! Am I fired?''

  Errol let out a chuckle that would have made Santa Claus proud.

  ''Don’t be silly. They left early and Greta purposely didn’t wake you up. Anne and her have grown apart recently so she decided it was a good opportunity for some one-on-one time with her. But once the boys sniffed this out, they wanted to go too. Gertrude, Greta’s sister – they're absolutely crazy about her. She has a big ranch with horses up in Laarsbalh.''

  He put the platter down on the nightstand and then covered his eyes as Dora got up wearing nothing but underwear and a t-shirt and started putting on her jeans.

  ''All that is to say, don’t even worry about it,'' he said abruptly, as if to cover his embarrassment. ''But there is just one little thing I would ask you to do for me if you could.''

  ''Of course! What did you have in mind?'' Dora replied, trying to brush her Medusa-like hair into some kind of order.

  ''Do you think you could go down to the flower beds and clean up the mess the dog made last night? I'd help you but I’m overrun with work myself.''

  ''Yes, of course. I’ll attend to it at once!''

  Errol put his hands down and opened his eyes.

  ''But not until you eat your breakfast, young lady. You sit yourself right back down now and enjoy these waffles with marmelade.''

  He was indeed a wonderful cook, and these were the best waffles Dora had ever tasted. Eroll was leaning against one of the closets and looking at her carefully as she ate.

  ''Is everything okay, Dora? You seem a bit reserved. You really needn’t worry about this.''

  ''It’s not that. It’s something else. I had a run-in yesterday with one of those little pickpockets. I didn’t have a clue about these Gypsies. Good thing I didn’t have my wallet on me at the time or I’d be in serious trouble.''

  Errol's grin faded slightly. ''Oh, I thought Greta told you about them. I didn’t really want to bring the topic up myself because it’s a bit embarrassing for our little town, to say the least. They are quite a dishonest bunch, and not just the kids. Not dangerous per se, but a real nuisance. Best to steer clear of their kind altogether, Dora.''

  ''Well, there is one more thing. Your elderly neighbor was up late last night staring out the window and inviting me to come over a little too fervently for my taste. It was very unsettling to say the least.''

  ''Oh, her,'' Errol sighed, looking through the window at the house next door. ''She’s one of those...what do they call them? Maybe an elder or even a shaman of some kind. She's an embittered widow whose husband died during the war, along with their only son. Spends days and nights locked in that house. What's kind of puzzling is how she even gets the basic necessities. I once spent a whole week keeping a close eye on the house, and not once did I see her leave or anyone else arrive. Greta actually thought that maybe ...''

  ''What?''

  ''Well ... We have instructed the kids to stay off her lawn and absolutely never go into her house,'' Errol said in a sudden grim voice that took Dora slightly aback. ''There are stories of these old Gypsy women kidnapping children and eating them.''

  A piece of waffle plunged out of Dora’s mouth back onto the plate.

  ''Not that I give any credence to such preposterous tales,'' Errol added brusquely, shaking his head as if trying to snap out of a trance. ''Still, better to be safe than sorry, right?'' he smiled, looking like his old self again.

  Dora continued eating, absorbed in thought. Her vivid imagination made it easy for her to imagine the old widow cramming some helpless child into her mouth like some some sort of human boa constrictor. Was this why the old woman was trying to get her to come over last night? She certainly looked hungry enough.

  ''Anyway,'' Errol said, returning to the mundane business of the day with the nonchalance of someone who had just been discussing the latest sports scores, ''you'll find the gardening supplies in the shed. Take your time. As for myself, I will be making some phone calls. We’ve got a situation on our hands today. Word is old von Grimmigdorn is considering letting part of his woods go and the whole town's buzzing about it. His property's loaded with beech trees, every one of which is worth a small fortune.''

  Dora didn’t know who this ‘old von Grimmigdorn’ was and didn’t try to comprehend anything else of what Errol had to say about him. She was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay any attention to local gossip.

  As she opened the back door some twenty minutes later, stepping out into the bright mid-day sun, the warmth of the day made the little shiver that had taken possession of her subside.

  The damage Adolf had inflicted on the garden was spectacular. Flowers were scattered all around, roots and all, and a bit of the lawn itself had also been dug up in places.

  ''Shame on you, Adolf!'' Dora hissed at the lackadaisical dog lying a few meters away in the shade. ''Bad dog!''

  She put on a pair of yellow gardening gloves and got to work. Soon she was drenched in sweat. The mountain sun quickly went from comforting to hellish, and where there wasn’t dirt smudged on Dora’s face a
nd neck, red patches of sunburn appeared.

  Every now and then she heard Errol’s voice as he passed by the open living room window, immersed in his telephone conversations.

  Six replanted peach blossoms, five asters, a couple of lantanas, and a whole truckload of random, assorted flowers later, Dora stood up, stretched her back with a moan and decided to take a breather in the shade next to the dog.

  ''If you ever put me through this again,'' she muttered, glistening with sweat and panting from the heat, ''I will put a saddle on your back, get a birch rod and ride you around Graufirst for a few laps. Then we’ll see how much energy you have!''

  After a quick repose to catch her breath, she went to the water pipe at the other side of the house to quench her thirst and nonchalantly glanced over at the old widow's house. The few windows that were not boarded up were black and overgrown with morning glory. There was no sign of the owner though, and Dora had to force herself to stop staring at the old house and return to work.

  At about a quarter to two, Errol exited through the back door in a hurry, pausing only long enough to praise Dora's work on the flower beds. He looked excited.

  ''Von Grimmigdorn is feeling generous today! Not sure how long it will hold up, but if I hurry I may be able to snag some of the trees for myself. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Lunch is on the stove!''

  Dora watched as he ran down to the street with the speed of a person half his weight and climbed into a waiting green car that quickly roared off and disappeared around the corner.

  For the first time, Dora was completely alone.

  9

  After taking a much-needed shower, Dora found out that Errol had made a whole feast that was waiting for her on the stove; a meal fit for a gluttonous king but overkill for a slim city girl with a habit of watching her figure.

  She was sitting at the dinner table, absent-mindedly cutting into the fried mushrooms, when the phone rang.

  ''Dietrich residence.''

  ''Hello, honey,'' said the voice at the other end. It was Greta. ''Good news, I’ve managed to get a hold of the Zieglers and they were just ecstatic when I told them about you. So much so, in fact, that they would like you to visit as soon as you have time. So if you’re not doing anything right now, I suggest taking a stroll down to their house. I promise it'll be well worth your time. And they said you needn’t bother bringing any equipment as they have all you might need ...''