Less than four hours after picking her up outside Sea-Tac’s international terminal, they walked together along a well-worn path which wound between loosely clumped pasture tussocks. The Farmer de Ville followed Lena so closely that he could hear her leather boots creak each time she took a step. Much of the time, she walked with her head turned upward, almost unaware of the earth. Looking up in imitation of his friend, he watched scattered clouds part randomly, revealing a sight which inspired him, unveiling stars reminiscent of crushed marble cast across an indigo cloth.
“Hey, you really oughta look around once in a while,” he said while pausing to bend down and double-tie a round shoelace which wouldn’t stay in its knot. “Look back, Lena…”
“Where?” she asked just before turning to face the field they’d just crossed.
He stepped up close and stretched his arm out straight over her shoulder, allowing her to sight along the top of his index finger. It pointed just over a nearby fence-line to the spot where a half-dozen cattle slept and then past the low humps of their shoulders. Out there, the combination of lunar light and gathered shadows washed the curves and undulations of the land in alternating serpentines of silver and black. Lena looked briefly and then turned back to the path, smiling as her cheek brushed his shirt-sleeve. As he walked ahead, taking his turn as leader, her frozen breath blew past him and disappeared into the night.
“Goddamn, I love these hills at night,” he whispered, in a voice far too quiet for her to hear, before speaking again more clearly. “I’m really glad that you decided to come out here with me tonight. You must be pretty darn tired. I’d have understood if you’d just had me drop you off at Straw’s place to catch up on sleep. Anyway, it feels terrific to be hanging out with you again.”
As they reached the edge of the grass, he felt the trail grow soft under compacted layers of fallen leaves. Beneath the eaves of clustered oak and big-leaf maple, frost-glazed grass gradually transitioned into thick and confused undergrowth. They began to move through a tight corridor bounded by tangled blackberry vines. He felt thorns snag like cat’s claws and clutch at his canvas sleeves. When they reached the place where the briars retreated, Lena sat down on a thick stump and seemed to scan the scene..
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She tilted her head back and asked a question. “I’m just thinking whether there were Indians here once... were there?”
The Farmer crouched to pick up a twig dangling a small leaf and two acorns. What little he knew, he shared.
“Dad told me stories about the Indians when I was a kid. He said that there were a few tribes in this area back in the days before all the white settlers came from back east. He told me that the local people were known as the Abiqua. Later, I learned that there were also Santiam in the area and another tribe which was called the Molala. We’re walking along what used to be the edge of the Molala trail, which was a branch of the Klamath trail, a native highway which stretched from southern Oregon clear up to the trading camps near Celilo Falls. Of course, those tribes are all basically gone now, along with their people. And apart from the occasional arrowhead, nothing’s left to indicate that they were ever here, which I find quite depressing…”
“Why are you wondering about them, Lena?” he asked as the tiny piece of wood snapped between his fingers and fell to the ground. “It seems like a random thing to want to know about…”
“I don’t know, I suppose it’s just some curiosity about this land and its histories,” she answered as she reclaimed the lead and walked ahead into the trees.
“It’s not the same in my home, as most anyone knows. German history is recorded in every textbook and is like a kind of common knowledge. There is no sense of mystery where my people are concerned. But here it is different. are something different. Who lived here? What happened here? I mean to say that there were no Aztecs or Incas here. Nothing anyone would call a great culture. I suppose the stories about this place just feel to me like mysteries which deserve some kind of attention. It feels like there must be an interesting history to be uncovered here. I suppose it is just curiosity...”
Where leafless hardwoods gave way to a conifer stand, it seemed that the light of the moon struggled to shine through the interlocked fingers of second growth fir. The gathered trees grew more dense about them and shade hid each from the other. Walking in that blindness, the way forward became steeper and cobbled with angular stones, the footing grew less sure and they held hands until the light reappeared through the far edge of the wood. Near the dribbling seep which bordered the overlook, Lena turned, squeezed the Farmer’s hand and made a confession of sorts.
“I need to tell you something which you must know sooner or later. I’m pregnant nine weeks now. The father’s name is Felix. He’s the reason I agreed to come. He's hit me, has been abusing me many times, and after all of these things, he even knocked me up on purpose.”
She looked down at her feet and he heard her breath catch with emotion as she continued.
“I’ve been with Felix since last July. It’s been rough with him the whole time, but it started becoming very bad around the end of November. Then, a week or so before Christmas, he came dead drunk. He’d been in a fight with his brother who had beaten the shit from him. I remember him throwing a bottle at me, but then nothing more. Whatever happened exactly, it ended with me hospitalized in Dresden with a bad concussion and many stitches…”
“Did you know you were having a baby before that happened?” he asked.
“No… I’m thinking that Felix made me pregnant the night that they let me go home,” she replied without raising her eyes.
“He was waiting in my apartment when I got there. I was in no shape to fight him off. So, it was some bad timing and in addition to everything else, I got pregnant. I think he knew I was getting ready to leave him and he wanted some way of controlling me. Probably, he decided that I’d have to stay with him if I was carrying his child. But I couldn’t stay with him, you know. Not after all the things he has been doing to me. Anyway, when Straw said I should come help get creamery running, I knew it was time. Time to get out for good…”
He listened to the sound of her voice trail off and realized he was holding his breath. After a moment spent searching for something to say and finding nothing, he squeezed Lena’s hand back without a word. The world slowly came back into focus and he breathed again. We’re still moving forward, he thought. They stepped onto a bowing wooden plank suspended between four stones, crossed what barely deserved to be called a trickle, and stepped out into a small grassy clearing on the far side. Once across, confused, he acted as though she'd told him nothing at all.
“Let’s lay out the blanket in the lee of that old rock,” he said, pointing to an oblong boulder which rose out of the earth near the center of the meadow. “There is a nice flat spot on the other side. This is the place I wanted to show you. It’s why we came on this hike to begin with. Up here, you get the best view that these foothills have to offer.”
They rounded the stone to find a wide valley stretched away at their feet; its blackness, like a mirror of the sky, came complete with sparkling pseudo-stars in varied shades of halogen white, blinker yellow, and brake-light red. The Farmer crossed behind Lena as she gazed out across the mingling of so many homes, so many empty spaces, and he crouched with his arms sweeping low. At the flick of his wrists, a heavy wool blanket unrolled. Smoothing its edges rumpled edges, he snuck a glance at the body of his companion.
He recognized her strong shoulders, small breasts, and her narrow hips. But as she leaned back to pull off the straps of her rucksack, her shirt hem lifted for a moment, revealing the nascent swell of her belly. Embarrassed, he turned away, rolled up his flannel shirt to pad his head, and leaned back against the boulder. Unaware and unfazed, Lena set her load down gently, laid two glass tumblers on the blanket, and handed him a cool bottle of wine.
“Dönhoff. Oberhäuser Brücke Spätlese.” she said. “You enjoyed this one a great deal, at least I think you did. Do you remember sampling it when you came to visit me in Bad Kreuznach?”
“It was my favorite of all the wines we tasted, as you should know very well,” he replied in a whisper. “I imagine you have a good recollection of how much we drank over dinner at that restaurant… Metzlers, I think it was called… and I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the bill… so… yeah… thanks for thinking to bring this with you…”
He drummed an empty spot at her feet with the flat palm of his hand until she lowered herself down beside him. Giving brief and superficial descriptions, he guided her eyes up the valley from south to north. He pointed first to where the ruddy bellies of distant clouds hinted at the unseen lights of Eugene. Straight ahead, he showed her all of Salem’s illuminated landmarks. At the northern horizon, he drew her attention to the rhythmic rubescent flash of the radio towers which lined Portland’s west hills. Finally, as his arm reached its limit, it slipped behind his companion, wrapped around her, and drew her tight.
“Here is the problem. I can’t really stay with Straw at his place. He’s asked me to. And I know he wants me to. But his drinking makes me feel… well…” she said hesitantly before pausing.
She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and continued. “I know he’s harmless and he has good enough intentions, but he is always drunk. And being around a drunk man reminds me too much of Felix. You see, I am certainly feeling more emotions and anxiousness since I’ve become pregnant. Maybe that accounts for some of what I feel. Anyway, I just know that I cannot live with an alcoholic man right now. I’m sure I won’t handle how it will make me feel… not even knowing that it is just Straw whose house I’m a guest in… not after everything that has happened recently…”
“Mhm…” he said while pulling the bottle’s long damp cork with a pocket-knife corkscrew. “Lena, you know you can stay with me for as long as you want. There’s plenty of room for you since Pradeep left. You’ve been through enough. Come live in Silverton with me. Settle in. It’ll be good to have the company.”
She lowered her chin, opened her eyes, and looked into his. “And what about this baby that I’m going to have? I mean…”
“Listen to me,” he replied without hesitation. “You’re going to take my bedroom and make it yours as long as you’re here. It’s big enough for you and a baby’s nursery all at the same time. Don’t worry about rent or bills or anything else. Help Straw make the next great chèvre during the daytime. And when you’re done with your workday, come back home to Mas de Rigolos. We can be a great big happy pretend family until you feel like yourself again. Just come home with me tonight. It can be that easy… let your life be just that easy for once…”
She shifted onto her left side and, facing him, propped herself on her own bent elbow. He filled one of the glass tumblers and placed it in her right hand. Giving him a quick nod in lieu of thanks, she drained her glass and handed it back empty. Setting the glass on the blanket, the Farmer de Ville lay down and began to trace imaginary constellations. Lena rolled onto her back and stared, he suspected, deeper into the void than he’d ever had to. As his thumb put a tail on the great cosmic bobcat, he listened carefully, counting his companion’s breaths. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
“Okay…” she said as she began to sob.
