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Snow Country

Sebastian Faulks
Contents ( 38)
  1. Sebastian Faulks
  2. Contents
  3. About the Author
  4. Author’s Note
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. Part Two
  11. 1
  12. 2
  13. 3
  14. 4
  15. Part Three
  16. 1
  17. 2
  18. 3
  19. 4
  20. 5
  21. 6
  22. 7
  23. Part Four
  24. 1
  25. 2
  26. 3
  27. 4
  28. 5
  29. 6
  30. 7
  31. Part Five
  32. 1
  33. 2
  34. 3
  35. 4
  36. 5
  37. Acknowledgements
  38. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
Penguin Random House

Sebastian Faulks

SNOW COUNTRY

Penguin Random House

Contents

About the Author

Sebastian Faulks was born in April 1953. Before becoming a full-time writer in 1991, he worked as a journalist. Sebastian Faulks’s books include A Possible Life, Human Traces, On Green Dolphin Street, Engleby, Birdsong, A Week in December and Where My Heart Used to Beat.

For Veronica,

with love

The present contains nothing more than the past; and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.

Henri Bergson

Author’s Note

This is the second book in a planned Austrian trilogy, the first being Human Traces (2005). Each novel can be read on its own, however, without reference to the others.

Lena is pronounced ‘Layna’, rather than ‘Leena’.

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Part One

1

From his height only a hundred feet above the trees, the pilot could see two people running over the ground below – one coming out of a wood, another through a gate in the lane, clinging on to his hat as he ran. Their goal was a long brown tent, set against a hedgerow that marked the border of a field.

Under the canvas, by the light of two kerosene lamps hung from a wooden pole, the surgeon raised a man’s arm above his head. ‘Hold this here.’ A nurse gripped the wrist in position.

‘Name?’

‘Heideck,’ she said, lifting a tag with her free hand. ‘Initial, A.’

The surgeon’s fingers numbered the ribs. ‘Four … Five. If in doubt, go high.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go in here.’

A scalpel cut downwards, through a thin layer of fat and into the flesh. ‘Where’s the sister? I need someone to hold back the muscle.’

‘She hasn’t come. But I can do it,’ said the nurse. ‘I can tie his arm like this, look. Then my hands are free.’

She attached the wrist to a tent pole with her belt and put her fingers in the intercostal space. ‘Is that all right?’

‘If in doubt, aim posterior,’ the surgeon said.

‘What?’

‘I’m talking to myself. My old instructor in Graz. Don’t pull, don’t pull. Just lift. Keep it out of my way. I’m going to put my finger under here, into the pleural cavity.’

There was a popping of air as the tissue parted. The man on the trestle remained unmoving, his eyes closed, his arm tethered behind his head. Blood came from his chest, first bubbling, then spurting up and falling over the nurse’s shoes and onto the grass round her feet.

In the darkening sky, the biplane banked and turned into the wind, making a long circle over the woods. The pilot could see a vehicle pull up on the farm track. Another man and a woman climbed out and started to run across the field.

‘More light,’ said the surgeon. ‘I must have more light. We need to put a tube in to see if I can drain any fluid.’