Even so, a few of us went down afterwards to the shore and stood next to the little pile of greasy flotsam we have salvaged over the years that is ours – the orange buoy, the square of green nylon netting, the spars of wood, the shadows on the water that are nothing but the clouds.

In the Cabin in the Woods

In the Cabin in the Woods

ON FRIDAYS WHEN we met in the cave above the weir after school I always brought Trude something – some chocolates or some left-over wine I’d smuggled out of the house or a few flowers from the garden Mutti wouldn’t miss – and in exchange she would give me a kiss. But after a few weeks my little gifts began to get on her nerves and one afternoon towards the end of autumn when I arrived with a handful of marigolds, she told me she was bored of my presents and the only thing she could think of that was interesting enough for her to want me to bring it to her, the only thing she could think of I could give her that would ever persuade her to kiss me again, was the heart of Magdalena Hirsch.

From this I concluded that she was bored of me, that she didn’t really want to see me anymore, and this was her way of telling me to get lost. I went home, throwing the marigolds in the river on the way and told myself I’d better forget about Trude.

But I couldn’t. Trude’s lips were so soft and warm and kissing her in the cool cave after school was the best thing I’d ever done. I kept thinking about her and I kept thinking about what she’d said about bringing her the heart of Magdalena Hirsch. It was a stupid thing I knew it was, but somehow it caught hold of my imagination and wouldn’t let it go and in the end one evening when supper was over and the washing up was done and everything was put away in its proper place, and Vati had settled down in front of the TV with his newspaper and his pipe, I told Mutti I was going over to Dieter’s for an hour or so and I’d be back later and then I set off in the direction of the Hauptallee and from there I made my way to the cinder path that led into the woods.

‘Don’t be too long, Peter,’ Mutti called after me.

‘I won’t.’