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Back The Woman on the Stairs Save as PDF
Chapters (83)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Bernhard Schlink
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. Part Two
  33. 1
  34. 2
  35. 3
  36. 4
  37. 5
  38. 6
  39. 7
  40. 8
  41. 9
  42. 10
  43. 11
  44. 12
  45. 13
  46. 14
  47. 15
  48. 16
  49. 17
  50. 18
  51. 19
  52. 20
  53. 21
  54. 22
  55. 23
  56. 24
  57. 25
  58. Part Three
  59. 1
  60. 2
  61. 3
  62. 4
  63. 5
  64. 6
  65. 7
  66. 8
  67. 9
  68. 10
  69. 11
  70. 12
  71. 13
  72. 14
  73. 15
  74. 16
  75. 17
  76. 18
  77. 19
  78. 20
  79. 21
  80. 22
  81. Author’s Note
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

The fire rushed down the mountain and up the tree trunks into the crowns. They lit up like torches before they fell, or they exploded, throwing burning bark in the air. I ran to the boat and started the engine. Even down in the cove the firestorm roared, whirling sparks and ash through the air. The upper house was in flames; for a moment the gold-red fire outlined the edges and corners of the house and glowed from the windows, before the piles supporting the house buckled. It collapsed in on itself with a huge crash. The fire leapt to the old house on the beach, hissed through the beams, popped the windows from their frames, and the roof and veranda caved in.

The entire cove was burning. I headed out to sea, away from the cove, away from the heat and the scraps of burning bark and the embers and ashes. I do not know how long the fire raged, an hour, maybe two. Then only the afterglow remained, orange under a red moon. I was completely exhausted. I lay down next to Irene, who hadn’t woken up during the fire, and didn’t wake up now. She shifted towards me, and as I laid my arm around her she nestled herself into the curve. That was how I fell asleep.

20

When I woke up, the day was bright, the sun was high in the sky and the boat was bobbing at the mouth of the cove. I sat up. The branches on the mountain trees were charred black skeletons, sometimes with rust-red crowns, or they had turned into thick or thin black totem poles, or they lay in a mess of black trunks. The upper house was a heap of charcoal, the lower one was blackened stone walls and columns, into which the roof and the veranda had collapsed.

Irene was gone. At first I didn’t take it in, because I couldn’t imagine it, then because I didn’t want to take it in. Next to me, the mattress was empty, Irene was not sitting in the prow either, she wasn’t huddled behind the helm, she didn’t answer when I called her, and she didn’t wave from the water where she had gone for a swim. As if she would have been capable of swimming. I started the engine and guided the boat to the jetty, crossing a warm carpet of gray ash to reach the beach house. I called out into the house, along the beach and up the hills. As if, while I was sleeping, she had been able to pilot the boat to the jetty, moor, go onshore, then send me back out to sea on the boat.