“We’ve agreed—as soon as he finds the mushrooms.” I said it matter-of-factly, but while I watched my father walking up the hill toward die Hütte, my body trembled at the thought of what lay in his basket, and a chill spread across my back as the shadow of the mountain reached us.
“He says we’ve survived a lot longer than most of the world, but now it’s time to go.”
“Tell the fucker he can go if he wants, but you’re staying.”
“I promised,” I said again.
“This is ridiculous.”
Reuben grabbed hold of my wrist; the grass and rocks below me shifted in response and I thought I might throw up.
“I have to go home now,” I said, although it wasn’t clear to me how I would get back down the tree. I made a movement along the branch and the forest spun around me.
“Punzel, promise me you won’t eat those mushrooms.” He paused, and we both stared at his fingers around my wrist. They reminded me of my father’s. “I don’t . . .” He paused again and didn’t finish; instead he let go of me and I continued my shuffle back toward the trunk. Reuben stayed where he was, looking out over the landscape.
I had wanted us to say goodbye properly. I had wanted him to kiss me again. It was even harder climbing back down than going up; I couldn’t look below me, so I pressed my cheek into the bark and prodded for where to put my feet. I jumped the last part, landing on the side of my ankle.
When I was under the branch, Reuben called, “Promises can be broken.”
From my position on the ground I saw his incisors, large and pointed like a cat’s, and I wondered how I hadn’t noticed them before. I walked from the shade into the sun, imagining Reuben’s eyes on me. I kept my back straight and my head up, but when I reached die Hütte I couldn’t resist turning for one last look. I half raised my arm to wave, but the branch was already empty.
In die Hütte, my father was chopping the carrots I had picked and washed that morning. On the floor beside the table was his basket.
“Did you find any?” I asked.
“A few. Enough,” he said, still chopping.
“Are you sure that’s what they are?”
“As sure as I can be. I thought we would have them for breakfast. One final dinner tonight,” my father said, smiling. “Stew and acorn dumplings, baked potatoes and honey cake. Nice?” He sounded so sane.
“Will it hurt?”
“Oh, Punzel. I wouldn’t ever let anything hurt you. No, I think we’ll just fall asleep and not wake up.” He put the knife down and stroked my hair. He tilted my chin. “You know this is right.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded.
After dinner we went straight to bed. For once, my father didn’t talk; I supposed there was nothing left to say. I heard him crying, but I didn’t have the energy for reassurance. A while later he got out of his bed and padded across to mine.
“Ute, let me in,” he whispered, and tugged at the fur cover.
I pretended to be asleep.
“Ute, please,” he whined.
I pinned the cover down with my knees and gripped it with my hands.
“It’s our last night,” he said, and yanked on the covers so that they came free from under my body and he was able to climb in beside me.
I lay still with my arms straight down and my eyes shut, and thought about the view I had seen from the tree, how the land curved gracefully down to the river and up the other side. How the wintereyes and beech across the water did look perfect from far away, like the dark green heads of curly kale that I grew in the garden, complex and convoluted. And I thought about how all the bad things—the snake that ate the bird’s egg, the eagle that ripped the mouse into bloody shreds, the ants in the honey—were the necessary details in a world that would still be here after we were gone. After a time my father went back to his own bed and I heard his breathing change as he fell asleep. I lay awake in the dark for a long while, climbing the tree again, but without difficulty this time, and standing on the branch with my arms out. I dived off and a warm breeze caught me, and like the eagle I flew over the mountain ledges, the gribble, the butterfly heather, and the wintereyes.
“Punzel.” Reuben hissed my name in the dark. “Punzel!” his voice came again beside my ear.
I opened my eyes. I was still in my bed, there was the first dull light of dawn, and Reuben was bending over me. He had on a blue woollen hat I hadn’t seen before, his hair tucked up inside it so that in the half-light he might have been bald.
“Come on.” He pushed the covers off me and pulled me upright. He took my hand in his and together we crept out of the cabin. The first mist of late summer washed across the bottom of the valley.
“My shoes! I have to get my shoes,” I said, as soon as we were outside and I could feel stones digging into the soles of my feet.
“There’s no time,” he said, and he ran uphill across the clearing, drawing me along behind him.
“Wait, slow down. It hurts,” I said.
“Quick!” Reuben’s eyes were shining, excited. Drops of water hung in his beard as if the dew had caught there.
“Where are we going?”
But he was already pulling me off into the forest. We ran to the nest, me on tiptoes, trying to keep my feet in the centre of the worn paths to avoid the worst of the twigs and stones. In the grey light, I saw that the outside of the nest had been newly woven with ferns and, once we were inside, I realized the ground had been laid with fresh moss.
“What now?” I asked when I’d got my breath back.
Reuben and I crouched side by side like two seeds in a green pod.
“Your father can eat his own stupid mushrooms,” he said, pressing his palms against the roof a few inches above his head.
“Take his own medicine,” I said, and we laughed. “No, really, what now?” I asked, worried, but Reuben leaned forward to kiss me. His beard and moustache prickled my cheeks and chin and made me laugh again. “It tickles.”
Reuben pulled away. “I’ve been thinking about cutting it off,” he said, stroking his beard.
“No, don’t do that. I like it.”
I pushed my fingers into it, making hollows, and pulled his face toward me and kissed him back. He opened his mouth and I put my tongue inside. He tasted salty and I wondered what he had been eating. He reached out his fingers and touched my breast through my nightshirt. It had been my father’s shirt, a faded green that came halfway down my thighs. It was ripped and stained in places, and I worried that I should have put a dress on. I tugged at the bottom of the shirt, trying to cover my legs. It flattened over my breasts and Reuben moved his fingers over one of my nipples, which rose under his touch. The shirt was missing all but two buttons and Reuben slipped his hand inside and cupped my breast in his palm; it was cold against my skin. He undid one button and bent to take my nipple in his mouth, and between my legs I felt a sensation like the moments before a thunderstorm begins. His hair tickled me again, and made me want to scratch and giggle, but I stayed silent. He kissed my other nipple and then my mouth. The full length of our bodies came together and I tried to undo his shirt, but his had all its buttons and the nest was too small; our legs tangled together and by accident I kicked his ankle so that he yelped. Eventually I lay still while Reuben contorted himself to undress, taking off his hat, pushing his boots and clothes to the end of the nest with his feet. His pale body was almost luminous in the restricted space, like an exotic deep-sea creature. I tried to focus on the moss and twigs caught in the hair on his chest, so that I saw his upright thing which stuck up from its own nest only out of the corner of my eye. Reuben helped me take off the shirt and I covered myself with my hands.