From the comment column: “In your story the sentences really blossom. There is so much poetry.”

Water Spirit

The black scarf... I remember exactly the way you looked at me as we stood in the boutique. I was wearing a cream-colored cotton dress, knee-length and airy. You enjoyed the sight of me, and I pretended not to notice your desire in that very moment. You were... a real force in my life. Often it was enough just to think of you to feel arousal stirring—yes, that’s how it felt. I perceived my desire; it sang its beautiful song inside me. When I allowed you to place the silk cloth around my neck, something shifted in the meadows of my landscape of lust. My breath caught. I let the flame leap. Yes, I trusted you blindly.

Perhaps you suspect it. Perhaps not. I never pressed myself into my lovers’ inner lives. I never wanted them to rummage through me with some kind of emotional inventory-taking either. I enjoyed the cloth fetish with other lovers as well. Each time, they believed they were the first, the only ones. And because of that, it was easy for me to begin again each time. I loved playing this game—me in the role of a woman who enters into a new fetish because the man wishes it so. It was never obedience, always play. I had the choice. I decided. You were my companion, as others had been before you.

Do you remember? Almost for the last time, we met at Lake Attersee, half a year after our great journey.

At Lake Attersee

The hotel lay on the western shore between Nussdorf and Unterach and offered a view of the Höllengebirge that was marketed as a sight in itself. Everything aligned within the spectrum of a perfect spa-resort backdrop.

The lake was a giant—the largest in the region. Unfathomably deep in places. The horizon line was marked by different shades of blue.

You still had a presentation in Vienna and planned to arrive only in the evening. For you, it was one of those tightly scheduled days that barely left room to breathe. Linden blossoms scented the air. I sat down by the shore, freed my feet from my sandals, and let them dangle. It was an homage to childlike idleness. The water was colder than expected. I could see all the way to the bottom.

Some say the lake remembers your dreams.

Later I strolled toward Weyregg. I knew the story of the sunken monastery there—the legend of the bells ringing pure and clear, the sound rising from the depths. I was receptive to such mythological overlays of everyday life, drawn from folk tradition. I wore a summer dress that weighed less than the most fleeting thought. It was a river of cotton, ivory-colored, with barely visible embroidery along the neckline. The straps were narrow, the back bare. The fabric tended toward transparency and clung to my waist like a tender hand. The dress said: I can hardly wait for you to come.

At times the lake was a dazzling mirror.

The Romans had used the shores as rest stops along the trade routes between Lauriacum (today’s Enns) and the Alpine regions. In the 19th century, the lake became a magnet for the educated bourgeoisie. Gustav Klimt painted some of his famous landscapes here; the tradition of summer retreats became a cult. The villages around the lake—Weyregg, Seewalchen, Steinbach—still carried echoes of Habsburg Belle Époque flair.

Lake Attersee lies in a tectonic basin deepened by Ice Age glaciers. The surrounding mountains consist of Dachstein limestone.

A legend tells of a water spirit who lives in a crystal cave and guards a treasure. He lures the careless to their deaths. He is married to a siren, who is said to be having an affair with the dragon that dwells in the Höllengebirge.

Framed by a ring of mighty chestnut trees, the café lay directly on the water. The sign above the door bore flowing letters: Café Seeblick – since 1898. I chose a seat on the veranda, at a table with a marble top and a cast-iron base. The waitress looked like she was working a summer job. I ordered a Verlängerter and apricot cake.

Soon a fine mocha set with a gold rim stood before me. The cake was steaming. The apricots glistened beneath the lattice crust. A dollop of whipped cream melted at the edge of the plate.

I was too beautiful to remain unaddressed for long. A man in a Panama hat and linen suit took the liberty.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said. “May I guess? Apricot cake—still warm?”

I raised an eyebrow.“Correct. But don’t keep guessing, or it will get personal.”

He laughed with confidence.“I promise discreet restraint—in the old-school style. I’m merely a lover of good cafés. And beautiful afternoons.”

Theatrically, he let his gaze wander.“May I introduce myself? Jules—Jules von Ehrenthal. At least that’s what it used to say in the theater program. Today I’m just a regular with taste.”

“From Reichenau,” I replied curtly. “My family is known around here, although I’m originally from Germany.”

“That honors you. And makes me a little envious.”

He didn’t sit down; he simply remained standing, dignified like a waiter in an old French film, yet with the smile of a man who knows when he’s on a losing field. He ordered a small black coffee without asking whether he might stay.

“You know,” he said, “the sunlight is falling so beautifully on your table today—the apricots are glowing just because of you.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“With life.”

“I’ll tell you something now that is none of your business. I love a man whom I expect in my hotel room within the next hour—addicted like a teenager.”

The fiery declaration aroused me. The retired actor withdrew with a crooked grin. I, however, could hardly wait to feverishly anticipate you in the provisional intimacy of the hotel room. I no longer wanted to kill time in the café or squeeze pleasure from the summer retreat in any other way.

...I stayed in my dress. I removed only my underwear. My genital pulse throbbed so strongly that I pressed my legs together. It wanted to come only when you were there—ignited by a small touch. I imagined your hand on my ass, your hardness against my belly. It was almost beyond my strength. And then, finally, there was a knock at the door. I threw myself into your arms and felt immediately that it was no different for you than for me.