TE23 Double Feature

Anke Laufer

“The Island”

hand. Through the crack between closed shutters, you can see a heap of boards inside and the frame of a plank bed, over which has been thrown something that looks like a lorry tarpaulin. The dimly-lit series of rooms behind it is disguised by a clumsy forest of signs: No Overtaking; traffic lights; diversion arrows; barriers; Wild Animals in Road; Rockfall; Road Narrows; Danger Ahead – fastened to metal poles on lumpish concrete feet. It’s nothing. Just a sense of unease breathed onto the back of your neck. And even as you are turning around and your eyes are scanning the shrubs and brush, you will barely notice: the supportive grip under your shoulder that holds you firm; the straight blade at your throat; the confusion; not even the sudden, full comprehension. The cellar-scent of forgetting rises from the concrete on which you are lying. In your eyeline are the remains of a beetle. Its carapace shines in the dappled light like a smashed emerald. 200

***

08:12 He is wearing neon orange overalls as he sits on the ground outside the cabin, his heavy legs stretched out in front of him. He’s hacking away at something that looks like a slab of bacon, skewering little fragments, pushing them into his mouth and chewing, wiping a strand of hair from his damp forehead with the back of his hand. The reflective strips on his sleeve flare up, flicker brightly in the changeable light falling through the leaves on the trees, just for a second. He takes another sip from the thermos flask beaker, puts it down beside him on the mossy ground, pulls in his legs and gets to his feet with a groan. He has to dig this new trench. It will take him a while. It’s hot, and going to get even hotter. He raises his head and listens. He can hear the lark trilling, a garland of effervescent scraps 201