Night Work Read Online Free PDF

returned to his car, leaping over muddy puddles on the way.
    He drove to the station.
    The booking hall and the long, gloomy passage from which flights of steps led to the platforms were as deserted as the forecourt and the platforms themselves. He smashed the window of a kiosk and took a can of lemonade, which he drank at once, dropping the empty can in a litter bin.
    He found a postbox on the forecourt. Linz Station , 6 July , he wrote on a postcard. After a moment’s thought he addressed it to his father.
    *
    Although Jonas had passed a number of car showrooms, he had something better in mind than an Opel or a Ford. No good opportunity to exchange his rattletrap of a Toyota presented itself until he reached the outskirts of the city, where he at last spotted a dealer offering more than just family saloons.
    Jonas was no petrolhead. He’d never gone in for fast cars, but it now seemed absurd to restrict his speed to 160 k.p.h. That meant saying goodbye to his old car. It had cost more than it was worth and held no sentimental associations.
    To his surprise, his wrench made no impression on the showroom window behind which the cars awaited their purchasers. He’d never had to deal with safety glass before. He rammed it with the Toyota instead. There was a crash, and splinters came raining down on the bonnet. He backed out again. The hole in the glass was big enough.
    He chose a red Alfa Spider. He found the keys on a hook behind the sales desk. It proved harder to locate the key to the only vehicular exit, a pair of big double doors, but he eventually found that too. He went back to the Toyota and cleared out all his belongings.
    Before getting in he turned and waved his old car goodbye. He felt foolish a moment later.
    A hundred metres from the car showroom he stopped at a service station. The petrol pump worked without any problem. He filled the tank.
    On the way to Salzburg he tested the Spider’s potential. The acceleration pressed him back into his seat. He put out his hand, meaning to try the radio, but none had been installed. He reached instead for the throat pastilles on the passenger seat.
    *
    Lying beside the road beyond Wels, as though someone had thrown it away, was a guitar case.
    Jonas backed up. He threw stones at the case from a few feet away. He hit it but nothing happened. He kicked it. Eventually he opened it. There was an electric guitar inside. Water had seeped into the case. It had evidently rained hard here too.
    He walked around for a while. The grass soaked his trouser legs to the knee. He was near the motorway access road. This spot was probably frequented by hitchhikers, so he shouted and vigorously sounded his horn. He cameacross discarded beer cans, cigarette ends, condoms. The sodden earth squelched beneath his shoes.
    He leant against the passenger door.
    Anything might or might not be significant. Perhaps that guitar case had fallen off the roof of a car. Perhaps it had belonged to some person who had vanished at this spot. However and whyever they’d vanished.
    *
    The sun was going down behind the castle as he passed Salzburg station. He drove across the station square, sounding his horn, then headed for his aunt’s flat in Parsch. It took him some time to find the way. He sounded his horn when he finally got to Apothekerhofstrasse. When there was no response he got in again. It was unlikely that he would find anything informative at his aunt’s place, so he saved himself the trouble of breaking down the door.
    He drove across the border to Freilassing.
    No one there.
    *
    No one.
    *
    Almost unable to believe it, Jonas drove round the village for an hour. He had secretly assumed that he would come across some human activity on German soil. He’d expected to see soldiers. Possibly tents and refugees – even, perhaps, tanks or people in protective clothing. Civilisation, anyway.
    He turned off the engine. Staring at the sign that indicated the route to the motorway for Munich, he