OTTO

Marji stood in front of the hotel, Gail had just waved to her and mouthed „see you later“, because she was on the phone again. Marji had at least an hour to herself. Just go.

She headed towards the fields, crossing the impeccably polished cobblestones in the historical centre of the village. Was there enough time to head for the little castle a few hills over? Better stay close. It was just after lunch; warm autumn sunshine, vibrant colours, and everything was just as perfect and lovely as in the photobook of Switzerland her Grandma had loved so much.

Outside the village were smooth asphalt farm tracks, perfect for people like her in their „city boots“ to admire country life. A farmer in a lumberjack shirt passed by on his tractor, greeting politely by tipping his imaginary hat. A little further away, two riders on their ponies. Marji captured it all with the camera of her mobile, including a selfie with the castle in the background. At home, everything had a different scale. Acres of land around the farms, no pretty castles but mountains and canyons and wilder horses. 

She had turned back to the village and taken another shot of a picturesque timberframe house with a rose garden in a side street. The plot across was framed by a wire-mesh-fence embedded in a low concrete base. Behind, a bit lower than the street, was a big grassy meadow. Two soccer goals without netting looked presently orphaned, but most likely it was busy here later in the afternoons or on the weekend. Further down the road at the far end of the property was a little gate, open but no-one was in sight.

„Hello.“ It was a little voice, and when Marji turned to where it came from, she saw a boy advancing towards her from on the grass. He looked maybe four or five, and seemed to have emerged from the bushes framing the field. He had picked tufts of grass, which he carried with great concentration in both hands, his little fingers crushing the grass and roots to a clump. While walking towards her, he lifted his eyes and fixed Marji with his child gaze. She felt rumbled, without being able to articulate what there was to uncover. The boy had stopped on the other side of the fence and placed the grass tufts on the ledge in front of her.

„Hello“, she replied. „How are you?“

„I came through the tunnel.“ He made a vague gesture towards the bushes. Marji knelt down to be level with him.

„Are you allowed to play on your own?“ In Boston, no mother would leave her child unattended like that. There was no one around.

„Yes.“ 

He pointed at the grass tufts. „For you!“

Again, this look, knowing and friendly, Marji felt warmth flooding through her. Flora had been grown up for so long, and it was even longer since she last spoke to her.

„Thank you! What’s your name? I’m Marji!“

„Otto. the grass – for you!“ he repeated, his eyes still on her. 

Marji took the grass in both hands. The earth still sticking to the roots was humid and she inhalted the tangy smell. The garden had been her pride and joy. Back then, Flora had still followed her everywhere with her little bucket and spade.

„Thanks Otto! Are you sure you shouldn’t be home?“ Such a small boy shouldn’t be left alone to talk to strangers like her. She should scoop him up and carry him home. 

„No, I am looking for grass.“ His voice was firm. „Nobody should know. Can we go now?“

„What?“ 

Marji stood up straight and took at step back. She must have misheard him. Go where? What was she doing here?  She groped for her mobile inside her pocket and checked the time. Way late. She could be arrested.

„Listen, I have to go, Otto. It was lovely meeting you.“

Marji turned briskly and walked along the fence, the grass still in her hand. Just go. Gail, the workshop. Flora. The clients. Holding him in her arms. How could she have allowed those thoughts? 

Suddenly she felt a little hand in hers. Otto had followed her on the inside of the pitch to the little open door. He was clutching her hand firmly, she knew he wouldn’t let go of her.