Lake Ghosts by Ilse Aichinger, translated by Harry Steinhauer

Ilse Aichinger (November 1, 1921 – November 11, 2016) was an Austrian poet and writer whose work was known for its surrealist nature and recurring focus on the Nazi persecution of the Jews. Her first novel, Die größere Hoffnung (“The Greater Hope”), was published in 1948 and became one of the top German-language novels of the twentieth century. “Lake Ghosts” (“Seegeister”) was originally published in Aichinger’s 1953 shorty storycollection, Der Gefesselte. This translation was then published in Harry Steinhauer’s 1961 anthology German Stories: A Bantam Dual-Language Book. The story was subsequently included in the 2015 anthology of Aichinger’s work, The Bound Man, translated by Eric Mosbacher.

Throughout the summer you pay little attention to them or take them to be like yourself; and if you leave the lake at the end of the summer you'll never recognize them. Only toward fall do they begin to stand out more clearly. If you come later or stay longer, if you finally no longer know yourself whether you still belong among the guests or are already one of the ghosts, you'll distinguish them. For there are actually days in the early fall when the boundaries become sharp once more as they make a transition.

There is the man who couldn't shut off the motor of his boat just before he wanted to land. At first he thought it was nothing serious and that fortunately the lake was big; he turned around and rode back from the eastern shore to the western shore, where the mountains rise up steep and the big hotels are located. It was a beautiful evening, and his children waved to him from the wharf; but he still couldn't shut off the motor, pretended that he didn't want to land, and again rode back to the flat shore. Here, amid distant sailboats and swans which had ventured far out, in view of the red glow which the setting sun cast on the eastern shore, the sweat came out of his pores for the first time, for he still couldn't shut off his motor. He cheerfully called out to his friends who were sitting at coffee on the terrace of the hotel, that he wanted to ride around just a little longer and they cheerfully called back, why didn't he do just that. When he came by for the third time he called that he only wanted to get his children, and to his children he called that he only wanted to get his friends. Soon after that both friends and children had vanished from both shores, and when he came by for the fourth time he no longer called anything.

He had discovered that his gas tank was leaking and his gas had long since run out, but the lake water was driving his motor. Now he no longer thought that it was nothing serious and that fortunately the lake was big. The last steamer passed and the passengers called to him in high spirits, but he did not reply; he now thought: -"If only no more boats came!" And then none came. The yachts lay in the bays with furled sails and the lake mirrored the lights of the hotels. A thick mist began to rise, the man rode criss-cross and then along the shores. Somewhere a girl was still swimming; she threw herself into the waves which his boat churned up and then went in to land.

But he could not mend the leaking tank while he was driving and so he kept going on. Now his only relief was the thought that some day his tank must exhaust the lake; and he thought it was a strange sort of sinking--to suck up the lake, and finally to be sitting in his boat on the dry bed. Shortly after that it began to rain and he gave up this idea too. When he again passed the house where the girl had been bathing he saw that there was still light behind a window; but upshore, in the windows behind which his children were sleeping, it was already dark; and when he rode by again shortly after that, the girl, too, had put out her light. The rain stopped but this did not comfort him any longer.

Next morning his friends, who were sitting on the terrace at breakfast, were surprised that he was out on the water so early. He called to them cheerfully that the summer was nearing its end; you had to make use of it! And he said the same thing to his children who were on the wharf even this early in the morning. And next morning, when they wanted to send out a rescue expedition after him, he waved them off; for after all, now that he had talked himself into cheerfulness for two whole days, he couldn't permit a rescue expedition any more, especially in the face of the girl, who, every day toward evening, waited for the waves that were thrown up by his boat. On the fourth day he began to fear that people might begin to make fun of him, but he comforted himself with the thought that this too would pass. And it did pass.

When it got cooler his friends left the lake and his children, too, returned to the city--school was beginning. The roar of motors from the shore road abated; now the only noise was that of his boat on the lake. The mist between the forest and the mountains became denser every day and the smoke from the chimneys remained in the tree tops.

The girl was the last to leave the lake. From the water he saw her loading her suitcases into the car. She threw him a kiss and thought: "If he were a man under a curse, I would have stayed longer, but he's too much of a pleasure-seeker for me."

Soon after, in despair, he ran his boat onto the gravel at this spot. The boat was torn open lengthwise and since then the tank has been using air. In the autumn nights the natives hear it roaring over their heads.

Or the woman who vanishes as soon as she takes off her sunglasses.

It wasn't always so. There were times when she played in the sand in the bright sun, and then she wore no sunglasses. And there were times when she wore the sunglasses as soon as the sun shone into her face, and took them off as soon as it disappeared--and yet she did not vanish herself. But that is long past; if you asked her she would not be able to say herself how long, and she would also forbid such a question being asked.

Probably the whole misfortune stems from that day when she began not taking off her sunglasses even in the shade; from that car ride in early summer when it suddenly grew dim and every one except she took the dark glasses from their eyes. But one should never wear sunglasses in the shade; they avenge themselves.

When, a little later, she took off her sunglasses for a moment during a sailing trip on a friend's yacht, she felt herself suddenly becoming nothing. Her arms and legs dissolved in the east wind. And this east wind, which drove the white crests of foam over the lake, would certainly have blown her overboard as if she were nothing, if she hadn't had enough presence of mind to put on her sunglasses at once. But fortunately the same east wind brought good weather, sun and great heat, and so she caused no surprise during the next weeks. When she danced in the evening she told everyone who wanted to know, that she wore the sunglasses to protect her eyes against the strong light of the arc lamps; and soon many people began to imitate her. Of course no one knew that she wore the sunglasses at night too; for she slept with an open window and had no desire to be swept out, nor to wake up next morning and simply not be there any more.

When dull weather and rain set in for a short time, she tried to take off her sunglasses once more, but promptly got back into the same state of dissolution as the first time; and she noticed that the west wind too was ready to carry her off. Thereafter she never tried it again, but kept herself to one side and waited till the sun came out again. And the sun came out again. It came out again and again throughout the whole summer. Then she sailed on her friends' yachts, played tennis or even swam, with the sunglasses on her face, for a distance far out into the lake. And she also kissed this man or that and did not take off her sunglasses for the purpose. She discovered that most things in the world could be done with sunglasses before one's eyes. As long as it was summer.

But now it is slowly becoming autumn. Most of her friends have returned to the city, only very few have remained behind. And she herself--what should she do in the city with sunglasses now? Here her distress is still being interpreted as a personal note; and as long as there are sunny days and the last of her friends are about her, nothing will change. But the wind is blowing stronger every day; friends and sunny days are getting fewer every day. And there is no question of her being able to take off her sunglasses ever again.

What will happen when winter comes?

Then there are also three girls who stood at the stern of the steamer and made fun of the only sailor the steamer had. They boarded at the flat shore, rode over to the mountainous shore to drink coffee and then back again to the flat shore.

The sailor noticed from the first moment how they laughed and said things to each other behind their hands held before their mouths, things which he could not understand because of the great noise the little steamer made. But he had the definite suspicion that it concerned him and the steamer; and when he climbed down from his seat beside the captain to mark the tickets, and in doing so came close to the girls, their merriment increased, so that he found his suspicion confirmed. He barked at them as he asked for their tickets, but they had already bought some, so there was nothing left for him to do but to mark their tickets. As he did so, one of the girls asked him whether he had no other job throughout the winter, and he replied: "No." At once they began to laugh again.

But from then on he had the feeling that his cap had lost its visor and he found it hard to mark the rest of the tickets. He climbed back to the captain, but this time he didn't take the children of the excursionists up with him from the deck, as he usually did. And he saw the lake from above lying green and calm below, and he saw the sharp slicing of the bow-- even an ocean giant could not cut the sea more sharply--but this did not calm him today. Rather, he was embittered by the sign with the inscription "Watch Your Head!" that was posted over the entrance to the cabins, and by the black smoke which blew out of the smokestack toward the stern and blackened the fluttering flag, as if he were to blame.

No, he did nothing else in the winter. But why did the steamer run in the winter too, they asked him when he came near them again. "Because of the mail," he said. In a bright moment he saw them talking calmly with each other and that comforted him for a while; but when the steamer docked and he threw the rope over the peg on the little landing dock, they began to laugh again, although he had hit the peg most accurately; and as long as he saw them, they could not regain their calm.

An hour later they got in again, but the sky had meanwhile grown gloomy; and when they were in the middle of the lake, the storm broke loose. The boat began to sway, and the sailor seized the opportunity to show the girls what he was worth. He climbed over the railing in his oilskins more often than was necessary, and around the outside and back again. In doing so he slipped on the wet wood, since the rain had meanwhile increased in force, and fell into the lake. And because he had this in common with the sailors on ocean giants: that he could not swim; and the lake had this in common with the sea: that one could drown in it; he drowned too.

He rests in peace, as is written on his tombstone, for he was pulled out. But the three girls still ride on the steamer and stand at the stern and laugh behind their hands. Whoever sees them should not let himself be misled by them. They are still the same girls.