Into the Forbidden Place

4. Mara

Tim stood before Mara, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. Should he take the leap, as he had often fantasized, and kiss her? But how? A simple lean, a gentle touch of their lips? He tentatively moved closer to Mara, but his actions were so clumsy and uncoordinated that he could see the worry in her eyes.

"Are you okay, Tim?" Mara asked.

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. "The cook offered me some terrible liqueur; that's probably why. I'm not used to drinking alcohol," he explained, and to end this horribly awkward moment, he decided to make his escape: "I'll let you through tomorrow. Here are your papers." He pulled Mara's papers from his coat. They weren't neatly folded; he hastily stuffed them into his pocket.

Mara accepted the papers in silence, her disbelief palpable. Tim felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "But Mara, you must understand," he continued, "agents are scouring Heine for people like you. There won't be a crossing record, but they can check your identity anytime. It's dangerous there now. You should reconsider and go back home."

"Tim, it's kind of you to worry, but I have a plan. The crossing is the hard part. I have friends there already... and thank you for helping!" Mara took Tim's hand and squeezed it. Tim felt how warm and soft her small hand was and made another uncertain move towards her. Then he got angry because he saw concern in her eyes again, so he turned on his heel and left the room without a word. He hurried away, wanting to get as far from the inn as possible.

All the way home, he was upset. How ridiculous he must have seemed, or maybe, at best, Mara didn't notice his intentions. Then he wondered why she was wearing a coat. Could there be others with fake papers? But she was the only one who wanted to go to Heine. What if they're taking a detour? He should have asked many more questions, but why did these doubts only occur to him now? And then there was the cook. What if she tells Noir what he did today? He had to talk to her before lunch. It would be terrible if Noir passed the information on to Judith. There were no cameras, but the surveillance was very effective. Maybe everyone already knew where he had been. After all, he didn't usually go to the inn every day; he should have planned this trip more carefully, like not taking the main road using the inn's side entrance, but all these thoughts came to him now. He hadn't considered the consequences, and now he had to think of an excuse. If Tim could develop a good story for the cook, Mara wouldn't be found out. No one inside the inn had seen him, after all.

The cool evening breeze felt good on his face, which he felt was burning. Why couldn't he be more decisive? He had wasted his last chance because he would let her through tomorrow. He would never see her again and wouldn't know if he had read her signals correctly. Was she kind to him because she wanted to get through the gate? And for that purpose, maybe she would have even returned his kiss? He didn't like this train of thought. Now, he was glad he didn't dare to kiss her. Had Mara returned it, would it have been because she wanted to cross or found him likable? It was too complicated.

Fully dressed, he threw himself onto the bed, wanting to scream.

Sleep came with difficulty to Tim. He tossed and turned, constantly seeing Mara's surprised and concerned expression before him. Eventually, he did fall asleep, but then he found himself in the marshy landscape again, wading knee-deep in the swamp, heading somewhere. In this dream, Mara appeared beside him, but this time, she didn't pass him by; instead, they walked side by side for a while. When Tim stopped and turned toward the girl, they kissed each other so naturally and effortlessly that it felt as if his mind were mocking him. As if it were saying, "See, this is how it's done; it's not complicated at all."

He woke up several times, drank water, and went out into the yard to get some fresh air because he felt like he was suffocating. But the outside noises annoyed him—the deafening chirping of the bugs and the croaking of the frogs—all of it reminded him of the marsh in his dream.