Tanya Tynjälä

 

The Collector

Peru does not seem to produce a great deal of horror literature. Indeed, in his recent book on 20th-­century horror fiction, Jess Nevins identifies only two Peruvian writers, both of them rather obscure, and we were unable to locate others. Tanya Tynjälä (b. 1963), whose works include novels, short stories, and works for young readers, describes herself as a writer of fantasy and science fiction, but the following story seemed to us a perfect fit for a volume of unsettling tales. ‘The Collector’ – the original Spanish title, ‘La coleccionista’, makes it clear that the titular character is a woman – is a creepy modern-­day updating of the Calypso myth from Greek mythology. First published in 2017 in the author’s collection
(Ir)Realidades, it was recently selected for inclusion in an anthology of the best speculative fiction by women writers from Latin America and Spain, and we’re pleased to be able to make it available to English-­speaking readers as well.

Julian headed hurriedly to his date. Two months ago he had met the most beautiful woman in the world. All his friends would have envied his luck, were it not for the fact that he couldn’t tell anyone about his relationship. That was one of the many conditions that Diana imposed. Another was that she refused to spend the night with him. She never explained why, but he assumed she had strong religious convictions.

Thus Julian hadn’t yet enjoyed intimate relations with the young woman. But he didn’t care much about that. She was so beautiful that he felt satisfied just looking at her, and what’s more they got along perfectly, they liked the same music, the same writers, the same films. It had in fact been this that had recently made him start to question the relationship. How much longer would such a ‘perfect’ relationship survive? Sometimes it’s so boring to agree on absolutely everything. Not that he wanted a stormy relationship, he’d had those in the past and knew that they were destructive in the end. He enjoyed the peace he felt with Diana, but a little jealous scene every so often might have spiced things up a little.

As if she sensed what he was thinking, Diana decided all of a sudden to agree to spend an entire weekend with him. In light of her proposal, Julian resolved to put aside his doubts for now. Mysterious like always, she asked him to pick her up at a roadside café. From there they would go to a place she knew well and which she was sure he would love.

Since he met her, Diana had seemed more than mysterious; secretive would be the right word. He didn’t even know for certain what kind of work she did. She had told him she was a professional collector and that the nature of her activity required the utmost discretion. Discarding the possibility that such a sweet and intelligent woman could be involved in any illicit business, Julian came to the conclusion that Diana bought pieces of various kinds at auctions for millionaires who didn’t want their identities known. And that explanation left him satisfied. Why think any more about it?

Julian arrived at the appointed place half an hour before their scheduled rendezvous. The café was logically located next to a gas station that was more than dilapidated. There were two old men there working as attendants; Julian wondered how much longer they could go on working. They looked tired, decrepit.

He stopped the car and asked them to fill up the tank. One of the old men looked at him with amusement and started laughing like a madman. Shaking his head, he entered the disorderly room that served as their office. The other man slowly approached.

‘Don’t mind him, he has a screw loose from being here so long.’

‘Well . . . he was a little rude, wasn’t he?’

The old man began filling the tank without saying anything. He seemed to be on the lookout for something; he cast fearful, sneaking glances at the café. He gave Julian the impression of someone who is being watched.

‘Do many people come this way?’

‘Those come who have to come. If you don’t have a date, it’s not worth the trouble of coming all the way here. That’s what brought me, and here I’ve stayed.’

The coincidence of talking about a ‘date’ seemed more than strange to Julian. But he said nothing, only smiled.

‘How much do I owe you?’ he asked when the old man finished his work.

‘You’ll pay later, on the way out. Because I’m sure you’re going in the café, right?’

Julian couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with what the old man was saying. First the reference to the date, then to the café. It was as if he knew exactly what Julian was going to do. It could be just a coincidence; in the end, if the place Diana had spoken to him about was nearby, surely many couples passed by the gas station on the way to their destination. On the other hand, the journey from the city to that place was long, so it was perfectly natural after so much traveling to decide to have a coffee at the only available place in sight. However, deep down Julian felt a certain unease that signaled to him that something wasn’t right.

‘Take this, I’ve written down how much you owe. Don’t forget to check it before you go in, please,’ he said, taking Julian’s hand desperately and looking around in all directions.

Julian pulled his hand back nervously. The other old man came out of the office and shouted between laughs:

‘Don’t forget to try the pie!’

The man who was attending to Julian looked wild-­eyed at his companion as he shook his head no.

Julian could barely stop himself from running towards the café. He didn’t want to spend any more time with those old men, who were obviously disturbed. As he walked away, he could hear them both discussing in whispers.

Once inside the café he was surprised to see that the place contrasted with the condition of the gas station. Everything was immaculately clean and tidy. There were several men there of different ages, all of them looking as if they were spending a weekend in the country: hand luggage, comfortable clothing. Apparently the place Diana had spoken to him about was very popular. He sat down at the counter.

‘What can I get you?’ The woman waiting on him was middle-­aged, neither pretty nor ugly, quite friendly and neat.

‘Just a coffee, please.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to try my apple pie? I make it myself every morning. It’s very popular.’

‘So it seems. At the gas station they recommended that I try it.’

‘That’s right, everybody here likes my pie.’

‘But no, thanks. I’m not very hungry, maybe another time. I’ll be in the area all weekend.’

The woman served him the coffee and retired with a smile.

Julian looked at his watch. There were still several minutes left until the agreed-­upon time. He took a sip of the coffee, which turned out to be quite good and fresh. He looked around. He noticed that all the customers were men. It struck him as odd. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t seen any cars parked outside and he wondered if these might be locals? But they all had hand luggage . . .

The woman approached him with a slice of pie.

‘On the house. Don’t turn me down – look, I’ve only given you a little, you won’t regret it.’

Julian thought she must be one of those women who feel proud of the one thing they’re good at and insist that everyone try it. Out of politeness, he took a mouthful. The pie melted in his mouth, it had just the perfect amount of sugar. They say that even the most insignificant small town has its hidden gems, and this one’s was the gas station’s pie.

‘It’s really delicious!’

‘I told you, it’ll make you forget your cares, you’ll see.’

Julian took another greedy mouthful. Suddenly he noticed there was no one in the kitchen.

‘You don’t have a cook?’

‘I don’t need one. I prepare everything very early, before opening.’

‘Then I congratulate you, the coffee is more than fresh, the pie is a delicacy . . .’

‘Thank you very much,’ she said, smiling again.

He continued eating that magnificent pie. He looked at his watch. Diana would arrive at any moment. He wanted to ask for the check, but the woman wasn’t there, she’d prob­ably gone into the kitchen. He took out his wallet and opened the paper the old man had given him to see how much he had to pay. There wasn’t a single number on it, only scrawled in nervous handwriting: ‘Whatever you do, leave this place. And don’t eat the pie.’

Julian froze. He looked around. All men, all with hand luggage, like someone going away for a weekend, and all of them eating the same pie as him. He eavesdropped on their conversations: they were all talking about the magnificent woman they had met. The descriptions varied; for one she was blond, for another brunette, further on she was tall and thin and for the person beside him she was small and chubby, but to all of them she was the perfect woman. They were all there waiting for her, for she had made a date with them in that remote place.

Julian thought about getting up, but it was already very late. All of a sudden he only wished to stay there, eating that delicious pie. What’s more, he had to wait for Diana, who would surely be arriving soon.

The woman approached him again at seeing his plate empty.

‘Here’s another slice. I’m sure you want it, isn’t that right, Julian?’

He looked her in the eyes and found himself looking into Diana’s gaze.

 

 

Translated from the Spanish by James D. Jenkins