Love, Sex, and General Relationship Advice on the Firstbahn

Time to go up.

The cable-car doors clank open automatically, juddering in their frames. Six at a time, the conductor motions, but the boys who clamber in only make five. The elderly lady behind them in the queue stops in her tracks, terrified, and the conductor takes pity on her.

We rise smoothly, away from the sporadic rooftops of Grindelwald. Trees become slivers become specks become pinpricks, yet One Two Three Four and Five don’t notice because they’re on their phones.

Friend request from Jess, says One.

You must’ve done a good job, then. Four.

A chuckle from Three.

I swear you weren’t even with Jess last night? asks Five.

Nah, says One, she was the night before.

But I smashed her first, grinned Three.

Makes no difference to me, yawns One. But it does.

Four frowns. Didn’t she smash Sam as well?

Three nods — yup. And I’m pretty sure Matt got round to her too at some point.

Five: Well, she’s having a good run, isn’t she?

A collective snort.

One clenches his jaw surreptitiously. Tonight I’m smashing Sarah.

No chance, says Five. She likes me.

One sits up. Since when?

Since she flirted with me all last night.

She flirts like that with everyone, says Four.

Yeah, and maybe she fucks everyone too, Five says contentedly.

She does. Four wipes his eyebrow lazily. She’s on a rebound. Broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago.

One looks up. Wait, is Sarah the Skype girl?

Four blinks at him. The Skype girl?

Vivek told me about her. Broke up with her boyfriend on Skype, with the new guy sat next to her on the bed.

Three stabs at something on his glaring hot screen. That’s a bit cold.

They’d been together for four years.

Communal raised eyebrow.

Fuck me…

Jeez…

Savage.

One glances out the window contentedly.

Imagine that. Your girlfriend of four years dumps you and you can literally see your replacement. And you know he’s gonna smash her the moment she ends the call. Five has this tendency to narrate, to summarise. It annoys people after a while.

Anyway, I don’t think that’s Sarah, says Four. Her boyfriend got ill. Anorexia, or something.

Anorexia, Three guffaws. Anorexia. Guys don’t get anorexia.

That’s what I heard.

What a cuck, laughs One. I swear, if I told my Dad I was anorexia…

You were anorexia, says Four. You can’t be anorexia, you pillock. Four does not like One. One knows this.

No grammar lesson needed, alright? Mate, we’re here, let’s go.

Yeah mate, let’s go mate, mimics Three.

Mate, let’s go.

Sarah, mate, please let me —

Their voices are distorted once they’re outside the car. But Two hasn’t moved. He still grips the seat.

Four sticks his head in. What the fucks wrong with you? You coming?

Two can feel the trickling rivulets of his back, can feel icy tendrils snaking their way through his stomach. He feels sick, he wants to cry.

Pat, mate? Four’s voice has changed.

Pat looks up.

Pat, are you alright?

Pat swallows. Yeah. Yeah, think I ate something off earlier.

He stands and, with his friend’s help, steps out of the car.

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(a conversation I overheard) //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The station at the top is called First, which has confused more than a few tourists in its day. There’s a queue snaking around the metallic fences, but this is Switzerland, so it’s not a long queue. A couple approaches the car, but with the juddering of metal on metal, it’s too loud to hear what they’re saying.

The man ducks inside first. He’s glowing: from too much sun, from too much proximity to her. She’s darker in tone than he is, potentially a Swiss native. She makes a great show of limping towards the car, then has to duck even more than him to get inside. Once sat down, she sticks her injured leg across the car and onto the bench where he sits, barring the sole backpacker who was making to join them.

Sorry. She mouths above the noise. I need to rest it. Can you take the next one?

The backpacker smiles, thumbs up, of course.

So they’re alone. The doors rattle shut and the car exits the station.

“Are we really doing this?” he exhales.

In answer, she sweeps her uninjured leg from the bench and tucks it underneath her as she kneels in front of him. He wears waterproof tracksuit trousers, convenient since they’re easy to take off. With expert hands she manipulates the drawstring and pulls out his cock, which begins to get hard even before she takes him into her mouth.

A sharp intake of breath. His fingers are splayed through her hair, his other hand gripping the metal ridge of the seat, warm in the Swiss sun. He surreptitiously lowers his hips in the hope that the cars sweeping past in the other direction don’t see anything. After a minute he comes to his senses and begins to touch her, her neck, her back, reaching down to pull off her shirt.

Her phone rings.

He feels her back go tense. She looks up at him. He’s always loved the way she looks up at him.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to.”

With effort, he suppresses his raging hormones, and smiles.

“Sure, yeah.”

But she isn’t listening, she’s fiddling with the straps on her backpack. Drawing out the phone with fumbling fingers.

Hello. Hi. Yeah, it is. No, I’m not busy at all.

He grimaces out of the window.

Well thank you, it was a pleasure meeting you too.

Then a change in tone, like a shot of adrenaline. Oh, really?

He senses his guts squirm a little, notices his heartbeat.

Oh my god, yes, of course I’d be interested in that. Yes, absolutely.

She faces away from him, but he can see her reflection bite its lip in amazement.

Wow, thank you so much! I can’t wait to get started. It’ll be such a privilege to work with your team. Thank you again. Sorry, I’ll stop saying thank you. But thanks.

Yes, of course, September is perfect. I’ll look out for your email. Great, thanks. Bye!

She presses a button on her phone, and turns towards him. With a twinge of annoyance, he feels as if she totally forgot he was there.

“I got it!”

“Yeah, I realised!” he said. And then, “that’s great!”

She makes out to hug him, but realises he is still awkwardly slouched on the bench, his now flaccid cock poking forlornly over his trousers. She laughs, fully and loud.

“I can’t believe this!” Sitting down, head in hands, it begins to sink in slowly, in that wonderful way that good news does. “Jeez, I can’t believe they waited so long to call.”

“I knew you’d get it,” he grins.

“No, but — there were so many applicants. I saw them lined up the day I went in. I can’t believe this. Senior Editor! I cannot believe this.”

They look at each other. There’s a silence, a silence of expectation. Then, visibly disappointed, he shuffles himself back into his trousers.

She gets out her phone. “I need to tell Dad.” Fingers flying across the screen.

He sits forward, glances at the window, frantically tries to analyse the sinking in his chest.

“He’ll be proud of you,” he says. It feels like a default statement.

“Oh my god, Ayur is freaking out.” she grins.

“That’s what Ayur does.” he says. Why did he sound so bitter?

A minute passes, as they sink lower down the sun-soaked valley.

Eventually she says, “sorry.” And puts the phone away. Sits down, finally, on his side. Gives him an awkward sideways hug. Her head finds his shoulder.

He imagines he can feel her brain whirring beside him. That brilliant brain. He expects that it’s far away from here.

“At least this means I’ll be in your building now.” she says. “More time for coffee.”

“Yeah.” he says flatly. “If you have any time.”

“I’ll make some.”

He strokes her shoulder gently. Feels himself aroused, but sees the cable-car station approaching. Another flash of anger.

“I guess you outrank me, now.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, then sits up, faces him, close.

“You’ll get it too. Soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

He nods, applies a slight pressure on her arm, so she rests her head on his shoulder once more. They pass the rest of the journey in silence, her mind frantically running through all the tasks she needs to do to prepare, his mind wondering if he hated her now.

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The couple untangle themselves. She skips out as soon as the doors open, he lingers a few seconds, adjusting one of the straps on his backpack.

The cable-car shuffles on.

Two boys wait at the front of the queue, in animated conversation. They both clock her, and they both notice him, though their reactions to him are somewhat different. The boys are the same age, but only if you consider age as the amount of time that someone has lived.

The conductor lazily waves them onboard.

Look. All I’m saying is that you can’t keep starting arguments and then complaining that she’s always pissed off at you.

No, Craig, trust me, she’s worse than I am.

She can’t be worse than you.

She is. She knows just how to get at me. All the little needles pressed in just the right spot.

Alright, so she blocked you on Snapchat. She just did that out of the blue?

Yeah! With like, no provocation! I mean, sure, we’d been arguing yesterday, but I thought that was over!

Okay, so why were you arguing yesterday?

I dunno, she was acting all bitchy, saying I was a weirdo, saying I was kind of a dick, and all I did was tell her that her bitmoji looked like a whore. Which it did.

I — what? You called her a whore?

Not her, her bitmoji! You know, the snapchat fucking icon thing, it —

You called her bitmoji a whore.

Yeah, it —

Your own girlfriend. Her bitmoji. You said it looked like a whore.

It fucking did! And then suddenly she went —

How can a bitmoji look like a whore, Derek? Please. Please tell me that.

No, you should’ve seen it, man.

You know they’re literal cartoon characters?

Yeah, but they’re more than that, you know they are. They’re a representation of someone. It’s like, how they choose to present themselves. You could write a paper on this.

Like what, Snapchat theory? I’m pretty sure you can’t make your bitmoji sexual.

You can make anything sexual if you’re a slut, Craig.

That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.

I know you think I’m an idiot, but you don’t know, Craig, you’re not a slut.

Well I appreciate that, Derek. Please stop saying the word slut. You do know you’re talking about your actual girlfriend here?

No, Craig. Craig, come on, I’m not being unreasonable. Gimme a sec. Oh my god, see she’s still got it like that! Look at this. Look at this mother-fucking bitmoji.

Yeah, I’m looking.

See?

See what?! What?

Can’t you see its shoulders?

Yeah, I can see its shoulders, where’s the fucking headline?

Tell me that that’s not sexual.

That…how is that sexual? Unless you mistook her shoulders for like, really high-up boobs?

Stop joking around, Craig! You know what I mean. They’re bare.

They are. They’re bare.

And I swear to God, a few days ago she was wearing this parka jacket.

Well first off, she was not wearing that jacket, this pixelated icon was. And secondly, how is that in any way significant?

Because it’s a signal. It’s obviously a signal.

A signal.

A signal.

A signal to who?

To … I don’t know, to everyone! Look at me, I’m undressing on Snapchat, just letting you know that I’m a hoe and I’m DT —

Please God do not say that fucking acronym.

Alright, fine. Anyway, it’s not even that that’s annoyed me. It’s that I know she’s done this just to piss me off.

Yeah man, seems like a natural assumption. Of course she’d do it with you in mind. I always dress my Xbox avatar thinking of you.

No, it’s like … she rebels in the little ways, that she knows she can deny. And then when I have a go at her, she can pull a huge strop, just like she’s doing!

And you’re sure you’re not reading into this a little too much?

No, trust me, I know how girls think. I know the way they work, I’ve been with girls like this before. She’s the latest in a long line.

Right.

Yeah. Bad luck, I guess.

Listen, Derek. I don’t know how to say this. But like … if there has been a long line, and I mean, this isn’t the first time you’ve had issues like this, then, I feel like … the common denominator here is you.

It’s not my fault I have a dominating personality, Craig.

No, that’s not what … okay, forget it, but listen, dude, every time you’re with a girl, you just have this endless serious of problems.

Yeah?

And it seems like maybe, you have this predetermined … anger, directed at them. At girls.

What are you saying?

I’m saying like, these girls, are you sure that you like them?

Sure I like them.

Really?

Oh my god, I’m not gay, Craig. Fuck off.

No, you actual prick, listen to me. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying: do you like women?

What are you talking about, I love women! How long have you known me, and you can seriously ask a question like that? I’ve been obsessed with them for as long as I can remember. I love women.

Yeah, you love women, but do you actually like them?

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https://twitter.com/SheRatesDogs/status/1145735929098674176

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The elder leaves the car first, feeling like he has imparted some wisdom. Feeling almost smug. The younger sits for a further second, yet at the point at which his friend’s words are about to penetrate, notices that the heel of his shoe is coming apart from the sole, remembers that it was she who bought him these shoes, and leaves the car seething once more, their conversation forgotten.

The car rattles along its path, spun from above by a smoothly rotating wheel. It is empty for less than ten seconds before a young Chinese woman helps an elderly relative through the doors. It could be her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother. Either way, she sits down with as much elegance as the situation allows, and winces as the doors bang shut.

In one swift motion, the younger lady removes her sunglasses and unfolds some regular glasses. “Nai nai, how’s your back?” she asks.

“Not as good as my front.” Nai nai scowls, but the corner of her mouth quivers.

The younger woman gives her a familiar look over the rim of her glasses. Judgemental; affectionate. Then her phone bleeps.

Nai nai tuts. “That thing again. Pinging and popping. All day, all night, perhaps I should sew it to your hand and be done with it.”

“Ew.”

“Ew”, Nai Nai imitates. “It pipes up so often, and never anything of interest. It reminds me of your father.”

“Actually, this is of interest. It’s Ryan. Finally.”

Nai Nai’s eyes have not changed, but somehow they sparkle with interest.

“Zhinu, show it to me. What is he saying?”

He’s not saying anything. He just liked my Instagram post.

“Instagram is where you organise the dates?”

“No, that’s… that’s something else. I don’t really use that kind of thing anymore.”

Nai Nai sits back contentedly. “Good. If Ryan is a man, he will organize this.”

Zhinu smiles a small smile to her phone. “Not necessarily…”

She trails off. Her inattentiveness annoys Nai Nai.

“So this is for when you are showing off the pictures?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to see.”

Zhinu shows her the picture instantly. There’s a strange dialect of body language happening here. Once she would have been shy, then reluctant, ashamed, and now, she is almost fierce, almost thrusting the phone at her Nai Nai. There, this is how I want to look.

“Is that you? Why do you look like the Geisha girl?”

“I…”

“Why do you look like the iced bun?”

Zhinu can’t help snorting with laughter. “Nai Nai, it’s just a filter, everyone — “

“With the cartoon blush, and the cat ears? Skin so white you look like a dinner plate? You think he wants to eat off you?

Zhinu raises a single eyebrow. “I mean…”

“You are a heathen, Zhinu, you will go straight down to dance with the devil.”

Zhinu can’t pretend she is not laughing. Nai Nai knows she will not be able to keep a straight face for long, so quickly speaks. “And Ryan, he likes you like this?”

“Well, yeah, he liked the post.”

“Hm.”

When Zhinu hears the hm she looks up. She knows, as do all the family, of the hm of discontent. And has found that generally, the hm precedes something worth listening to.

“You don’t like Ryan, do you?”

“How can I not like someone I’ve never met?”

“You don’t like anyone from Hunan province, and you’ve never been there.”

“Everyone from Hunan province is a scoundrel or a thief. Or both. Do not speak to me of that place.”

“Ok, so…”

Nai Nai swallows and shuffles in her seat. Her back twinges — Zhinu recognises the flash of pain which sweeps across her eyebrows.

“No, it’s not that I don’t like him. If he likes you, I can like him. I am only afraid that you will change yourself to suit him.”

Zhinu tuts, smiles, glances out of the car.

“What makes you think I’d do that?”

Nai Nai looks pointedly at the phone which still sits in her hand.

“Oh come on, Nai Nai, that’s just … wanting to look good. Everyone does it. It’s not for him, it’s … it’s for me.”

“I hope that is true. If so you’d be a better woman than I.”

For the first time, Zhinu looks alarmed. “What are you saying? As if you ever changed yourself to suit anyone.”

Nai Nai barks with laughter. “Ah, the joys of only seeing a person in one context!”

“Well sure, maybe when you were young, but — ”

“But when you are young is when it counts! When the whole town is talking about who you will marry, and the men came to my door, that was when I had to decide!”

“Decide?”

“You will not believe me, but there were many. Suitors. My father was kind, he gave me time. They came to see me, this one for two weeks, that one for three months, and each time I would mould myself into a shape which fit his. And when they found a fault, which they all do, eventually, then I would eradicate the fault. Not thinking to consider whether it was a fault in the first place! Christ, when your grandfather came along I even laughed at his jokes! My Lord! Your grandfather never told a good joke in all his days. The funniest thing he ever did was die on the toilet.”

“Grandad died mowing the lawn.”

“He did die mowing the lawn, but he also died shitting. In China, more than one reality can be true, you know that. I can be the girl who makes her friends laugh and laugh, and I can be the girl who sits politely and does not crack a joke for the first five years of marriage.”

Zhinu is very quiet.

“I mean, I’m … I’m sorry, I — ”

“Don’t be sorry. No pity is needed. Youth floats by like summer wind anyway. I just … now you children have so much, the freedom and the Instagram, there’s no need to be … to paint with someone else’s brush.”

She leans over to kiss Zhinu, but her back twinges, and she lets out a small gasp of pain. Zhinu moves across to sit next to her, and kisses her gently where bleached hair meets wrinkled skin. A heavy vibration in the car lets them know they’ve arrived at the bottom. Outside the car, an ageing man who resembles them both approaches, waving with one hand, the other hand gripping the wheelchair.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////(themes and characters stolen from this wonderful trailer) /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////