"Calm down!"
Zipp couldn't understand what was bugging Andreas. He wasn't himself. Something was building inside him. But they both turned around to look at the city. Searching for a wounded animal, an easy prey. Most people could defend themselves pretty well, and it was also possible that they might get beaten up themselves. In their search for a release they were also frightened. Nervous of their plan, that was chafing deep inside. An intuitive sense of what it might lead to. As if they were coming to the end of a lengthy process that had begun long ago. Their fear gave them a dose of adrenaline, and it felt good. They headed up towards the taxi rank, passed the tent where beer was being served; it was still in use though it was early autumn as they had installed a heater. Clenched their teeth in irritation when they heard the glasses clinking. They cut across the main street, went past the Town Hall. Zipp realised that they were approaching the church. Andreas led the way, Zipp jogged along behind. He didn't understand why they were going there. No-one 86 would be out tending the graves. No old people with pension cheques in their handbags. The church spread over a hill above the square and was without a doubt the building with the best aspect of any in the whole city. That's where the castle would have stood if the city had had a king, Zipp thought. They walked among the gravestones, reading the inscriptions. "I am the way, the truth and the life." Andreas stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the words. Zipp kicked at the ground, puzzled.
"It ends here," Andreas said in a low voice.
"What do you mean?"
"All of it. Everything that we are." Zipp looked around in bewilderment. They were enveloped in silence and darkness. "What's with you? Skip work tomorrow," he suggested. "We can catch a lift out of town. We'll think of something. We could go to fucking Sweden."
"I've missed enough days as it is." His voice had a dejected tone to it, Zipp noticed. Something was definitely up. Zipp was suddenly nervous.
"I'm kind of in the doghouse right now," Andreas said. "I've got to watch my step."
"But your boss is a woman. I can't understand how you can let some bitch order you around."
"A boss is a boss. She's the one who pays my wages."
87."What about buck naked?" Zipp said. "A shag for a day off!"
"You have to draw the line somewhere."
"And where would that be?"
"At varicose veins and a moustache."
"What about the Woman? You like them that way, don't you?"
Andreas didn't reply.
"Hey!" A devil had got into Zipp, but he was trying to cheer Andreas up. "Do you lie on a sheepskin rug, or what?"
Andreas gave him a long look. Zipp couldn't restrain his laughter. He could picture Andreas, naked on a sheepskin rug. And an old lady with a brush and artist's smock. He was hysterical at the idea. Maybe Andreas was holding a brightly coloured ball in his hands. Maybe an orange. And then he laughed even harder. He roared into the silence among the graves, doubled over with laughter, and then stood there in the grass, gasping. He snorted several times through his upturned nose, followed by a few hoarse squeaks, then more snorts. Andreas gave him a weary smile. Pulled his hands out of his pockets, jumped forward, grabbed hold of Zipp's jacket, and started boxing him. Not hard, they were friends after all, but Zipp almost lost his balance. He stumbled backwards a few paces as he raised his hands in a half-hearted 88 attempt to defend himself. But the comic image wouldn't let go, and he laughed so hard that tears poured down his cheeks while he fumbled to hold his friend at bay. Andreas launched a new attack. He lunged forward. There was grass underfoot and Zipp fell, but didn't hurt himself. He was still fighting to control his laughter. But then he caught sight of Andreas' face. There was something demonic about his expression, as if he'd gone berserk. And now he was on top of Zipp. What the fuck! Andreas had made up his mind, his strength was based on sheer will, and Zipp was helpless, overcome by hysterical sputtering; he was gasping for air while he wondered what was coming. A fist in the head or a knee in the stomach? Andreas looked so strange. Zipp waited for him to let go his grip, but he didn't. While he stared at Andreas through tears of laughter, he tried to remember what he had said that could provoke such a serious expression on the face he knew so well. This face that was now so close to his own. The shining eyes, the red cheeks, the teeth gleaming white in the darkness. Zipp felt warm breath against his chin. Andreas had locked his hands so that he lay helpless on his back in his tight jeans. And then, slowly, Andreas began thrusting against him in a steady rhythm. Zipp stared at him in surprise, couldn't understand what he was doing. He wasn't very 89 bright, and Andreas seemed somewhere far away as he kept thrusting and thrusting. Suddenly he stopped. His eyes could see again; they looked at Zipp with such vulnerability. He loosened his grip. Zipp stayed where he was as he struggled to understand. And then, before he managed to work it out, he felt a hand between his thighs. It began rubbing him, the slender hand, it rubbed and rubbed. He was caught off guard. To his horror he felt desire seize him, and something terrifying struck him like thunder inside, a terror so great that he felt as if he would split in half. From the depths of his soul he managed at last to summon a scream. It came all the way from his feet, it sliced through his body and into Andreas' face, blasting him away, and with a mighty leap he was on his feet. He was still screaming, an incoherent bellowing, in a voice that he didn't recognise. He clenched his fists, ready to strike anything, to crush and rip, smash to pieces!
Very slowly, Andreas got to his feet, without releasing his gaze. Zipp was a raging animal, ready to attack. Andreas stood at a reassuring distance, keeping an eye on him and preparing himself. At that moment Zipp was the stronger one, strong enough to kill. One wrong move and he'd kill with his bare hands.
"Shit, Zipp," Andreas whispered. "I didn't mean to."
90."Shut up! Shut up, you arsehole, you fucking poof!"
"I didn't mean . . ."
"I don't want to hear it! I don't want to know anything. Don't touch me, God damn it!" Andreas raised his voice. Zipp could hear anger behind his words.
"That's just the way it is! It's always been that way!" There was a plea in his eyes. Zipp was thunderstruck. He had never imagined this, not in his wildest imaginings. Anything but this. So what if he was particular about girls, if he preferred older women, that was all fine, appealing almost, it suited the way he was. But gay?
"What about the Woman?" he whispered, out of breath. "Was it all a bluff?"
"No." Andreas stared at his feet. "She's . . . a cover."
"What the fuck! A cover?"
"You believed it, didn't you?"
"Do you sleep with girls or don't you?" Zipp couldn't control himself, his emotions were tied in knots. He'd been oblivious, hadn't suspected a thing, but now it was so clear. Andreas had never been interested in women, and Zipp, idiot that he was, had been blind as a bat. He felt such a fool.
"I sleep with her, but it's just a cover." Now there was total silence. A floodlight near the church wall sent a white light over the patch where 91 they stood, facing each other with fists clenched. Zipp felt as if everything had been staged by some higher power. Someone had placed them here, someone had put the words in his mouth. And what he had felt. The desire when Andreas touched him, and the urge to destroy him which followed. Confused, he stood there, stamping his feet. There was nothing to do but leave. This was too much for him. If only he had suspected something, thought it through over time, been able to prepare himself. But if he left now, everything would be over. For ever. He knew that, and Andreas knew it too. He was still waiting, his fists ready, whether to attack or to defend. From now on he would have to live with the knowledge that Zipp knew. That he might talk about it. And Zipp had to live with what Andreas had done. For several seconds desire had swelled inside him. It was just a hand, like all other hands, like a girl's hand. His head couldn't control what was between his legs, God damn it! There was a difference, wasn't there? Was there a difference? He wanted to knock down all the headstones, rip up all the plants, smash the whole town!
"The fact that you . . ." Andreas stammered. "It doesn't mean anything that you reacted that way. It's normal. Everybody . . ."
"Shut up!" Zipp was getting worked up. "I know that I'm not a fucking poof. You don't have to tell 92 me that. For God's sake, shut up, Andreas!" He tugged at his hair. He started sobbing, then wiped away the snot and tears, and looked at Andreas' yellow shirt gleaming in the dark. His world was in ruins, but the damn church was still standing, holding its own. He wanted to smash that too! You couldn't be friends with someone who was gay. People might find out and then obviously they'd think that he was one too. That's how people thought: that they were together, or something, had been fucking each other for years. He turned and walked away. Reached the corner of the church. There, in front of the church, stood a bench. He sat down, had to think. Go home to bed and fall asleep, after this? Impossible. After the whole future had been wrecked. For years he had been living a lie, he had been duped. Maybe Andreas had wanted him at that time? Maybe he had been a figure in Andreas' dreams? Zipp's shoulders began to shake. He was crying soundlessly. Andreas, gay. So it was impossible to tell. God and the entire world could be gay! Perhaps other people he knew too, ordinary people. Girls even. He thought about Anita. What if Robert had been an alibi? Robert, and all the others she'd slept with. But Anita was dead now, so it didn't matter. Possibly, nobody was what he pretended to be. What about himself? Hell, no! He was a good friend. Was he? Did Andreas 93 really expect him not to turn his back? That was asking an awful lot. At the same time, it was a matter of their friendship, all those years! He needed time. A few days to think things over, but he wasn't used to solving problems by thinking, and besides, he was freezing. Behind him he heard stumbling footsteps. It was Andreas, he knew. You'd think he would have gone a different way. Zipp stared at the gravel, wanting to be out of this situation, back to what they had before, but that could never happen. They would have to find a new way. What would people say if they suddenly stopped hanging out together? They were always together. It would make the rumours start buzzing. The story would be launched, at first as a joke. Have you heard? Zipp has broken up with Andreas.
His shoes were wet with dew. His feet were frozen.
"If you ever do that again, I'll kill you!" Andreas put up his hands. "I won't!" They both shrugged. Zipp got to his feet, almost mechanically. At the same instant they started walking at a slow pace to the stone gate. As they passed through it, it was as if something closed up behind them and was gone for good. Hidden in the dark among the graves. Zipp wiped his nose. He took some pride in his own generosity when he said: "Shit!
People don't understand a thing. I hate this town." Andreas nodded. It was a shitty town. Were there 94 any decent people in this place? What did anyone know about how hard it was, all those people sitting in their warm living rooms, staring at American soap operas and criticising anyone under 20? Fucking shitheads! And what did they say in Blade Runner Blade Runner when the storm was at its worst? when the storm was at its worst? "You're our best and "You're our best and only friend." only friend." And then, in the dark, two faint voices: And then, in the dark, two faint voices: "You're not going to tell?"
"No."
It was over. For a moment they had stared into an unfamiliar deep. Now it was closed again. For a few minutes they walked along as they had before, side by side. Zipp understood that Andreas needed him. Hadn't Zipp always given his friend the utmost respect? But what could he demand in return for keeping Andreas' secret? Something that he had never been given? THE UTMOST RESPECT!
He felt a singing inside, a brand-new sensation. He would no longer cower. Their relationship would have to have a new quality. Andreas was more handsome, more intelligent, more popular; he had more money and nicer clothes, but he was bloody gay! The word had unpleasant connotations for Zipp: a torn rectum, Vaseline and shit under his nails. Wasn't that what he had always thought? Life was basically great. He himself was totally normal. He suddenly thought about the desire he had felt at the touch of Andreas' hand. But what the fuck, he 95 had been overpowered, and wasn't he in the prime of his life, surging with vitality? And no-one had seen them. They shared a secret, a strange experience that was both powerful and frightening, but they'd find something else. Something better. He was sure of that. No, not sure, but he hoped so. The way only a young man of 18 can hope.
They turned their backs on the dead and headed into town. They walked along without saying a word, on their way towards something cruel, something truly terrifying, worse than what had just happened. Both of them had stumbled off on to a detour, but now they were back on track. They scowled at everyone they met, turned down side streets, walking with their hands stuffed in their pockets. Andreas'
knife swung at his hip. They had to find some way to remember the night that would overshadow everything else. Later, when they recalled that time, they would have to be able to talk about it to others, even though they both knew what it was about, that it actually had to do with that night when they landed in the grass, on top of each other. Zipp could feel the sharp hip bones against his thighs. But he pushed all of that aside. He had to move on.
It was almost midnight. They had to leave the town centre for quieter neighbourhoods. They kept their eyes moving, but took care to avoid looking at each other; it was too soon for that. Tomorrow, 96 perhaps. They had to get through this night. They passed the cinema on the left and crossed the street. Walked past the Gotten kiosk, an optician and a second-hand shop. The streets got more deserted as they went. And there, sent by the Devil himself, was a woman on her own.
They noticed her at the same moment. A stout woman in a brown coat. She was wearing high heels, and it was clear that she wasn't used to them. Without a word, they picked up their pace, moving in unison like a single, alert predator with their heads close together, as if discussing something important. Sooner or later she would turn and see them. They didn't really know what they wanted with her. She had appeared at such an opportune moment; it was an exciting game for two capricious young men. There was something about the anxious figure that told them she was altogether alone, that no-one was waiting for her. A woman close to 60; or at least that's what they thought, who was walking along the street in the middle of the night, who hadn't been collected by a husband or by a son. Obviously she lived alone. And since she was walking, she must not live far away. Or maybe she didn't dare stand in the queue for a taxi. People had been killed waiting for a taxi; no doubt she read the papers like everyone else. Then she turned. They looked into her pale face. 97 She quickened her step, but had trouble because of her shoes. She hadn't gone more than eight or ten paces before she turned again, cut across the street and crept along the windows of an estate agent's office. Light was flooding from the windows, and maybe that made her feel safer. She passed a park, turned left, and headed further from the town centre. They were now on Thornegata, approaching a hill. She turned left again. The street passed through an established residential area with older homes. Andreas had the idea that they should split up.
"I'll follow her," he whispered. "She'll relax if there's only one of us. You run up the hill through the back gardens so she can't see you from the street. We'll escort the old bag home!" Zipp obeyed. He stared at the woman and thought about how scared she was, maybe afraid that she was going to die. Her shoes were tapping hard against the pavement. Andreas walked behind her up the hill while Zipp slipped into a garden and started running through shrubbery and fruit trees, invisible in the dark. Andreas kept going. He could hear her rapid breathing. She kept turning round to see him striding along behind her. He tried to saunter to look less threatening. He felt as cold as ice as he touched his knife. Was she praying as she walked? Halfway up the hill she made another turn. Now she's almost safe, he thought. He passed her, casting a glance in her 98 direction, listening to her footsteps on the gravel. A gate slammed. A key in a lock.
Andreas had reached the far side of the house, he was pushing his way through the hedge, creeping into the garden, cloaked by the dark between the trees. He stood still and listened. Felt someone's breath on his neck.
"The old lady's inside. What do we do now?" Zipp's eyes shone like delicate flames behind a dew-covered pane. My best and only friend. My best and only friend. Andreas thought for a moment. Then he took off his scarf and let it slide through his fingers. Andreas thought for a moment. Then he took off his scarf and let it slide through his fingers.
"Shit. Are you going to strangle her?" Zipp was pale. At that moment a light went on in the house. A faint glow from the window fell across the lawn.
"Do you think I'm a complete idiot?" Andreas wrapped the scarf around his face so that only his eyes were visible. Then he took the cap from his trouser pocket and pulled it down over his hair. He put a hand on Zipp's shoulder, and was relieved when it was not brushed away. For a moment his knees felt weak with gratitude. They were going to share everything. The awful secret in the grass by the church, and what they were now about to do.
Nothing big. Just rob an old woman of her money. Not a single objection occurred to either of them.
"You wait here. I'll go inside."
99."Surely the old lady must have locked her door," Zipp said.
"I can get in anywhere." Andreas's voice was deep and resolute. He was going to make up for everything that had happened. The terrible pain had to be overshadowed by something; sheer terror would do the trick. The risk and the excitement overwhelmed his body, shaking him out of the paralysis he had felt back at the church.
"Shit, Andreas," muttered Zipp. "This is a dirty business."
"I am am the business,'" Andreas said in English, chuckling as he disappeared around the corner. Not the biggest or most dangerous animal in the forest, but the slimmest, the boldest and possibly the most cunning. Not an enemy was in sight, only an easy prey. Zipp crept closer to the wall around the garden. He couldn't see over it, but could glimpse the ceiling through the window and a chandelier in what must be the living room. Faint sounds were audible from inside. Zipp stood motionless in the dark He prayed she didn't have a husband with a shotgun, or a fucking dog. He'd heard stories about what could happen, but at the same time he was giddy with excitement. The black night with the strange light. The silent trees, the dew on the grass that turned silver in the moonlight. He leaned against the wall and pressed his ear to the cool panelling. the business,'" Andreas said in English, chuckling as he disappeared around the corner. Not the biggest or most dangerous animal in the forest, but the slimmest, the boldest and possibly the most cunning. Not an enemy was in sight, only an easy prey. Zipp crept closer to the wall around the garden. He couldn't see over it, but could glimpse the ceiling through the window and a chandelier in what must be the living room. Faint sounds were audible from inside. Zipp stood motionless in the dark He prayed she didn't have a husband with a shotgun, or a fucking dog. He'd heard stories about what could happen, but at the same time he was giddy with excitement. The black night with the strange light. The silent trees, the dew on the grass that turned silver in the moonlight. He leaned against the wall and pressed his ear to the cool panelling.
100.
CHAPTER 7.
How handsome Andreas was. No doubt he could have any girl he wanted. It's easy to love what is beautiful. Those who are believers talk about God's perfect creation with an idiotic gleam in their eyes. But a number of people are uncommonly ugly.
People like me, who have to work so much harder. Emphasise other qualities, so to speak. But even I found someone, or maybe Henry found me. I was so surprised when he proposed, so very moved by the courage it must have cost him, that I said yes at once. I didn't think anyone else would ever ask me. Would I, Irma Funder, get other offers? The woman with the eyebrows that had grown together and the fat thighs? The woman built like a horse? I didn't think much about whether I loved him; I didn't demand that much from life. Isn't marriage a job that has to be done? What is it anyway, this business about love? To need someone more than you need yourself? The lovely feeling that you've finally come out of yourself, taken off and flown inside another being? I don't know what in the 101 world could ever free me from myself, except death. And what is sorrow? That you no longer have companionship? I don't even grieve for Henry. Or for my son, who never comes to see me. Does there exist an unselfish thought in anyone at all? I'm helping Runi with this now, because she helped me yesterday. If I love this child enough, he'll carry me in his arms later. When I'm old. Well, not Ingemar. But I had hopes. Equilibrium. Buy and sell. We will survive here, teeter around on this building site called earth, which is never finished. We build and build, we don't dare stop. As long as we keep building, we have the hope that one day something will tower above us and surpass everything else. Then we meet someone and heave ourselves out. The rest is all hormones that overflow, heat, dampness, a pounding heart. Everything that courses inside us. Biochemistry. Do you understand me?
Henry and I, we even had a child. Lived like everyone else, or at least I think so. When he disappeared it was odd at first, the house was so quiet, but I quickly got used to it. I like being alone. No longer have to keep asking what he thought or believed. I'm lonely, of course, but who isn't? There are plenty of worse things. Illness and pain. Degradation. The way Andreas degraded me. He was thoughtless, but above all he was young. In that sense, he probably had a right to sympathy. Does everyone? I 102 don't know why he chose me. Maybe it was random, the way life is random in a disgusting way.
Runi had called and wanted me to go to the theatre. It's been newly restored after the fire. The King was there for the opening, the chandelier alone was worth the ticket price, she'd seen it on television. The play was called Chance Encounters. Chance Encounters. I said yes when she called; I should have said no. I've always thought there was danger associated with going into town at night. They sell heroin in the square. But I didn't want her to get suspicious, think I might not be like other people, so I said yes. She is my cover. I have to show a little enthusiasm at regular intervals if I want to be left in peace most of the time. I got dressed up. It was still light and it didn't occur to me to worry about walking the 20 I said yes when she called; I should have said no. I've always thought there was danger associated with going into town at night. They sell heroin in the square. But I didn't want her to get suspicious, think I might not be like other people, so I said yes. She is my cover. I have to show a little enthusiasm at regular intervals if I want to be left in peace most of the time. I got dressed up. It was still light and it didn't occur to me to worry about walking the 20 minutes into town. I chose a navy blue dress with a white collar. Underneath I wore nice underwear, silk panties and a tight vest to hold everything in place. My shoes had high heels, but I didn't have far to go. I left in plenty of time. I took note of the door labelled "Ladies", which is what I always do. Runi chattered and laughed the whole time, but every once in a while she would start complaining, as usual: about young people or whatever might occur to her. Life in general. I agreed with her at appropriate moments. There's something rather suspect about a person who never complains. Or at least 103 Runi would be suspicious, so I spent a while griping about the bus, even though I had walked. About how it never came on time. And about television programmes. The steady increase of crime in the city. There's certainly enough to talk about. Inconsiderate youths. Rubbish on the streets. All the synthetic additives in food. You know what I mean. She nodded and drank. It's nice to have someone agree with you.
We had good seats, but now and then I had trouble hearing what was said. We had a glass of port during the interval. I didn't understand the play, but I didn't say so. Just shrugged my shoulders expressively and said that, well, it wasn't that bad, but good Lord, I'd certainly seen better. And Runi agreed. But the theatre itself was magnificent. All in red and gold. And the chandelier was a dream in crystal. Hundreds of tiny little prisms, with light shining through every facet. Runi said it was made in Czechoslovakia, a gift from the Savings Bank. The old one from 1870 was gas lit, but in 1910 it had been converted to electricity, which is what subsequently started the fire. "Georg Resch," said Runi importantly, "he was the one who took the initiative." She loves showing off what little she knows.
It took a long time to get out at the end. People came pouring out from every direction, blocking the 104 way. I was poked and jostled by strangers and I noticed all the different smells: expensive woollen coats, heavy perfumes and smoke from the first cigarettes. The buzz of voices. A surging roar which rose and fell. If I closed my eyes I might be carried along, just surrender. On the other hand, I have no trouble dealing with temptations. I just think about the day that inevitably follows. I fixed my eyes on Runi's coat. It felt as if the crowd was almost crushing me, it was hard to breathe. It's much more pleasant to watch television or read a book. But at last we were outside, and the crowd spilled away in all directions. Runi wanted to walk, it wasn't far. I said that I'd take a taxi. Hoped the driver would be Norwegian. I'm not a racist, but I can't understand what they're saying when they speak broken Norwegian, and then they get annoyed. And things aren't easy for them as it is; no, frankly, I simply didn't want to subject them to Irma Funder. So I hoped for a Norwegian.
It was two blocks from the theatre to the taxi rank on the square. I walked along the river and stopped at the corner. Stared at the endless line of young people who were pushing and shoving, cursing and yelling. I couldn't stand in that queue, not for anything in the world. For a moment I stood there, hesitating and cold, unable to make up my mind, and that's not like me. I would simply have to walk. 105 It was five to midnight. As I glanced up at the floodlit church, the way a child does, I thought: This is the witching hour. I looked around in confusion, but I saw only the noisy people queuing for a taxi and a few solitary souls, rambling about. An empty taxi glided past, turned off its light and vanished. What if I waited at the corner until the queue got shorter? At that very moment a couple walked up and joined the end of the queue. They each lit up a cigarette. I cut across the square and chose the main street. There was no danger as long as I stayed on the main street, which went all the way to the park. Only there did it get truly dark. The last hill was barely lit at all. I walked on the right side of the street as fast as I could, but my shoes hurt my feet. I tried to make myself uninteresting because that's what I was, after all but my shoes gave me away. I could just as well have had a bell around my neck. Come and get me, come and get me! shrieked my shoes. I had money in my handbag, but not a lot. I'm not stupid. Only enough for a taxi home.
I passed the optician's and the bicycle specialist. Thought I heard footsteps behind me, but didn't turn to look. If someone was there, panic would seize hold of me. It wasn't a long walk home. In a few minutes it would all be over. In my mind I pictured the house, my own house with its green 106 paintwork, and the outdoor light that I had remembered to leave on, welcoming me home. I still thought I could hear something. Footsteps. Light, not tapping like my own. I couldn't resist a look. And then I saw them! Two young men. I admonished myself. There were people on the streets, they were going in the same direction, it was as simple as that. Yet it seemed as if they were staring at me, studying me as a possible target, but we women are always hysterical. We always imagine the worst, we know what it's like to grow up in a world of men. I started to walk faster. Turned around again to double-check. They were still there. I went all the way over to the shop windows, feeling safe for a moment in their light. Then I was in the dark again. When I turned around for the third time, one of them was gone. I sighed with relief; that was a good sign. He was already home! But I didn't slow my pace. I thought about everything that could happen. No, I wasn't afraid of dying. And I didn't pray to God. There were worse things that could happen to me than death. I thought it all through and knew that I couldn't allow that to happen to me. But that's how we think sometimes, and then it happens all the same. Like that time when I was ill and had to stay in hospital, with other people taking care of me.
I walked up the steep hill and thought about the 107 hospital and everything that had happened then. A nightmare that almost overshadowed the present. And that helped.
All the time I could hear footsteps. What frightened me was the fact that he didn't overtake me. A young man with long legs, he should have gone past long ago. Now I could see the roof of my house. I heard my own heart pounding, my legs hurt, and I was sweating inside the tight vest. I deliberately slammed the gate, as if someone in the empty house might be listening for it and get up from his chair. There were only a few more paces. The five steps up to the front door. I realised that I didn't have my key ready, I had to rummage in my handbag, in the little compartment. I stood under the light like a human bulls-eye. Then I found the key and stuck it in the lock. The door swung open. I could feel sobs rise in my throat out of sheer relief. That young man was going home to bed. Pull yourself together, Irma! I peered into the dark kitchen. Then I gasped out loud. A red eye shone in the dark. The coffee maker was on. It was half full of coffee. I had left the house with the coffee machine on, I could have burned down this lovely house, which is all I own. I switched it off. The kitchen smelled like a coffee shop. I turned on the light and lifted the pot from the hotplate. Had to lean on the counter for support. It had all been too 108 much for me. The theatre, the crowd, the walk through the dark town at night, the strange man and the coffee maker on, in the old house. I straightened up. It would, I vowed, be a long time before I did that again. Then I went into the bathroom. Stood with my back to the mirror and dropped my dress to the floor. Pulled the tight vest over my head and then stuck my arms into a dressing gown. It's white; yes, out of sheer defiance it is white. I never stay over at anyone's house, so it doesn't matter. I stood in the doorway and peered into the kitchen, at the striped rug. Maybe a little pick-me-up would be in order. I had wine in the cellar, so I rolled back the rug from the trap door. I took the ring and pulled it open.
That's when something happened. I heard a sound; it came from the hallway. I hadn't locked the door! In my horror over the glowing coffee machine, I had forgotten to secure the latch properly. I had run to the kitchen with only one thought, to prevent a catastrophe. I stood there, frozen to the spot, staring, unable to believe my eyes. A man came walking into the kitchen with a knife in his hand. His eyes, which were all I could see under the peak of his cap, shone with determination. He had a scarf wrapped around his face, and he was looking at my handbag, which lay on the counter. There were 200 kroner inside. But I had jewellery and 109.
silverware and more cash in the safe in Henry's study. For a few seconds there was utter silence. He seemed to be sniffing at the room, as if the smell of burned coffee surprised him. Then he looked at me. He wavered a bit, the knife shook. I took a step back, but he came after me, pressed me against the counter, stuck the tip of the blade under my chin and snarled.
"Your cash. And fucking be quick about it!" My knees started to shake. And that's when the accident happened, I couldn't help it. I felt a warmth sliding down my thighs, but he didn't notice, he was much too preoccupied with the knife, which was trembling, betraying his own fear. Just as scared as I was. I cast a glance towards Henry's study. I wanted to open the safe, but my legs wouldn't hold me. He got annoyed, waved the knife at me, shoved me aside with his fist. Not hard, but I flinched. His shouts were muffled by the scarf.
"Hurry it up, you old bag! Hurry it up!" I was just an old bag. And he was just a young kid. I could hear it in his voice. I hadn't moved. He pushed me again, and finally I managed to drag my feet across the room and into the study. I stood in front of the safe, staring at the dial, trying to remember the combination. My fingers shook uncontrollably, but my mind was a blank. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to run away. I was willing to 110 give him everything I had, there wasn't really much inside, anyway, maybe 5,000 kroner. But I couldn't remember the combination. Now he really started to get nervous. Instinctively I thought that I had to keep him calm, tried to explain about the combination, that I had written it down. "In the teapot," I gasped, "it's in the teapot in the kitchen!" He screamed that he didn't have time for this. He seized hold of my dressing gown, up near the collar. I immediately pulled it tight because I was afraid, and he could see that this was for me the worst. I didn't want him to see me the way I was. With one hand he tugged at the belt and held it taut, then he raised the knife and cut my belt in two. The heavy white towelling fell away. I covered myself with my hands, but it was too late. He stared in disbelief, lurched back with a strange expression, not exactly disgust, but he couldn't comprehend what he saw. Just shook his head. He had forgotten what he came for. But the seconds kept ticking away, and eventually he understood. It was my intestine he was looking at. It sticks out through the skin of my abdomen and ends in a colostomy bag. It was almost full, and also split open. The knife blade had sliced it in two. The contents were running down my legs. I couldn't look at his face, I turned around and rushed out of the study, but he came after me. Stopped in front of me with his knife raised.
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"I don't give a damn about . . . that! I want money!"
I felt it running down, it was thin, not fully digested, and the smell was starting to spread, and I'm so fastidious about things like that. Behind him, the cellar trap-door was open. He didn't notice it, he was jumping around, but I could see that he had reached breaking point. I thought he might end up stabbing me if he didn't get what he wanted. And so I pushed him. I heard a gasp as he fell backwards down the steep staircase. There was a crashing and thumping and thundering on the stairs. I heard a disgusting, dull thud as he hit the cement. A faint rattling sound that lasted a few seconds. Then silence.
Zipp was waiting in the dark. He heard sounds from inside: a woman screaming, footsteps crossing a floor. He stared and stared through the window, but he could see only the ceiling and the top of a painting. An eternity passed. Why didn't Andreas come out again? He looked for something to stand on. In the garden there was a small gazebo with several chairs inside. He crept over to it, picked up a chair and carried it to the window, shoving it down hard into a rosebed. He could feel the prick of the thorns through his trousers. He 112 climbed on to the chair and peered over the windowsill. He saw a kitchen table and chairs and a striped rug. Nothing else, and nobody in sight. All was quiet. Confused, he stayed on the chair and waited. He couldn't imagine what had happened to them. Had this whole caper gone to hell? Had the worst possible thing happened? Were the police on the way? Damn it! He jumped down, but at that moment he heard a faint sound. Relieved, he spun round and stared at the corner of the house, but no-one appeared. Was Andreas playing games with him? Had he robbed the old lady and then run off with the cash? Was he standing down on the road counting the money, grinning and laughing at the thought of Zipp, still waiting in the dark? He climbed up on the chair again. Stood there for an eternity until his neck started to ache. Suddenly he caught sight of the woman in the house. She came through a door, wearing only a nightdress, and sank onto a chair at the table. She looked unharmed, which was a relief. He decided to stay where he was until she did something. Was she going to call the police? Had she called them already? Zipp jumped down, ran round the side of the house and stood at the corner, partially hidden. No-one came. He ran back to take one more look. She was still sitting there. He listened for sirens in the distance, but heard nothing. Just a faint hum 113 from the town below. He was tired and bewildered after everything that had happened on this unreal day. He fumbled for a cigarette, inhaled deeply and watched the tip glow bright red in the dark. He badly needed to cough but managed to suppress the urge. He smoked the whole cigarette and then got back on the chair. She was still sitting there, for God's sake, in exactly the same position. The woman was clearly in shock, that much he could see. But he couldn't very well stay there all night. He was going to have to leave. Leave the dark garden all alone. He couldn't do that! But the clock was ticking. He had waited long enough. Without a sound, he slipped out through the gate, but the question kept churning through his mind: Where the hell was Andreas?
The pounding as he crashed down the stairs, the horrible sound of his head hitting the concrete floor, I can't describe it! The impact settled in my own body as a needle-like pain. I thought to myself: surely he must have died in a fall like that! That fragile body against the hard-as-rock floor. I closed the trap door. At least he wouldn't be able to come up and threaten me again. Of course, I would have to call somebody, surely someone would help me. Maybe Runi, or Ingemar. No, Lord knows, not 114.
Ingemar! And the way I looked! I tottered out to the bathroom. Changed the bag. It was difficult to get the new one closed because my hands were shaking so much. I thought about what he had seen, what no-one was ever supposed to see. Or hear about, know about; well, only if necessary, if it was unavoidable. But see it? NO! The expression on his face, utter disbelief. Maybe he didn't realise what it was, maybe he thought I was some kind of deformed monster, a freak. A gleaming pink intestine on my stomach, that looks rather like . . . well, you have to forgive me, but it's so hard for me to talk about this. But it looks rather like a penis. And I'm a woman, after all.
I put on a clean nightdress. Sat at the kitchen table. I don't know how long I sat there. I felt encapsulated, with no room for any thoughts, not even despair. Then I raised my head, and my eyes automatically looked at the window. For a wild moment I thought I saw a face against the pane. I stared and stared, but it didn't reappear. I don't know how much time must have passed before I finally asked myself the question: What should I do now? When I reached that stage, the feeling of paralysis left me. And with the return of reality came the emotions. They nearly knocked me unconscious. I recalled his eyes. They were shining with fright and determination. To come here and 115 force his way in had been important for him. How can money be that important? I was sitting a pace from the cellar door. If I opened it, the light from the kitchen would make it possible for me to see him. I had to get up and take a look, through the trap door. And then I remembered that I should call someone soon. Explain everything. There was so much that had to be done. Reluctantly, I got to my feet. Opened the trap door. I didn't dare to look. But I couldn't pretend that nothing had happened. If I went into another room and sat there until morning, he would still be lying in the same position. I stood with my back turned and counted to ten, to 20. He wasn't going anywhere. He had fallen to his death. Thirty, forty. Cautiously I turned. Why didn't he scream? I squatted down. The first step came into focus, then the rest. The light was slanting down over the stairs. The first thing I saw was his feet. They were lying on the second step from the bottom. His body was twisted into an impossibly contorted position. One arm was stretched out to the side, I couldn't see the other one, maybe he was lying on it. His forehead was a white patch in the darkness of the cellar, his cap was gone. No-one could lie like that and still be alive. The angle of his head gave me a terrible clue. I stood there as long as I could, staring at him. Listening for any sounds, but it was as quiet as the grave. I straightened up. 116 Realised that the worst had happened. He was dead.
The thought came to me with absolute calm, as something important but not dramatic. What would I have done if he were still alive? I should call for an ambulance. But the mere idea of having to explain everything was unthinkable. Strangers stomping into Irma's house? I put the trap door back in place. Laid the rug on top. It was simple. No-one knew that he had come into my house. I tried to think. It was a matter of making some important decisions. I took a deep breath, in and out, then another, in and out. I decided to stay at home the next day. I hardly ever missed work, so no-one would think it odd. I could say I was coming down with the flu. And then I felt it, the strange sensation that I had been in this selfsame situation before. I couldn't understand it. Fear must be playing tricks on me. But I had always believed that one day something terrible would happen. Whenever I sat in the red chair near the window I let my thoughts wander. In my mind I'd been through almost all the possibilities. The nightmare that would befall me. And now, here it was. Something that I'd been waiting for. When I realised the connection, I grew calmer. The worst imaginable thing had occurred; in other words, something was finally over. The problem was out in the open and could now be resolved. It was time for 117 action. I told myself that first I needed to get some sleep. I felt worn out. Later, I would get rid of all traces. Had he left any traces? I looked around, went into the study. What about his knife? Was it down in the cellar? I was talking to myself in a low voice.
"There's a dead man in the cellar. He came here to attack me. It was an accident. Nobody knows that he's here, and hardly anyone ever comes here. There must be a way out of this. There must be a way out!" I turned off all the lights except in the bathroom. Then I went to bed. Pulled the duvet over me and stared into the dim light of the room. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. They just kept running and running.
Zipp was perched on the top of a woodpile behind the house where Andreas lived. There was a faint light visible behind the curtains. The window was closed. He seemed to remember that Andreas always slept with the window open. He thought to himself: Here I am again, standing like a Peeping Tom. The bed was neatly made. He could see the black-and-white bedspread lying nice and smooth. And the poster of The Doors. On the desk stood an empty Coke bottle. No Andreas. Zipp had been convinced that Andreas would be at home in his own bed. But he wasn't.
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Zipp jumped down. He would have to go home.
Where the hell else could he go? Should he wait until morning and call? His concern turned to anger. And then he trudged off, past the church and the graves, walking fast with his hands in his pockets. Up and along the streets, feeling so damned alone. He had only to make it through this night. With daylight the explanation would emerge, something stupid. Andreas always had an explanation. He unlocked the door and went in. Ran downstairs. Pulled off his tight jeans. His skin felt clammy and stripes from the double seams ran down his thighs. He lay on the sofa with a blanket over him and stared into the darkness. Andreas had done everything, and he only stood there and watched. No-one had anything on him. A tiny feeling of relief began trickling through him. Just before the darkness swallowed him, he remembered the chair. He had left it standing under her window. What would she think? What had the two of them been thinking of? They hadn't thought, they had just charged ahead. Suddenly he pictured the pram striking the rocks, and the baby's tiny mouth with the toothless gums; the foaming sea; the angry cries. What we were ends here, he thought.
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I lay in bed for a long time, shaking as if I had a fever. I felt neither good or bad, I was just a body living its own muddled life, without coherence. I dreamed that my intestine was growing, that it wriggled out, slowly but surely, until it was dragging along the ground. I had to gather it up and carry it in my hands for everyone to see. An enormous tangle of intestines. Look here! Then I woke up. I hadn't forgotten about the horror in the cellar. I had only pushed it aside for a while, like a mean-spirited dog some distance off, which couldn't get at me because it was chained up. But now it was growling. I opened my eyes and stared dead ahead at the flowered wallpaper. It growled again, this time louder. At the same time I was quite sure that I wasn't crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm perfectly sane, I'm describing everything exactly as it was, down to the last detail. Are you still reading this?
Then it was quiet again. Maybe the sound was the relics of a dream. Then it started howling. At first a long, drawn-out, faint howl, then it got louder. I've never heard such a sad howl before, it was coming from a creature in dire need, in the utmost pain. An insane thought occurred to me, but I pushed it away. It wasn't possible. The world couldn't be that evil! Things were bad enough already. But the sound was indeed coming from the cellar. A muffled cry, as if he didn't have much strength, and it had 120 cost him everything to scream. I sat up in bed, shaking with terror now, and stuffed a corner of the pillow in my mouth. The man was alive! He was lying there in the cold cellar and screaming for help!
I threw myself on to my stomach and pressed the pillow over my head. I couldn't bear to hear those screams, as if they came from a wounded animal. He was calling to me. Maybe other people would hear him. The neighbours? People passing on the street?
They would stop and listen, make a note of my address. Maybe they would think I was hurting someone. I was going to be sick. What business had he coming here in the first place? If only he would shut up! Finally I got up and tip-toed across the room. I didn't want him to hear my footsteps overhead. Obviously he was in terrible pain. And he was only a boy. Imagine that he could scream like that. I've never heard anyone scream so horribly, with so much fear. A young boy. All alone in the dark down there, lying on the ice-cold floor. I stopped in the kitchen. Turned on the light over the counter. I couldn't do anything without him hearing me. Turn on the water or open the door to the refrigerator. I pulled out a kitchen chair and sank down. Sat there with one hand on my stomach, feeling the warm contents in the bag through the material of my nightdress. It was quiet again. Maybe he had fainted or something, or maybe he was 121 gathering his strength to scream even louder. I don't know how long I was there. Then he started again, this time louder. I stood up abruptly, went to the radio on the counter, and switched it on. Night-time programming. They were playing music. I turned up the volume. Found a level that blocked out his howls, so that I couldn't hear him. I listened in amazement to all the passion flowing into the room.
"I will always love you." "Hold me baby, hold me now." I sat hunched over the table. I didn't belong in this world, I was an unloved human being. And now here I was, an old woman with a bag of my own waste at my stomach, taking up space. I suddenly started to retch, but nothing came out, just the taste of sour port wine. He had stopped screaming. Did I dare to open the trap door? Just take a quick look and shut it again? I began rolling up the rug, uncovering the door. I listened, holding my breath, didn't hear a thing. He must have lost consciousness. I could go back to bed, postpone the problem for a few hours more. I stared at the wall, at the calendar that showed September. It's autumn, I thought. It's going to get even darker and colder. Then I grabbed the ring and raised the trap door. Peered down at the pale face. The eyes above the scarf stared back at me, and I heard a scream so heart-rending that I almost fell down the stairs. But I regained my balance and dropped the trap door, 122 dropped it with a bang. He was far from dead. He was going to stay alive for a long time; he had strength. He knew that I was up here, that I could save him. I turned the radio up again. Went back to bed. I could hear the music through the open door. A man was screaming in the most terrible despair.
"I lied for you, and that's the truth." I sat up in bed until it got light outside. The grey light came through my window like dirty water. Someone like me, who is so meticulous, yet I couldn't stop it. He wasn't screaming now.
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CHAPTER 8.