In the Darkness

by Karin Fossum

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘Work at the Women’s Refuge.’

  The absurdity of the situation made Eva laugh.

  ‘There’s no clash of interests in that. I do a good job,’ Maja said stoutly.

  ‘I don’t doubt it. I bet it’s right up your street. But I don’t suppose your colleagues have an inkling about what you do.’

  ‘Of course not. But I’m better equipped than most girls. I understand men, and I understand their motives.’

  They carried on drinking coffee and took no notice of what was going on around them, the people that came and went, the tables that were cleared and retaken, the traffic that hummed outside. It was the way it had always been when the two of them were together, they forgot everything else.

  ‘D’you remember when we sprayed hairspray into Mr Strande’s beehives?’ said Maja. ‘And you got stung seventeen times?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Eva said smiling. ‘And you pushed me all the way home in a wheelbarrow, shouting and telling me off because I was howling so loudly. Those were the days. I got a temperature of forty-one. It was about that time that Dad contemplated keeping us apart. Anyway, I don’t know how you managed to put up with me, why you didn’t get fed up towing me around. I couldn’t even manage to get my own boys.’

  ‘No, you made do with the ones I managed to find. Maybe they weren’t all of the best quality.’

  ‘Course not. You took the best-looking one yourself, and I got his friend. But if it hadn’t been for you, I’d probably still be a virgin.’

  Maja gave her an appraising glance. ‘You’re really pretty good-looking, Eva. Perhaps you should be an artist’s model, instead of painting yourself?’

  ‘Ha! Have you any idea what they get paid?’

  ‘At least it would be a regular income. You certainly wouldn’t have any problems getting customers, if you were to succumb to the temptation of joining forces with me. I’ve never seen a girl with such long legs before. How do you find trousers long enough?’

  ‘I only wear skirts.’ Suddenly Eva began to giggle hysterically.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you remember Mrs Skollenborg?’

  ‘Talk about something else!’

  There was complete silence.

  ‘Must you do this hotel thing in Normandy?’

  ‘Yes, there’s no point in doing anything here in this narrow-minded country.’

  ‘Then I’m going to lose you again. Just now, when I’ve found you.’

  ‘You could come along too, you know. France is the right place for an artist like you, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘I know no such thing.’

  ‘I’ve got Emma. She’s six, nearly seven. She’s at playschool now.’

  ‘Don’t you think children can grow up in France too?’

  ‘Of course, but she’s got a father as well.’

  ‘But aren’t you the one with custody?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Eva gave a little sigh.

  ‘You make everything so difficult,’ Maja said quietly, ‘you’ve always done that. Of course you can come to France if you want to. You can work at the hotel. Five minutes every night, padding down the corridor in a white nightie and holding a five-branched candelabra. I want to have my own ghost. Then you could paint the rest of the day.’

  Eva drained her coffee cup. For a while she’d forgotten about reality, but now it came surging back.

  ‘Have you got any dinner plans today?’

  ‘I never have dinner. I eat bread and cheese, I’m not that bothered about food.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anything like it. It’s hardly surprising you’re in such poor shape. How can you ever produce anything decent if you’re not getting the nourishment you need? You need meat! We’re going to get some dinner, we’ll go to Hannah’s Kitchen.’

  ‘But that’s the most expensive place in town.’

  ‘Is it really? I don’t need to worry about that kind of thing, I only know they’ve got the best food.’

  ‘I’m so full of cake.’

  ‘By the time the food is on the table it will have gone down a bit.’

  Eva surrendered and followed Maja. It was the way it had always been. Maja had all the ideas, Maja made the decisions and led the way and Eva trotted after her.

  Chapter 17

  THEY LEFT GLASSMAGASINET arm in arm and crossed the paved square, each feeling the other’s warmth, that it was the same warmth as it had been in the past. The door to Hannah’s Kitchen was something Eva had seen many times, but it had always been beyond her reach. Now, it was opened for them, and Maja entered with a poised smile, while Eva searched for some passably self-confident mien. The head waiter gave a smile of recognition, a courteous smile. If he was aware of the sort of business which paid Maja’s bills, he hid it well; his smile gave away nothing at all. He touched her arm very lightly and steered them across to a vacant table. Eva had to relinquish her coat in the cloakroom. Beneath it she was wearing a faded, mustard-yellow tee shirt, and it made her feel ill at ease.

  ‘The usual, Robert,’ said Maja, ‘for two.’

  He nodded and left.

  Eva sank back in her chair and looked about her wide-eyed. The restaurant had an exclusive hush that she’d never before experienced. Maja spread herself across the table, totally indifferent to her surroundings.

  ‘Tell me a bit about what it’s like,’ Eva said inquisitively, ‘working the way – the way you do.’

  Maja cocked her head. ‘Ah, so you are curious. I thought you’d ask. People can never resist.’

  Eva assumed a hurt expression.

  ‘Well, it’s all pretty trivial really. I mean, it just becomes a matter of routine.’

  Suddenly she was staring at the tablecloth as if she were embarrassed.

  ‘Men’s sexual desires never cease to amaze me. How powerful they are, how very important it is to have them satiated and how quickly they finish. Maybe they think that’s the best kind of sex there is,’ she mused, ‘the intense, crude kind without foreplay or other refinements. No ifs or buts. It just takes ten minutes, then it’s over. There isn’t even time to think. In fact, I make strenuous efforts not to think. I just smile as prettily as I can when they pay the bill. But actually …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m giving up soon. I’ve been at it a long time.’

  ‘And the bill?’

  ‘A thousand, give or take. Money first, goodies after. I lie still with my eyes closed and a becoming smile and I don’t give even the tiniest moan. No kissing or necking, I can’t be bothered to treat them like babies. Clothes off and condoms on. It’s like working a one-armed bandit, the money comes pouring out.’

  ‘A thousand kroner? And how many are there each day?’

  ‘Four or five, occasionally more. Five times a week. Four weeks a month. Well, you work it out.’

  ‘At home in your flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A waiter placed prawn cocktails and white wine on the table.

  ‘So where do you live?’

  ‘In the flats in Tordenskioldsgate.’

  ‘Don’t any of your neighbours suspect?’

  ‘They don’t suspect, they know. Several of them are regular customers.’

  Eva sighed faintly and chewed a prawn reverently. They were as large as crayfish tails.

  ‘I’ve got an extra bedroom,’ Maja said suddenly.

  Eva snorted. ‘I can just see myself. Like some terrified twelve-year-old virgin.’

  ‘Only for the first week, then it becomes a job. You could do a few hours while Emma was at playschool. Think of all the nice food you could bring home for her.’

  ‘She’s way overweight.’

  ‘Fresh fruit then, chicken and salad,’ Maja said.

  ‘I expect it sounds unbelievable, but I am tempted,’ Eva admitted. ‘I’m just too scared. I’m not made that way.’ For a mad second it irritated her. ‘We’ll see.’

&n
bsp; The waiter cleared the table and returned immediately with fillet steak, baby carrots, broccoli and Hasselback potatoes. Now he filled their glasses with red wine.

  ‘But you’re not working tonight?’

  ‘I’ve got a day off today, but I’ll do a bit tomorrow. Bottoms up!’

  Eva felt the tender steak melt on her tongue. The red wine was at room temperature, and had little resemblance to her father’s Canepa. The first bottle was soon emptied, and Maja ordered another.

  ‘But I can’t quite get over it,’ Eva said in wonderment, ‘that you really sell your body.’

  ‘It’s better than selling your soul,’ she replied flatly. ‘Isn’t that what you artists do? If there’s one thing we ought to keep to ourselves and hide from others, it’s our souls. The body is merely a container we lug around with us, I can’t see anything so terribly venerable about it. Why not share it around and be generous if people can enjoy it? But the soul – displaying your dreams and desires, your own anxiety and despair in a gallery to all the world and his wife – and then taking money for it – that’s what I call real prostitution.’

  Eva tensed, a baby carrot protruding between her lips. ‘It’s not quite like that.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it what all artists say? That you’ve got to have the courage to stand there completely naked?’

  ‘Where exactly did you pick that up from?’

  ‘I’m not a fool just because I’m a whore. It’s a common misconception.’ She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. ‘Another misconception is that prostitutes are unhappy women who’ve lost all self-respect, who shiver on street corners in thin stockings and whose only reward is a drubbing from some brutal pimp, after which they spend most of the day lying there mumbling in some kind of drug-induced state. All that,’ she said chewing her fillet steak, ‘is only a small part of the business. The prostitutes I know are hard-working, intelligent girls who know what they want. But then, I’ve got a soft spot for prostitutes. They’re the most decent bunch of women you could find.’ She motioned to the waiter to fill their glasses again.

  Eva was already tipsy. ‘I’m not right for it even so,’ she mumbled. ‘You said I was too thin.’

  ‘Hah! You’re absolutely fantastic. A bit different, perhaps, even a little unusual. But what you’ve got between your legs, Eva, is a gold mine. A real gold mine. And that’s where they want to go. Men are straightforward like that, at least the ones who come to me are.’

  Eventually the pudding arrived. A mixture of ice-cold strawberries and blackberries on a base of hot vanilla sauce. Eva pulled off the leaves. ‘Greenery in the dessert,’ she muttered, ‘I don’t see the point of it. Anyway, I’ve never understood men,’ she continued, ‘I mean, what do they want exactly?’

  ‘Well-rounded, warm-hearted women with a zest for life. And there certainly aren’t many of those about. Women have quite impossible ideals in my opinion, I don’t understand them at all. They don’t seem to want to have a good time. I was looking at the autumn fashions just recently on TV, where the supermodels were parading the latest thing. Naomi Campbell – you’ve seen her, haven’t you – she appeared in something thigh-length and minced out on to the catwalk on the skinniest legs I’ve ever seen. The woman looks as if she’s made entirely of PVC. When I look at those kind of girls, I wonder if they ever go to the toilet and shit like normal people.’

  Eva exploded with laughter and sprayed vanilla sauce over the tablecloth.

  ‘You shouldn’t take yourself so seriously,’ she went on earnestly. ‘We’re all going to die anyway. In a hundred years everything will be forgotten. A bit of money would help things along. You’re dreaming of becoming a great artist, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am great,’ she slurred. ‘It’s just that no one realises.’ She snuffled a bit, she was becoming very drunk. ‘And I’m thoroughly sloshed as well.’

  ‘Good for you. The coffee and cognac will be here soon. And stop that whining, it’s time you grew up.’

  ‘D’you believe in God?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Maja wiped vanilla sauce from her mouth. ‘But now and then I save people from despair and do a good deed, that’s the way I like to look at it. Not every man finds a woman. I was once visited by a young boy whose thing was decorating his body with rings and pearls. They were all over him, in every conceivable place, he sparkled and glittered like an American Christmas tree. The girls wouldn’t have any more to do with him.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Gave him a really good time and charged a bit extra.’

  Eva sipped the cognac and lit the wrong end of a cigarette.

  ‘Come back with me and see the flat,’ Maja said. ‘Give yourself a chance to get out of the rut. It’s only an episode in your life. Look on it as a new experience.’

  Eva made no answer. She seemed paralysed by something completely unreal, something that scared her rigid. But there could be no doubt: Maja’s suggestion was in the process of taking root within her, and now it was up for assessment.

  They were lying on Maja’s double bed and Eva had got a bad attack of hiccups.

  ‘Maja,’ she said, ‘what exactly is the Mariana Trench?’

  ‘The deepest bit of ocean in the world. Eleven thousand metres deep. Just try imagining it, eleven thousand metres.’

  ‘How do you know about it?’

  ‘No idea. I probably read it somewhere. By comparison, our mucky river flowing through town here is only eight point eight metres deep under the bridge.’

  ‘Goodness, the things you know.’

  ‘What little spare time I have isn’t spent reading Cocktail, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘It used to be.’

  ‘That was twenty-five years ago, and you were quite keen on it, too.’

  They both cackled.

  ‘Maja, the paintings on your walls are simply ghastly. That’s what real prostitution is, let me tell you, painting just to sell. With only that in view.’

  ‘Do we need food or don’t we?’

  ‘A bit of food, I don’t really need all that much.’

  ‘But electricity and telephones are useful, aren’t they?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I’m going to give you ten thousand kroner when you go.’

  ‘What?’ She propped herself up on her elbow swaying with alarm.

  ‘And you bring along a picture when you come tomorrow. A good one, which you’d price at ten thousand. I’ll buy a picture from you. I’m curious. Perhaps you’ll be famous one day, perhaps I’ll make a killing.’

  ‘One can always hope.’

  Maja smiled contentedly. ‘We’ll get things going for you, Eva, just you wait. When is Emma coming home?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. She usually rings when she’s had enough.’

  ‘In that case you might as well begin tomorrow. Only a try-out, of course. I’ll help you get going, there are a few little things you’ll need to know about. I’ll send a taxi for you, what, about six? Tomorrow evening? I take care of the clothes and stuff.’

  ‘Clothes?’

  ‘You can’t work in what you’ve got on. I’m not being rude, but the clothes you wear aren’t the slightest bit sexy.’

  ‘And why should I go round looking sexy?’

  Maja sat up and looked at her in astonishment. ‘You’re not all that different to other women. I dare say you want a man, too, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eva wearily, ‘I suppose I do.’

  ‘Then you ought to stop dressing like a scarecrow.’

  ‘You really know how to dish out the compliments.’

  ‘Oh, I’m just jealous. You’re elegant, I’m nothing but a chubby bitch with a set of spare tyres and a double chin.’

  ‘No, you’re a well-rounded, warm-hearted woman with a zest for life. Have you any self-respect?’ Eva enquired suddenly.

  ‘About twice as much as you, I should think.’

  ‘I only wondered.’

&nb
sp; ‘I can envisage it already. The rumours about the leggy artist will run like wildfire through the town. Perhaps you’ll steal my clients from me, perhaps I’m just about to give away my entire livelihood.’

  ‘If you’ve got almost two million, I don’t feel sorry for you.’

  Eva went home in a taxi paid for by Maja. At the same time she took the opportunity to order a cab for the following evening at six. She fumbled with the key and staggered into her studio, and began scrutinising her paintings with a critical eye. Because she was pretty drunk, they made a huge impression on her and, feeling content, she lay down on the sofa and fell asleep with her clothes on.

  Chapter 18

  JUST AS SHE awoke, in the instant before the hangover made itself felt, she recalled her dream. She had dreamt about Maja. Only when she opened her eyes did reality return clearly, and she got up alarmed. She found to her amazement that she’d slept in her studio, and fully dressed at that.

  She tottered into the bathroom and approached the mirror with some misgiving. Her mascara was water-resistant, it hadn’t run, but her lashes stuck out from the rims of her red eyes like singed straws. The pores of her skin were large as snakebites. She groaned into the basin and turned on the cold water tap. What had they been talking about? It came back to her slowly, and her heart gradually beat faster as she dredged up more of the conversation. Maja, the Maja of her childhood, her very best friend whom she hadn’t seen for twenty-five years, was a prostitute. A rich prostitute, she thought with horror, as she vaguely recalled how they’d discussed her own prospects for getting out of financial straits. It was incredible that she’d even contemplated the possibility! She splashed cold water on her face and groaned again, opened the door of the medicine cabinet and took out a packet of paracetamol. She washed a couple of tablets down with some water and pulled off her tee shirt and underwear. Maybe I’ve got a beer in the fridge, she thought. Then it struck her that she was feeling far too fragile to work and that yet another day would pass without any progress. She showered and scrubbed herself for as long as she could bear, felt the tablets working slowly and got into a dressing gown, black with Chinese dragons on the back. Then she went out into the living room to search her bag for a cigarette. She opened it and found herself staring down at a bundle of notes. For an instant she gawped at them in surprise, then she remembered. She counted them. Ten thousand kroner. Enough to pay off all the bills in the drawer. She shook her head in disbelief, then went into her studio and looked at her pictures again. One of them had been pulled out on to the floor, when had she done that?