by Helle Helle
She kept waking up that night and smiling at him in the dark. She lay and watched the clock turn seven and eight before getting up. She crept out to the bathroom and got herself ready. At nine she put the coffee on. At half nine she made the toast. At ten she made some more, but it was half ten by the time she heard him stir. She sat up in her chair and forced a smile.
‘Sleepyhead,’ she said when he came in.
‘Mm,’ he said and touched her shoulder. He sat down and took a piece of toast.
‘I’ve had mine,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t wait any longer. I waited ages. I always look forward to breakfast.’
He pulled a little corner off and put it in his mouth. She thought: I need to be broad-minded now.
‘I imagined we’d have breakfast together,’ she said.
And then a moment later:
‘A grown man lying in until half past ten.’
He paused for a second in the middle of his toast, then carried on munching. He had another cup of coffee and went to the bathroom. She sat looking out of the window at the traffic below, a pedestrian saw her and waved. She didn’t wave back. A good bit later he came in again, he had his coat and rucksack on. He lifted a couple of fingers by way of goodbye.
‘Cheers for now, then,’ he said.
Her lips were so tight she couldn’t get a word out. She sat, rigid, at the table for nearly an hour. Eventually she got the better of herself and went over to his, but there was no answer. She found a crumpled piece of paper in her bag and wrote: Did you go because you were going, or have you gone? She folded it up and put it through the letter box. She’d seen him once since, on his way in to the Kvickly supermarket. He saw her too. They both turned away. Annoyingly, he was quicker.
Anyway, her upstairs neighbours hadn’t been able to make a go of it either, and they’d been together more than eight years. Dorte could hear the woman crying at night. She’d bumped into her on the stairs too. She looked like she’d been steeped in chlorine.
‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘because I can see she’s having a hard time of it. I just don’t understand how it can hurt that much. I mean, she’s still young. Her future’s wide open.’
‘She must miss him,’ I said.
‘Yes, but still.’
‘Perhaps it’s like if you were never going to see me again,’ I said.
‘Do you think? I can’t imagine that at all. What a terrible thought.’
‘That’s probably what it’s like then.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. Do you know, I might just pop in on her with a little bunch of something once I’ve got a minute,’ she said.
28.
Per and Ruth and Hans-Jakob invited me with them to Sweden for the Whitsun holiday, three days at a hotel by a lake in Småland. We drove up in the Volvo, Per and me in the back with a pillow each. We held hands across the seat, Per rubbed my palm with his thumb. I took my hand away and propped the pillow up between my cheek and the window and stared out at the vast pine forests. Ruth did the driving, Hans-Jakob sat with the map and a bar of Marabou chocolate. He broke pieces off and handed them back to us. They’d booked us into two rooms. There was a dinner included, in a banqueting room. We were going to have coffee in a summer house in the garden then go down to the freezing cold lake for an evening swim. Per had his checked shorts on, his thighs were long and firm. He took hold of my hand again, then leaned across and put his lips to my ear.
‘Are you tired, darling?’
‘A bit.’
‘You’re not carsick, are you?’
‘No.’
‘How about stopping at the next lay-by?’ he said to Ruth, and she nodded.
‘Good idea. I’ll have a piece of that too, Hans-Jakob.’
We ambled back and forth in the lay-by. Per swung our arms. He shoved me into a little ditch and pulled me up again. Ruth and Hans-Jakob sat on the bench and studied the map. Hans-Jakob waved to us.
‘Look at him, the old fart,’ said Per.
‘Don’t talk about your dad like that,’ I said.
‘He’s eaten nearly all that chocolate himself now.’
‘He’s only forty-five. He can still thrash you at badminton.’
‘Ha, ha.’
‘Ow, that hurts.’
‘I’d like to get old with you someday,’ he said.
‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘What do you mean? Yes, I would.’
‘You don’t want to get old.’
‘No, but the other bit.’
‘That’s nice of you to say,’ I said. He put his arms around me from behind and kissed me on the neck, and nudged me on towards his parents. Ruth looked up.
‘Still kissing after four hundred kilometres,’ she said.
In the evening we lay naked in our room after the swim, our bellies full of elk steaks and French red wine. Our bathing costumes were hanging up to dry on the balcony. A piano played downstairs, and on the other side of the wall behind our bed I could hear Ruth’s voice. There was a scraping sound, perhaps from a piece of furniture, followed by chinking glasses and laughter. When I turned to Per he’d fallen asleep. I began to cry, ever so quietly at first, but then I let go. I sniffed and sobbed. Eventually, he woke and sat up.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘Have you had too much wine?’
‘No.’
‘What’s the matter then? Is it something I’ve done?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘It’s just that you’d fallen asleep. I felt so alone all of a sudden.’
‘Come here,’ he said, and drew me towards him. I cried all down his smooth shoulder.
‘I can’t bear the thought that we’re so young, either. We’re much too young.’
‘For what?’
‘For everything. For this. We’re just waiting for it to fall apart.’
‘What kind of a thing’s that to say in the middle of the night, you bloody great arse?’ he said, and then he began to cry as well, the tears streamed down his cheeks. He picked up the pillow and buried his face in it. I didn’t know what to do. He curled up and made some long, hollow sounds. After a bit I leaned forward and took the pillow away. His hair stuck to his forehead.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said.
‘Is that why you’ve been acting so strange?’ he said.
‘No. I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘What are you trying to tell me then?’
‘That was it. I just thought we were so young all of a sudden.’
‘What am I supposed to say to that? There’s nothing I can say,’ he said. There was an unfamiliar anger in his voice that I liked.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘It’s up to you what you want,’ he said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with being young or not.’
But the next morning his anger had evaporated, he kept touching me fondly as we ate our cinnamon rolls. Ruth was playing around with a box of matches. Her coffee spilled over onto the white tablecloth. Every time I looked out I thought about my suitcase. It was drizzling and the grass was all green. I imagined sitting on a bus with my hands in my lap, then getting off. I thought about the suitcase when the others were busy and when I was on my own, as I stood by the window in the room that looked out on the lake and when I lay there in bed. After we got home it seemed like the only thing to do was pack. I did it on the Tuesday morning before Per woke up, and when he did I told him. I carried the suitcase down the stairs and put it down under the sycamore tree while I got my bike out of the barn. Per stood on the cobbles in his underpants. When I went up to kiss him he turned away. I put the suitcase on the pannier rack and wheeled the bike down the drive. When I got to the road I turned round. He was still standing there. He didn’t move. I thought about raising my hand, and then I did.
29.
It was a bit of a job wheeling the bike with the suitcase on the pannier rack, it kept sliding to one side. Every now and then I had to stop and manoeuvre it back into place,
there was hardly any strength left in my arms after a couple of kilometres. Just before Teestrup a white van slowed down, inside were two men wearing overalls. One of them rolled the window down.
‘Do you need any help?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘It’ll go in the back no bother.’
‘No, I’m all right, thanks.’
‘Where are you going? Are you going to Ringsted?’
‘No, just over there,’ I said, and pointed. They both turned their heads and looked. I moved my finger a bit to the right, towards a building on the other side of a wire fence.
‘Well, give them our love,’ he said, and then they drove on. The other one smirked in the mirror.
The building was a disused electricity substation. The van was long gone, but I stopped by the fence anyway and put the suitcase on the ground. I sat down on it. It gave a bit, ominously, underneath me, I shifted my weight further forward onto my legs. I was wearing trainers, the laces slapped against them. I was terribly thirsty. I’d packed a carton of apple juice but I couldn’t be bothered to unearth it. Now and then a car went past. Then a bit later a fat woman on a moped. She got a fright when she saw me. I sat and listened as the sound of the vehicle grew fainter, then I got my juice out. The sun was beating down, my arms were shaking from my struggle with the suitcase. After a bit the sound came back from somewhere far off to the right. It got louder, and eventually the woman from before rolled up in front of me. She switched off the engine and took off her helmet.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ I said and took a sip of my juice. The straw gurgled. She had a denim skirt on and a waistcoat with tassels, she stood straddling the moped.
‘I just thought all of a sudden you looked a bit forlorn. I’d nearly got to Haslev,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Glad to hear you’re all right, though.’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.’
‘Then I began to wonder if you might be going into town as well. I thought if you were, I could give you a pull.’
‘But there’s this,’ I said, and pointed down at the suitcase.
‘True,’ she said. ‘But we could pick that up after. How far have you come with it?’
‘I don’t know. Five kilometres, maybe.’
‘Ouch.’
‘So I don’t think I could hold on for a pull just at the minute. It’s really kind of you, all the same,’ I said.
She nodded.
‘Tell you what, then. We’ll leave the bike instead. You have your drink, there’s no rush,’ she said. So I finished my juice and got to my feet, squeezed the air out of the carton and stuffed it in the waist of my trousers for want of anywhere better. She put her helmet on again. Then she picked up my suitcase and wedged it diagonally between her legs. It looked precarious. She started the moped and jerked her thumb towards the pannier rack. I got on and we wobbled off.
We crawled along. I put my arms around her waist. Her waistcoat smelled of something familiar, sun cream or melon. I thought it must be hard for her to steer. Her thighs and calves clamped the suitcase tight, but she could still nod her head to the left when we passed by a hare in a meadow. It pricked up its ears.
I’d had a vision of Haslev. But as soon as we entered the town I forgot what it was. The roads were wide and dusty, manhole covers clonked under our wheels. We pulled up on a little square with empty hanging baskets, they looked like ones we’d had at home. I got off, and she extracted herself.
‘Are you all right from here? You sure you don’t need somewhere to stay?’ she said through her visor.
‘No, I’m fine, really. Thanks for the lift.’
‘Thanks for the company. Do you want me to pick up your bike at some point?’
‘No need. I’ll just walk back and get it.’
‘Right you are. I’ll be off to the baker’s, then. Look after yourself,’ she said, and held out her hand. It was soft and moist.
I stood and watched as she pulled away. She turned and waved before disappearing round a corner by some redbrick flats. I laid the suitcase down and opened it and got my money out. Then I stood it on its end again and draped a top over it. I left it where it was and crossed the road to a corner shop where I bought three small cartons of juice and a packet of biscuits. When I came out Lars was standing on the square with a vanload of hanging fuchsias. For a second I thought it was some kind of welcome. It was such an odd coincidence all we could do was act normal. I gave him a juice and hid the biscuits away in my suitcase.
30.
I lived with Lars in his bedsit in Haslev. We had a daybed with storage, and a corner unit and a desk that doubled as a dinner table. Every morning after he’d gone I went down into the little courtyard and picked a handful of flowers and arranged them in the pewter mug on the desk. I washed my hair in egg yolk, I walked round the town looking at clothes and jewellery. I bought coconut milk and packet noodles, and a funny purple fruit we couldn’t get open. The kitchen and bathroom were communal. The guy next door was from Egøje, he never rinsed the sink after himself. One of the others was a driving instructor. Lars was going back to teacher training college after the summer holiday, he was so tanned his stubble was luminous. He lay on the daybed with his hands behind his head, while I sat at the table looking at him. Or else I’d read a newspaper he’d brought home from the nursery and fiddle with the arrangement in the mug. We ate lots of potatoes with cold gravy. When we hugged, my eyes would blink madly behind his shoulder.
We didn’t go round the town together, we never went anywhere at all. I practised walking with a straight back, up and down Jernbanegade in a new yellow dress. I’d bought a pair of strappy high heels too. In the evenings I set the table nicely and we’d eat with the door of the French balcony open. There were two little girls who often played in the yard. They made dens behind a bush and had doll’s tea parties. I stood at the balcony door and waved to them, sometimes they waved back. I called for Lars to come and see, but they didn’t interest him much. I polished my nails with cotton wool dipped in sunflower oil. Now and then we had wine with our meal, diluted with sparkling water. I had a very small appetite, so I began to eat butter. I never had breakfast until after he’d gone. I made myself a piece of toast and a cup of coffee. I sat with a crossword while I drank the coffee. Afterwards I did a bit of dusting and let some air in. I washed the bed sheets in the laundry room in the basement. As soon as the washing machine had started I hurried back upstairs and set the egg timer. I lay down gently on the daybed so as not to mess up my hair, I’d started putting it up with hairpins. I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t picture what I read. Lars read Kafka, he didn’t see the point in reading anything else. When he read, his eyes darted from side to side. I wondered if mine did the same thing and if it was flattering. I plucked my eyebrows in a hand mirror in front of the balcony door. I took my clothes off even before he got home, and stood in various poses by the desk. I had my photo taken with a bowler hat on. The hat was kept on the corner unit, balanced on a bottle of Bacardi.
Once in a while I went and phoned Per. The nearest phone box was by the cinema. I always made sure to have five-krone coins with me, but I never needed them. His voice was by turns exuberant and weary. I asked how he was feeling and he said they were going to Anholt for the holidays. Then after that to Bulgaria. Only he didn’t know if he wanted to go to Bulgaria. It’d be nice to have the place to himself without the folks around, he said, and then he started crying. There was a rustling noise as he drew away. I stood there breathing into the black receiver, it steamed up. Then Ruth came on the line.
‘Listen, please don’t ring Per up any more. He gets far too upset,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘So please don’t.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. My palm was moist from clutching my change. I went the long way home. It was a Tuesday, market day on the square. I bought a carton of strawberries and a peach,
and ate the peach as I walked. It dripped on my yellow dress. I prepared the strawberries and put them in the fridge. After that I lay down on the floor in front of the open balcony door and sunbathed. I used the sunbeds just past the church too, they cost ten kroner for twenty-five minutes. Two girls took turns on reception, one of them had thick hair and eyes like a cat. She spoke with a Jutland accent, I wondered what she was doing in Haslev.
‘Do you want to book another session while you’re here?’
‘Yes, please. For tomorrow.’
‘Are you on holiday?’
‘You could say.’
‘Brilliant,’ she said, and put me in the book for three o’clock.
‘Yes, brilliant,’ I said, I’d be able to get home and have a bath before Lars got off work. I found myself thinking she was probably his type, she had nice, neat hands. I washed the peach stain off under the tap, it dried again in a jiffy. My hair was almost white from the sun, it suited me. I put the dress back on and set the table with glasses and cutlery. Then I thought better of it and put it all back in the unit. I was sitting with The Castle in front of me when he came home. First he had a rest and after that a bath. Then he stood for a bit and looked out of the window without saying anything.
‘There’s strawberries, I nearly forgot,’ I said, and went out to the kitchen, only they were gone. It was the guy from Egøje.
At night we lay snuggled up close. The wind rushed in the treetops behind the building. When one of us couldn’t sleep we’d wake the other one up, it was an agreement we had. After that we usually fell asleep. The alarm went off at half seven, he was on eight till four. One Friday he said he’d be late home. It was one of his brothers’ eighteenth birthday and there was going to be cake and spit-roasted suckling pig at his mum and dad’s. I stood in the kitchen and waved to him when he left. I did the same every morning. He had green shorts and a T-shirt on. He turned and waved again at the top of the road. Now I had a whole day and an evening to while away. I let some air in and tidied the place up in no time. I sat and picked raisins out of the muesli. I counted my money. I needed to get some more out. Shortly before half past nine I went down to the bank. I bought an enormous ice cream from the sweet shop. I was the first customer of the day. I sat on the little square with the hanging baskets and ate it. Afterwards, I felt so drowsy I had to go home and have a lie-down. When I woke up I had a bath and cleaned the sink. It was just gone eleven by then. I tidied my clothes and put them away in neat piles. I squeezed a lemon and put the juice in my hair. It could be so quiet in that bedsit.