Broken

by Karin Fossum

  He gets up from the sofa. Takes a few steps towards the door.

  'I really value our conversations.'

  'So do I,' I reply, 'but I might end up deleting them.'

  'What?'

  He looks shocked.

  'They might turn out to be superfluous. You might manage just fine with your own story and your own drama.'

  He opens the door, turns one final time.

  'It's freezing cold,' he says and shivers. 'Can you feel it?'

  He walks down the steps and pauses on the drive for a while. The porch light shines on his bald head.

  'I've felt so cold ever since I had my hair cut,' he says.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was the middle of January and still very cold.

  The town was bathed in pale sunlight, white, glazed and shiny. She arrived at half past four in the afternoon just as Alvar was getting ready to close up. This time she was looking ravaged, pale and purple with cold. She looked at him with her kohl-black eyes, they were watering from exhaustion and the frost. She wore no gloves. Her thin neck was bare, a weak stem with thin, blue veins. Alvar rushed off to get her a cup of coffee, it didn't occur to him not to, but he felt a deep sense of unease, it was like sliding towards something unknown, something unmanageable. She took the mug with stiff fingers and went over to the staircase, where she sat down on the second step. 'You ought to get yourself some gloves,' he said, 'and a scarf.' 'I know,' she said indifferently, slurping her coffee. 'But I can't be bothered.'

  'Can't be bothered?' he said, surprised because he did not think putting on a scarf was a major challenge. For a while he pondered. Then he decided that he wanted to do something nice for her, something more than just getting her a cup of coffee. After all, she had decided to come back, so events would have to run their course. He made up his mind to act on this whim, even though it was not in his nature. He went up to the kitchen where his outdoor clothes hung and returned with his thin woollen scarf. She accepted it reluctantly. Then she pressed it against her nose and inhaled it for a long time.

  'It smells good,' she said, 'it smells of aftershave.'

  He nodded. 'It's long,' he said, 'you can wrap it around your neck several times.'

  She did so. It looked good on her. The scarf was camel-coloured wool and it suited her. It contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and her ice-blue eyes.

  'My gloves are too big for you,' he said, 'so I'll keep them for myself.'

  She nodded and drank her coffee, drank it quickly and greedily until she had emptied the mug. Then she put the mug on the step and began staggering around the gallery on thin, unsteady legs. Alvar watched her. He did not mind her being there, she was not making any trouble. She looked somewhat haggard, but she could pass for an ordinary customer if you didn't look at her too carefully. But up close you could tell. The fine veins in her temples, her lips drained of colour. Her ankle boots clicking against the stone floor. She had reached the bridge.

  'You said you were going to buy it,' she challenged him.

  He shrugged.

  'I'm still thinking about it,' he said truthfully.

  'And you can't make up your mind?'

  'Well, it's expensive,' he said, 'that's why. It's a lot of money to spend in one go.'

  'But you can afford it,' she said, 'you said you'd been saving.'

  'Yes,' he said, 'I have been saving up. I've been saving for a rainy day. If I buy the painting, I have nothing to fall back on.'

  She tasted the words 'fall back on'.

  'Is that important?' she smiled. Mockingly, he thought.

  'I've nothing to fall back on,' she admitted, 'I live from hand to mouth.'

  He gave her a puzzled look. 'So how do you survive? Do you work?'

  She laughed out loud. 'God, no,' she hiccupped, 'I can't be bothered with that. People work because they think they have to. I'd rather claim benefits.'

  'That can't be very lucrative,' Alvar declared, 'when you can't even afford to buy yourself a scarf and a pair of gloves in the winter.'

  'Of course I can afford to buy clothes,' she said, 'but I prefer to spend money on other things. It's all about your priorities.'

  'Really?' He looked at her once more. At her incredibly thin legs and the pointy high-heeled boots. Perhaps she was one of those women who sold themselves when their benefit money ran out. He did not like the thought of it, so he instantly pushed it from his mind. But that was how they got money for drugs, he had read about it in the papers. It was truly awful. She was a lovely young woman, with a doll-like face and a tiny pale mouth. She was practically a child, he thought. Could she really be one of those women who got in and out of cars? At night, down on Bragernes Square, where they all congregated? He did not want to judge her. She might have been driven to it by some terrible event. Perhaps she had had an awful childhood, perhaps her father had hit her, or something worse, he didn't know what it could be, but his imagination was starting to run away with him. He didn't think of her as second-rate. But it upset him that she lived in such wretched circumstances when in all likelihood she was just as bright as he was in every possible way. She should have been living another life. But she did not seem to think so. She just drifted from one day to the next without purpose or meaning, without hopes or dreams. And perhaps this was enough for her, as long as she got her drugs, as long as she found relief. Her body was slowly breaking down, but it didn't seem to trouble her. True, it was not as if he knew her well and understood everything, but she did not seem doomed like so many of the others.

  'I need to go,' she said suddenly. She handed him the mug and thanked him. She had to step to the side to regain her balance. He watched her disappear.

  Later that day, while he was eating a simple meal at the table in the living room, he started thinking about her again. He wondered what her name was, where she lived, things like that. She had said she lived all over the place. There was something ephemeral about her, something transient. He wondered why she kept returning to the gallery. Was it really just to get a cup of coffee? Perhaps that was all there was to it. And he had welcomed her, even though he could have told her to get out. He was just about to leave the table when the doorbell rang. This did not happen often, and when it did it was his neighbour asking to borrow something, or a salesman. He composed himself and went out into the hall. He opened the door and gasped. She was standing outside, in her grey coat with his old woollen scarf around her neck. Alvar was speechless. He stood in the doorway staring at her as if he was hypnotised. She laughed when she saw his surprise, tilted her head and cackled, and he saw her teeth clearly, they were tiny and sharp.

  'Hi,' she said cheerfully. 'I thought you might be in,'

  Alvar had lost the power to speak. He rocked backwards and forwards on the threshold as he clung to the door frame with one hand.

  'You're here?' he eventually managed to stammer. A dart of unease pierced his chest. A myriad bewildering thoughts rushed through his mind.

  'Yes,' she said simply, letting her hands drop. It looked as though she was expecting to be invited in. Alvar did not want to let her in. He would never have believed that this could happen. Her coming to the gallery was one thing. It was open to everyone and he had been unable to make himself throw her out. But here. In his flat, his home, his castle. He hesitated. She stood there rubbing her cold hands, impatiently, in the doorway.

  'How did you know I lived here?' he asked, baffled. He didn't mean to be rude, but he didn't have a clue what was going on.

  'I followed you,' she said. 'A few days ago. I saw you go into this flat. And you didn't notice,' she added, 'you don't notice anything.'

  She looked at him with her ice-blue eyes. 'Your name is Alvar Eide,' she stated.

  'Yes,' he stuttered. He was still clinging to the door frame. His brain was throbbing violently, trying to find a solution.

  'Can I come in, please?' she asked directly. And he thought, no, no you can't come in, this is my flat, my boundary is this threshold, I don't
want you to intrude. But he did not have the strength to say it to her face. A skinny, fragile young woman was standing at his door wanting to come in. And he was not a cruel man, and he didn't look down on women like her. Nor did he think that she was out to cause him any trouble either, it didn't seem to be her intention. Perhaps she just wanted another cup of coffee. Or to warm up. He opened the door fully and she entered the hall. She gave no indication of wanting to take off her coat. Alvar liked that. That suggested that she would only be staying a little while.

  He went into the living room, still marvelling at her presence, and she followed him and sat down on his sofa without waiting to be asked. She sat down as if it was the most natural thing in the world and inspected the room. Alvar collapsed in an armchair. Then he leaned forwards and started tidying away the newspapers, he didn't know what else to do. She followed him with her eyes. He grew nervous. He started to think she was laughing at him. Suddenly she put her feet on his coffee table. He looked directly at the narrow, spiky heels of her ankle boots. Alvar had never put his feet on the coffee table, he thought it was a nasty habit, and besides, she was wearing boots. But he said nothing, he just sat there waiting for something to happen. Perhaps there was a reason for her visit? Was there something specific she wanted? He decided that maybe he ought to make some coffee, as you do when you have guests. But he did not, he stayed in his armchair with a strong feeling of apprehension coursing through his body. He felt invaded in his own home, yes, indeed he did. She was calmly sitting there staring at him as if he were an exhibit in a museum. When she had finished staring at him, she started looking around the room. She looked at his furniture and his possessions with an open, curious gaze.

  'So this is where your painting will go?' she asked out of the blue. She pointed at the vacant space above the fireplace.

  'Yes,' he said, turning in his armchair. 'That's what I had in mind. But I need a few days to think it through properly.'

  'You'd better hurry up,' she suggested. 'Or it'll be sold.'

  I know that, he said to himself, but he did not want to appear argumentative. Instead he decided to ask her a few questions. He felt he had a right, given that she had come all the way into his living room in this brazen manner.

  'What's your name?' he asked as he folded his hands in his lap.

  'Lindys,' she replied.

  'Lindys,' he repeated. He had never heard of such a name.

  'Or Merete,' she said. 'Or Elsa. It depends.'

  He was confused. 'Depends on what?'

  'Well,' she said, flexing the pointy toes of her boots, 'it depends what I feel like that day.'

  He lowered his head slowly. He was not feeling very well.

  'I see,' he said and could clearly hear that his voice sounded tart. 'So what do you prefer today?'

  She thought about it briefly. 'Helle,' she said.

  'Very well,' he said. 'Helle. That's settled then.'

  'So your name's always the same?' she asked and smiled playfully. She revealed her sharp teeth again.

  'Of course,' he said earnestly. 'People usually keep the same name their entire life. And I know you're only joking.'

  She laughed once more. Suddenly she took her feet off the coffee table. He experienced an instant sense of relief.

  'You got any sweets?' she asked.

  Alvar was taken aback. Sweets? Was she being serious?

  He hesitated again. 'Sweets?'

  'Yes. Sweets, fruit gums, chocolate,' she explained. A little perplexed because he was being so dim.

  'No, no, I don't have any sweets,' he replied, shaking his head.

  'None at all?' she pressed.

  He felt his irritation rise again as he carefully tried to recall the contents of his kitchen cupboards.

  'I might have a packet of raisins,' he remembered.

  'Raisins?' She mimed munching them. 'Yeah, all right. Can I have them? I need sugar and I need it now.'

  He sat there gawping at her. She was demanding that he fetched her some raisins. He did not begrudge her the raisins, but he was not entirely sure where she was going with this. He went out into the kitchen and found the packet. It was one of those snack boxes you put in children's packed lunches. He returned and handed it to her and she opened it immediately. She dug her greedy fingers into the contents.

  'Chocolate is better,' she said, 'but raisins will have to do.'

  Yes, they certainly will, Alvar thought. He sat watching her as she ate the raisins. She ate all of them and tossed the empty packet onto the coffee table. Again he felt a surge of irritation. She was so careless. She was his guest, but she was acting as if she owned the place. She certainly made herself at home. I guess I'm just being petty, he thought, I'm not used to having guests. I scarcely know how guests would behave. At the same time a chill passed through him. He was always alone and he was always in control and now he was being overpowered by a skinny girl and he did not have the guts to stand up to her. He decided to ask her where she lived. Even though he had asked her before and she had replied, 'Oh, all over the place.' All the same, he was sure that she lived somewhere, she was just unwilling to tell him. He felt very awkward in her presence. Surely his knees were too sharp and his arms too long?

  He changed his mind and instead he asked her, 'How old are you?'

  'How old? Well, how old do you think?'

  Having to guess made him feel uncomfortable. Then he thought, I don't have to guess, I can tell her that I've no idea. But then he looked at her again and estimated her to be twenty.

  'Eighteen,' she replied.

  Alvar nodded. Perhaps she was lying about this too, like she lied about her name. She was still smiling and he noticed that she had bits of raisins stuck between her teeth. It didn't look attractive, but he couldn't tell her that. He was restless. He wondered how long she intended to sit there lounging on his sofa.

  'You're over forty, aren't you?' she said, watching him.

  'Forty-two,' he replied truthfully.

  'Isn't it about time you got married and started a family?'

  He squirmed in his armchair. He was not enjoying this conversation and he refused to expose himself.

  'Don't do it,' she said the next moment. 'Family equals trouble. Responsibilities. No money. Endless guilt and a life of drudgery.'

  'Does it?'

  She ran her fingers through her hair, which was sticking out like a bristle brush.

  'I prefer brief acquaintances,' she said. 'Same as you, I can tell from looking at you.'

  'Can you?'

  She looked around his flat, her ice-blue eyes scanned his possessions and his furniture. 'Christ, you're tidy. Potted plants and embroidered cushions, would you believe it.'

  Alvar was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. It was weird that she was sitting there; she had flown right through his door like some strange bird. Even though he wanted to chase her away there was a big knot of resistance inside him which stopped him.

  She had walked over to the window. She stared down at the light-bulb factory.

  'The Mazda parked down behind the house, is that yours?'

  'Yes.'

  He squeezed his hands in his lap and tried to be patient.

  'I don't have a car,' she said. 'Too much hassle. Who lives downstairs? Do you ever talk to them?'

  'The Greens,' he explained. 'We exchange a few words every now and then.'