by Agnete Friis
My back billowed and bucked as another spasm ran through my body. I could remember almost nothing from the night before. All I remembered was drinking a single glass of vodka with Barbara and taking an orange pill. I had asked her what it was, and Barbara had said ‘angel dust’. For the hypnosis, she’d explained. Angel dust can set trapped memories free, make them easier to catch, draw them into the light . . .
There had been candles, the wonderful sensation of floating, and my purple bicycle below a matte-grey, saturated November sky . . . Fear flushed through me. Somebody was after me and I couldn’t defend myself as long as I was lying on the bed, shaking like a pig on its way to market. Barbara dipped the cloth into the bowl of water again and put it on my fire-hot forehead.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” she said soothingly. “The chemicals will be in your system for a couple of hours yet and you might feel a little spaced out for a while, but I’ll be here for you and Alex. Don’t worry, Ella. I’ve got everything under control. I’m going to make breakfast for us now. Toast with baked beans . . . And then later we can talk.”
My body started to relax. The spasms in my muscles eased gradually and finally died out altogether so I could slowly turn onto my side and curl into a ball. Alex crawled up onto the bed beside me and blew on my neck, my forehead, my cheeks—any and all parts of my body he could reach. It was a game we had played when he was little: If he bumped his knee, I blew on his knee, if he cried over a dead bird in the park, I blew on his soul; we had agreed that the soul was tucked in somewhere just above the heart, so, as a rule, I blew a little all over, just to be sure.
“I’ve never seen you like this before,” he said, nodding at the stinking bowl of vomit on the floor. “I don’t like it.”
“No.”
The muscles in my arms, legs, and stomach ached like hell, but I managed to reach out and run a hand through his dark hair, leaving a glittering, red aura along its path over his head.
“I will get better soon,” I said. “I will try to get better, Alex. Okay? But there are so many things over here that I can’t . . . figure out.”
I could feel that I was dangerously close to crying, and I wasn’t someone who cried. Crying wasn’t part of my emotional make-up. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time it happened, apart from that time I found a puppy on the road whose hind legs had been run over. I must have been about thirteen years old at the time.
I knew that I shouldn’t let my eleven-year-old boy comfort me, but I didn’t have the strength to send him away, and then the tears came—with the same vengeance as the vomit had done. My pillow was soaked in tears and snot and blood from my lacerated tongue. Alex stayed put.
“Is it because of what happened with your mom and dad? Because you’re mad at your dad for . . . for what he did?”
He sat on the bed staring at the quilt, picking at the floral-print flowers.
“Who told you?”
“Thomas.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes, I bump into him a lot when I’m down on the beach with Lupo. His dog’s name is Freddie. He says you used to be friends.”
“Oh. Is that what he says?”
I pictured Thomas with his hooded sweater and his black dog. Of course. Not that I was surprised. Sooner or later Alex would have run into some idiot who felt obliged to mouth off about my past, and Thomas certainly had his own reasons for doing so. There was the house and the property and his father and the fucking subdivision of the plot to think of; the sooner we got packing, the sooner he could get his hands on the house.
“What else have you guys been talking about?”
“I told him that I’ve started surfing . . . ”
I rolled onto my back. My head and forehead ached after my fit of tears. When I brought my hands into my field of vision they left dark shadows in the air. They drew intricate patterns above my head.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a mom and a dad when you were little,” said Alex. “That must have been hard.”
“You just screamed,” said Barbara. “I don’t think you’re receptive to hypnosis.”
“No shit.”
I rested my head in my shaking hands. I was feeling much better. Or rather, I felt nothing over and above aching muscles and a subtle vibration in my entire body. No relief, no revelation. Barbara hadn’t had a clue what she was doing, and it shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, I felt cheated.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like hell,” I said.
Barbara, who had had a bath and donned her mask, smiled weakly in reply. There was a smear of leftover bean sauce at the corner of her mouth, and it was this spot I chose to focus on now. If I looked her in the eye, I was afraid I might explode. I could feel the anger like a physical itch crawling over my body. It could have been some residual effect of the little orange pills, but the chemical anger I felt was augmented by a bedrock of anger from long before the pink elephants came a-marching in the middle of the night. I felt . . . betrayed. I still couldn’t remember what had happened in the dunes and the fit I’d had—was still having—was the worst I had ever experienced.
“It will get better in a couple of hours. You can sleep it off. And off course I will take care of Alex in the meantime.”
“He’s gone to the beach with Lupo. Or down to the harbor. And I can’t get any bloody sleep. There are ants crawling all over my body!”
I went to the kitchen cupboard and yanked it open. No vodka. Of course there wasn’t. We had finished the last bottle the night before. There was no beer in the fridge either.
“Ella, you need to lie down and try to get some rest until it’s over.”
Barbara got up from her chair and put her arms around me. She smelled of lilies and baked bean sauce. Her grip was surprisingly firm, and I wanted to stay where I was. In fact, I wished she would take a seat on the couch so I could crawl onto her lap and cry my heart out. But I jerked free and lashed out at her instead.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Ella, you need to relax . . . ” She was looking hurt again. As if none of this was her fault.
I went into the entrance, slipped my feet into my flip-flops, and walked out the door. The sky fluttered over me in blue-and-white. The whole world seemed to be trembling now that my own body had stopped.
“Ella!”
I left her standing on the steps, and headed into town.
19
ANNA, 1994
Someone had written on the church wall. Graffiti, like in any city of the world at any given time. Pinis spelt with two Is instead of an E and illustrated with a drawing that resembled the despondent head of a sheep more than anything else.
Apart from that, the church building looked just the same as it always had: a low-slung, yellow-brick building with a municipal-grey parking lot in front and a row of beech trees flanking the wall. Anna remembered the smell of fresh paint and raw wood from when she was a little girl, a glimpse of herself dancing hand in hand with her mom over the asphalt on the way to Sunday school. She always wore a dress on Sundays. Red, white, or sky blue. That day it was lilac with a satin ribbon; her sister’s was sun gold with white flowers and an elastic band that emphasized her slender waist.
Now other children were coming to church. Anna had been sitting in the car across the road, watching them arrive. Small children as well as awkward teenagers with howling-red jeans, checkered shirts, dreadlocks, and forlorn looks on their pimply faces. And, of course, the aged.
Anna knew there was no point in looking for her mother, but couldn’t help doing so. Her mother had died of cancer five years before. The lawyer hadn’t mentioned any details, simply notified her in writing that her father would remain living in the family home, and that no inheritance had accrued to date. No mention of a funeral or a wake. Not even the chance to lay a flower on the grave of the unknown before her mothe
r disappeared into the ground.
Anna’s hands left damp handprints on the raw plastic of the steering wheel, but the sweat evaporated quickly in the heat. Despite its pale and colorless sheen behind white clouds, the sun cut straight through the windscreen, making Anna sweat under her washed-out T-shirt, which was cold and damp after her hour-long vigil in the parking lot.
She remembered once sitting behind those church walls, cross-legged on the carpet, drawing with Birgit beside her. It could have been yesterday. That’s how it felt. In Anna’s drawing, the millennial kingdom was drawn in peach, mint green, pink, and blue. Birgit was five years older than her, and very, very clever. In Birgit’s picture, the damned sinners were drawn in the throes of death; intestines oozed out of sliced bellies, the arms and legs had been ripped off, their torsos stripped bare. The people always had surprised looks on their faces, were fully conscious till the last drop of blood seeped from their dismembered bodies.
Anna could see her now.
She was absolutely certain it was her, even though it had been twenty years since she’d seen Birgit. Even in a crowd, Birgit was the first person to catch her eye. Strange how blood ties seemed to have an almost supernatural strength, irrespective of every effort made to sever them.
As if Birgit could sense Anna’s presence, she hesitated, remained standing by her car, turning her head to scan the parking lot. She was alone. Perhaps her husband was ill, or maybe he’d taken his own car to church that day. Anna wouldn’t have recognized him. Or the children. They must be in high school by now, moved on with their lives.
Anna got out of the car and strode across the parking lot on unwilling legs. She saw Birgit stiffen, her car keys clutched in her hand, as soon as caught sight of Anna. She turned her back demonstrably on her sister, opened the car door, and got into the driver’s seat, the roar of the engine coinciding with that moment Anna put her hand on the roof and leaned down to gaze through the reflections on the driver’s window.
“Birgit!”
The car started to roll backwards; Birgit was no longer the young girl who thrived on drama and outbursts of emotion.
“Birgit, I need to talk to you.”
Anna leaned over the hood, trying to catch her sister’s eye through the windshield instead, and finally the car stopped, trapped at an awkward angle between Anna and two parked cars on either side. The sisters stared at each other through the blue-toned pane, tears clouding Anna’s vision. But the very last thing she wanted to do was cry. Tears had never impressed Birgit, in fact, they just made her all the more pig-headed, as Anna recalled so well from sibling fisticuffs; trapped under Birgit, who sat on top of her, nailing her arms to the ground with her knees.
Birgit cast a glance in the rear- and side-view mirrors. People were gathering in the parking lot to make their way home. A family of four edged past them to get into the next car over, giving Birgit a penetrating glare as they drove off. Anna didn’t know them, but was certain they knew exactly what filthy hole she’d crawled out of: she was Birgit’s fallen sister, the shameful scourge of the family. That kind of thing was never forgotten.
“Leave us alone!”
Anna spoke loud enough for Birgit to hear it through the windshield, and for the first time, she met her gaze through the driver’s window. Her eyes were small, and it struck Anna that Birgit had become an uncanny copy of their mother, exactly as Anna remembered her last; if you put the two of them together, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. Anna stood her ground.
“I’ll report you to the police, Birgit,” she said, banging on the window. “You have to leave us alone.”
Birgit rolled down the window slowly.
“I always knew you’d go insane one day,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you. Whatever your problems may be, I’m sure you can figure them out with the help of your support group.”
Anna’s courage faltered. For some reason, she had expected that Birgit would try justifying herself before resorting to a full frontal attack.
“How’s it going with your friend?” Birgit pressed on. “How is Lea these days? I heard the two of you had a little argument.”
The final whip hurt the most, and Anna recoiled. Took a step back.
“No mother deserves what the church put her through.”
Birgit shrugged. “No mother ought to behave the way she has behaved. You know that just as well as I do. You both got what you deserved.”
Anna regained her balance, straightened up, as if she had been dealt a physical blow.
“You have to leave me alone. All of you,” she said. “Stay away from me and my family. Or I’ll contact the police. I won’t be harassed by any of you anymore.”
Birgit smiled sweetly—a person could believe she was perfectly calm if it weren’t for the clenching and unclenching of her fists on the steering wheel, making the thin, golden bangles on her wrists chiming gently in response.
“Go away, Anna,” she said. “Nobody is afraid of you, believe me. You have always been a pathetic, attention-seeking human being, and that is exactly what the police will see, if you talk to them. No more, no less.”
“Leave us alone!”
Anna felt defeated. And this was exactly how she had felt when they were children when Birgit had laughed at her, simply turned her back in the middle of an argument. But Anna had said what she had come to say, so she spun on her heel and crossed the parking lot once more, her shaking hands buried deep in her jeans pockets. Behind her, she heard her sister rev the engine and drive away. Anna didn’t turn to watch her go. Just kept walking to her car and climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving the door wide open. The cold October wind blew through her drenched T-shirt, cooling her hot cheeks.
There was a time when Anna would have fallen apart after such a meeting. She remembered the feeling of scorched skin, exposed and defenseless bones against the onslaught of the world. The car seat grazed her hands and arms, her clothes cut into her abdomen, but she did not bolt, and she did not panic. She was an adult now. They couldn’t harm her anymore.
20
There were too many customers in the shop for me to move around freely. Tourists, each and every one. The weather called for bathing suits hastily covered by towels. Children were nagging for ice creams from the freezer and their parents were giving in. There was beach sand on the floor and the door was open so the warm air could drift unhindered down the aisles.
I rummaged in my pockets and found 35 kroner in change. That was good, just the right sum for an alibi-buy—two cans of beer—and a small bottle of spirits could be slipped into my bag on the way out—whatever was on offer. It didn’t have to be vodka, just something with a decent kick to knock me out till Barbara’s angel dust had worked its way out of my system. But I had to focus. Everything was vibrating slightly. I was an ant on a guitar string.
I navigated a course through a group of kids gathered by the freezer and headed for the pallets stacked with beers in the corner. I took two of the strongest kind I could find: Royal Danish Elephant Ale. It tasted like piss, but the alcohol-percentage would do me nicely. Piled next to the beers, the store owner had helpfully arranged two rows of fifty-ounce bottles of whiskey on discount. I turned my back on the nearest row and eased one of the bottles into my bag. No problem. Luckily there was nothing wrong with my balance. I’d made it half way over to the check-out queue before I collided with a tower of jam jars, accidently knocking a couple onto the floor. None of them shattered, though, and I carefully put the stragglers back into place. Everything proceeded just fine from there on, and when I finally reached the front of the check-out queue, I even managed to produce one of my sweetest smiles for the wholesome, elderly man sitting behind the till as I put the two cans of beer down in front of him.
“Will there be anything else?” The smile didn’t reach his eyes, I noticed.
“No, thanks.”
; “Are you enjoying your holidays here with us?”
“Sure . . . you know.” I threw my arms out to the side, heard the clank of the bottle of whiskey against something hard in my bag. “The nature out here is fantastic . . . it’s good for the soul.”
Suddenly I realized that nobody was talking anymore. And people were staring. Even the children froze with their arms in midair. They didn’t stop staring, either, their eyes getting bigger and bigger. One guy whispered something to his pal, but I didn’t catch what he said. My head was filled with a distant humming.
“Howzit!”
I gave the two boys a stiff-lipped smile and added a juvenile thumbs-up for good measure. The two boys ducked their heads in unison. The store owner looked equally embarrassed.
“Hope to see you again soon,” he said gravely. I walked out into the sunshine, down the path, and onto the beach. I wanted Magnus; if you can’t fuck when you’re high when else are you going to fuck?
I looked at my watch. It was barely nine in the morning. It would be several hours before Magnus and his friends would get out of bed and zip into their superman outfits. I wasn’t sure if I could remember where the surfers’ summer house was. I squinted into the sun and peered to my left and right. There were summer houses all around me. And they all looked the same.
“Ella.”
A hand was laid ever so gently on my shoulder. I jerked and swung round and identified the hand as belonging to Bæk-Nielsen. That aging skeleton had actually been able to sneak up on me without the rattling of his bones giving him away. I shook his hand off me and took a stumbling step back.
“What the hell . . . ?”
The grey eyes in his weather-beaten face never budged from mine and for a moment I wondered whether I’d underestimated both his stamina and his strength of purpose.
“The store owner sent me after you,” said Bæk-Nielsen calmly. “He says you’re stealing from him. We need to talk.”