Shame

by Karin Alvtegen

  Another waiter interrupted the moment and asked if everything was all right. They both nodded without taking their eyes off each other, and he quickly withdrew.

  ‘So now you probably have a better understanding of my behaviour there on the platform. Since it was the first time I ever felt that magnetic field, I just had to do something about it.’

  What a strange man she had met. On the way here she had been open to the possibility that they might spend the night together. As the evening went on she grew more and more doubtful. Not because she didn’t want to anymore, but because she felt that she wanted it too much. But when the matter was finally mentioned, it was his decision.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ask you to come home with me tonight.’

  She stood quite silent. They had stopped under the awning outside the restaurant to keep out of the rain.

  ‘This isn’t something I want to fritter away. It feels much too good for that.’

  She had never met anyone like Thomas. They said good night and he promised to call her the next day, but his first message appeared on her phone after only eight minutes. That night the keypads on their mobiles grew hot with use, the art of communication reached unimaginable heights, and she found herself lying there smiling to herself in the dark when she read his ingenious messages. Inspired by the challenge, she did her best to come up with equally witty replies. By five a.m. she was forced to concede defeat.

  ‘Life and the night are approaching each other with haste. Never are dreams so close as now.’

  She was finally speechless.

  And he had gone up a notch or two.

  And wait they did. In the time that followed they explored each other. Slowly but surely, inside and out. Two lonely people who were cautiously approaching their innermost hopes about everything they had always lacked, what they had always dreamed they would find someday in their lives. Each conversation was an adventure, each discovery a new opportunity to plumb the depths. She knew that she had never before entered that place where her feelings had now led her. Everything was enveloped in benevolence. Bit by bit she got to know him, and none of what he told her or confessed dampened her interest. On the contrary.

  Step by step they came closer to the moment, and both of them were brave enough to admit that they were as nervous as teenagers, middle-aged though they were.

  But, as usual with Thomas, everything fell into place quite naturally. One Sunday afternoon they just couldn’t hold out any longer.

  And she realised that she was actually a virgin.

  She had had sex many times. But she had never made love before.

  The experience was revolutionary, overpowering, so far from her normal intellectual domain. To be completely and utterly dissolved and merge, not only with another body but in an absolute presence. For a brief time to be blessed with clear vision, to discern the simplicity in the immense mystery of the meaning of life. Overwhelmed by the desire to let down all defences, reveal her vulnerability, and in complete confidence put herself at his disposal, let happen whatever was going to happen. She had never been so close to her innermost core. Where there was no turmoil and no loneliness.

  But when Monday came, fear had taken her over once more.

  She didn’t communicate the whole day. When she listened to her voicemail after the last patient had gone, he had left three messages and sent four text messages. She should have been annoyed. If everything had been as usual, his interest would have been the death knell for their relationship. Instead she only grew more afraid. ‘You’re just being a coward’ didn’t help. Not even ‘Look at it as a challenge’. Her normal ways of tricking herself weren’t working, not this time; the challenge involved risks that were much too great. She was still scared out of her mind. If he dumped her she’d never survive, to have let him in so close and then end up abandoned. It was dangerous to make herself dependent on something that couldn’t be controlled. To reveal herself as profoundly as his intimacy demanded made her more vulnerable than she could bear.

  At twelve thirty that night, when she had still not replied, he was standing outside her door.

  ‘If you don’t want to see me anymore you can tell me to my face, you know, rather than hide behind a mobile that you’ve switched off.’

  For the first time she saw him angry. And she could see how worried he was, how he fought against his own fear.

  She didn’t say a word, just moved into his embrace and began to cry.

  She was lying on his arm. Outside the bedroom window it was starting to become light. She lay as close as she could but it still didn’t seem close enough.

  ‘Do you know what Monika means?’

  She nodded.

  ‘The one who warns.’

  ‘Yes, in Latin. But in Greek it means the lonely one.’

  He turned his head and stroked her forehead with his index finger.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who tries at all costs to live up to her name.’

  She closed her eyes. The lonely one. That’s how it had always been. Until now. And now she wasn’t brave enough to let herself be rescued.

  He sat up and turned his back.

  ‘I’m scared too, don’t you realise that?’

  He had read her thoughts. He had the ability to see straight through her. It was one of his many qualities that she appreciated, but also feared in equal measure. He got up and went over to her bedroom window. Her eyes wandered over his naked skin. How beautiful he was.

  ‘I’ve always been able to weigh the pros and cons, go back and forth about how I should behave, and get dragged into all those stupid games people play so they don’t seem too eager. But that won’t work with you. I’ve longed so much to be hit by something like this, to feel so much that it seems I just don’t have any choice.’

  She wanted to say something but she couldn’t think of a single word. All the words that would have been suitable were inaccessible, deep inside some cranny, because she had never before needed them.

  ‘I only know that I’ve never felt anything like this before.’

  He stood there just as naked as his confession. She got up and went over to him, stood behind him and slid her arms through his.

  ‘So don’t ever leave me alone with a silent phone again. I don’t know if I could stand it.’

  He was the most courageous man she had ever met.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  For one dizzying instant she dared to feel total trust, and take comfort from the feeling of being loved through and through. She felt the tears rising again, felt something black and hard inside her begin to dissolve.

  He turned round and took her face in his hands.

  ‘I ask only one thing, and that’s for you to be honest, that you tell me the truth so I’ll understand what’s happening. As long as we’re honest then neither of us has to be afraid. Don’t you think?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Don’t you think?’

  Only then did she nod.

  ‘I promise.’

  And at that moment she meant it.

  They were supposed to have dinner that evening. The following morning she had to leave town to attend the course, and she was already missing him. Four days. Four days and four nights without his presence.

  Her mother had been upset. Not about the course itself, but about the fact that the grave would be dark for several days. Monika had promised to hurry home. She would pick her up at three on Sunday when she returned.

  She spent a long time going through the clothes in her wardrobe. Actually she had already decided what she was going to wear, knew so well what he liked best, but she wanted to check one last time that she wasn’t mistaken. On the way past the window she stopped by one of the orchid plants and pinched off a withered flower. The others still stood in their full splendour, and she regarded their perfect creation. So insanely beautiful, in such absolute symmetry, so utterly without shortcomings or flaws. And yet he had compared her to them when he notice
d them in the bedroom window, so he wasn’t that smart after all. An orchid was perfect. She wasn’t. He had the ability to make her feel unique, both inside and out, but only when he was there and she could dwell in his compelling gaze. When he wasn’t there, the other took over, what she knew was inside and wasn’t worth loving. Swiftly and ruthlessly it would take back the ground it had lost.

  She hesitated in the doorway as she was leaving. If she left this minute she would get there right on time. What would happen if she arrived late? Quite a bit late. How annoyed would he be? Maybe it would make him realise that she wasn’t as wonderful as he imagined. Then maybe he would finally reveal his hidden side, expose that flaw that she was convinced he must have somewhere. Show that he only loved her as long as he thought she was perfect. She turned off her mobile and sat down on the hall bench.

  She made him wait forty-five minutes. Soaked to the skin he stood in the middle of the square when she finally came running up. He had refused to leave their meeting place.

  ‘Finally… God, how worried I was, I thought something had happened.’

  Not one mean word. Not the slightest hint of irritation. He pulled her to him and she hid her face against his wet jacket and felt ashamed.

  But she wasn’t completely convinced. Not deep inside.

  They slept together at her place that night. When morning came and she had to leave soon, he lingered and held her in his arms for a long time.

  ‘I’ve worked out that you’re going to be gone for a hundred and eight hours, but I’m not sure I can hold out for more than eighty-five.’

  She crept closer to him and rested in another dizzying moment. She wanted to stay this time, and for once allow life itself the opportunity to make the decision.

  ‘You know I’m coming home soon, pulled by magnetic homesickness.’

  He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘But whatever you do, watch out for those high-tension wires.’

  She smiled and saw by the clock that it was high time she left. She had so wanted to say those three words that were so difficult to utter. Instead she put her lips lightly to his ear and whispered.

  ‘I’m so glad I was the one who became your girl pigeon.’

  And at that moment neither of them in their wildest dreams could imagine that the Monika who was just about to leave would never ever come back.

  4

  It took four days before she managed to gather her thoughts enough to begin to formulate an answer. The nights were filled with restless dreams, all taking place near large bodies of water. Enormous shapes hovered beneath the water’s surface like black clouds, and although she stood on land she perceived them as threatening, as if they could still get at her. She was thin again and could move unhindered, but something else had prevented her from moving. It had something to do with her legs. Several times she awoke just as a giant wave came rolling in towards her and she realised that she wouldn’t be able to escape it.

  The big pillow behind her back was wet with sweat. She wished she could lie down properly. For just one night, to be able to lie down and sleep like a normal person. That possibility no longer existed. If she lay down she would be suffocated by her own weight.

  It had been so many years since she had written a letter. She got one of the little people to buy her some stationery on the first day, but then she hid it in the top drawer of the desk. The letter she had to answer was in there too, smoothed out after having been crumpled up, and every time she passed the desk her eyes were drawn to the elegant brass fittings.

  * * *

  In the past few days some more fragments of memories had surfaced from the depths. Brief images in which Vanja was present. Vanja laughing on a blue bicycle. Vanja deeply engrossed in a book. She had distinctly seen her dark-brown ponytail, always tied back with a red elastic band. And then a vague image of the woodshed back home, whatever that had to do with the whole thing. Small shards that refused to fall into place. Small objective fragments utterly devoid of emotional content.

  She had emptied the refrigerator. She had eaten everything. On three occasions the urge had been so strong that she had to call the pizza delivery. The menu said half an hour, but just like all the other idiots they were never on time.

  To think that something that was empty could hurt so much.

  The letter was still occupying her thoughts. Most of all she would have liked to tear it up and throw it away, but it was too late. She had read the words and they had become etched inside her and were now impossible to ignore. And, worst of all, her anger was starting to subside and suddenly leave room for something else. An obscure feeling of dread.

  Alone.

  That feeling hadn’t bothered her in a very, very long time.

  The nights were the worst.

  She tried to convince herself that she didn’t have anything to be afraid of. Vanja was locked up and couldn’t reach her; if another letter showed up she could toss it away unread. She mustn’t let herself be lured into the trap again.

  But no amount of clever words helped. And she realised that it really wasn’t Vanja who scared her. It was something else.

  On this morning she had got up early, before it was even light. She never dared get into the shower when there was a risk that the little people might catch her unawares. It was so hard to dry off properly between all the rolls of fat, and she knew how the eczema on her back must look. The itching told the tale. If they saw it they would sound the alarm, and never in her life would she permit anyone to rub lotion on her. She owned two dresses that she always wore. Ankle-length tents with holes at the top. She had had them made fifteen years ago, and she didn’t want to think about the fact that one of them would soon be too small.

  After Saba had had her morning walk on the lawn and the balcony door was locked, Maj-Britt went to the kitchen and sat down at the table. She looked at the clock. It should be three or four hours before anyone showed up, but what did she know? They came and went pretty much as they liked. But, to be honest, she was eagerly awaiting them today. Her empty stomach was screaming to be filled. And despite the reproachful glances she had ordered extra provisions.

  Hi, Vanja.

  She really had no desire at all to say hi to her, but how else did you start off a letter? And how did you refute implied insults without revealing how upsetting they were? She wanted to sound cool and unperturbed, show that she was above all the embarrassing things that a confused inmate thought she was entitled to write.

  As you guessed, I was surprised by your letter, to say the least. It took a while before I remembered who you were. As you said, some years have passed since we last saw each other. Both my family and I are doing fine. Göran is working as a department head in a big company that makes appliances and I work in the banking industry. We have two children who are both studying abroad now. I am quite content with my life and have only happy memories of my childhood. Mother and Father passed away many years ago, and I miss them terribly. That’s why we no longer drive up there very often, but prefer to take our holidays abroad. So I haven’t talked to anyone and know nothing about you or your fate. But I understand from your address that you wound up in trouble.

  Tonight Göran and I are going to the theatre, so I will have to close now.

  Best wishes,

  Maj-Britt Pettersson

  She read over what she had written. Exhausted from the effort, she decided that it would have to do. Now she just wanted to get it out of the flat and mailed so that she could put the whole thing behind her.

  It had irked her to write his name.

  The home help arrived at one o’clock today; a new one, someone she had never seen before. Another one of those young girls, but at least she was Swedish. The kind who went about dressed in suggestive sweaters with the bra straps showing. And then they were surprised that rape was on the increase. When young girls dressed like whores, what were the boys supposed to think?

  ‘Hi, my name is Ellinor.’

&nb
sp; Maj-Britt looked with distaste at her outstretched hand. Never in her life would she dream of shaking it.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve been informed of the routine in this household?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I hope at least you took along the correct shopping list when you went to the store.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  The intruder kept smiling, and this irritated Maj-Britt even more. She took off a worn denim jacket decorated with small colourful plastic buttons with slogans printed on them; they gave the garment an even more slovenly appearance, if that were possible.

  ‘Shall I put the stuff in the fridge or do you want to do it yourself?’

  Maj-Britt scrutinised her from head to toe.

  ‘Just put the bags on the kitchen table.’

  She always put away the food herself, but she could no longer lift the heavy bags. She liked to know where all the food was stored. In case she was in a hurry.

  When she was left alone in the hall she took a look at the small plastic buttons. With her thumb and forefinger she gingerly pulled out the jacket and snorted as she examined them. DON’T KEEP SILENT! STOP THE TORTURE. FEMINIST – DAMN RIGHT! IF I AM ONLY FOR MYSELF – WHAT AM I? A candle wrapped in barbed wire with the legend rights for all. A multitude of small self-righteous messages about this and that, as if she had taken on the responsibility of changing the world all by herself. Oh well, it would pass when she got a little older and understood the way things worked.

  She heard the little person go into the bathroom and fill a bucket with water.

  It took about half an hour for her to finish. Maj-Britt stood by the balcony door and waited for Saba to come in. Outside in the playground stood a father pushing his child on a swing. The child, who couldn’t be much more than a year old, whooped with laughter each time the swing changed direction and fell back towards the father’s outstretched arms. She had often seen them there. Sometimes the mother came along too, but she seemed to suffer from some kind of pain, because sometimes the man had to help her up after she had been sitting on the park bench. Saba stayed near the balcony and never paid any attention to the people she met outside. And Maj-Britt would send the home helps out to pick up the dog shit; she didn’t want any complaints from the neighbours about letting Saba out alone.