Amatka

by Karin Tidbeck

  “But still,” Nina said.

  “We all know something will happen sooner or later,” Ulla said. “We’re running out of good paper.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Nina cut off. “I just don’t see why you feel a need to talk about it.”

  The sound of the girls’ high-pitched voices could be heard through the ceiling: Bed! Chair! Cabinet! Lamp! Nina put her arm around Vanja’s shoulders. Vanja was suddenly very aware of her scent: sweet, spicy, with an underlying hint of something she couldn’t name. The heat from Nina’s arm radiated through the fabric of her shirt.

  “Hear how good they’re doing? We’ll be fine,” Nina said. “Now stop dwelling on it.”

  Ivar and Nina were both very physical with the children. Tora and Ida always had a parent’s hand resting on their shoulder, or arm around their waist, or fingers running through their hair. The girls responded by jumping down from the lap they’d been lifted onto, sliding out from underneath the hand, ducking away from the fingers. They clung to each other instead. Their body language was completely synchronized. At bedtime, they said good night and ran up the stairs before their parents could reply.

  “Every time they visit, it’s like they’ve forgotten who we are,” Nina said when the sound of footsteps had faded. “But they do become more friendly with time.”

  According to the committee, it wasn’t healthy for parents and children to be too close. They were to socialize once a week, to satisfy the emotional needs that unfortunately still plagued many and that, if entirely neglected, could needlessly cause neuroses. But a bond that grew too strong made the children dependent and less inclined to feel solidarity with the commune.

  At the children’s house, Vanja had always longed for the weekend, when Lars would stand in the doorway to the dormitory, and she would walk—but not too quickly—over to him and take his callused hand, and he would look down at her with brimming eyes and say: There you are. Once, he knelt down and hugged her. Then Teacher Elin had taken him out into the corridor and talked to him for a long time. After that, he just held out his hand.

  SEVENDAY

  Sevendays were for wholesome fun with family and friends, and most citizens had the day off. Parents could spend time with their offspring, if they wanted to. Everyone would visit one of the leisure centers to play games, sing together, and enjoy a delicious Sevenday dinner.

  Vanja declined to join Nina and Ivar, telling them that she’d come by later. She wouldn’t have to be there until evening anyway. She slid her book into her anorak pocket, so she would have something to hide behind once she got to the center, and walked out of the house with no particular goal in mind.

  The library’s window was lit and the door unlocked. Inside, the librarian sat at his desk with a thermos and a pile of books. “It’s Sevenday,” he said without looking up.

  “I’m sorry,” Vanja said. “I’ll leave.”

  She paused. The librarian’s posture seemed off somehow: slumped and tense at the same time. When she didn’t leave, he looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and salty white lines ran down his cheeks. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. His voice was rough when he spoke. “You borrowed About Plant House 3, didn’t you. Did you like it?”

  Vanja nodded.

  The librarian rubbed his eyes, sniffled, and rose. “I suppose we’d better get you another one, since you’re here.”

  Vanja followed him to the poetry section. The librarian ran his finger along the shelf. Between the books were gaps that Vanja hadn’t seen before. She peered around the room. In some of the bookcases, whole sections gaped empty. The librarian handed Vanja a small volume. The cover was stamped ABOUT PLANT HOUSE 7.

  “Thank you,” Vanja said. “Have people been borrowing a lot recently?” she added, and waved her book at the shelves around them.

  The librarian cleared his throat again. “No.” He walked over to his desk and picked up the topmost book, which he leafed through without really looking. “I’m culling.” He put the book back down, took his glasses off, and pressed his palms against his eyes.

  Vanja stood very still by the poetry bookcase. It wasn’t proper to barge into other people’s private affairs. But the fact that he was alone in the library on a Sevenday, with tears running down his face…The librarian let out a long breath and sniffled.

  “Are you all right?” Vanja finally asked.

  The librarian drew a shaky breath. “I’m culling.” It came out as a whimper.

  He breathed in and out a few times, then rummaged through one of his pockets, pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief, and wiped his face and beard. Then he blew his nose and put his glasses back on. “I’m culling.” This time, his voice was steady; only the tears in his eyes betrayed him. “The committee has ordered me to remove half of the books here,” he continued. “Anything not…essential…is to be destroyed and recycled. Because the committee needs good paper.”

  Vanja frowned. “What for?”

  “I don’t know!” The librarian waved his arm at the bookcases. “These books are going to disappear forever so the committee can have…forms or special paper to wipe their fat arses with.” He drew a shaky breath. “And I have to decide which ones to destroy. And they won’t be replaced, do you understand? They’ll never come back. Ever.” New tears trickled down his cheeks. “Everything that’s just…useless entertainment. Everything that only exists to make you feel good. It has to go.”

  “That’s horrible,” Vanja said. Speaking the words aloud sent little shocks through her body.

  The librarian stopped himself and slapped his forehead. “But what am I saying? I didn’t mean anything by it. You understand that, don’t you? That I didn’t mean anything by it. Of course the committee’s decision is for the good of the commune. You know that, right? I was just upset. Could we leave it at that? I didn’t mean what I said. Okay?”

  “But I agreed with you.”

  They looked at each other in silence. “So you did,” the librarian said slowly.

  Vanja’s back was itching, as though someone was standing behind her. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody there, of course. But someone could be, at any moment. “I have to go,” she said, and held out her hand. “Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.”

  The librarian took her hand and shook it firmly. “Samins’ Evgen.”

  “We talked about books today.”

  Evgen gave her a sudden smile. “If you want to talk about books again, I’ll be here.”

  —

  Back in the street, Vanja shoved her hands into her pockets. About Plant House 7 was in the left one. She’d forgotten to register the loan. It would have to wait. A strange energy was running through her. What if someone had overheard them? She reminded herself to breathe.

  The double doors of Leisure Center Two were wide open. Music and voices spilled out into the street. Inside, citizens were divided into groups, engaged in fun activites. It was a packed full-day program: sack racing, three-legged racing, ring tossing, ball games, dancing. The sound of an old dancing tune could be heard now: The farmer stands like so, watch her walk and watch her sow.

  Soon, it would be time for the communal evening meal. Children without active parents would be seated among the other households. Everyone would stand up and sing “The Pioneer Song.” Then they would sit down to eat. The children would tell everyone what they’d learned at the children’s house during the week. Their elders would listen and praise them for their diligence.

  Vanja stepped inside and gave the clerk by the entrance her name and designation. She continued into the main hall without bothering to hang her anorak up in the coatroom. The hall was long and narrow; high above, square windows close to the ceiling let in the last gray light of evening. Below each window hung posters adorned with quotes and words of wisdom from the Heroes. The long tables in the back of the hall were already set with plates and utensils. Cooking smells spread all the way from the kitchen doors by the stage at the other end of the room. In the spa
ce between the stage and the tables, children danced in a ring. Their parents stood around them, clapping a rhythm on their thighs. Vanja found a seat as far back among the tables as possible. She glimpsed Nina and Ivar, playing awkwardly with their daughters in the crowd. She sat still and let the cacophony wash over her until it was late enough to make absconding acceptable.

  —

  At home, it was as Vanja fumbled for the light switch that her foot landed in something with a wet noise. The sound traveled up her leg as a cold shock. She forced herself to lift her foot very slowly and then turned the light on.

  It was the suitcase. It had been out of sight under the bed, and she hadn’t marked it for several days. It had been so worn, the text on the lid almost erased. She should have scrapped it. Now it was too late. The whitish gloop it had dissolved into had spread across nearly half the floor. It stuck to the sole of her boot. Nothing but her boot between her and that substance. She didn’t know what would happen if she touched it, but it would spread to other objects if she didn’t act fast. Vanja struggled to untie her laces and kicked the boot away. She rushed down the stairs and collided with Nina in the coatroom. She grabbed Nina’s shoulders to stay upright, sending her stumbling backward into the front door.

  “What? What is it?” Nina shouted.

  “Don’t go upstairs, don’t go upstairs.” Vanja’s heart beat out syncopes against her rib cage. “There’s gloop on the floor.”

  Nina exhaled slowly through her nose. “You stay here. I’ll get a cleaner.”

  Vanja sat down on the stairs. Ivar came in; he was alone. He glanced at her and then up the stairs. Vanja shook her head, and Ivar pressed his lips together. He went into the kitchen.

  Nina came back with two cleaners in yellow overalls in tow. They carried shovels and boxes. She ushered Vanja into the kitchen so the cleaners could pass.

  Nina motioned for Vanja to sit down next to Ivar. She poured her a cup of cold coffee.

  “Are the girls at the children’s house?” Vanja said, just to fill the silence.

  “We have to make sure we mark things here,” Nina said.

  Vanja looked into her cup. “It was an old suitcase.”

  Nina snorted. “Then you should have had the sense to scrap it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”

  “Maybe it’s different in Essre,” Ivar said. “Maybe you can afford to be a little careless there. Because there are more of you, I mean. More people who can mark things.”

  “That doesn’t work here,” Nina filled in.

  “I get it,” Vanja said. “Please, forgive me.” She pulled her unshod foot into her lap and warmed it between her hands.

  They sat in silence, nursing their cups. The cleaners walked up and down the stairs several times. Creaking and scraping noises could be heard from the second floor. Eventually one of the cleaners came into the kitchen. Her face was sweaty.

  “We’re done,” she said. “It had barely spread at all.”

  “Spread?” Vanja exclaimed.

  The others looked at her. “She’s from Essre,” Nina said after a brief pause.

  “Aha. Hey,” the cleaner said. “MOSO, remember?”

  “Mark often, scrap often,” Vanja replied automatically.

  “Here, that means often. Or it’ll spread. You’ll keep an eye on her, yeah?” The cleaner gave them a wave and left.

  “Well, then.” Ivar pushed his chair back. “Let’s see what’s what, then.”

  The corner where the bed had stood was empty. The cleaners’ tools had left long scratches in the floor. Vanja’s boot was nowhere to be seen. “This is ‘barely’?” Vanja said. She took a step into the room. The foot without a boot tingled.

  Ivar let out a short laugh. “It’s always ‘barely.’ ”

  Vanja looked around the room. It would be very uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. And so close to where it had happened.

  “You can sleep in my room,” Nina offered. “We’ll get you a new bed tomorrow.”

  —

  Vanja hadn’t been into Nina’s room before; the door had always been closed. It was more austere and unadorned than she had thought it would be. The bed was immaculately made, the cabinets shut. There was no desk. A poster of an old evening poem sat on the wall:

  as evening comes

  we keep in mind

  when morning’s here

  all will remain;

  as morning comes

  we keep in mind

  today’s the same

  as yesterday.

  Nina stripped down to her green underpants and a shirt that fit snuggly across her shoulders and upper arms. They were beautiful shoulders, wide and rounded. She wasn’t wearing a bra; her breasts moved freely under her shirt. Vanja turned away and peeled off her outmost layer of clothes, folding and stacking them carefully. She was afraid to turn around.

  “We’ll have to lie on our sides,” Nina said. “No room for sleeping on your back.” She was already in bed, facing the wall.

  Vanja slipped in under the duvet next to Nina and stared out into the room. “Are you angry?” she asked.

  “I got over it hours ago,” Nina mumbled. “But if you steal the duvet or snore. Then.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “Or if you apologize again. Then.”

  “Sorry,” Vanja said before she could stop herself.

  Nina gave her a kick. “Last chance. Good night.”

  Vanja heard Nina’s breaths deepen and slow down, heard the rustle of sheets when Nina’s legs twitched as she drifted off. It shouldn’t be that difficult to fall asleep; it had been a long day. The business with the suitcase had been draining, and she was used to sharing a bed. But the warmth radiating from Nina’s back was so palpable. It spread down the backs of her legs and made the soles of her feet prickle. Vanja scooted as close as she could without actually touching Nina’s back with her own. She lay awake for a long time.

  THE SECOND WEEK

  * * *

  FIRSTDAY

  Vanja woke on her back with Nina’s breath on her cheek. As she opened her eyes, she caught Nina quickly closing hers. Nina lay on her side, hands cradled against her chest. One of her elbows touched Vanja’s upper arm; a knee brushed against Vanja’s thigh. The two points of contact burned her skin through the layers of clothes. Vanja closed her eyes again and lay very still. At length, Nina sighed and sat up. She slid down to the foot of the bed and onto the floor, where she hunted around for her socks.

  “Sock, sock, shoe, shoe. Trousers, shirt,” she mumbled at the garments as she picked them up. “Brr. Cold. Good morning!”

  “Good morning.” Vanja stretched. Her body ached, as if she’d been tensed up in her sleep.

  Nina opened her wardrobe and took out a pair of boots. “Here, my spares.” She placed them next to the bed.

  “Thank you very much,” Vanja mumbled.

  “Keep them. It’s better that someone’s using them.”

  Vanja stayed in bed until Nina had finished dressing and gone down to the kitchen. She crawled out from under the blanket and picked up her neatly folded clothes from the desk chair. The boots were a size too big, but she could walk in them. Her arm and leg tingled where Nina’s body had touched hers. If the new bed wasn’t delivered today, they would have to share again tonight. At first she didn’t recognize the sensation that flared in the pit of her stomach. It had been so long.

  Ulla was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of dark and acrid-looking coffee. “Good morning.” She gave Vanja a small smile.

  “Good morning,” Vanja replied.

  “Had another accident, did you?” Ulla’s smile became a strange grin.

  “I’m sorry,” Vanja said. “I really am.”

  Ulla tutted. “You’re not in Essre anymore, dear.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s done.” Ulla paused. “What did it look like?”

  “What did what look li
ke?”

  “When the suitcase had dissolved. What did it look like?”

  Vanja shrugged. “It didn’t look like much at all. Just…sludge.”

  “I thought you were a researcher.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I would expect some curiosity,” Ulla said. “A good researcher is curious about everything. Even that which one would find terrifying.”

  “I’m curious,” Vanja said. “But I wasn’t going to stay there and watch.”

  “Well,” Ulla said, “that’s where you and I differ. I would have taken the chance to observe.”

  “Observe what?”

  “How it behaves,” Ulla said slowly.

  Something in Ulla’s eyes made Vanja shiver.

  “Now, then,” Ulla said in a very different voice, “did you want to interview me, too? Nina said you might want to talk to an old doctor.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Vanja said. “I have to go write a report.”

  “You do that,” Ulla replied. “You know where to find me.”

  —

  Finishing her next short report took some time because the memory of Nina’s heat against her back kept distracting her, but finally it was done. Vanja put it in an envelope along with the first report. The box she’d brought from the pharmacy was just big enough to fit all the product samples and the envelope. It was also just about light enough that she could carry it on her own, so she did, to the post office next to the train station. The clerk informed her that the train from Essre was on its way in to load and unload and placed Vanja’s parcel on one of the pallets headed for the platform.

  Vanja stepped out onto the platform. The tracks ran in a straight line to the south until they climbed a low hill and disappeared. The train was on its way down that hill, and the rails gave off a whirring sound that made the hairs on Vanja’s neck stand up. The noise rose in volume as the train approached; when the train finally arrived at the platform, it was so loud Vanja had to cover her ears. The train was made of good metal that had been in use ever since the pioneers arrived, scratched and eroded, painted over many times. A section of the paint on the passenger car had bubbled and come loose, as if exposed to extreme heat. It hadn’t looked like that when Vanja had last seen it. Something must have happened out there. Everyone knew the world outside of the colonies was dangerous, but the committee had never spoken of the details. Vanja thought about herself in the little car, unaware of the world outside the train’s protective shell, of whatever it was that could do something like this to a train made of good metal.