Broken (17 page)

'I know where it is,' she called out and made a beeline for the bathroom. Again he sat there with his heart in his throat. He could feel his cheeks burning. A woman would be standing behind a thin wall with no clothes on. The water would wash over her. The same room where he carefully washed and got himself ready every morning and evening. Her smell, her hair in the plughole. He gulped down more sherry, he could think of no other solution.

*

At eleven he switched on the TV to watch the late-night news. Lindys was lying on the sofa, her hair was damp. The kitten had snuggled up to her chest and had fallen asleep. She was not interested in the news, she lay calmly with her eyes closed. Her swollen eye worried him, but it did not seem to bother her. Alvar was halfway through his second sherry. Human beings can cope with far more than we think, he decided, as a mild level of intoxication reached his head. There's a woman lying on my sofa and I haven't panicked. I'm taking it all in my stride, I'm a self-assured man. After a while he could see that she was asleep. She had neither a pillow nor a blanket, so he got up and went to a cupboard in the hallway where he kept a pure wool Berger blanket. He returned to the sofa. Stood there for a moment watching her. Her blonde, almost white hair had fallen over her cheek where the skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones. The swollen eye looked truly nasty. He could not understand how anyone could have the heart to hurt such a defenceless girl. His initial thought had been to spread the blanket over her, but it seemed such an intimate gesture that he did not dare. Instead he laid the blanket over her feet. Perhaps she might wake up during the night and pull it all the way up. What would tomorrow bring? he wondered. What might she get up to while he slept? Could he trust her? No, Ole Krantz would have said, you can't trust people like that. Get rid of them, Alvar, get rid of them! He switched off the light, turned off the TV and went to the bathroom. He remembered that he had forgotten to provide her with a clean towel, so she had used his. He noticed black stains from her eye make-up, too. He took a clean towel from the linen cupboard, brushed his teeth and washed his hands. Left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, so she could find her way in the dark in case she woke up during the night. Then he quickly went out into the hall to retrieve his wallet from his coat pocket. He brought it into his bedroom and placed it in the drawer of his bedside table, and this small precaution felt like a nasty sting.

*

When he woke up she was standing by his bedside.

He yanked his duvet up under his chin. Her eye looked even worse, he thought, and what time was it anyway?

'Like I said,' she spoke firmly, 'I need twenty grand. If I go back into town without that money, he'll kill me.'

Alvar sat up in his bed. He could not believe his own ears.

'As long as I owe him that money, I'm fair game. I can't even return to my room.'

She stuck her chin out and planted her hands on her hips.

Alvar ran his hand across his bare head. He had been ambushed, it felt unbearable.

'But,' he moaned, 'you'll never be able to pay that back.'

'Oh, sure,' she said confidently, 'I can sell some drugs. Spring's coming, that means I can start working the streets again. I always make a lot of money this time of year.'

Alvar rubbed his eyes.

'I've made coffee,' she said proudly. 'And then we're going to the cashpoint.'

He looked at her in disbelief. Hugged his duvet tightly.

'I don't even have that much money in my account,' he tried in a desperate attempt to escape the humiliation she was subjecting him to.

'But you've got seventy thousand,' she said. 'You've been saving, you told me all about it.'

'It's for the painting,' he objected feebly.

'But you haven't bought it. That wall in there,' she nodded towards the living room, 'is still bloody empty!'

He wanted to get out of bed, but he could not bear the thought that she might see him in his underwear, even though his boxer shorts were perfectly acceptable.

'It's in another account,' he said, 'a savings account. I don't have a card for that.'

She rolled her blue eyes. 'Then we'll go to your bank,' she said lightly. 'They open at nine.'

She went back into the living room.

'I let the cat out,' she called to him over her shoulder.

Alvar forgot all about his embarrassment and jumped out of bed. 'What did you just say? You let him out?'

She came back in, stopped in the doorway.

'Yes, of course I did. Don't tell me you're keeping that poor little creature cooped up in here all day.'

Alvar reached for his neatly folded clothes on the back of the chair near his bed.

'But what if he can't find his way home?' he said miserably. At this she burst into a fit of laughter.

'What are you on about? I've never heard anything like it. Of course he'll find his way home. And he's not as helpless as you think. When you come home from work today, he'll be waiting on your doorstep, he's not stupid either, he knows who feeds him. Now get a move on, the bank opens in thirty minutes.'

He got dressed. He went to the bathroom. He stared at his terrified reflection in the mirror. If he did not give her the money, she would get another beating. If he gave her the money she would become indebted to him and then she would have to walk the streets to pay him back. Both options were unthinkable. If he swore at her and told her to get the hell out of his flat, he would not be able to live with himself; after all, he was a good person. He went through his usual morning ritual; he lingered and dawdled as much as he could. There was music coming from the living room, she had turned on the radio. Finally he came out. She was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and she had put out a cup for him too. They drank their coffee in silence.

'I'm not going to come with you inside when we get to the bank,' she said after a long pause. 'I'll wait outside. I'll sign an IOU,' she added, 'if you want me to.'

He shook his head. 'No, what would be the point of that?' he said dully. There was no way she was ever going to pay him back. Now she had become something he had been lumbered with. He looked at her, he looked at his coffee cup, which she was holding in her hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And the kitten outside now on his own, he might get run over. Alvar moaned inwardly.

'Don't be scared,' she said all of a sudden.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'You're always so scared, you don't have to be. You see, there's nothing to be scared of.'

He bowed his head again. He could no longer see a way out. He could barely imagine this day ending. From now on everything was up in the air and he could not handle it. Days needed to follow like pearls on a string, even, round and smooth. Safe, measured days that he had complete control of. Now he could only see as far as the bank.

She got up. 'Come on,' she said, 'we're going.'

He got up too. Went out into the hall and put on his coat. She slipped out before him. They'll see us, he thought, my downstairs neighbours, they'll see us walk down the road together, and they'll talk.

God help me.

There were no other customers in the bank.

The cashier looked up at him with a welcoming smile. He asked to withdraw twenty thousand and even though it was his own money and even though he was going to give it away he felt greedy. He folded the notes and put them in his pocket. Signed for them and left. She was waiting outside. When he gave her the notes she crumpled. It was like watching butter melt in the sun.

'Thank you,' she said and burst into tears. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you! You've taken such a load off my mind. Oh, you're so nice, so nice!'

Again she gave him a big wet kiss on his cheek. Alvar felt her soft lips on his skin. He was so overcome by emotions that he had to look away. She stuffed the notes into the pocket of her grey jacket and started walking towards Bragernes Square. He followed her tiny figure with his eyes. Then it dawned on him that he no longer had enough money to buy the severed bridge. He also realised he might never see her again. That this was what she had been building towards the whole time. Settle her debt so she would be left in peace. He stood there for a while, wondering about himself and life's twists and turns. The strange direction his life had taken. A feeling of anxiety made his chest ache.

He drags himself across my floor with heavy footsteps.

'So,' I say, 'there you are.'

'Yes,' he says, 'here I am. And you might get angry with me now. Because I keep interrupting you, but I can't help it.'

He glances at the table. 'You're relaxing with a glass of wine, I see. Rather a large glass, I must say. It's practically a bowl.'

He looks fraught. 'I'm up to my neck in problems. I've tried to escape, but it's gone too far.'

I point towards the sofa, ask him to sit down.

'You sound as if it's the end of the world,' I say. 'You've found yourself in unfamiliar territory and it frightens the living daylights out of you.'

He rubs his tired face.

'That's not to say there are no solutions,' I say, 'but you need to act. When you're in a situation involving another person, you need to take a stand. There's nothing wrong with listening, supporting and encouraging. But don't lose sight of your own interests. You've been swallowed up by her needs and her greed. She is walking all over you. You need to start asserting yourself. That doesn't mean you can't help her, but in my opinion you're entitled to make certain demands.'

'Like what?' he asks quickly.

'I think you should demand one hundred per cent honesty, for example.'

He looks at me suspiciously. Raises his eyebrows.

'Where are you going with this?'

I look at him gravely.'She's told you her life story. Illness. Neglect, alcoholism, foster homes and violent drug dealers.'

'Yes. It's just awful,' he says.

'Indeed it is. If it's true.'

He is startled. 'Is she lying?'

'I don't know. What do you think? It strikes me that you take everything at face value. That she's a victim, that she never had a chance to become anything other than a heroin addict. You've had little experience of dealing with other people,' I continue. 'God knows you don't know much about human nature. If you did you might have questioned her in more detail and perhaps found out that she may not be who you think she is.'

He braces himself as if hit by an icy wind.

'What you're saying now doesn't exactly make me feel any better,' he says.

'I understand that completely. But you've come to me with your questions and you have to accept what you're given. That was the deal we made, wasn't it?'

He contemplates this for a long time. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand.

'It all began so promisingly, I did everything right. She entered the gallery and she was freezing, I decided to do a good deed. In my heart of hearts I didn't think I had the right to throw her out into the cold. So I gave her a mug of coffee. And that coffee,' he agonises, 'was probably my first mistake.'

He hugs himself. 'What kind of a world is this? Where good leads to bad? How are we meant to behave when there are no consequences, no logic or justice? And not only that. Imagine if I had indeed sent her packing the very first time I met her, then she would simply have gone somewhere else and another person would have made the same mistake. There is no solution to this, none at all. And what will this experience do to me? It'll mean that the little goodwill I still possess will just dissolve and evaporate. In the end, I'll just think of her the same way she already thinks of herself. A crooked human being, who's a pain and a burden to everyone.'

I have to smile in response to his reasoning.

'Do you think she's a crooked human being?'

'No,' he says, 'are you mad? I don't think of people like that, never. But I'm having to deal with her and I'm getting really irritated. But only with myself, because I can't find a way out. Do I have to be lumbered with her now, I wonder, is there no way out of this mess?'

'Alvar,' I say watching him, 'you won't find a way out of this mess until you open your ears and eyes.'

'You mean I haven't?'

I raise my glass and drink. 'No, you haven't. You're actually quite self-obsessed when you're with other people. You spend all your energy fretting about how you behave and how you come across, how important it is that you remain polite, and correct and nice. And that's why you miss what's really going on.'

'You've lost me,' he whimpers. 'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

I light a cigarette and blow the smoke towards the ceiling; I follow the blue column with my eyes, the smoke spirals under the lamp.

'She stayed the night in your flat.'

'Yes,' he nods. 'But only on my sofa. With a blanket.'

'Did you check if anything was missing from your flat when you got up this morning?'

Alvar looks sick.

'Did she steal something? That's not possible, she's not like that, I'm certain of it. She wanted money and that's bad enough, but I've no cash lying around the place, only some change in a bowl in the kitchen. And let me add, given that you've brought up my boundless naivety, that I hid my wallet in my bedroom when I went to bed. I have no other valuables.'

'We'll see,' I say. 'But I'll continue to argue that you're naive, even if you don't like it.'

'That doesn't surprise me,' he says. 'But it's better than being a cynic. I've been standing outside your house for years, I've seen people go through a great deal.'

I burst into a hearty laugh. 'I care about everyone who comes to my house,' I say, 'you all grip me in different ways. If I was indifferent to you there would be no story. And I certainly don't feel indifferent towards you, Alvar, I think about you night and day. I hope you'll cope, that you'll do the right things. I may not be able to promise you happiness, but I can promise you hope. Besides, you need to understand that once I've written the last page then you're on your own. With the tools I've given you.'

'Tools?' he says, baffled. 'What tools have you given me?'

'Of course I've given you tools. I'm trying to open your eyes, I'm trying to force you out into the real world, which you've never been a part of. You've been given a name, a job, a voice and I've placed you on a well-lit stage. If we're lucky you'll have an audience too and they will judge you mercilessly. But some might recognise themselves in you and be touched. Others might smile at your defensive and very cautious nature, some might get up and leave halfway through the show. But you've been given something that many people will never have. The chance to show yourself and be seen.'

'But I don't want an audience,' he protests.

'Oh, of course you do. Even if you're not aware of it; you think of yourself as modest, and you can't even bear to entertain the idea. But we need other people, we need to mirror ourselves in them. Naturally there's a risk that we might run into individuals we don't want to meet, but that's part of the price we have to pay.'

'Yes,' he says despondently, 'I'm paying, literally. Twenty thousand kroner, to be precise, left my account today.'

'Because you were incapable of saying no.'

'I didn't think I had the right.'

'Who took that right away from you?'

'I've never had it.'

'Why were you never given it?'

'I don't know. Who hands it out?'

'Your parents,' I say. 'And after them your brothers and sisters and your friends.'

'My parents were very stingy,' he says, 'and I've never had any friends to speak of.'

'In other words,' I say, 'you need to get yourself some friends. They'll give you what you need.'

He gives me a defeated look.'If you've intervened in order to help me establish a friendship with someone, why have you sent me a heroin addict who's spending all my money?'

'I can understand that you feel used. This isn't what you wanted, you don't need this kind of person.'

'Correct. I don't.'

'But she needs you.'

His grey eyes blink.

'I need to look after the interests of everyone in the book,' I explain. 'You're only concerned with your own part. I'm responsible for the whole story, for everyone involved.'

'But you're on my side, surely?' he asks anxiously.

'That goes without saying,' I reply.

He ponders this for a while, he narrows his eyes.

'You're saying something has gone missing from my flat. That she's taken something. Are you going to tell me what it is?'

I take another sip of my red wine, which is just the right temperature.

'There's a time and a place for everything, Alvar. Think of this book as an equation. It all needs to add up in the end, that's the idea.'

'And if it doesn't add up, what then?'

'Then there'll be no story.'

'But what about me and what you've started?'

'I'll put you on ice. I put many ideas on ice. Four years ago full of enthusiasm I started a new book. It was about three inmates who absconded from Ila security prison. They escape in a van and drive to Finn forest, where they hide out in an old cabin.'

'And then what happens?'

'They're still there. I never managed to move them on.'

He looks disgusted at this thought.

'I'm leaving now,' he announces, 'so that you can finish your work!'

He leaps up from the sofa and goes to the door. 'I just have one small favour to ask you,' he pleads. 'Please forgive me for mentioning this, I don't mean to interfere in your business, but I can't stop myself.'

'No, you can't, can you?' I say. 'What is it?'

'You need to get up early tomorrow morning; you've got work to do. So don't drink so much that you make yourself sick.'