Bunker (8 page)

The night is never entirely black. In the light of the moon, all the bushes look as if there were an animal or some other living creature hiding in them, or concealed behind them. I know that's nonsense. No one's out and about here at this time of night, and the only dangerous animals are in the zoo, not here. All the same, I'm frightened.

The cart-track gets even narrower, the central strip disappears, the road is nothing but a path leading into the forest now, winding its way up to a rise.

And now I realize that I turned the wrong way right at the start. The town is in the opposite direction. So silly of me – how could I be so stupid? Half-witted!

Frustrated and exhausted, I sit down on the path. My legs ache, my back hurts, and I'm cold. My mouth is dry. I'm thirsty. I sit there looking up at the moon. I feel like crying. Was that splashing I heard? If I keep quite still and concentrate on the bushes on the other side of the path, I seem to hear something splashing. A little stream? A spring of water? My exhaustion disappears. I jump up and force my way through the bushes, feeling the dusty ground. Nothing. I'll have to stay thirsty.

I go back through the bushes to the path. My eyes are used to the darkness now, so that's no trouble. Disappointed and tired, I sit down on the path again. I'm finished. I can't go on. I sit there with my legs drawn up and my arms around them, looking at the moon. The sky is clear and full of stars. Hundreds of sparkling points of light in the heavens. I don't know how long I look up, I just sit there. My eyes fill with tears, and I begin crying helplessly. I scream and sob, I keep hammering my fists on the ground like a lunatic. I'm weeping with fear and rage. As time goes on my tears dry up and I just sit there, powerless, looking up and thinking of nothing. I have to get up, I have to go on – OK, I mean go back – before I actually give up the ghost. I have to go back to the house and try to find the right way from there. There's no other option. Either I die of thirst or I go back to my point of departure and try again, but in the other direction. With difficulty, I get to my feet. There are a few berries on a bush right beside me. They look like little black globules in the moonlight. I pick a handful, not many. Quickly put four or five in my mouth at once. The flavour is slightly sweet, fruity. The berries are full of seeds. I swallow. They have a bitter aftertaste. I spit. Now my mouth feels even drier and my tongue more coated than before. I throw the rest of the berries away.

If the bushes looked rather like dangerous animals earlier, now they seem to be human beings. I feel as if they're eyeing me, sitting up above me as if they were in the front of the circle at the theatre. They're staring at me. They sit there in old-fashioned garments. Some are staring at me, holding opera glasses up to their eyes, others are standing, nodding their heads, with glasses of champagne in their hands. I'm starting to have hallucinations, what with my thirst and my exhaustion. But I can see quite clearly how one of the theatre-goers leans far out over the front of the circle as I pass. I'm afraid. He's leaning too far over, he'll fall head first. He touches me, I can feel the breath of some of the spectators. They're spurring me on. Their calls grow louder, most of them are calling out encouraging remarks, they sound cheerful and emotional. The rows fill up more and more, there's pushing and shoving. The background sound grows louder. Glasses clink. First the restless spectators start whispering and murmuring, then they're calling out, the sound rises to shouting. I put my hands over my ears, the noise is almost unbearable. My heart is racing.

Go on. I'm gasping for breath. On and on, through the dense undergrowth. I see lights to my right, soon I'll reach the place where the path branches and leads to the mill.

Now they're lining my way, I have to push through the
crowd. I see their heated faces, red cheeks, gleaming eyes, I see them laughing with their mouths wide open. They crowd towards me. Their hands reach out for me, touch my arms, my shoulders. I can feel the warmth of their bodies standing close, side by side. The air smells used, acrid. I see the house. The audience is crowded together in a semi-circle now. They give way before me and leave the path free. Now I'm standing on the edge of the stage, the spectators have closed in around me again. I look around; the stage shows a ruinous old mill, light coming through little windows. The door is slightly open. I look back at the audience. Not a sound now, the crowd stands still. The human wall moves slowly, soundlessly towards me. I run to the door of the mill. The metal door sticks, won't open any wider, I have to force myself through it.

I go through the door, the stage swivels and now I'm in a different set of scenery. Lamps hang from the wall on long nails near the low brick wall. They cast beams of light on the stone floor. My glance wanders from one beam of light to another. Beyond the last one, someone is standing in front of a closed door in the dim light. I go up to him. Now he seems to notice me and turns around. He has a knife with a curved blade in one hand, a tubular reddish-grey shape in the other. He lets it go, it lands on the floor with a squelch.
Dark, mushy stuff comes out, forms a little lake that spreads, fills the cracks in the stones. Runs on, slowly making its way to the next stone.

I look up. There's a gutted body dangling there, with a thin trickle of blood running down. The hand holding the knife hangs limp and powerless.

He's a murderer, he murdered him. Slaughtered and gutted him like an animal. I was right, he did it, he murdered him.

My God, what's the matter with her? Hair in a mess, face bright red, swollen and scratched. Everything about her filthy. She must have run through the forest. I've been searching it for her, she wasn't there. I drove the Fiesta back to the road, very slowly. Stopped again and again, searched the forest to right and left. No sign of her. I'd started reconciling myself to the idea that she'd got away. How else was I to look for her? Just running around the forest is no use, at least not on your own. She could have been anywhere. I'd never expected to see her again so soon. It was plain stupid of me to carry the crockery downstairs and then forget to go back and bolt the trapdoor. Seems to run in the family. Father once forgot to bolt it too. Looks like we always make
the same mistake in our family. Mother came back as well. I've been lucky.

But there's something not quite right about her. Is she drunk? Standing there with her legs apart, but all the same she's staggering around, can hardly stay upright. Looks like she'd lose her balance and fall over. Good heavens, girl, pull yourself together!

Her eyes are wide, black and gleaming, her glance is crazy. She stretches her whole arm out and points her forefinger at me. Instinctively I look at the finger, it wavers back and forth. Now she opens her mouth – but she can't get a word out. I stand there too, gaping at her. The way she stands with her mouth open reminds me of a toad. Girl, if you just keep on breathing in the whole time like that you'll burst. Like a toad with a burning cigarette in its mouth. Bang, there it goes, blown to a thousand fragments.

She starts muttering something to herself. First quietly, I can't understand what she's saying, I can only hear the murmuring and I see her moving her lips. Then it gets louder. My God, what's she up to? Stupid as shit, first running off, then coming back again. And now she stands there talking utter nonsense. She's lost her marbles. All I can make out is, ‘You bastard!' and ‘You murdered my brother!' Her voice gets louder and louder until she shouts, ‘By rights I ought to
give your name to the police.' The way she says that! ‘I doubted myself, I thought it was my own fault.' She might be playing a part on stage in a theatre. ‘But it was you who did it, you, you!' It sounds so artificial, all put on. ‘And me with a guilty conscience for years, all because of you, you useless creature.'

Then she collapses entirely. Crying, screaming, sobbing. She's gone right off her head.

‘Shut up, will you, or you'll be sorry!'

She doesn't stop, goes on shouting at me, screeching the same thing over and over again like crazy. ‘You bastard!' She takes off, runs towards me. Her body is shaking, she swings her arm back. What's her idea? Is she out of her mind? She's beside herself.

She's closed her eyes.

She runs straight into my fist.

I lie there on my stomach, the cold cement floor under me. A musty cellar smell. I feel awful. My arms and legs are scratched. My grazes are burning. My head aches. He dragged me down to the cellar by my hair. Every root of it hurts. My mouth is dry, my tongue feels thick and swollen, glutinous saliva sticking my mouth up. I need something to drink. With difficulty, I haul myself up, look around. A paraffin lamp hangs from the hook beside the iron door, bringing a little light into the dark room.

I shake the door handle, but the door won't open. Maybe there's another way out? I take the lamp off the hook and look around. I'm in a long cellar – this room and two others, each opening off the one before it. In the last room there's
an old iron bedstead. That's all. No other way out, no window. I sit on the bed and stare ahead of me. This time he didn't undress me, put me to bed and cover me up. He's leaving you here to die, I think. That bastard is leaving you here to die! The thought makes me so furious that I jump up, take the lamp and go over to the iron door.

I hammer on the door with my fist. Until the knuckles hurt. Then I go on hitting it with the palm of my hand. ‘You bastard, let me out of here! I want to get out of here! Do you hear me? Open this door!'

I start crying, snot and tears running over my face. I let myself drop to the floor by the door, sit on the cement and go on crying. I'm crying with rage, I'm crying with pain. These last few days I have tried to pull myself together, tried not to lose control, and now it all comes spilling out of me. I can't stop crying.

But only a few minutes later I calm down. Suddenly my mind is curiously clear. How can I get out of here? He wanted the key. That's how it all began. He wanted money, the key to the safe. That's it, I must use that as bait. With money he'll forget the past, forget that he wants his revenge on me. With his sparrow-sized brain, I'm surprised he can even remember that far back.

Right, then, try your luck. There must still be a chance
for me. Maybe my last chance.

How to go about it? So far I've just been acting – or rather reacting – out of my gut feelings. And every time I land deeper in the shit. I need a plan, a strategy. Sounds good, only how do I do it?

Point One: he mustn't know that I know who he is. So no talking about the past, nothing about Joachim.

Point Two: this guy is aggressive, whatever I do I must avoid provoking any more violence from him.

Point Three: he always had problems with women. He's totally inhibited, and then all that time in jail or the loonybin, you're bound to get inhibited in there. So what to do? Make up to him, exploit his insecurity with women!

I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand and stand up.

‘Hello!' I hesitantly tap my finger against the door. Be nice to him, be friendly. I wait, put my ear to the door – nothing happens. Must have said it too quietly, he could be upstairs, who knows where? I knock on the door with my fist. ‘Hello there! Open the door, please!'

Nothing stirs. I was probably too quiet again, he's sure to be out there. Now I hammer on the door with both fists. ‘Hello! Open up! You arsehole, if you don't open up right now I'll…!' I kick it. Oh, don't go on like that. You stupid girl,
you mustn't provoke him. You'll do just the opposite of what you're planning.

So try something new. Knock on that door in a more restrained way, wait, listen. I'm not sure, but I think I hear footsteps.

I knock on the door again. ‘Hello, Hans, I'd like to get out of here. I know you want the key to the safe where I work. I know how we can get hold of it. I can help you, but only if you let me out. I'm no use at all to you in here, none at all. There's money in my boss's safe, a lot of money. I know how we can get the key. You won't get your hands on it without me, you need me! We can work together.'

Not a sound. ‘Hello, did you understand what I said? We can work together. I'll help you. Let me out of here and I'll help you.' Silence. Was I wrong about the footsteps?

Suddenly I have a feeling of being stared at from all sides. I turn very quickly. Nothing. Just this long dark room. I want to get out of here! My mouth is dry, my jaws hurt. My heart is beating incredibly fast.

I turn back to the door, shake the handle. Tug it and pull it. Hold it firmly with both hands, push it down with all my might. Click. The door opens. It wasn't locked at all, just stuck. I was too stupid to try opening it.

I begin laughing hysterically. My voice sounds strange
to me, but after a little while I calm down again. I'm calm now. Perfectly calm.

I leave the cellar, go up the stairs. On my right the closed door, nothing to be seen of the dead rabbit now. But the floor under the place where it was dangling is covered by something dark and gleaming. My eyes wander over the rest of the room, which is a little lower than this part, and has nothing interesting about it except for old machinery and wooden things. My heart starts beating hard again. I can hear it pulsating in my ears. I go over to the stairs. The trapdoor is above me. I was imprisoned up there for several days. It's dark, which is a relief to my eyes; bright light hurts them.

There's no one in the house apart from me. It's eerie, there's a strange, ominous feeling about the mill. As if it were alive. As if pairs of eyes were watching me from every nook and cranny. I go on to the iron front door. As before, it's just a crack open. I force myself through the gap; it's almost entirely dark outside. Only a flickering light coming through from the side of the house is cast on the surrounding bushes. It all looks unreal, like before. I go along the wall of the house in the direction of the light. Peer around the corner of the building, through the metal remains of an old millwheel.