The Invoice (9 page)

She had an ability to smile with her whole face when she looked at me, as if she could see past the mask, past my ordinary, everyday self. Sometimes when we were lying in bed she would trace the features of my face with her finger. From my hairline, down across my forehead and nose, over my chin and down to my chest. It was like a film.

I was never allowed to sleep there. When it was late enough, I had to gather my clothes together and get dressed, then creep out the same way I had come in.

When Sunita had turned twenty-four and finished her degree, the anticipated command arrived from Mexico telling her to move back to Bombay to get married, and Sunita didn't hesitate for a second. She was conditioned to obey her family's wishes, and constantly surprised me with her loyalty to a system which—in my world, at least—could only be regarded as oppressive. She was utterly faithful to her father's wishes, and just got angry if I questioned any part of the arrangements. She was proud of her roots and who she was, and it would never occur to her to want to change anything. And that was something that no arguments about gender equality or fleeting erotic adventures would change.

On our last night together, we made love and cried the whole time, and the next day we stood at Arlanda Airport separated by a safe distance of thirty meters. Between us we had all her many relatives and hundreds of passing strangers.

A brief glance, then she was gone.

It took me several years before I could really think about anything else. I imbued all music with my own heartfelt sorrow, compared every sad lyric with my memories of us. Every so often I would wake in the middle of the night and imagine that she was there beside me. But each time the bed was empty. Sometimes I would walk past one of the restaurants she had sat in and imagine that I could see her, but it was always someone else.

I slowly sat up on the sofa. I ran my hands through my hair and wondered if I had ever really gotten over her. Since Sunita I hadn't had any long relationships. I compared all women to her. I searched in vain for that spark, that intensity…

I realized I was never going to experience that sort of erotic charge and intense tenderness again. Occasionally I wondered if she still thought about me. Did she remember me? Did she remember any of our adventures and secret meetings, or had she suppressed it all? On some level she must still miss what we had. A bit, at any rate. How much had she and her family had to pay to W.R.D.?

The sun had gone down. It was dark inside the apartment, but I couldn't be bothered to switch on any lamps. I alternated between lying down and glaring at my worthless possessions, and sitting up and scratching my head. Evening passed and turned into night. I ought to have gone to bed, but I could just feel myself getting more and more upset.

“I don't understand,” I said to Maud when she eventually picked up, sounding slightly drowsy. “I don't think this is fair at all.”

I heard her clear her throat at the other end of the line.

“No…hmm…I heard that your amount had been adjusted,” she said.

It was the middle of the night. Maybe she was trying to get some rest between calls. Maybe she'd actually dozed off? Obviously even she needed to sleep sometimes. Either way, right then I didn't care. I'd been lying on the sofa for hours, getting worked up about the unfair calculation. I felt I had to vent my frustration.

“Adjusted?” I said. “It was doubled!”

She was moving something. A duvet, maybe, or a blanket.

“Yes, I looked through your file afterward and, well, it's an impressive result, I have to admit. They managed to get your figures badly wrong upstairs in—”

“But my friend Roger—” I interrupted her, before she immediately interrupted me, as usual with a practiced harangue. She could probably do it in her sleep.

“It's best not to try to make comparisons,” she said. “It's incredibly hard to see the differences if you haven't been trained and understand the system.”

I didn't care about that now. I felt like I'd heard enough.

“I think it's deeply unfair,” I went on. “The more I think about it, the worse I feel. I mean, I haven't done anything at all with my life. Not a thing. I haven't traveled or studied or applied myself to anything…I used to drift about with my mates and talk a lot of rubbish and hang out at bars. And now I sit here every day watching films or playing games or listening to music. In the past few years I've always gone to the same supermarket and bought the same cereal for breakfast. I get the same coffee from the same café, I still work at the same place, and I basically stand there doing the same thing every day. Then I go to the same restaurant and get takeout. I even go to the same kiosk when I want ice cream. I usually grab a Pizza Grandiosa, ‘X-tra everything, 40% more taste,' and heat it up in the microwave. If I want to push the boat out I buy a Nogger ice lolly for dessert. Two, even. I never go out. I don't see any friends. That's no sort of life!”

“Why don't you go out?” Maud said.

She sounded more alert, but her voice was still a bit hoarse. More than usual, anyway. For a moment I caught myself wondering if she was wearing nightclothes. How did she prefer to sleep? At the same time, I was too upset really to think about her like that. For once, I was just too angry. Sad, even. And I noted how effectively that strangled any tendency toward flirtation.

“I don't know,” I said. “I hadn't thought about it until after I spoke to you. You tell me I have to pay because I've had it so easy, but in actual fact I've had a really shit time.”

“But you had all the prerequisites for…” she began.

“That just makes it worse,” I said.

I could feel I wasn't far from bursting into tears, at the thought of all the things I could have done. Sunita—should I have chased after her? Should I have gone to India and found out where she lived and tried to take her away from there with me? Where to? Back to Sweden? To live in my apartment, as the partner of a part-time shop assistant at Jugge's Flicks? Would she have agreed to that? Tears pricked my eyes, making me sound more strident. It probably came out more aggressively than I intended.

“That's the saddest thing of all. I had every opportunity, but what the hell have I done? Nothing. Nada. Not a damn thing.”

Maybe she was scared, or just worried that I was going to start crying over the phone, but she sounded much softer now.

“How did that happen, then?”

“How the hell should I know?” I said. “It just did. The years passed. You don't think. Everything's all nice and familiar, and I suppose I'm frightened of getting hurt or something…I don't know…I've always avoided conflict, and I've always been really happy if I could get away without quarreling with people. Before, I used to be happy when I managed to avoid things, it felt like some sort of victory, you know, like I'd gotten away with something and didn't have to do something I didn't want to. Like being let off homework at school, or managing not to get beaten up in the playground. But now…God, I don't know, it feels like I've been fooled somehow, as if everything I avoided was actually…”

I could feel my eyes stinging.

“Well…actually life itself.”

I couldn't hold back anymore. I started to howl into the phone. Bellowing like an animal. I didn't care what she thought. She was welcome to think it was unattractive and awkward. Oddly enough, she didn't seem remotely worried. Quite the contrary. She said in a gentle voice: “So what would you like to do?”

I lay down on the floor on my back. Looked up at the ceiling and tried to breathe calmly. The floorboards actually felt fairly cool.

“I don't know,” I said. “Anything. I might have liked to travel, meet people. More girls. Tried different things…You know, maybe do something illegal…”

I closed my eyes and snorted the snot back into my nose.

“Nothing, really. I suppose I should just have been more aware of what I did have. I mean, we talked about the sun and all that before…”

“You said you liked the view,” she said.

I noticed that I had raised my voice.

“Exactly. So why the hell didn't I go outside? Why didn't I take the chance to enjoy everything a bit more?”

“Why didn't you?”

I stared up at the ceiling. There were cracks in it. Hard to see where they started. It was like it had cracked in several different places at the same time. I found myself thinking about really old porcelain. After a while I lowered my head to stretch my neck.

“I don't know,” I said. “I suppose I'm just a—what do they call it?—a creature of habit.”

“Yes, we've noticed.”

“What? How?”

“I mean, our inspectors.”

I stretched my neck some more, back and forth, grateful for the hard floor that didn't move when I did. It was nice. Almost like a massage.

“Inspectors?” I said.

“They're the ones who give us information. They've also noticed that you're—how shall I put it?—a person of regular habits.”

“Horribly regular,” I said with a snort. “It hasn't struck me before, but it's pretty damn tragic.”

I rested my head back on the floor.

“Are you being honest now?” Maud asked.

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat to get my voice back under control.

“I mean, this isn't just something you're saying to get the debt down? Like when you said you were anxious?”

“No.”

I lay there on the floor thinking. Thinking about life. About all the times, the moments, that were gone for good. All the encounters and people. Quite without warning I realized that tears were welling up in my eyes again without me being able to do anything to stop them.

“And I miss my mum,” I said in a cracked voice. She said nothing for a while. Just waited. Let me catch my breath.

“You were very fond of your mother,” she said, more as a statement than a question. I couldn't bring myself to answer. I nodded to myself and sniffed.

We were both silent for a few minutes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd opened up to anyone like this. It felt good, in a way. Like a new me. She didn't seem to have anything against it. She could have hung up if she didn't want to listen. But she let me go on.

“We went camping one summer in Närke,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “I saw.”

“You did?” I said. “Yes, of course you did.”

“Let's see, 1984, wasn't it?” she said, but corrected herself immediately. “No, '85.”

“Probably,” I said, trying to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “It rained the whole time,” I added, for safety's sake.

“Yes, I saw that as well,” Maud mumbled.

“Mum and me. And Dad and my sister, of course…We hired a caravan.”

“A mobile home, wasn't it?” Maud said. “The year before you hired a caravan. A Cabby, Model 532. In 1985 you had…Ah. Sorry. You were about to say something…”

I went and got a piece of kitchen roll to blow my nose on.

“Right, yes, a mobile home.”

We said nothing for a bit. I blew my nose as quietly as I could.

“Did you like the rain?” she said.

“Well, I don't like it when it rains nonstop…”

“No, of course not, but on that occasion it seemed to match your profile.”

“Really? Yes, it was nice sitting there. We didn't really do much. We just…Well, what can I say? We just
were
.”

I heard her leaf through her file again.

“Hmm. Yes, you score very highly for that week. Health, relationships, intensity, the oxygen content of the air…Yes, across the board, actually.”

“We played Uno,” I said, feeling that I was about to burst into tears again.

“Sorry?”

“Uno,” I said. “That's what we played.”

She said nothing for a moment.

“Oh. What's that?”

“Uno. It's a game. You've never heard of it?”

“No, I haven't, actually. Is it like Monopoly?”

“Sort of, but easier.”

“What's the point of it?”

I couldn't help smiling.

“What's the
point
of it?”

She sounded suddenly bewildered.

“Yes?” she said bluntly.

“I can't actually remember anymore. I think you have to get rid of your cards or something. Well, it's not important. You've never played Uno, then?”

“No.”

“We should try it one day,” I said.

She didn't answer.