When The Devil Holds The Candle

his throat. 'We'll watch a video later. At my house. Okay?'

He gave Andreas an imploring look. He needed to forget the episode by the sea. Three or four pints and an action film. And then to bed. Soon it would be behind them. They would stick to kiosks from now on.

'Blade Runner,' said Andreas curtly. 'If they have it.'

'No, not that one. Not again!'

'You don't get it. Blade Runner is the best.' Andreas was resolute.

'But I've seen it so many times,' Zipp complained. 'I know what's going to happen.'

'Tonight something different will happen,' Andreas said. 'That film has a life of its own. Layer on top of layer. You can't take it in all at once.' Zipp felt depressed and emptied his glass.

'You have to develop your mind, man. That's what's wrong with you,' said Andreas, wiping off the wet ring left by his glass on the table. 'You don't realise that time is passing.'

Zipp grimaced. Andreas was obsessed with the film Blade Runner. He'd seen it a hundred times and could never get enough. He quoted from it at regular intervals. Zipp studied the other guests in the bar. Usually he could manage to attract the attention of some girl, if she wasn't sitting too far away. He would immediately feel a prickling in his crotch. He loved that prickling, it made his blood rush and his head feel giddy. A girl was staring back at him. Andreas followed his gaze and rolled his eyes. A little chick in tight clothes. A striped jumper, too short at the waist, so her midriff was on show. And a tiny little ring in her navel. Her tits poked out like two tennis balls.

'Silicon,' Andreas said. 'What a fucking bunch of shit girls have under their clothes these days.'

'I don't give a damn,' Zipp said with a grin. 'As long as I get to touch them. You can't tell the real ones from the fake ones, not on young girls like that. What about your Woman?' he went on. 'I'll bet she's got breasts that hang down to here. You have no idea what breasts look like on a young girl. It's about time you checked out the situation. She has a friend with her. See, there she comes. Been out to the bathroom to change her panty liner, that's what I reckon. I know girls like her. They get wet if you just look at them.'

Andreas regarded the girl's friend with dull eyes. Zipp couldn't see it, but the girl did. The lack of interest in his pale gaze. She turned her back to him, clearly discouraged because she hadn't made an impression.

'They hang around like grouse,' Andreas muttered. 'They spread their legs before even a shot is fired.'

'We're never going to get those ladies to watch Blade Runner,' Zipp said, sounding worried.

'What about Independence Day?'

'Over my dead body.'

Andreas went over to the bar. Pulled one of Gina's hundred-kroner notes out of his shirt pocket. He didn't so much as glance at the two girls. Come and get us, come and get us! their rounded shoulders begged. Unbelievable! He left a generous tip and carried the glasses back to the table.

'What's so bad about her friend?' asked Zipp.

'Everything,' said Andreas. 'Up in that head of hers there's only one thing going on.'

'Jesus, you're so full of it!'

'There's one tape inside that keeps playing. It's been playing ever since the girl had tits the size of plums. It says: 'Like me, like me, for God's sake, please like me!' And every time that doesn't happen, she's so surprised. It's fucking incredible.'

'You're incredible too,' Zipp said. 'What's the deal with those old bitches you like so much? What does their tape say?'

Andreas took a sip.

' 'I like you, I like you.' That's the difference.' They gulped down the ice-cold beer. They had forgotten all about the baby, which was what they had wanted. Later they sat in Zipp's basement room and stared at Blade Runner. Andreas was totally infatuated. Zipp was thinking about the girl in the tight jumper.

'That guy there who's folding shapes out of paper,' Zipp said, nodding at the screen. 'He's one of the bad guys, right?'

Andreas groaned. 'I thought you said you remembered everything?'

'I remember it now. The androids. Replicants. That only live for four years.'

'Right, Zipp. So be happy with your allotted time.'

Andreas tore off the corner of a magazine lying on the table.

'I can fold a little cock for you.' He leaned closer to the screen. 'Now he's ordering a Tsing Tao. Shit, this is good. Salome and the snake.'

'I've seen it before,' Zipp grumbled.

'The way she dies,' said Andreas, waxing emotionally. 'It's so fucking beautiful. The way she sails through the glass.'

'That's called slow motion. Not especially innovative.'

'You don't get it,' said Andreas angrily. 'Look at her! Wearing only a see-through raincoat. And the blood inside the plastic when the bullets hit – that's pure genius. Salome's death. It's magnificent, plain and simple. And that part's great!' he went on.

''Can the maker repair what he makes?'' He looked at Zipp. 'Pressing the eyeballs into the head of a man with your bare thumbs – could you do that?'

Zipp didn't think so. But it occurred to him that Andreas could very possibly be a replicant. Who only livened up at the sight of his own kind. With implanted memories and a built-in emotional response, like Roy Batty. An advanced design from the Tyrell Corporation, 'Nexus 6 fighting model'. Soon he'd fall victim to reversing cells. And he even wanted to sit through the music of Vangelis during the credits. By then Zipp was on the verge of sleep.

'Wake up,' Andreas said, pounding Zipp on the shoulder. 'Time to die.'

*

I want to be left in peace. The price I pay is that I no longer count, I'm not seen or considered important. Wearing the brown coat I'm not taken seriously. And yet, if people only knew, God forbid, but the worst of all. . .

The doctor tells me that I'm healthy, there's nothing wrong with me. Strong as a horse. That animal keeps plaguing me. I have a brisk gait, move with ease, even though I'm big-boned. Some people would say chubby, but at least I've kept my figure. I'm not tall, which suits me fine because women should be petite. It's strange how different other people are from me. I'm almost invisible, no-one ever notices me. They veer aside if they're heading towards me in the street. But they don't notice who they're skirting around because I'm just a shadow at the corner of their eyes. It doesn't bother me, since I've never known anything else. Oh yes, I have a son. Ingemar. I carried him around when he was little, rocked him and caressed him. Felt almost astonished that he was mine. That he was dependent on me, that he would die if I dropped him. That made Irma blossom. She was needed by another human being. She was life or death! But it didn't last. Nothing lasts. He grew up, passed me by, and looked at my feet when he spoke. Then he moved away. That's how it goes. I'm invisible, so dreadfully ordinary, so terribly different. I know only a few people, I know them better than they know me. They think they know me, but they're wrong. By all reckoning, they're wrong.

Several days passed before they reported Andreas missing in the newspapers. His colleagues at work had come forward to say flattering things about him, as they always do. No-one wants to be embarrassed later, in case he should be found dead. That word hovers between the lines in the paper like toxic bacteria. No-one dares to say it out loud, since it might turn out to be true. Did they think he had committed suicide? No, no, for God's sake, not Andreas. He sauntered through life. He wouldn't leave it of his own free will, and he didn't have any enemies. Yes, it's true that he took chances, innocent kinds of things, the way boys do. A beer or two on a Saturday night. But that's not a crime, surely? We're terribly worried. They pose for the newspaper photographer, loving the spotlight, the fact that they know someone who might have died under mysterious circumstances. If he suddenly shows up, safe and sound, if he'd just been out partying on the Danish ferryboat, what a let down that would be, when it could have been something exciting. I haven't disappointed them.

I've turned off the lights in most of the house. But there's a light on in the bathroom. Soon Andreas will start to decompose. Like a piece of meat that's been left out on the worktop. It changes colour, gets soft and jelly-like, then it starts to smell. At some point the meat becomes poisonous. I'm poisonous now too, perhaps I've started to