When The Devil Holds The Candle

They noticed her at the same moment. A stout woman in a brown coat. She was wearing high heels, and it was clear that she wasn't used to them. Without a word, they picked up their pace, moving in unison – like a single, alert predator – with their heads close together, as if discussing something important. Sooner or later she would turn and see them. They didn't really know what they wanted with her. She had appeared at such an opportune moment; it was an exciting game for two capricious young men. There was something about the anxious figure that told them she was altogether alone, that no-one was waiting for her. A woman close to 60; or at least that's what they thought, who was walking along the street in the middle of the night, who hadn't been collected by a husband or by a son. Obviously she lived alone. And since she was walking, she must not live far away. Or maybe she didn't dare stand in the queue for a taxi. People had been killed waiting for a taxi; no doubt she read the papers like everyone else. Then she turned. They looked into her pale face.

She quickened her step, but had trouble because of her shoes. She hadn't gone more than eight or ten paces before she turned again, cut across the street and crept along the windows of an estate agent's office. Light was flooding from the windows, and maybe that made her feel safer. She passed a park, turned left, and headed further from the town centre. They were now on Thornegata, approaching a hill. She turned left again. The street passed through an established residential area with older homes. Andreas had the idea that they should split up.

'I'll follow her,' he whispered. 'She'll relax if there's only one of us. You run up the hill through the back gardens so she can't see you from the street. We'll escort the old bag home!' Zipp obeyed. He stared at the woman and thought about how scared she was, maybe afraid that she was going to die. Her shoes were tapping hard against the pavement. Andreas walked behind her up the hill while Zipp slipped into a garden and started running through shrubbery and fruit trees, invisible in the dark. Andreas kept going. He could hear her rapid breathing. She kept turning round to see him striding along behind her. He tried to saunter to look less threatening. He felt as cold as ice as he touched his knife. Was she praying as she walked? Halfway up the hill she made another turn. Now she's almost safe, he thought. He passed her, casting a glance in her direction, listening to her footsteps on the gravel. A gate slammed. A key in a lock.

Andreas had reached the far side of the house, he was pushing his way through the hedge, creeping into the garden, cloaked by the dark between the trees. He stood still and listened. Felt someone's breath on his neck.

'The old lady's inside. What do we do now?' Zipp's eyes shone like delicate flames behind a dew-covered pane. My best and only friend. Andreas thought for a moment. Then he took off his scarf and let it slide through his fingers.

'Shit. Are you going to strangle her?' Zipp was pale. At that moment a light went on in the house. A faint glow from the window fell across the lawn.

'Do you think I'm a complete idiot?' Andreas wrapped the scarf around his face so that only his eyes were visible. Then he took the cap from his trouser pocket and pulled it down over his hair. He put a hand on Zipp's shoulder, and was relieved when it was not brushed away. For a moment his knees felt weak with gratitude. They were going to share everything. The awful secret in the grass by the church, and what they were now about to do.

Nothing big. Just rob an old woman of her money. Not a single objection occurred to either of them.

'You wait here. I'll go inside.'

'Surely the old lady must have locked her door,' Zipp said.

'I can get in anywhere.' Andreas's voice was deep and resolute. He was going to make up for everything that had happened. The terrible pain had to be overshadowed by something; sheer terror would do the trick. The risk and the excitement overwhelmed his body, shaking him out of the paralysis he had felt back at the church.

'Shit, Andreas,' muttered Zipp. 'This is a dirty business.'

'I am the business,'' Andreas said in English, chuckling as he disappeared around the corner. Not the biggest or most dangerous animal in the forest, but the slimmest, the boldest and possibly the most cunning. Not an enemy was in sight, only an easy prey. Zipp crept closer to the wall around the garden. He couldn't see over it, but could glimpse the ceiling through the window and a chandelier in what must be the living room. Faint sounds were audible from inside. Zipp stood motionless in the dark He prayed she didn't have a husband with a shotgun, or a fucking dog. He'd heard stories about what could happen, but at the same time he was giddy with excitement. The black night with the strange light. The silent trees, the dew on the grass that turned silver in the moonlight. He leaned against the wall and pressed his ear to the cool panelling.

C H A P T E R 7

How handsome Andreas was. No doubt he could have any girl he wanted. It's easy to love what is beautiful. Those who are believers talk about God's perfect creation with an idiotic gleam in their eyes. But a number of people are uncommonly ugly.

People like me, who have to work so much harder. Emphasise other qualities, so to speak. But even I found someone, or maybe Henry found me. I was so surprised when he proposed, so very moved by the courage it must have cost him, that I said yes at once. I didn't think anyone else would ever ask me. Would I, Irma Funder, get other offers? The woman with the eyebrows that had grown together and the fat thighs? The woman built like a horse? I didn't think much about whether I loved him; I didn't demand that much from life. Isn't marriage a job that has to be done? What is it anyway, this business about love? To need someone more than you need yourself? The lovely feeling that you've finally come out of yourself, taken off and flown inside another being? I don't know what in the world could ever free me from myself, except death. And what is sorrow? That you no longer have companionship? I don't even grieve for Henry. Or for my son, who never comes to see me. Does there exist an unselfish thought in anyone at all? I'm helping Runi with this now, because she helped me yesterday. If I love this child enough, he'll carry me in his arms later. When I'm old. Well, not Ingemar. But I had hopes. Equilibrium. Buy and sell. We will survive here, teeter around on this building site called earth, which is never finished. We build and build, we don't dare stop. As long as we keep building, we have the hope that one day something will tower above us and surpass everything else. Then we meet someone and heave ourselves out. The rest is all hormones that overflow, heat, dampness, a pounding heart. Everything that courses inside us. Biochemistry. Do you understand me?

Henry and I, we even had a child. Lived like everyone else, or at least I think so. When he disappeared it was odd at first, the house was so quiet, but I quickly got used to it. I like being alone. No longer have to keep asking what he thought or believed. I'm lonely, of course, but who isn't? There are plenty of worse things. Illness and pain. Degradation. The way Andreas degraded me. He was thoughtless, but above all he was young. In that sense, he probably had a right to sympathy. Does everyone? I don't know why he chose me. Maybe it was random, the way life is random in a disgusting way.

Runi had called and wanted me to go to the theatre. It's been newly restored after the fire. The King was there for the opening, the chandelier alone was worth the ticket price, she'd seen it on television. The play was called Chance Encounters. I said yes when she called; I should have said no. I've always thought there was danger associated with going into town at night. They sell heroin in the square. But I didn't want her to get suspicious, think I might not be like other people, so I said yes. She is my cover. I have to show a little enthusiasm at regular intervals if I want to be left in peace most of the time. I got dressed up. It was still light and it didn't occur to me to worry about walking the minutes into town. I chose a navy blue dress with a white collar. Underneath I wore nice underwear, silk panties and a tight vest to hold everything in place. My shoes had high heels, but I didn't have far to go. I left in plenty of time. I took note of the door labelled 'Ladies', which is what I always do. Runi chattered and laughed the whole time, but every once in a while she would start complaining, as usual: about young people or whatever might occur to her. Life in general. I agreed with her at appropriate moments. There's something rather suspect about a person who never complains. Or at least Runi would be suspicious, so I spent a while griping about the bus, even though I had walked. About how it never came on time. And about television programmes. The steady increase of crime in the city. There's certainly enough to talk about. Inconsiderate youths. Rubbish on the streets. All the synthetic additives in food. You know what I mean. She nodded and drank. It's nice to have someone agree with you.

We had good seats, but now and then I had trouble hearing what was said. We had a glass of port during the interval. I didn't understand the play, but I didn't say so. Just shrugged my shoulders expressively and said that, well, it wasn't that bad, but good Lord, I'd certainly seen better. And Runi agreed. But the theatre itself was magnificent. All in red and gold. And the chandelier was a dream in crystal. Hundreds of tiny little prisms, with light shining through every facet. Runi said it was made in Czechoslovakia, a gift from the Savings Bank. The old one