from 1870 was gas lit, but in 1910 it had been converted to electricity, which is what subsequently started the fire. 'Georg Resch,' said Runi importantly, 'he was the one who took the initiative.' She loves showing off what little she knows.
It took a long time to get out at the end. People came pouring out from every direction, blocking the way. I was poked and jostled by strangers and I noticed all the different smells: expensive woollen coats, heavy perfumes and smoke from the first cigarettes. The buzz of voices. A surging roar which rose and fell. If I closed my eyes I might be carried along, just surrender. On the other hand, I have no trouble dealing with temptations. I just think about the day that inevitably follows. I fixed my eyes on Runi's coat. It felt as if the crowd was almost crushing me, it was hard to breathe. It's much more pleasant to watch television or read a book. But at last we were outside, and the crowd spilled away in all directions. Runi wanted to walk, it wasn't far. I said that I'd take a taxi. Hoped the driver would be Norwegian. I'm not a racist, but I can't understand what they're saying when they speak broken Norwegian, and then they get annoyed. And things aren't easy for them as it is; no, frankly, I simply didn't want to subject them to Irma Funder. So I hoped for a Norwegian.
It was two blocks from the theatre to the taxi rank on the square. I walked along the river and stopped at the corner. Stared at the endless line of young people who were pushing and shoving, cursing and yelling. I couldn't stand in that queue, not for anything in the world. For a moment I stood there, hesitating and cold, unable to make up my mind, and that's not like me. I would simply have to walk.
It was five to midnight. As I glanced up at the floodlit church, the way a child does, I thought: This is the witching hour. I looked around in confusion, but I saw only the noisy people queuing for a taxi and a few solitary souls, rambling about. An empty taxi glided past, turned off its light and vanished. What if I waited at the corner until the queue got shorter? At that very moment a couple walked up and joined the end of the queue. They each lit up a cigarette. I cut across the square and chose the main street. There was no danger as long as I stayed on the main street, which went all the way to the park. Only there did it get truly dark. The last hill was barely lit at all. I walked on the right side of the street as fast as I could, but my shoes hurt my feet. I tried to make myself uninteresting – because that's what I was, after all – but my shoes gave me away. I could just as well have had a bell around my neck. Come and get me, come and get me! shrieked my shoes. I had money in my handbag, but not a lot. I'm not stupid. Only enough for a taxi home.
I passed the optician's and the bicycle specialist. Thought I heard footsteps behind me, but didn't turn to look. If someone was there, panic would seize hold of me. It wasn't a long walk home. In a few minutes it would all be over. In my mind I pictured the house, my own house with its green paintwork, and the outdoor light that I had remembered to leave on, welcoming me home. I still thought I could hear something. Footsteps. Light, not tapping like my own. I couldn't resist a look. And then I saw them! Two young men. I admonished myself. There were people on the streets, they were going in the same direction, it was as simple as that. Yet it seemed as if they were staring at me, studying me as a possible target, but we women are always hysterical. We always imagine the worst, we know what it's like to grow up in a world of men. I started to walk faster. Turned around again to double-check. They were still there. I went all the way over to the shop windows, feeling safe for a moment in their light. Then I was in the dark again. When I turned around for the third time, one of them was gone. I sighed with relief; that was a good sign. He was already home! But I didn't slow my pace. I thought about everything that could happen. No, I wasn't afraid of dying. And I didn't pray to God. There were worse things that could happen to me than death. I thought it all through and knew that I couldn't allow that to happen to me. But that's how we think sometimes, and then it happens all the same. Like that time when I was ill and had to stay in hospital, with other people taking care of me.
I walked up the steep hill and thought about the hospital and everything that had happened then. A nightmare that almost overshadowed the present. And that helped.
All the time I could hear footsteps. What frightened me was the fact that he didn't overtake me. A young man with long legs, he should have gone past long ago. Now I could see the roof of my house. I heard my own heart pounding, my legs hurt, and I was sweating inside the tight vest. I deliberately slammed the gate, as if someone in the empty house might be listening for it and get up from his chair. There were only a few more paces. The five steps up to the front door. I realised that I didn't have my key ready, I had to rummage in my handbag, in the little compartment. I stood under the light like a human bulls-eye. Then I found the key and stuck it in the lock. The door swung open. I could feel sobs rise in my throat out of sheer relief. That young man was going home to bed. Pull yourself together, Irma! I peered into the dark kitchen. Then I gasped out loud. A red eye shone in the dark. The coffee maker was on. It was half full of coffee. I had left the house with the coffee machine on, I could have burned down this lovely house, which is all I own. I switched it off. The kitchen smelled like a coffee shop. I turned on the light and lifted the pot from the hotplate. Had to lean on the counter for support. It had all been too much for me. The theatre, the crowd, the walk through the dark town at night, the strange man and the coffee maker on, in the old house. I straightened up. It would, I vowed, be a long time before I did that again. Then I went into the bathroom. Stood with my back to the mirror and dropped my dress to the floor. Pulled the tight vest over my head and then stuck my arms into a dressing gown. It's white; yes, out of sheer defiance it is white. I never stay over at anyone's house, so it doesn't matter. I stood in the doorway and peered into the kitchen, at the striped rug. Maybe a little pick-me-up would be in order. I had wine in the cellar, so I rolled back the rug from the trap door. I took the ring and pulled it open.
That's when something happened. I heard a sound; it came from the hallway. I hadn't locked the door! In my horror over the glowing coffee machine, I had forgotten to secure the latch properly. I had run to the kitchen with only one thought, to prevent a catastrophe. I stood there, frozen to the spot, staring, unable to believe my eyes. A man came walking into the kitchen with a knife in his hand. His eyes, which were all I could see under the peak of his cap, shone with determination. He had a scarf wrapped around his face, and he was looking at my handbag, which lay on the counter. There were 200 kroner inside. But I had jewellery and silverware and more cash in the safe in Henry's study. For a few seconds there was utter silence. He seemed to be sniffing at the room, as if the smell of burned coffee surprised him. Then he looked at me. He wavered a bit, the knife shook. I took a step back, but he came after me, pressed me against the counter, stuck the tip of the blade under my chin and snarled.
'Your cash. And fucking be quick about it!' My knees started to shake. And that's when the accident happened, I couldn't help it. I felt a warmth sliding down my thighs, but he didn't notice, he was much too preoccupied with the knife, which was trembling, betraying his own fear. Just as scared as I was. I cast a glance towards Henry's study. I wanted to open the safe, but my legs wouldn't hold me. He got annoyed, waved the knife at me, shoved me aside with his fist. Not hard, but I flinched. His shouts were muffled by the scarf.
'Hurry it up, you old bag! Hurry it up!' I was just an old bag. And he was just a young kid. I could hear it in his voice. I hadn't moved. He pushed me again, and finally I managed to drag my feet across the room and into the study. I stood in front of the safe, staring at the dial, trying to remember the combination. My fingers shook uncontrollably, but my mind was a blank. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to run away. I was willing to give him everything I had, there wasn't really much inside, anyway, maybe 5,000 kroner. But I couldn't remember the combination. Now he really started to get nervous. Instinctively I thought that I had to keep him calm, tried to explain about the combination, that I had written it down. 'In the teapot,' I gasped, 'it's in the teapot in the kitchen!' He screamed that he didn't have time for this. He seized hold of my dressing gown, up near the collar. I immediately pulled it tight because I was afraid, and he could see that this was for me the worst. I didn't want him to see me the way I was. With one hand he tugged at the belt and held it taut, then he raised the knife and cut my belt in two. The heavy white towelling fell away. I covered myself with my hands, but it was too late. He stared in disbelief, lurched back with a strange expression, not exactly disgust, but he couldn't comprehend what he saw. Just shook his head. He had forgotten what he came for. But the seconds kept ticking away, and eventually he understood. It was my intestine he was looking at. It sticks out through the skin of my abdomen and ends in a colostomy bag. It was almost full, and also split open. The knife blade had sliced it in two. The contents were running down my legs. I couldn't look at his face, I turned around and rushed out of the study, but he came after me. Stopped in front of me with his knife raised.
'I don't give a damn about . . . that! I want money!'
I felt it running down, it was thin, not fully digested, and the smell was starting to spread, and I'm so fastidious about things like that. Behind him, the cellar trap-door was open. He didn't notice it, he was jumping around, but I could see that he had reached breaking point. I thought he might end up stabbing me if he didn't get what he wanted. And so I pushed him. I heard a gasp as he fell backwards down the steep staircase. There was a crashing and thumping and thundering on the stairs. I heard a disgusting, dull thud as he hit the cement. A faint
