rattling sound that lasted a few seconds. Then silence.
*
Zipp was waiting in the dark. He heard sounds from inside: a woman screaming, footsteps crossing a floor. He stared and stared through the window, but he could see only the ceiling and the top of a painting. An eternity passed. Why didn't Andreas come out again? He looked for something to stand on. In the garden there was a small gazebo with several chairs inside. He crept over to it, picked up a chair and carried it to the window, shoving it down hard into a rosebed. He could feel the prick of the thorns through his trousers. He climbed on to the chair and peered over the windowsill. He saw a kitchen table and chairs and a striped rug. Nothing else, and nobody in sight. All was quiet. Confused, he stayed on the chair and waited. He couldn't imagine what had happened to them. Had this whole caper gone to hell? Had the worst possible thing happened? Were the police on the way? Damn it! He jumped down, but at that moment he heard a faint sound. Relieved, he spun round and stared at the corner of the house, but no-one appeared. Was Andreas playing games with him? Had he robbed the old lady and then run off with the cash? Was he standing down on the road counting the money, grinning and laughing at the thought of Zipp, still waiting in the dark? He climbed up on the chair again. Stood there for an eternity until his neck started to ache. Suddenly he caught sight of the woman in the house. She came through a door, wearing only a nightdress, and sank onto a chair at the table. She looked unharmed, which was a relief. He decided to stay where he was until she did something. Was she going to call the police? Had she called them already? Zipp jumped down, ran round the side of the house and stood at the corner, partially hidden. No-one came. He ran back to take one more look. She was still sitting there. He listened for sirens in the distance, but heard nothing. Just a faint hum from the town below. He was tired and bewildered after everything that had happened on this unreal day. He fumbled for a cigarette, inhaled deeply and watched the tip glow bright red in the dark. He badly needed to cough but managed to suppress the urge. He smoked the whole cigarette and then got back on the chair. She was still sitting there, for God's sake, in exactly the same position. The woman was clearly in shock, that much he could see. But he couldn't very well stay there all night. He was going to have to leave. Leave the dark garden all alone. He couldn't do that! But the clock was ticking. He had waited long enough. Without a sound, he slipped out through the gate, but the question kept churning through his mind: Where the hell was Andreas?
*
The pounding as he crashed down the stairs, the horrible sound of his head hitting the concrete floor, I can't describe it! The impact settled in my own body as a needle-like pain. I thought to myself: surely he must have died in a fall like that! That fragile body against the hard-as-rock floor. I closed the trap door. At least he wouldn't be able to come up and threaten me again. Of course, I would have to call somebody, surely someone would help me. Maybe Runi, or Ingemar. No, Lord knows, not Ingemar! And the way I looked! I tottered out to the bathroom. Changed the bag. It was difficult to get the new one closed because my hands were shaking so much. I thought about what he had seen, what no-one was ever supposed to see. Or hear about, know about; well, only if necessary, if it was unavoidable. But see it? NO! The expression on his face, utter disbelief. Maybe he didn't realise what it was, maybe he thought I was some kind of deformed monster, a freak. A gleaming pink intestine on my stomach, that looks rather like . . . well, you have to forgive me, but it's so hard for me to talk about this. But it looks rather like a penis. And I'm a woman, after all.
I put on a clean nightdress. Sat at the kitchen table. I don't know how long I sat there. I felt encapsulated, with no room for any thoughts, not even despair. Then I raised my head, and my eyes automatically looked at the window. For a wild moment I thought I saw a face against the pane. I stared and stared, but it didn't reappear. I don't know how much time must have passed before I finally asked myself the question: What should I do now? When I reached that stage, the feeling of paralysis left me. And with the return of reality came the emotions. They nearly knocked me unconscious. I recalled his eyes. They were shining with fright and determination. To come here and force his way in had been important for him. How can money be that important? I was sitting a pace from the cellar door. If I opened it, the light from the kitchen would make it possible for me to see him. I had to get up and take a look, through the trap door. And then I remembered that I should call someone soon. Explain everything. There was so much that had to be done. Reluctantly, I got to my feet. Opened the trap door. I didn't dare to look. But I couldn't pretend that nothing had happened. If I went into another room and sat there until morning, he would still be lying in the same position. I stood with my back turned and counted to ten, to 20. He wasn't going anywhere. He had fallen to his death. Thirty, forty. Cautiously I turned. Why didn't he scream? I squatted down. The first step came into focus, then the rest. The light was slanting down over the stairs. The first thing I saw was his feet. They were lying on the second step from the bottom. His body was twisted into an impossibly contorted position. One arm was stretched out to the side, I couldn't see the other one, maybe he was lying on it. His forehead was a white patch in the darkness of the cellar, his cap was gone. No-one could lie like that and still be alive. The angle of his head gave me a terrible clue. I stood there as long as I could, staring at him. Listening for any sounds, but it was as quiet as the grave. I straightened up.
Realised that the worst had happened. He was dead.
The thought came to me with absolute calm, as something important but not dramatic. What would I have done if he were still alive? I should call for an ambulance. But the mere idea of having to explain everything was unthinkable. Strangers stomping into Irma's house? I put the trap door back in place. Laid the rug on top. It was simple. No-one knew that he had come into my house. I tried to think. It was a matter of making some important decisions. I took a deep breath, in and out, then another, in and out. I decided to stay at home the next day. I hardly ever missed work, so no-one would think it odd. I could say I was coming down with the flu. And then I felt it, the strange sensation that I had been in this selfsame situation before. I couldn't understand it. Fear must be playing tricks on me. But I had always believed that one day something terrible would happen. Whenever I sat in the red chair near the window I let my thoughts wander. In my mind I'd been through almost all the possibilities. The nightmare that would befall me. And now, here it was. Something that I'd been waiting for. When I realised the connection, I grew calmer. The worst imaginable thing had occurred; in other words, something was finally over. The problem was out in the open and could now be resolved. It was time for action. I told myself that first I needed to get some sleep. I felt worn out. Later, I would get rid of all traces. Had he left any traces? I looked around, went into the study. What about his knife? Was it down in the cellar? I was talking to myself in a low voice.
'There's a dead man in the cellar. He came here to attack me. It was an accident. Nobody knows that he's here, and hardly anyone ever comes here. There must be a way out of this. There must be a way out!' I turned off all the lights except in the bathroom. Then I went to bed. Pulled the duvet over me and stared into the dim light of the room. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. They just kept running and running.
*
Zipp was perched on the top of a woodpile behind the house where Andreas lived. There was a faint light visible behind the curtains. The window was closed. He seemed to remember that Andreas always slept with the window open. He thought to himself: Here I am again, standing like a Peeping Tom. The bed was neatly made. He could see the black-and-white bedspread lying nice and smooth. And the poster of The Doors. On the desk stood an empty Coke bottle. No Andreas. Zipp had been convinced that Andreas would be at home in his own bed. But he wasn't.
Zipp jumped down. He would have to go home.
Where the hell else could he go? Should he wait until morning and call? His concern turned to anger. And then he trudged off, past the church and the graves, walking fast with his hands in his pockets. Up and along the streets, feeling so damned alone. He had only to make it through this night. With daylight the explanation would emerge, something stupid. Andreas always had an explanation. He unlocked the door and went in. Ran downstairs. Pulled off his tight jeans. His skin felt clammy and stripes from the double seams ran down his thighs. He lay on the sofa with a blanket over him and stared into the darkness. Andreas had done everything, and he only stood there and watched. No-one had anything on him. A tiny feeling of relief began trickling through him. Just before the darkness swallowed him, he remembered the chair. He had left it standing under her window. What would she think? What had the two of them been thinking of? They hadn't thought, they had just charged ahead. Suddenly he pictured the pram striking the rocks, and the baby's tiny mouth with the toothless gums; the foaming sea; the angry cries. What we were ends here, he thought.
*
I lay in bed for a long time, shaking as if I had a fever. I felt neither good or bad, I was just a body living its own muddled life, without coherence. I dreamed that my intestine was growing, that it wriggled out, slowly but surely, until it was dragging along the ground. I had to gather it up and carry it in my hands for everyone to see. An
