A hoarse voice, dry as tinder.
'Andreas,' he panted. 'Where's Andreas?' For a long time she said nothing as she studied him, almost with curiosity. That was when he was sure that she knew! He felt braver, angrier.
'Tell me what happened!'
He tried to slip his foot in the door, but she was too fast for him. The door slammed shut.
'Shit!' he shouted. 'I have to know where he is!'
'You have no right to know anything.'
'Okay!' he shouted. 'But can't you at least give me a hint?'
'Why should I be nice to you?' she said flatly, her voice barely audible behind the heavy door.
'Because I'm begging you,' he whimpered. She opened the door again. 'I'm not easily moved,' she said. 'Go home. I'm sure they'll find him.'
The door closed for the second time. Zipp pressed his finger on the doorbell, but this time nothing happened. He ran to the back of the house, climbed up on the chair. Under the bottom of the curtain was a tiny gap. He peered in, trying to decipher what little he could make out inside. Something blue appeared in his frame of vision, and what looked like a white cross. It was Andreas' cap.
*
Andreas opened his eyes. I was standing halfway down the steps, watching him. I have the upper hand. I loomed on the steep steps while he lay on the floor beneath me. I had the feeling that if I stretched out my arms, I could take off and fly. Hover above him in perfect circles, staring down at his helpless form.
'Did you hear the door bell? A friend of yours. Zipp.'
'You're lying,' he whispered.
'He was asking about you. He begged on his knees.' Andreas' chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly under the blanket.
'That stuff you have on your stomach,' he said in a low voice. 'That's nothing to be ashamed of.'
'I'm not ashamed!'
I shrieked the words. Bellowed at him. 'I'm not ashamed! It's not my fault!'
'You're sick, aren't you?'
I backed up two steps and put my hand on my stomach.
'It's not your concern. I've never bothered anybody!' Then I sank down on to the steps, exhausted after my outburst and also surprised at my emotions, at screaming like that. Right in his face. Aiming at someone and pulling the trigger. I felt relaxed and at ease. I wanted to laugh out loud. But then Andreas would have more fodder for that idea he kept pulling out, that I was a crazy or something like that, but I wasn't. I'm not.
'Irma is very odd,' he said.
'Why do you say that?' I stared at him.
'That's what my mother says. Every time you come to visit her.'
'You recognised me?'
'Of course.'
'You shouldn't talk like that. It's going to be difficult for me to let you go.'
'You're never going to let me go,' he breathed.
'I'm going to die down here. My body is disintegrating. Don't you think I know what I smell like?'
'It's the wound to your head,' I said. 'It's started to get infected.'
'That colostomy bag,' he went on. 'That's nothing. If only you knew. I walk around carrying my own burden, my own secret. Well, I won't be doing any more walking. But it's damned heavy nonetheless.' His voice sank to a whisper. I moved a step closer. 'It's fucking awful,' he said, sniffling. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs to cry properly, and that made him seem so pitiful. It was better to be angry, it's an easier emotion, more detached. But now other, more troublesome feelings were slowly coming to life. I felt overwhelmed. That handsome face was most handsome when all malice was gone and only the child was there to see. His lips quivered, and he blinked to stop the tears from spilling out. I remembered when Ingemar was little, the smell of him, the soap and lotion. His round skull, so terrifyingly fragile. The way Andreas was fragile now.
'The baby,' he said. 'At Furulund. The baby that died. That was Zipp and me.'
His jaw went slack. For a moment it looked as if he had slipped into a coma. A big bubble of spit grew between his lips.
'The baby?' I said in surprise.
He swallowed with difficulty. 'We were going to steal her handbag. She was taking a walk along the shore. I don't care what happens to me now. You can do what you want.'
For a long time I sat there, stunned, listening. His voice was growing more faint. 'Go away,' he said.
'I'll go when I feel like it. This is my house. We need to talk about this. How could the two of you be so thoughtless!'
'I know. I understand everything now. But that handbag was just a minor thing.'
'Stealing handbags from people? A minor thing?'
'I understand everything now. Now that it's too late. You're fucking crazy, but there's nothing you can do to me any more.'
'Watch your mouth!' I shouted. 'This conversation is over when I say so. And don't try to use what little time you have left to humiliate me. Do you understand? Get a hold of yourself. Or I won't give you any more water.'
'Dear Irma.' His lips contorted. 'You don't control me. I do. And I don't want any more water.'
'So you're planning to die of thirst?'
'You die faster without water.'
'Go ahead and try it. You haven't understood anything at all. If you had, you would have kept a lower profile. You should have shown me a little respect.'
'I'm lying on the floor of your cellar, dying,' he said dryly. 'I can't get any lower than this. Death is a liberator, Irma. I've abused my place here on earth. It's time for me to withdraw.'
I didn't understand what he was babbling about. He was beginning to get confused. I stood up angrily and left. Sat at the kitchen table for quarter of an hour, thinking. After that I went back down with some warm sugar milk in the bottle. I was sure he would drink it, in spite of his little speech. He reminded me of a baby as he lay there. I had put on a knitted cardigan so I wouldn't be cold, but it was warm down there because of the heater. I liked sitting there, looking at him. When he was done, he was about to doze off again, but I shouted his name, over and over. 'Andreas, Andreas.' And then he opened his eyes. I took the newspaper out of my apron pocket and showed him the article about him, with the nice picture. 'HAS ANYONE SEEN ANDREAS?' Then he started to cry.
Listen to me! Again and again I went down to the cellar. Day after day. I asked him if he needed anything. Changed the light bulb, tucked in the blanket. He started to smell. His face looked sunken and his lips were almost grey. I felt instantly happy every time I caught sight of his head with the dark curls. Knowing that he was still there, making no noise. I didn't think about the future. Or about the past, either, and that was something new for me. I was used to worrying about the next day and everything that might happen. But not any more. I was living in the moment. Finally, a sort of peace.
C H A P T E R 1 6
September 4.
Three nights had passed. Zipp opened the phone book to the letter F. How easy this is, he thought. Open the phone book, look for the name, and make the call. Just like that, I'm there, right in her ear. Threatening and pestering.
The phone rang and rang. He clutched the receiver in his hand.
'This is Zipp!' he cried when she answered. 'I want to speak to Andreas.'
There was a moment's silence. He could hear a faint rustling sound and someone breathing.
'Andreas is not available.'
Her voice was rough. What did she mean by that? Not available? She was sitting on the truth with that fucking big arse of hers, like the bitch that she was. He was so distraught that his knees started to give way. That shitty feeling when you knew that someone was lying through their teeth or, right in your ear, to be precise. So easily, so utterly without shame. His own fury was roaring inside his head. 251
