been nineteen or twenty, her smile revealed a slightly crooked set of teeth: “Can you believe it, it’s the first French hot dog all evening.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded: “Mmm. Strange, with this weather. Usually people come in and stand around.”
We both gazed outside, she sucked on the cigarette again.
I wanted a cigarette too; I fished around in my net bag. The floor was covered with napkins. I found the pack and shook one out, she shoved her lighter across the counter.
“Those are really pretty earrings,” she said.
“Thanks. I like them too.”
“I have nickel allergy, I can’t handle anything at all,” she said. She blew smoke in the air, I did the same. By coincidence we had both held back a mouthful for a smoke ring; we blew one at each other simultaneously, the rings met over the counter. We broke out laughing, her laughter was what you would call sparkling, it trilled out of her. Smoke caught in her throat and she began to cough. The bun fell out of the machine, she kept coughing while she filled it with dressing. She smiled while she coughed and shook her head at herself. She held the back of her hand over her mouth, the hand holding the hot dog bun.
The ponytail wobbled on top of her head.
Then the telephone rang. She pounded her chest with the flat of her hand and lifted the receiver. The hot dog bun lay on the counter, some dressing ran out of it.
“This is Christina,” she said, her voice unsteady after the fit of coughing. “Sorry, but I can’t, I didn’t bring them with me. They’re over at Vibse’s. No.” Someone spoke to her. She cleared her throat, she pounded her chest again. “We don’t close until one-thirty. And Mathias is with me, I can’t go anywhere,” she said, and a moment later: “Can’t I bring them over tomorrow morning? Hello?”
She stood a bit longer with the phone in her hand, then she hung up. Turned around for the tongs, hovered over the hot dogs without picking one up.
“Toasted or plain?”
“Toasted, please.”
The hot dog entered the bun. She handed it to me, walked to the sink, bent over, took a sip of water. I had opened the sliding door halfway, about to leave, when she called after me: “Could I get you to do me a big favor? It’ll only take a minute.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll give you something for doing it. Just stay here for five minutes. My boy is out back asleep, I can’t leave him here alone.”
“How old is he?”
“Five months. But he’ll just sleep. I’m only asking because it’s an emergency. I have to go get something.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said, and joined her behind the counter. She was really small, not much over five feet. She pulled a white raincoat off the hook and put it on, felt around in the pockets.
“I’m back in five minutes,” she said. “If anyone comes in, give them a free Cocio. But nobody will.”
After she closed the back door behind her, I threw my hot dog in the trash. I reconsidered and pulled it out, packed it in a napkin, and stuck it back in the trash. Covered it with several napkins. Then I opened the back door. The baby carriage was just outside under a porch roof, protected by a dark rain cover. I peeked down through the hood’s opening and could hear breathing. I opened the door all the way to get some light down there.
He lay on his side with a pacifier in his mouth that shifted back and forth. His head was large and round, covered with thick, light-colored hair. He was a fine boy. I leaned over and touched his cheek; his eye twitched but he didn’t wake up. I tucked the duvet around him, rocked the carriage a few times, and went back inside.
A man stood at the counter. He was lanky and wore a windbreaker. He looked at me without any particular expression. I nodded at him. He nodded back.
“Where’s the whore?” he said.
I thought I must have misheard. I smiled at him. “Would you like a free Cocio? Since you’ll have to wait a little while.”
“Is she gone?”
“She’ll be here in a minute.” He hadn’t closed the sliding door, the wind whistled through the room.
I stepped back, leaned against the sink. The cash register was open under the counter, it was nearly empty. Broken buns and a bunch of fried onions lay in a pile on the floor. I grabbed the broom by the back door and began sweeping. I swept neatly and thoroughly. I looked around for a dustpan but couldn’t see one so I left the pile there.
“You’re good at that,” he said from across the counter.
“At?”
“She’s lucky to have you, else it would never get swept.”
“Oh, surely it would,” I said, and smiled a bit too boldly.
He didn’t answer. I pulled my sleeve up, as if to examine a watch I wasn’t wearing. Then the broom fell down by the back door, and I took the opportunity to duck under the counter. Something was still on the floor down there. I leaned forward-it was half a hot dog. When I stood up he was gone.
I perched on the stool with my net bag in my lap. The ponytail was soaked and shriveled when she came rushing through the sliding door a little while later, the rain jumping off her coat. “Thanks so awfully much,” she panted, and stood with her hands on her hips. “It was really nice of you. Did anyone come in?”
“Just one man. He left.”
“Did you give him a Cocio?”
“He didn’t want one.”
“Didn’t you tell him it was free?”
“I did, yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“Normal. Lanky. Had on a windbreaker.”
She gathered herself and walked behind the counter. We almost collided, my net bag banged into her. I wanted to go home now, but before I reached the sliding door she cried out, then moaned from the back door: “He took Mathias, he took him along to the bar.”
“He took him?” I shook my head, kept shaking it. “He definitely wasn’t up behind here.”
“Maybe not, but he took him. He went around back, must have. He took him along with him.”
She stood with the carriage’s rain cover hanging from one hand, the little duvet from the other. “Please, can you go over there with me?”
“But why did he take him?”
“I had a key of his brother’s. That’s who called, his brother.”
“Was that what you went home for?”
“Yeah, now he’s sitting over in Jydepotten with him.”
“With his brother?”
“No, with Mathias. I have to close early. Hold this,” she said, and handed me the little duvet. “Could you fold it up into a package so it’s not so obvious?”
I didn’t understand what she meant. I rolled the duvet up and tucked it underneath my arm; apparently that was good enough, she didn’t say anything about it. She locked the door from the inside, I followed her behind the counter, she shut off the lights.
“Wait a sec,” she said, and poked around in the cash register, then: “No, I’ll count up tomorrow.”
We left the grill and walked quickly through the rain down Jernbane Alle.
“He’s never come by while I was working before. His name is Leif, he’s sick,” she said.
“But why did he take Mathias?”
She was about to cry, her voice shook: “To have something on me. How do I look?” She ruffled her hair, stepped under the awning at Jernbane Bakery, tried to catch her reflection in the darkened glass. “Don’t ever buy anything in here, I found a snail in a roll once. Shell and everything.”
“The duvet’s getting wet,” I said.
“We’ll hang it over something, come on.” She herded me along in front of her on the sidewalk. “Didn’t you even hear him? What were you doing while I was gone?”
