arm exerciser for Christmas. And maybe some Viagra-that wouldn’t hurt!”
Knutas didn’t bother to reply. He could hear Lina still muttering angrily to herself upstairs. Sometimes he got really fed up with her hot temper.
The children came downstairs and ate their cornflakes in silence. Knutas spilled coffee on the tablecloth, but he didn’t care. He looked at Petra and Nils. All three of them shook their heads in agreement. None of them could understand Lina’s reaction.
“Go upstairs and talk to Mamma,” said Petra after a while. “This is her birthday, after all.”
Knutas sighed but followed his daughter’s advice. Fifteen minutes later he had persuaded his wife that she wasn’t at all fat, that he loved her just the way she was, and that she wasn’t the slightest bit overweight. No, she wasn’t.
She was afraid of him. It started when he discovered the cuts.
They had done it again, in their secret place. The sexual act was a torment for her. Pain and disgust in a violent combination. It was as if she took pleasure in punishing herself. When he was done and lay next to her, gasping, he took hold of her wrist.
“What’s this?” he said, sitting up on the sofa.
“Nothing.”
She pulled her hand away.
He grabbed both of her hands and held them out.
“Were you trying to kill yourself?”
“No,” she said, ashamed. “I just cut myself a little.”
“What the hell for? Are you crazy?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
She tried to pull her hands away, but she couldn’t.
“Did you cut yourself just for fun?”
“No, it’s just something that I do. I’ve done it for years. I can’t stop.”
“Are you out of your mind!”
“Maybe I am.”
She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh got caught in her throat. Fear was blocking the way.
“You can’t keep doing this-you know that, don’t you? What if someone finds out? Your mother or a teacher at school or someone else? Then they’ll start asking a lot of questions. And you might not be able to keep quiet about us. They can manipulate you and coax you into talking. They might call in a bunch of psychologists and shit!”
His voice had gotten so loud that he was shouting. Saliva flew from his lips. He suddenly seemed dangerous, unpredictable. She drew the blanket tightly around her and watched him anxiously.
“No one is going to notice,” she objected quietly.
“That’s what you think. It’s just a matter of time before someone sees those cuts. I forbid you to do it again. Do you hear me?”
He fixed his eyes on her. They were dark with anger.
“Okay, I promise. I’ll stop.”
He shook his head and went into the bathroom. She stayed on the sofa, unable to move as her panic grew. When he came back he had calmed down. He sat down next to her and stroked her arm.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said in a gentle voice. “You might really hurt yourself. I’m worried about you. Don’t you realize that?”
“Yes,” she said. Tears were stinging her eyes.
“Now, now, honey,” he consoled her. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I was shocked when I saw those cuts, and I’m afraid of losing you. So I don’t want to see any more of this, okay?”
He put his hand under her chin and looked her deep in the eyes.
“Promise me, my little princess.”
She shuddered inside but nodded obediently.
In the car on the way back, she was convinced that she would never agree to see him again. In her mind she went over and over how she would phrase the words. She practiced the lines like a broken record.
He stopped a block away from her building, and turned off the engine. He wanted her to come and sit in the front seat for a last embrace before they parted. Lately he had made her sit in the back because he was afraid they might be seen.
When he had his nose pressed between her breasts, she gathered her courage.
“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”
Slowly he raised his head.
“What did you say?”
“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore. We have to stop this.”
His eyes grew dark and his voice turned icy.
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because I don’t want to see you anymore,” she stammered. “I just don’t want to.”
“What the hell are you saying?” he snarled. “Don’t want to! What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘don’t want to’? It’s you and me!”
“But I don’t want to meet anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”
Now she just wanted to get out of the car. His aggressive tone scared her. She tried to open the car door.
“You little bitch. Who the hell do you think you are?”
He threw himself at her and grabbed her hard by the arms. With his lips pressed close to her ear, he snarled, “Do you think you can just stop seeing me? You better be damn careful, because you’re treading on thin ice. Don’t think you can just start setting the terms. I’ll fix things so that you never set foot in that stable again-do you understand? One word from me, and you won’t be able to show your face there ever again. Is that what you want?”
She tried to pull herself out of his grip.
“Let me make one thing damn clear-our relationship is over when I say it’s over. And not a word about this to a single person, or you can say good-bye to the stable forever. Just keep that in mind, you little slut!”
He pushed her away from him. Sobbing, she finally managed to open the door and stumble out of the car.
In the next instant he was gone. The last thing she heard was the tires screeching as he turned the corner.
Emma looked at her husband over the rim of her wineglass. They were still sitting at the table, talking after dinner as they usually did on the weekend. The children were watching Little Stars on TV, quite happy with bottles of Coke and a big bowl of popcorn. Olle seemed content. Was it really possible that he didn’t suspect a thing?
He refilled her glass. How absurd, she thought. Yesterday I was sitting just like this with Johan.
“That was certainly delicious,” he said.
She had served lamb burgers with yogurt sauce and homemade baba ghanoush. There was now a Lebanese restaurant in Visby, and they had tried it out on one of the rare occasions when they went out to dinner. The chef had given her the recipe when she asked him for it.
Yet another dinner in the long series of meals that they had shared. Olle asked her to tell him about the course she had taken in Stockholm, and so she did. They’d hardly had any time to talk since she had come home.
“How long did you stay at the banquet?”
“Oh, not very long,” she replied evasively. “I don’t know what time it was. Maybe one.”
“Did you leave with Viveka?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Huh. I called your hotel this morning, but you weren’t there. And your cell phone was off.”
She felt a burning sensation shoot through her body. Now she was going to have to tell another lie.
“I must have been eating breakfast. What time did you call?”
“Eight thirty. I couldn’t find Sara’s sneakers.”
He kept his eyes fixed on her. Emma took another sip of her wine to gain some time.
