Now she tried to sit up, and he took her arms and helped her.
“Take it easy so that you don’t fall down again.”
She yelped and grabbed her left foot. Lifted herself up with difficulty, holding on to his parka the whole time.
“It’s my foot… I remember now, it just gave out on me.”
“Can it hold you?”
“No, not really…”
“Maybe you sprained it.”
“I have an old injury there. That foot often gives out; I should have thought of that.”
“You’ll have to go to the hospital.”
“No, it’s enough if you get me home.”
She was his age, maybe somewhat older. Her voice was light and girlish. He thought that he really couldn’t carry her.
“If you just let me lean on you…?” she said.
“Where do you live?”
“Not far from here. You see the house when you come out on the bridge.”
She laid one arm around his neck and they started to shuffle and slide away from the tree. It was extremely uncomfortable.
“If it’s broken, you’ll need a cast.”
“It’s not broken.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Maybe I should… introduce myself. Hans Peter Bergman. I live in Hasselby Strand. I just thought I’d take a long walk.”
“Well, that’s the end of that.”
“Not to worry.”
“My name’s Justine Dalvik.”
“Kristin?”
“No. Justine.”
They had come up to some buildings and a field with horses. The animals wore damp blankets; they pawed with their hooves in the snow and looked like they longed to be back inside.
“Shall we knock on the door and ask for help?”
“Oh God, no. That’s just too dramatic.”
Just then a man came out on the stairs. He looked at them indifferently, and then went to his car which was sloppily parked outside the gate.
“Hello?” called Hans Peter.
The man stopped.
“We need a little help here.”
He came toward them, opening his hands.
“I speak badly Swedish.”
“Not to worry, as long as you can drive.”
“Can drive. You want drive you?”
“Thanks, that’d be great. The lady has hurt her foot. We just need a short ride; she lives fairly close to here.”
They entered the house.
“Thanks, that was kind of you to help.”
There was an undertone in her voice, as if she didn’t want him to rush away immediately.
He said, “I can take a look at your foot for you. I learned some first aid in the army.”
“Ok, if you want to… Let’s go to the kitchen.”
There was a large bird on the kitchen counter. It was drinking water from a bowl.
“Hope you’re not getting the wrong impression,” she said quietly.
“About what?”
“Some people are afraid of birds.”
“It’s just an unusual one. Is it yours?”
She nodded. He untied her shoes, sitting right across from her, and lifted up her leg into his lap.
“Isn’t it a bad idea to go running when it’s so slippery out?”
Color was returning to her face.
“Obviously,” she said dryly.
Her foot was strangely shaped with small, somewhat bent, toenails. He thought about something he read once. Women had bent toenails, men had straight ones. He wondered why.
There was a bit of swelling by the ankle. He held her foot and bent it back and forth a bit.
“Does that hurt?”
“A bit.”
“Then it’s probably not broken. I can wrap it for you, if you want.”
“Thanks. In my bedroom there’s a cabinet with a few medical items. There’s an elastic bandage there, I think. Do you think you’ll find it? It’s the room with only one bed.”
He went out into the hall and up the steep stairs. There were two framed posters on the walls from the forties. They were ads for candy. At the top, the hallway opened to a large room filled with books. He cast a glance at the titles, but didn’t dare linger over them. The door to her room was slightly open. The bed was well made, but the floor was dirty with feathers and seeds. A large pine tree appeared to grow from the floor. Then he realized it was placed in Christmas tree stand. Obviously she kept the bird in the same room that she slept in herself.
“How’s it going?” she called from the kitchen.
“Where’s the cabinet again?”
“Left of the window. Do you see it?”
Yes, there it was. He squatted down and opened it. Lots of bottles and cans, and far to the back, an elastic bandage roll. When he took it out, the bird was behind him somewhere. It sat on its tree branch and made a rasping sound. Hans Peter didn’t move.
“Don’t be afraid,” she called up. “He won’t hurt you.”
The bird glowered at him with one eye. It pulled up one leg underneath its belly and clicked with its beak. Hans Peter felt ill at ease. Would it leap at him if he moved? He put up his arm for protection and sidled out of the door. The bird flapped his wings, but stayed where it was.
“Why do you have that bird anyway?” he asked once afterwards, after he had taken care of binding her foot and warming milk for both of them. He hadn’t had warm milk since he was small. They had moved to the large room upstairs, the one with the books. He had said he was going to leave; in fact, he’d said it a few times already.
“For company, among other things.”
“Don’t such large birds feel more at home outside?”
“Won’t work. He’s too imprinted by humans. If you let him outside, the other birds will attack him.”
“Have you tried it?”
She nodded.
“He flew up to that oak out there. Suddenly the skies were filled with magpies. Some attacked him right away and actually that was lucky; he lost his grip and fell into my arms. Ever since then, he’s been afraid the minute you open a window.”
“Doesn’t anyone else live with you?”
She shook her head.
Even up here there were framed posters of Sandy Candy. He pointed and asked why.
“Sven Dalvik was my father. The Sandy concern, you know.”
He didn’t know, and that seemed to make her happy.
He wandered to get a look at the books.
“You like reading, don’t you?” she asked.
