the last minute. If you are nice to her, maybe she’ll be your playmate.”
The bird plucked itself beneath one of his wings, apparently uninterested. A soft, downy feather fell onto the guinea pig’s back.
She put liver and eggs into his bowl. He flew there directly. She carefully lifted the guinea pig, felt her small paws with her fingertips.
“You look like a rat,” she whispered. “If you had a tail, it would be hard to tell the difference. I think I’m going to call you Rattie. Yes, Rattie’s the perfect name for you.”
She let the animal to the floor, and it scurried directly to the cabinet and tried to squeeze underneath it in order to hide. The bird flew there. He was bloody and sticky around his beak.
“Be nice to Rattie!” she scolded. “You are going to be friends, keep that in mind!”
He shook himself, took a few hops, and pecked lightly with his beak on the guinea pig’s round back. Rattie whirled around and raised herself onto her hind legs.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll get used to each other.”
At eight o’clock, she called the hotel. A man’s voice answered. She asked to speak with Hans Peter.
“He’s not here.”
“But… doesn’t he work there?”
“Yes, but he’s not here now.”
“Why not? Did he say why?”
“Can I take a message?”
She hung up the phone.
She woke up many times during the night. The same dream; it returned in quick sequences. Hans Nastman, with a cleanly washed, thinned face. He stood next to her bed; he didn’t move, just stood there. When she tried to get up, she found that she was chained to the bed with a rattan rope. Hans Nastman smiled and showed all his teeth. It’s over, Justine; you are to come with me now, and not make a fuss.
“You can’t prove anything!” she screamed. “Get out of here, leave me in peace!”
He took a step toward her; his hand had neither skin nor fingernails.
“Nothing needs to be proven, my friend. Now Hans Peter Bergman is also missing, and that’s enough to take you in.”
She woke up from her own screaming. There was flapping and screeching in the room. She turned on the light and saw the bird flying around in panic. He calmed down in the light, landed on his branch, still thin and frightened.
She had to get up. She had to call, call home to Hans Peter.
It was a quarter to three. No one answered.
The day was quiet, without sun. Dry snowflakes in the air. She took the guinea pig with her in the car. She wrapped the animal in a blanket, and it rolled up and went to sleep almost immediately.
She came to the ward and went to the desk. A nurse sat, flipping through a binder.
“Good morning. I’m Justine Dalvik, and I thought I’d visit my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Flora Dalvik.”
“Oh, yes, Flora. Good morning. It’ll be great for her; every change is so welcome to our residents.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Very well. Yesterday she was up the entire day.”
The nurse was named Gunlis. Justine didn’t recognize her. Gunlis closed the binder.
“I’m fairly new here. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’ll take you to her. What do you have there, by the way?”
“A little guinea pig, which I’ve just gotten. I wanted to show Mamma, I hope that there’s nothing against it.”
“Oh, no, quite the opposite. It makes things a little more human in the ward, a little less clinical, if I may speak freely. I’ve always advocated for it, but it’s hard to make changes in the daily routine. Wouldn’t it be wonderful with a house cat wandering around visiting the residents, who rubbed their legs in a friendly way, who jumped in someone’s lap and began to purr? I think the residents would have greater quality of life if things were less sterile.”
She lowered her voice: “But you can hardly dare say anything like that. You risk losing your job.”
“Really?”
“Well, of course you can’t. What would it look like if the workers had opinions? May I look? What a sweet little nose peeking out here! It doesn’t bite, does it?”
“No, of course not.”
Flora was sitting in the wheelchair. She lifted her head, her roving gaze.
Gunlis went up to her and dried off her chin.
“Look, Flora, look who’s here for a visit. And a little grandchild, too. Or you could almost say so. Right?” she laughed.
Justine bent over the wheelchair.
“Hi, little Mamma.”
She stroked her chin, petted the dry, cold hands. She placed the towel with the guinea pig on Flora’s lap; unwrapped it carefully. There was a hoarse, gasping sound from the old one’s throat.
A telephone rang in the distance.
“I have to go answer it,” Gunlis called. “Oh, I really wanted to see it!”
The guinea pig had pooped. The blanket was full of long, hard pearls. Justine emptied them into a garbage can. Then she let the guinea pig crawl around in Flora’s lap. She saw drops of sweat appear on Flora’s upper lip. The gasping sound had become faster, even more rattling.
“Isn’t she sweet? Her name is Rattie. No, it’s not really a rat. It’s an everyday old guinea pig. You know that I always wanted a pet. You remember, don’t you?”
Flora had closed her eyes. Her skin had taken on a pale gray tone. Justine lifted up the guinea pig, carefully wrapped it in the towel again. The nurse returned.
“Was she happy?”
“I think so… but it’s so hard to tell.”
“She looks a bit tired… but certainly it made her happy. It’s sweet of you to come by with your guinea pig. Thoughtful, even. May I pet it?”
The other bed in the room was missing sheets. There were no personal articles on the bed stand.
“Didn’t my mamma have a roommate?” Justine asked.
The nurse pulled her a bit to the side.
“Yes, but, unfortunately… she’s not with us any longer.”
“That’s sad to hear.”
“Yes, but that’s life, isn’t it? It has to end sometime.”
Justine gestured to the woman in the wheelchair. Flora had opened her eyes and had a strong look of fear in them.
“Unfortunate for my poor mamma. I believe that they got along fairly well. As much as can be expected.”
“Yes, it’s very sad. But a new person is coming this afternoon. The beds don’t stay empty for long here.”
“Bye-bye, Mamma,” Justine called. “I’ll come back soon. Maybe take you home for a little while. Maybe even tomorrow, if that works for you?”
The old person’s lips jerked, gurgling noise from her throat.
“She’s trying to say something,” said the nurse.
“She had such a pretty voice,” sighed Justine. “What bad luck that she can no longer use it.”
“Others have it worse,” said the nurse.
“Too true, there’s always someone worse off.”
She drove to Fryspannsgatan. He must have come home; he must have read her note. She rang the bell, but still no answer. When she opened the mail slot, she saw a magazine and some envelopes lying on the floor. She couldn’t tell if her note was still there.
She went home but felt restless. She paced around the house, finally ending up in the room that had been her
