I ought to have sent her away. I had promised myself I wouldn’t see her again, and she should have known better than to come. But I hesitated, because in spite of everything I was glad of the company.
She was standing by the chair, waiting for my answer. “I find it difficult to say no to you,” I said, hearing the ambiguity in my words.
She sat down, summoned the waiter, and ordered a glass of wine. Then she gave me a mischievous look and placed a box beside my plate. “It’s only something small,” she explained, blushing furiously once again.
“A present?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Purely symbolic. I only found out it was your birthday twenty minutes ago.”
I opened the box and discovered to my surprise something that looked like miniature binoculars. My bewilderment must have shown on my face.
“They were called ‘anatomical binoculars,’ ” Maja explained. “My great-grandfather invented them. Actually, I think he won the Nobel Prize- though not for the binoculars. It was in the days when only Swedes and Norwegians used to win,” she added apologetically.
“Anatomical binoculars,” I repeated wonderingly. “Anyway, they’re really quaint- sweet, even- and very old. I know it’s a silly present- ”
“It certainly isn’t, it’s wonderful.” I looked into her eyes and saw how beautiful she was. “It’s very, very kind of you, Maja. Thank you so much.”
I placed the binoculars carefully back in their box and put them in my pocket.
“My glass is empty already,” she said in surprise. “Shall we order a bottle?”
It was late by the time we decided to go on to Riche, which was not far from the national theatre. We almost fell over when we were handing our coats in at the cloakroom; Maja was leaning on me and I misjudged the distance to the wall. When we regained our balance and saw the morose, deadly serious expression on the attendant’s face, Maja burst out laughing and, glancing at him apologetically, I led her away to the bar.
We each ordered a gin and tonic. It was hot and crowded, and we had to stand close together, leaning in to speak directly into each other’s ears in order to talk. Suddenly, we found ourselves kissing passionately. The back of her head thudded against the wall as I pressed myself against her. The music throbbed. She was speaking close to my ear, telling me we should go back to her place.
We rushed outside and into a taxi.
“We’re only going to Roslagsgatan,” she slurred. “Roslagsgatan seven teen.”
The driver nodded and pulled out into traffic. It was something like two o’clock in the morning, and the sky was beginning to lighten. The buildings flashing by were pale grey shadows. Maja leaned against me. I thought she was going to go to sleep when I felt her hand caressing my crotch. I was hard at once, and she laughed quietly, her lips against my neck.
I’m not sure how we got up to her studio. I remember standing in the lift licking her face, aware of the taste of salt and lipstick and powder, catching sight of my own drunken face in the blotchy mirror.
Inside her place, Maja stood in the hallway, let her jacket fall to the floor, and kicked off her shoes. She drew me over to the bed, helped me undress, and pulled off her white panties.
“Come here,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me.”
I lay down heavily between her thighs; she was very wet, and I simply sank into the warmth as she wrapped herself around me, squeezing me tightly. She groaned in my ear, clung to my back, moved her hips gently.
We had sex carelessly, drunkenly. I began to feel more and more detached from myself, more and more isolated and mute. I was getting close to my orgasm; I intended to pull out, but instead simply gave in to a convulsive, rapid ejaculation. She was breathing fast. I lay there panting as my penis grew limp and slid out of her. My heart was still pounding. I saw Maja’s lips part in a strange smile, which made me feel uncom fortable.
I felt ill. I no longer understood what had happened. What was I doing here? Stupid. This was so stupid.
I sat up in bed beside her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, stroking my back.
I shrugged off her hand. “Don’t,” I said abruptly. My heart was thudding with fear.
“Erik? I thought- ”
She sounded upset. I felt I couldn’t look at her, I was angry with her. What had happened was my fault, of course. But it would never have happened if she hadn’t been so persistent.
“We’re both tired and drunk,” she whispered.
“I have to go,” I said, in a choked voice; I picked up my clothes and staggered into the bathroom. It was very small and full of creams, brushes, towels. A fluffy bathrobe was hanging from a hook, along with a pink razor on a soft, thick cord. I did my best to avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I washed myself with a pale blue cake of soap shaped like a rose. As I dressed, my elbows bumped into the walls.
When I came out she was waiting anxiously. She stood with the sheet wound around her body, looking very young. “Are you angry with me?” she asked, and I could see her lips trembling as if she were about to cry.
“I’m angry with myself, Maja. I should never, ever- ”
“But I wanted to, Erik. I’m in love with you, can’t you see that?” She tried to smile at me, but her eyes filled with tears. “You’re not allowed to treat me like shit now,” she whispered, reaching out to touch me.
I moved away and said this had been a mistake, my tone somewhat more dismissive than I had wished.
She nodded and lowered her eyes. I didn’t say goodbye, I simply left the studio and closed the door behind me.
I walked all the way to the hospital. Perhaps I could convince Simone that I had spent the night in my office.
In the morning I took a taxi home to our house in Jarfalla. It was a mistake; my body heaved with nausea every time the cab hit a bump. Worse, I felt disgust at what I’d done the night before. I couldn’t possibly have been unfaithful to Simone. It couldn’t be true. Maja was beautiful and amusing, but she was not someone I could ever care about in any real way. How the hell could I have let myself be flattered into going to bed with her?
I didn’t know how I was going to tell Simone this, but I had to do it. I had made a mistake, people do, but people can forgive each other if they just explain, and I felt that our relationship was strong enough to withstand the explanation.
I knew I could never let Simone go. I would be hurt, badly, if she was unfaithful to me, but I would find a way to forgive her. I would never leave her because of something like that.
Simone was in the kitchen pouring herself a cup of coffee when I got home. She had on her tatty, pale pink silk robe. We’d bought it in China when Benjamin was only one, and they had both gone with me to a conference.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.” I sat down heavily at the table.
“Erik, I’m so sorry I forgot your birthday.”
“I stayed over at the hospital,” I explained, thinking it must be obvious from the tone of my voice that I was lying.
She looked down at the floor for a moment- I held my breath, waiting for anger or an accusation- the strawberry-blonde hair obscuring her face. Then, without a word, she went into the bedroom, returning a moment later with a package. She extended it toward me with a shy smile on her face and I tore off the paper with playful eagerness.
It was a boxed set of CDs by Charlie Parker, containing concert recordings from each of his appearances during his only visit to Sweden: two shows at the concert hall in Stockholm, two in Gothenburg, one at Amiralen in Malmo and the subsequent jam session at the Academic Club, the show at Folkets Park in Helsingborg, at the arena in Jonkoping, at Folkets Park in Gavle, and finally at the Nalen jazz club in Stockholm.
“Thank you,” I said.
“What does your day look like?” she asked.
“Well, I have to go back to work.”
“I was thinking,” she said, “that maybe we should have a really nice meal together at home tonight.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Only it can’t be too late- the painters say they are coming at seven tomorrow morning. Why the hell do they always have to come so early?”
I realized she was expecting an answer. “And you always end up waiting for them anyway,” I mumbled.
“Exactly.” She smiled, sipping her coffee. “So what shall we have? Perhaps that thing with tournedos in a port
