Tinna’s English wasn’t good enough to speak to the nurse. Maybe she would have trusted herself to say a few words if the drugs hadn’t made her too tired to speak Icelandic, let alone a foreign language. She watched as the woman in white took away the bag that had emptied into her through a needle in the back of her left hand. Tinna couldn’t see the needle, which was covered with a dressing. The nurse that inserted it had been Icelandic and had talked constantly throughout the process, afraid that Tinna might find it uncomfortable and start crying or screaming. She had tried to tell the woman that she couldn’t care less, that needles didn’t hurt, they just felt strange. The nurse hadn’t believed her, and when she stuck the needle in for the third time in search of a vein she had raised her voice and talked even faster. Tinna had trouble following what she was saying and understood only every other word, even though the relentless chatter was all in Icelandic. It went in through her ears and didn’t seem to go up into her brain, but to somewhere entirely different. Maybe down into her stomach? Hopefully there weren’t any calories in words. Tinna’s heart skipped a beat. Didn’t they say words were food for the mind? Could they change into food for the stomach?
‘Okay, now,’ said the foreign nurse, patting the blanket she had spread carefully over Tinna. ‘Try to get some sleep.’
Tinna stared at her, not replying. She couldn’t tell whether the woman had said ‘sleep’ or‘sheep’. She spoke enough English to know what both words meant, she just wasn’t sure. Maybe the woman wanted her to count sheep, like cartoon characters did. Tinna closed her eyes and tried it. In her mind’s eye, one, two, three sheep hopped over a green-painted fence. The door to the room opened and closed with a faint thud. The woman had probably gone, but Tinna didn’t want to ruin the sheep-race by opening her eyes and looking. She focused again on the fence and the sheep. It wasn’t going well. The sheep were disgustingly fat, and the fourth one couldn’t jump at all. It stood by the fence, breathless and panting. Then it started to expand, and soon its snout disappeared into its white belly, which stretched wider until finally there was a loud bang as it burst. Blood and guts flew everywhere. Tinna opened her eyes quickly to rid herself of this vision. She was alone in the room. Her breasts heaved up and down. This was what awaited her if she didn’t get out of here. She would get fatter and fatter until she blew up. Tinna turned and looked at the clear bag hanging from a steel frame next to the bed. She watched the drops fall into the regulator, which controlled how much liquid ran into her veins.
She gasped when the first clear thought she’d had all day jumped into her head. The drops were full of calories. Maybe even pure calories, but Tinna had no idea what those looked like. They might be like water, and splash around in her body after they’d gone in. Tinna’s hand throbbed beneath the needle, and she felt as if she were burning up. She tried to think more clearly. Heat, calories. The needle was hot because calories were streaming through it now. Hot, evil calories. She felt a tear forming in the corner of her eye. Was it good to cry? Could she empty the evil liquid from her body? Her head started aching from all these thoughts and she pressed her right hand against the spot on her forehead where it hurt. The pain eased a little, but returned as soon as she removed her hand. Should she ring the bell for assistance?
She moved her right hand nearer the bell, which – of course – lay closer to her left hand, the one she didn’t dare move for fear that then the calories would start pouring in faster. Also, the stinging she now felt in her hand worsened with movement. Her thumb rested on the chilly button. Tinna was just about to press it when she hesitated. What was she supposed to say to the foreign nurse? She could barely mumble ‘good day’ in English, so she couldn’t possibly explain that if the liquid wasn’t taken out of her, and immediately, then she would swell up and burst and her guts would be splashed all over the room. Tinna took her thumb off the button. This would get her nowhere. She sat up straighter and tried to focus. The nurse couldn’t help her. No one could help her. What should she do?
She looked down at the plaster covering the needle. One of its corners had come slightly loose, probably because she was sweating from the hot needle and all the calories flowing into her. She tugged carefully at the loose corner and listened in fascination as the plaster pulled away from her skin. She pulled it off slowly and watched the skin lifting away from her bones. She looked contentedly at the reddened square where the plaster had been. There was a piece of pink plastic shaped like a butterfly in the centre of the square; into one end of it went the tube, and out of the other came the needle that was burrowing under Tinna’s skin. She tore off the clear tape that held the butterfly to her skin and grimaced. How could she get the needle out without the liquid going everywhere? She thought and thought but couldn’t come up with a solution, so she just pulled the needle out slowly. There was a faint pop and a sucking sound as the needle came free from her skin, and for an instant she could see a tiny black hole in her hand, before droplets of blood welled up and leaked down her wrist. She pushed the needle and the butterfly away, but instead of whipping around the room like a hose, as she had imagined they would, they dropped straight down onto the bed from the weight of the tube. Tinna felt strangely disappointed.
She swept her feet out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed for a second to let the familiar dizziness pass. Her stomach rumbled, and she could feel how terribly hungry she was. That was nothing new, but because her head was fuzzy from the drugs, she wanted to eat. Usually she found it easy to handle hunger, and actually enjoyed not satisfying it. That way she was in control, not her greed. The greed that made people fatter and fatter until they burst, like the sheep. She couldn’t remember whether a sheep had actually burst or if she’d just imagined it. Tinna stood up, trying to shake off the thoughts of food that pursued her so insistently. She drifted around the room, peered out through the window- nothing worth looking at – then looked into a wall cupboard and saw her parka hanging on a hook next to the clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived. There was nowhere else to look but under the bed or up the tap on the sink, but both of them would require Tinna to bend over, which she didn’t like to do. It would scrunch up her stomach and increase her hunger.
A children’s rhyme about a cawing crow suddenly flashed into her mind. Outside sits the carrion croiv / Can you hear its croak?/ Beside the old ram’s skull and bones / I saw its woolly cloak. She mustn’t eat. She would burst, like the sheep. Why didn’t anyone understand that? Tinna suddenly felt as if she were weightless. Indifference overcame her, a feeling that she had things under control and had nothing to worry about. Calories she’d already ingested didn’t count. She smiled, then giggled. Where could she find a knife?
Dis sat deep in thought, waiting for Agust. The last patient was in his office, a young woman who was thinking of getting breast implants. Dis had watched her walk in and bet herself that the slender girl would end up with breasts too large to be called beautiful. It was always the same. Dis thought it was tragic – women got breast implants to look better for men, no matter what they said. More often than not they justified it by telling themselves that if their breasts were larger they would be happier and more self-confident. Of course that was true, but that self-confidence was based on the woman feeling more attractive to the opposite sex. That’s why it saddened Dis that almost without exception these women chose implants that were too large, which made them more flawed, not more elegant. If the woman was married she often brought her husband to the first consultations; she would be thinking of getting much larger breasts, though the husband often expressed a preference for something subtler. Dis always tried to point this out to the women, usually to no effect: Why don’t you have a think about maybe getting slightly smaller implants? Your breasts will be larger than they are now, but the change won’t be as drastic. You’ll be happier in the long term. Neither doctor nor husband could
ever persuade the woman to change her mind. Maybe it was the desire to get as much for the money as possible, or the fear that the breasts would get smaller with age; Dis couldn’t be sure, nor did she think that the women would be able to answer the question if she put it to them. Not that she was going to start questioning her patients.
Dis looked again at her watch. Why the hell was she thinking about this now? It wasn’t her problem, since each individual made the decision, took responsibility for it and had to live with it. Besides, as far as she knew, all the women had been thrilled with their new breasts. Dis looked once more at her watch in case time was passing faster than she thought. But of course it wasn’t. Time was creeping by, as it always did when she wanted it to pass quickly. The wait irritated her for more than one reason: it served to remind her that Agust was more sought-after than her even though she was just as skilful, if not more so, these days. He was older and more experienced, but he had started to stagnate. She kept up to date with developments in the profession, but he showed less interest. He tried feebly to disguise it, feigning interest when Dis talked about articles she had read – most recently, one about an operation on the ball of the foot that made it easier for women to walk in high-heeled shoes. Yet he didn’t need to fake his enthusiasm when it came to conferences abroad. She heard the door to Agust’s office open and listened to him exchanging pleasantries with the patient, who he clearly intended to escort to the exit. She straightened up when she heard him lock the outer door. Finally.
