Broken

'On Bragernes Square. There were several of them, all I had to do was choose one. And the one I picked stood out. She was so skinny and pale and translucent that she appeared to be almost ethereal. Did you notice her eyes? They're like ice. Her hair is like cotton grass. Her skeleton as fragile as a bird's. I felt I could snap her in half with one hand like a twig. I was taken with her frailty. She reminds me of Royal Copenhagen china.'

'That was beautifully put,' Alvar says.

'Thank you, I do try.'

'But she should be wearing something else on her feet for this time of year. Did you see her ankle boots? I've never seen such high heels, she could barely walk in them. And those boots aren't terrible warm either, did you know that? I'm sure they're synthetic, only plastic. What do you think?'

'Mm. They're plastic.'

'I mean, they must be very uncomfortable, on top of everything else. For example, she can't run in such boots, should she have to.'

'Heroin addicts don't run, Alvar, in fact they're very, very slow.'

He looks at me for a long time. 'So if something were to happen to her, she wouldn't be able to escape?'

I do not reply. I look at the screen again and my half-finished letter. I rest my chin in my hands.

'You've suddenly gone very quiet,' Alvar says. 'I'm convinced that you've thought of something, that you've just had an idea of what's going to happen.'

'That's correct. And I can't tell you what it is, I'm sure you understand.'

I look at him, he is twisting his fingers. There's something very virginal about him. A man of forty-two with his innocence intact. A man who has hidden himself away his whole life. It feels as if I'm about to throw him to the wolves. His unease is totally justified, he senses that something is about to happen. I force myself to be tough and push ahead with my plan even though I know I will cause him a great deal of pain.

'What are you thinking about?'

He looks directly at me.

'I'm thinking of everything we humans have to suffer. Restless hours filled with anxiety and distress. Sleepless nights, pain. I'm thinking of the bravery dormant in us all. How we grit our teeth and carry on. Some go with God. And those of us who don't have that option, those of us who don't lift our heads towards heaven, we walk on all the same with our heads bowed, right until our own end.'

'I can visualise what you've just said,' Alvar says. 'It's a powerful image. If I were a painter that is the very subject I would have chosen. Two people going to their deaths, one with and one without God.'

'Have you ever dreamt of being a painter?' I want to know.

'Oh, no, not ever, I don't have the talent. I'm perfectly happy just admiring the work of others. Whenever I stand in front of a painting, I can always find the words. Then I'm able, despite my shyness, to have long, in-depth conversations with another human being. However, when I'm outside on the street and someone stops me to ask directions, then I'm helpless.'

'Because there isn't a painting between you?'

'That's right. Of course, I give them a reply, but only a very brief one, and then I hurry on as quickly as I can. But in the gallery I can stand in front of a painting and talk for an hour.'

'You're an enigma,' I smile.

'Perhaps I'll surprise you along the way,' he says, looking terribly pleased with himself.

No, Alvar my dear, I think to myself, you're the one who is going to be surprised.

I turn my back on him so I can finish my letter. He stands behind me for a few minutes; I sense his presence like a shadow and I find it hard to concentrate.

'Do you ever dream about me at night?' he asks out of the blue. I sigh deeply, save the last sentence and turn round again with resignation.

'No, never. I dream vividly every single night, but I have never dreamt of you.'

He looks disappointed.

'May I ask you what you dreamt about last night?' he asks cautiously. 'I mean, if you don't think I'm being too forward?'

I lean back in my chair. I recall last night's events and the very unpleasant dream which still haunts me.

'I dreamt I was living in a city with narrow streets,' I tell him. 'I was drifting around this city; I had no mission, no purpose. Everyone was busy doing their own thing, but I wandered through the day with nothing to do. Then an important delegation came to the city, five grave-looking men dressed in black. They walked in procession through the streets carrying their heavy suitcases. One of the men was carrying a small bundle, but I couldn't see what was in it. They soon spotted me. They stopped and looked at me solemnly.

' 'We have an important task for you,' the man with the bundle announced. 'We're here for five days, we have something very important to discuss and during those five days you must take care of this.' He passed me the bundle, which was wrapped in a piece of filthy cloth. I unwrapped it and inside I discovered a baby.'

Alvar listens attentively, never taking his grey eyes off me.

'It wasn't a normal baby,' I say, 'it was the tiniest baby I'd ever seen. Three pounds at most and stark naked. Baffled, I looked at the child and the man fixed me with his eyes, then he said in a stern voice, 'This is your responsibility. We will come back to collect it in five days.' Then they left with their suitcases, they disappeared into the town hall and I lost sight of them. I was left standing on the cobbled street with the baby in my arms. And it wasn't just any baby, Alvar, it was slippery and smooth like a bar of soap and it immediately started to squirm, you know, like a cat struggles when it no longer wants to be held. I tried to tighten my grip on it, but despite my best efforts, it slipped from my hands and hit the cobbled street head first. I felt a sudden attack of dizziness as if I was about to pass out. Strange gurgling sounds were coming from the child's mouth, and its head on its fragile neck looked sickeningly as if it was loose. I felt nauseous with fear when I bent down to lift it up. But it was alive. It had shrunk a little, but I could see from its tiny chest that it was breathing. I started walking to a small hideaway with a simple bed and a blanket. I went inside still holding the baby and quickly lay down on the bed. There I felt safe in the knowledge that nothing would happen. We lay there until the next day. From time to time the baby made sucking noises and I realised that it needed food. I got out of bed. Very carefully I held the naked baby and went over to a bench where I had access to fresh water. I found a cup, filled it halfway and tried to pour the water into its tiny, tiny mouth; it didn't go very well. The baby began to squirm and wriggle again and in an unguarded moment it hit the ground for the second time. I heard its tiny skull smack against the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat. There was no doubt that the child had been injured, and it was as if its neck had been stretched into a long thin thread; its head was barely connected to its frail shoulders.'

I look at Alvar; he returns my gaze breathlessly.

'Again I lay down on my bed. But I understood that you can't spend your whole life in bed, you have to get up and face the world and thus risk exposing yourself and those you love. So I went out into the streets clutching the baby, pressing against the walls, looking left and right. Again the baby started to squirm, again it hit the cobbles, and when I lifted it up I thought it was dead. But I detected a weak pulse, and its head was still hanging by that thin thread that its neck had become. I crossed the square, ashamed because I had failed this simple task entrusted to me. Another four days passed and I knew that the important delegation would soon come out of the town hall to collect the child. I stared at it and could see that it had shrunk a great deal. For the fourth time I dropped the baby and I felt that hope was fading. Finally I slumped against a stone wall, leaned my head against it, clung on to the child, closed my eyes and just wanted the time to pass. And it passed, and the delegation came walking down the street with their black suitcases. I felt relieved that everything would be over soon and I could hand back the uncontrollable baby that kept squirming. They stopped a metre away from me, formed a semicircle and watched me with their black eyes.

' 'The child,' they said gravely.

'I handed them the bundle. My hands were shaking; I couldn't give it back soon enough. One of the men reached out to receive it. At that very moment it began to squirm violently; it shot out of my hands like a bar of soap in the shower and smashed against the cobbles. It lay there and did not stir; its neck was now as thin as a nail, and its head partly bashed in. They stood there looking at me accusingly and I was at my wits' end as to what I should do. I was weighed down by guilt and despair.

' 'We gave you a simple task,' they said. 'And you failed.'

'I could give them no answer. The baby had been in my care and I had failed. Suddenly they vanished and I was left alone.'