Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

There was a loud bang.

Eva started. She flung out her arms in a pure reflex action and thumped her elbow on the semi-rotten woodwork. Perhaps he’d heard it. The walls were thin and everything was quiet. She realized it had been the door slamming, he was outside the cabin now, just by the wall of the earth closet. He took three or four paces then halted. Eva waited and listened, trying to guess what he was doing, she was as stiff as a post and couldn’t move her arms or legs. Then he coughed and immediately afterward came the well-known sound of a strong stream of urine hitting the frozen ground. Typical bloke, she thought, they were lazy, couldn’t even be bothered to go to the bathroom, but just poked the manservant out of the door, and it was presumably this that had saved her from being discovered. She almost laughed aloud with relief. The peeing went on and on, he must have been holding himself in a long time, and perhaps he’d had a beer, perhaps he was finished now and would be leaving. Strange that he hadn’t checked down the toilet but he probably hadn’t the imagination for that, she thought. She, who would have prodded the night soil with a ski stick if she hadn’t found the paint tin. Hope began to dawn that everything might soon be over now, and with hope returned the cold and stiffness, as well as the stench, which was unbearable by this time.

He went inside again. What’s the time, how long have I been in this torpor? she thought, and struggled to breathe calmly. Again there was a variety of sounds, doors, drawers, and pacing to and fro. Perhaps it was fully day and quite light, he might have pulled down the blackout curtains and now wished to search again. Then he’d revisit the extension, and look down into the night soil too, the thought would suddenly strike him like lightning, just as it had her. She tried to imagine what he’d feel when he saw her head and realized she’d been sitting there all the time, disbelief and fury, or if he were an innocent man on a lawful mission simply fear and alarm. But she didn’t give that any credence. She heard the door again and the key in the lock. She could hardly believe that he might be leaving. She didn’t move a muscle, but the footsteps through the heather really were receding, and at last the sound she’d been longing for most of all, it was almost too good to be true. The sound of a car door slamming. Eva began to tremble violently. The engine started with a roar and she sobbed with relief, it revved for a good while, and still she didn’t budge, just waited while the car maneuvered, perhaps he was turning around. She heard twigs scratching against metal and the engine slowing for a moment. Then he gathered speed. He was safely out on the road now, he changed up and drove off, and the engine faded slowly away, until at last, at long last, it could be heard no more.

A great peace filled her body.

She placed her hands on the tin and exhaled, sniffed a bit and tried to extend her legs. They were as crooked as ancient tree roots and she had no feeling in her feet at all. She pushed the polystyrene cover off with one hand. It was as dark as before, as if it were still the middle of the night. The torch, she thought suddenly, what’s happened to the torch? She clenched her fists and steeled herself, then began unwillingly to scrabble about in the muck searching for it, between her legs, out in the corners, it wasn’t a large area, she must find it. She fumbled behind her back and felt the ice-cold metal against her hand. Perhaps it was broken. She found the switch. It was working. With a sigh of relief she looked at her watch. It was half past three. It would be dark for a long time yet, she had plenty of time. She stuck the torch through the hole and laid it on the top of the toilet, then she took hold of the seat and tried to lift herself up. Her back ached and her legs would hardly support her, but she got her head through, squeezed her shoulders out, and suddenly it was as if she was being suffocated and couldn’t get out fast enough. She floundered and gasped and wriggled her way up, kicking as hard as she could at the soft heap beneath her, twisting herself through the hole, lay across the toilet, wrenched her legs after her, and knocked the torch, which fell on the floor. She stared down at the striped rug which was now illuminated, and pulled her feet through. She placed a foot to the floor. It was like being paralyzed. But she was standing on her own feet, she bent once again, aimed the torch down for the very last time, and reached for the handle of the tin. She had fought for this. Now the money was hers. She left the extension and entered the cabin. It was completely wrecked. Everything had been emptied and strewn about. She shone her torch around, he hadn’t removed the blackout curtains. Everything was dark, but the air was strangely fresh and soothing, she’d almost forgotten what ordinary air was, it was like inhaling cool mineral water through her nose. Unsteadily she tottered over to an armchair and threw herself into it. Her clothes had stiffened on her body. Everything would have to be thrown away, every stitch she had on. Perhaps she ought to cut her hair, too, maybe she’d never get the smell out of it. It was a long way to drive home covered in filth from top to toe, but possibly there were clothes in the cabin she could change into. She struggled up again and went into one of the bedrooms. Holding the torch she pulled out garment after garment from the chest of drawers, she found underwear, socks, an old undershirt, and a knitted jumper, but trousers were more difficult. She came out again, remembered the small entry where the outdoor clothes were kept, and was in luck. She found an old down snowsuit hanging there, it was lovely and soft, but possibly a bit on the small side. It would be like trying to get into a sausage skin. But it was clean. In comparison with what she had on now, it was clean. The scent of ski wax and firewood clung to it. She put the clothes on the floor and began to undress. Her hands were the worst, she tried to keep them away from her face, she couldn’t bear to smell them. Maybe she could slosh some disinfectant over them and dry them with a towel. She began to shiver with cold again, but at the same time she was in high spirits. She kept looking across at the tin, a flecked paint tin, it looked so innocent, who would have thought it contained a fortune, apart from her. But she, of course, was a person of imagination. An artist.

Finally, she found a pair of ski boots inside the settle bed and struggled with the laces. Her hands had begun to thaw, but they worked slowly. She pushed her filthy clothes into the day sack, which he’d chucked into a corner. She put the sack on her back, held the torch in one hand, the paint tin in the other. No need to struggle with the little kitchen window, after everything that had happened. The front door was locked from the outside. She went into the bedroom again, tore down the blackout curtain, and opened the window wide. She took a deep breath of mountain air and stepped up on to the sill. Then she jumped out.

The man drove a dark blue Saab. His face had an evil expression just then, fury and frustration gleamed in his eyes. The money had gone. Someone had got there before him, but he couldn’t understand who. The car bounced and shook on the gravel road and he cursed again. He had the lake on his left, it was dead calm, most of the cabins were dark now. He felt cheated. Something had happened that he couldn’t fathom, and he searched his memory for anything that might explain this catastrophe, the barely credible fact that someone had broken into the cabin and stolen the money. His money. Obviously, that was what had happened. Nothing else was missing, the binoculars, the camera, the television, and the radio were all there. Even the wine in the cellar was untouched. He banged his fist on the steering wheel and braked a little on the bend. He turned to the left on a sudden whim. He’d caught sight of a narrow, potholed track that ran down to the lake, down to a small shedlike cabin. The cabin was clearly unoccupied and didn’t look as if it had been inhabited for a long time. He drove his car right down to the shore and left the engine running. He had to calm down. He took his cigarettes out of his inner pocket and lit one, as he stared pensively out across the great shining expanse of water. His face was narrow, his eyes close together, his hair and brows dark. He was quite a good-looking man, but his demeanor ruined it, he had a forbidding, injured expression, and when occasionally he did smile, it wasn’t convincing. He wasn’t smiling now. He smoked eagerly, became irritated by the purring of the engine in the silence and turned it off. He opened the door and took a few steps toward the water the better to observe the impressive landscape. It was very dark when the headlights went out, but gradually the mountains loomed up in the blackness, like huge primeval beasts lying sleeping around a waterhole. He felt an irrepressible urge to growl loudly in the gloom, perhaps they’d wake up and growl back. Just at that moment he caught sight of the car. An old Ascona. It was parked at the back of the cabin, a somewhat run-down car, all on its own. That was strange. Could there be people in the cabin after all? He crept over to it, suddenly unsure if he were alone, and tried to see in through the side window of the car. The door was unlocked, that was even stranger. The car was empty, there was nothing on the seats or dashboard. He straightened up again and looked around. An odd thought struck him, it made him return to his own car and get in. He sat there pondering as he smoked his cigarette. When he’d smoked it to the filter, he crushed it out in the ashtray and lit a new one.