Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

I had no reason to doubt the veracity of what she said. I realised that was the most important thing I could tell her.

‘That’s a remarkable story, and I believe you. And of course I won’t tell anyone else.’

‘I had to explain, but I don’t want to talk about it any more. It’s my story, not yours, not ours. Mine.’

I offered to cook her a simple meal, and to my surprise she accepted the invitation. Louise had left a fish pie in the freezer compartment; I put it in the microwave and got out the cans of beer I had bought. We ate and drank and talked about anything apart from what she had just told me.

We said nothing about her journey home, we just carried on chatting and finished off the beer. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask her. I was convinced that she would soon move away; I felt as if she didn’t fit in at all in the small town where she lived and worked. However, I didn’t mention it. I had come to realise that she liked to choose the moment when it came to sharing information about herself.

‘I’ll have to stay the night,’ she said when it was almost midnight.

I had been expecting her to say that.

‘We’ll manage somehow,’ I said. ‘You take the bed and I’ll put a mattress on the floor. It’s a bit cramped, but it’s OK.’

I put a pan of water on the hob and gave her a towel.

‘I’ll go and see to the boats; when you’ve had a wash and got into bed, turn out the light. I can find my way around in the dark.’

‘I’ve never slept in a caravan,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’ve never even slept in a tent.’

I picked up my jacket and was just about to leave when she touched my shoulder.

‘I can take the mattress,’ she said. ‘The bed is yours. But don’t expect anything.’

I just shook my head and went outside. When I turned I saw that she had drawn the curtain.

I switched off my torch and stood motionless in the darkness. I could hear the sound of a cargo ship in the distance, ploughing through the waves, although I couldn’t work out in which direction it was going. It was a moment of absolute timelessness. I have always felt that time, the passage of the year, was a growing burden, as if days and years can be measured in grams and kilograms. The timelessness I experienced as I stood there on the jetty was almost like weightlessness. I closed my eyes and listened to the night breeze. There was no past, no future, no worry about Louise, no burned-out house. Above all there was no botched operation, no young woman who had lost her arm.

I felt tears scalding my eyes.

It wasn’t me, standing there on the jetty. It was the child I had once been.

I managed to pull myself together. I wiped my eyes and noticed that the light in the caravan had gone off. I went into the boathouse and fetched a bar of saltwater soap, then I stripped off and climbed down into the ice-cold water. I worked up a good lather, then dipped under the surface. By the time I got dressed my fingers were blue, my legs were shaking and my teeth were chattering.

I jumped up and down on the jetty to get my circulation going; only to get cramp in one leg. I had to massage my calf muscle before I was able to walk back up to the caravan. The pain had driven home the truth: I was a man of almost seventy who was tired, slightly hungover and wanted to sleep more than anything. Softly I opened the door; the light from the small lamp in the kitchen area cast a faint glow over the room. Lisa had turned to face the wall; only her head was visible above the covers. No doubt she was awake but wanted me to think she was asleep. I rolled out the mattress, fetched a pillow and a blanket from the cupboard, undressed to my underpants, switched off the lamp and lay down.

When I was studying medicine, before I met Harriet, a group of us went to a bar. It was someone’s birthday; he had plenty of money, and was treating us. At the end of the evening I joined forces with one of the female students because we were going in the same direction. It was winter, cold and icy. She was a fairly anonymous member of the group; not pretty or funny, just pale and quiet. She spent most of her time alone and seemed perfectly happy to do so; she never really sought out the company of anyone else. Just before we were about to say goodnight, she slipped on a patch of ice. I caught her before she fell, and suddenly I was holding her close. It happened in a second. We could feel each other’s bodies through our thick winter coats. Without either of us saying anything, I went home with her. She had a small bedsit; I can still remember the scent of soap. As soon as we got through the door she was tearing at my clothes. I still think she was the most passionate woman I have ever met. She raked her nails down my back and bit my face. When we finally fell asleep at dawn, the sheets were spattered with blood. A glance in the bathroom mirror told me that I looked like someone who had been hit by a hail of shotgun pellets.

We didn’t speak during the night. In spite of her wildness she didn’t utter a single word. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. She had left a brief note on the table.

Thanks. Close the door when you leave.

Later that day we met in a lecture on ethics. She nodded at me as if absolutely nothing had happened. I tried to speak to her during the break, but she simply shook her head. She didn’t want to talk. I’m not even sure she wanted to remember.

I never went to her apartment again after that night. When we qualified, we went our separate ways; many years later I saw her name in a death notice. She had died suddenly, and was mourned by her parents, brother and sister. She was forty-two years old and working as a GP in the northern province of Västerbotten at the time.

When I saw the notice I felt a deep and unexpected wave of grief. I missed her, although I didn’t understand why.

‘I can tell you’re not asleep,’ Lisa said.

She didn’t turn over. Her words bounced off the wall.

‘I never sleep particularly well,’ I replied.

She rolled over. I could just make out her face in the light shining faintly through the curtain.

‘I was asleep,’ she said. ‘Then all at once I woke up and didn’t know where I was. It’s worse than the worst nightmare, that split second when you don’t know where you are. It’s as if you don’t know who you are either. While I was dreaming someone has taken my face and my body and replaced them with something I don’t recognise; I don’t know who they belong to.’

‘I never have nightmares in the caravan. It’s as if there isn’t room in here. Nightmares need space, or a proper bedroom at least.’

‘It’s the opposite way round for me.’

The conversation stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

‘I have to repeat what I said when you slept on my sofa,’ she said after a while. ‘I hope you’re not expecting anything just because I’ve stayed over. But perhaps you’ve already got the message?’

‘One always expects something,’ I replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean you have anything to worry about.’

‘What is it you expect?’

‘Do I have to answer that?’

‘I can’t force you.’

‘Well, of course I’m expecting you to ask me to join you in bed, and then we’ll make love.’

Lisa laughed. She didn’t sound annoyed or surprised.

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘I’m too old for you anyway.’

‘I’ve never slept with a man I wasn’t deeply in love with.’ She turned to face the wall once more. ‘Let’s go to sleep. If we carry on talking I’ll be wide awake.’

‘You started it,’ I pointed out.

‘I know. Go to sleep.’

It was a long time before I nodded off. The temptation to get up and squeeze into the bed was ever-present. Either she would open her body to me or push me away.