Карин Фоссум - Hell Fire

“I’ll be home this afternoon, so we can have fun together then,” she said. “We can make a tent with the blanket and two chairs, and we can pretend you live in the tent. I can give you supper in there. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

At daycare, the children each had their own picture by their coat pegs. Simon’s was of a snail, carrying its little house around on its back, its tentacles standing up like two antennae. Simon sat down heavily on the pine bench as his mother took off his jacket and then his hat and scarf, mittens, and toasty boots. He collapsed in a little heap. He didn’t have the energy to protest anymore; he knew that his mother had to go. She took him by the hand and led him to the other children, who were milling around.

This can’t be right, Bonnie thought, leaving him with others. Being away all day. It should be him and me all day long. Her child next to her body, her child within arm’s reach, so she could comfort him if anything should happen. They only had a meager three hours together in the evening. Her guilty conscience gnawed away at her, but she had to work. She was a home health aide who washed, scrubbed, and polished for old people; she vacuumed carpets, shook out rugs, and served food. Today she was going to Erna first, and Erna was always a challenge.

“Good morning, Simon,” said Kaja, who was the head of the daycare. “And what would you like to do today?”

He didn’t have an answer. The little boy wasn’t used to having his wishes fulfilled. He slowly wandered across the room, sat down on the big corner sofa, and picked up a picture book. He started to turn the pages with his thin fingers. He could read a few words — his mother had taught him — the word ice cream and the word ape , and his own name. As his mother’s back disappeared through the door, he got up and ran over to the window. He watched the taillights disappear through the gate and down the road. Now he had to wait for nine hours. He walked slowly back to the sofa and started to look through the book. Kaja sat down beside him.

“You’re on kitchen duty today,” she said with a smile. “You’ll enjoy that, won’t you? We’re going to make bread rolls. And you can knead the dough.”

Simon didn’t answer this either. The sight of the unhappy little thing who was only four and a half years old nearly broke Kaja’s heart. No one should have to leave a crying child. It was wrong and she really felt for Bonnie Hayden. She tried to think about all the positive things: he didn’t go hungry or get cold; he was a much-loved child. And that couldn’t be said for all the children in her care.

Once in the car, Bonnie took a moment to pull herself together. It was the same pain every morning, the same terrible feeling of guilt that she had to push back down. She drove through the gate, on her way to Erna, who was incredibly demanding. She cursed her mean little life, the fight she had every morning with her crying son. Everyone else seemed so much happier than she was — had more energy and plans and dreams for themselves and their children. She often wondered if Simon would manage to get by in life and worried that he would also fall short and be left on the outside. Life was an endless succession of obligations and demands. He had to manage on his own at daycare. He had to make friends and get on with the staff and other children. Then he’d have to do well at school, get good marks, and learn to socialize. He would eventually grow up and have to get a job — preferably a well-paid one. Something secure. And she hoped he would get a girlfriend and that they would have children. And if they didn’t have children, they would have to explain why. No, we don’t want children or we can’t have children. And if they did have children, they would have to manage the endless expectations of society. My little Simon, she thought with smarting eyes. How will things turn out for him?

The car spluttered when she shifted to fourth gear because there was a hole in the exhaust. It was about to fall to pieces, and if it did, she couldn’t afford to buy a new one. And if she didn’t have a car, she couldn’t keep her job as a home health aide. Her heart got stuck in her throat at the thought. She gritted her teeth and put her foot on the accelerator. She knew that Erna would be sitting by the window, watching out for her like a hawk.

Erna’s profile looked like it had been carved in stone as she sat waiting by the window. Bonnie could see the sharp ridge of her nose through the glass. The old woman took her time opening the door as usual, and only with great reluctance let her in. She always liked to make a point. As soon as Bonnie walked through the door, she breathed in the familiar smell of old people who are no longer able to look after themselves.

“It’s cold today,” Erna complained. “You’ll have to put the heat on. My legs are like ice. What about you?”

“Thank you for asking,” Bonnie said. “Simon was completely blue with cold when we left for daycare.”

“You mothers today, you just abandon your children,” Erna said sharply. “We didn’t do that in my day; we were at home with them all day. And why is it you don’t have a husband? Was he not getting what he wanted? You know what men are like.”

“He left, I’ve told you before,” Bonnie replied, upset. “He met someone younger, and there was nothing I could do. You should have seen him; he was completely obsessed. And I don’t want another man. One was enough.”

Once she’d hung up her coat, she went into Erna’s bedroom. In the corner of the room, there was a basket full of socks. Bonnie felt exhausted just at the sight of them. She stood for a while by the bed, her head hanging. If only she could lie down on the soft mattress. Her head ached with tiredness, and though she couldn’t bear the thought of starting to clean, she picked up the basket of socks and went back into the living room. On the way out, she looked up briefly to study a photograph that was hung on the wall. It was of Erna at her confirmation, wearing a long dress. Every time Bonnie saw the picture, she was astonished. Could that really be Erna? It was hard to believe because the young girl in the picture was beautiful and beaming.

Erna was sitting in a wing chair with a blanket over her knees, watching her every move. Bonnie could feel her gimlet eyes on her back. She took a sock from the basket and bent down, lifted the heavy oak coffee table, and put the thick sock on one of the legs. Then she put a sock on the second, third, and fourth. She did the same on the armchairs, which were also as heavy as lead. Erna had an enormous dining table and six chairs at the other end of the room. Soon all of Erna’s furniture was wearing white tennis socks with a red-and-blue stripe. Then it was time to get the heavy vacuum cleaner from the cupboard. The furniture was now protected from the vacuum head, which might otherwise bang against the legs and dent the wood. Erna was worried about wear and tear and the socks were a fixed ritual. Her eyes followed Bonnie as she worked. Her hands lay like claws in her lap and she moved her face from side to side like a bird of prey.

“We have to wash the windows today,” she commanded. “There are marks all over them. Will you never learn to use the squeegee without leaving streaks?”

Bonnie answered loudly over the noise of the vacuum cleaner. “It’s too cold, Erna,” she said in a tired voice. But Erna had an answer for that.

“Put a little denatured alcohol in the water,” she said. “It’s in the cupboard under the sink.”

Bonnie didn’t have the energy to reply. She coaxed the vacuum head in between the table legs, terrified of hitting the precious woodwork. Because then Erna would flare up, call the office, and complain. She’d say that Bonnie was sloppy and didn’t care. Not that Ragnhild in the office ever listened to her, but it was still unpleasant. Erna’s radio was on; she was listening to the news. A caseworker in one of the employment offices in Oslo had been threatened with a knife.