Karin Alvtegen - Shame

She opened her eyes. The dream was gone but not the feeling it left behind. Thin, sticky threads of her consciousness held on to it and tried in vain to put it into context.

The pillow behind her back had slipped to one side. With great effort she managed to heave herself out of bed and onto her feet. Saba raised her head to look at her but lay down again and went back to sleep.

Why had she suddenly been dreaming so much? The nights were filled with dangers, and it was hard enough to sleep sitting up without having to worry about what her mind was going to do when she relaxed her grip.

It must be the fault of that little person. The one who had been coming over lately and had such a hard time keeping her mouth shut. Maj-Britt hadn’t asked to know, but Ellinor had told her anyway. Without being asked she had let the words flow out of her mouth, and every one of them had penetrated into Maj-Britt’s reluctant ears. Vanja was one of the few women in Sweden who had been sentenced to life in prison. Fifteen or sixteen years ago she had suffocated her children in their sleep, slit her husband’s throat, and then set fire to the house where they lived in the hope of killing herself in the blaze. At least that was what she claimed afterwards, having survived with serious burns. Ellinor didn’t know much more than that; the little she knew she had read in a Sunday supplement. A report on the most closely guarded women in Sweden.

But what she remembered and recounted was more than Maj-Britt ever wanted to know. And as if that weren’t enough, the little person refused to stop plaguing her, trying to weasel out of her how she knew Vanja and whether she knew any more details. Naturally she hadn’t replied, but it was distressing that the girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut and just clean, which was the only reason she was in the flat in the first place. But she just wouldn’t shut up. Such a constant stream that you might almost think her speech organs had to be kept busy for the rest of her body to function. One day she had even brought along a potted plant, a dreadful little purple thing that didn’t flourish – maybe it didn’t like the smell of bleach. Or else it was the subzero temperature on the balcony at night that it didn’t appreciate. Ellinor insisted that she was going to complain at the shop and ask for a new one, but thankfully it didn’t appear in Maj-Britt’s flat.

‘Is there anything you’d like me to buy for next time, or should I just follow the usual list?’

Maj-Britt was sitting in the easy chair watching TV. One of those reality shows that were on all the time these days; this one was about a group of scantily clad young people who had to win the right to keep their room at a hotel by procuring as quickly as possible a roommate of the opposite sex.

‘Earplugs would be nice. Preferably the yellow ones made of foam rubber you can get at the chemist’s, the kind that workers use in noisy jobs. They swell up and block the entire ear canal.’

Ellinor jotted it down on the list. Maj-Britt glanced at her and thought she saw a little smile under her fringe, just above her plunging neckline where her breasts were about to pop out of her jumper.

This person was going to drive Maj-Britt crazy. She couldn’t figure out what exactly was wrong with her, since she didn’t let herself be provoked. Never before had she felt such a wholehearted desire to get rid of someone, but all of a sudden none of her usual old tricks was working.

‘Whatever happened to that nice Shajiba? Why doesn’t she come by anymore?’

‘She doesn’t want to. She and I traded work schedules because she didn’t dare come here anymore.’

Oh, really. Shajiba might not have been so bad after all. Right now she looked like an absolute dream.

‘You’ll have to tell her that I really appreciated her work.’

Ellinor stuffed the shopping list in her pocket.

‘Then it was a shame that you called her “nigger whore” the last time she was here. I don’t think she took it as a sign of your appreciation.’

Maj-Britt went back to the TV.

‘It’s not until you have something to compare things to that you can see clearly.’

She glanced in Ellinor’s direction, and now she was smiling again; Maj-Britt could have sworn that it was a little smile she saw. There was quite clearly something wrong with this person. Maybe she was even mentally handicapped.

She could imagine what the gossip was down there at the home care office. How hated she must be as a User. That’s what they were called: not patients or clients, but Users. Users of home care. Users who required the help of little, repulsive people because they couldn’t manage without it.

Let them say what they liked. She enjoyed playing the role of The Big Fat Ogre that nobody wanted on their work schedule. She didn’t care. It wasn’t her fault that things had turned out like this.

It was Göran’s.

On the TV, one of the female participants had just lied to a gullible girlfriend and started to take off her shirt in order to tempt a potential roommate. The lowest types of human behaviour had been suddenly elevated to desirable entertainment by people who degraded themselves in full view of the public. They filled the TV schedule, they were on every channel, all you had to do was click through with the remote. And they all tried to outdo each other with their shocking behaviour in order to keep their viewers. It was disgusting to see.

She seldom missed a single episode.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Ellinor was standing watching the TV. A little exasperated snort was heard in the room.

‘Jesus. Dumbing-down has really taken over.’

Maj-Britt pretended not to hear. As if that would help.

‘Do you know that people in all seriousness sit and discuss those programmes, as if they were something important? The world is going under out there, but people say the hell with it and get involved in stuff like this instead. I’m sure there’s a conspiracy behind all this shit; we’re supposed to become as stupid as possible so that the powers that be can do as they like without having us complain about it.’

Maj-Britt sighed. Just think if she could have a little peace and quiet. But Ellinor wouldn’t stop.

‘It makes you sick to watch it.’

‘So don’t watch.’

Admitting that she partially agreed with her was out of the question. She would rather justify a cholera epidemic than admit that she shared an opinion with this person. And now Ellinor was really wound up.

‘I wonder what would happen if they shut down all the TV stations for a couple of weeks, and at the same time saw to it that people couldn’t drink any alcohol. Then at least the ones who didn’t go right out and hang themselves would be forced to react to what the hell is going on.’

No matter how much Maj-Britt disliked using the telephone, soon there would be no other alternative; she had to ring the office and get this girl replaced. She had never had to do that before. They had always seen fit to leave on their own.

The thought of a mandatory telephone conversation made her even angrier.

‘Maybe you should apply to join them. With those clothes you wouldn’t even have to change.’

It was quiet for a moment, and Maj-Britt kept watching the TV.

‘Why would you say something like that?’

It was hard to tell whether she sounded angry or sad, and Maj-Britt went on.

‘If you ever passed by a mirror and glanced at yourself then you wouldn’t have to ask such a dumb question.’

‘So what’s wrong with my clothes, in your opinion?’

‘What clothes? I haven’t worn my glasses in so long that unfortunately I haven’t been able to see any.’

It was quiet again. Maj-Britt would have liked to see if her words had hit home, but refrained. On the TV the credits had begun to roll. The programme was sponsored by NorLevo, a morning-after pill supplier.