Karin Alvtegen - Shame

Pernilla was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a newspaper, seemingly without interest. Daniella was nowhere to be seen. On an old chest of drawers with a stripped finish stood a burning candle in a brass candlestick, and the glow fell over his broad smile. The photograph had been enlarged and put in a glossy gold frame. Monika looked down at the floor when he met her gaze, wanting to get out of his field of vision, but his accusing eyes had a view of the whole room. There was no escape. She could feel him watching her suspiciously and questioning her presence, but she would show him; over time he would learn that she was his ally and that he could trust her. That she wouldn’t deceive him again.

Pernilla put down the newspaper on the chest of drawers and looked at her.

‘Seriously, I think we can manage by ourselves this evening. I mean if you’re short-staffed.’

‘No, there’s no danger of that. Absolutely none.’

Monika wondered uneasily what was expected of her, what the others from the crisis group had done to make themselves useful. But she couldn’t think of anything before Pernilla went on.

‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but, to be quite honest, it’s beginning to be a bit tiresome always having strangers here in the flat. Nothing personal, of course.’

Pernilla gave a little smile, as if to minimise her words, but the smile never reached her eyes.

‘I really think I need to be alone for a while.’

Monika smiled back to conceal her desperation. Not now, not when she was so close.

Then Pernilla threw out the lifeline that Monika so urgently needed.

‘But if you could just help me take down something in the kitchen before you go.’

Monika felt the fear subside; all she needed was a way in, a little opening to be able to demonstrate the value of her presence. She gratefully accepted the assignment.

‘Of course, no problem, what is it?’

Pernilla got up from the sofa and Monika noticed the grimace she made when her back straightened. Saw her twist her right shoulder forward in an attempt to be rid of the pain.

‘It’s the smoke alarm in the ceiling. The battery is going dead, so it keeps beeping.’

Monika followed Pernilla into the kitchen. Quickly looked around to learn some more. Mostly things from Ikea, lots of pictures and notes on the refrigerator, some ceramic objects that looked home-made, three historical portraits in simple frames over the kitchen table. She resisted the temptation to go over to the refrigerator and read the notes. That would have to come later.

Pernilla pulled out a chair and set it underneath the smoke alarm.

‘I have a problem with my back, and raising my arm above my head is simply impossible.’

Monika climbed up on the chair.

‘What sort of problem do you have with your back?’

An attempt to break the ice. They didn’t know each other. Starting now Monika would forget everything she already knew.

‘I was in an accident five years ago. A diving accident.’

Monika twisted the alarm box off the holder.

‘That sounds serious.’

‘Yes, it was, but I’m better now.’

Pernilla fell silent. Monika handed her the alarm. Pernilla picked out the battery and went over to the counter. When she opened the cupboard Monika glimpsed cleaning supplies and a pull-out recycling bin.

Pernilla turned round and Monika realised that she was expecting her to leave now that she had finished her task. But she hadn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Monika turned to the portraits on the wall.

‘What a lovely portrait of Sofia Magdalena. It was Carl Gustav Pilo who painted it, wasn’t it?’

She could see that Pernilla was surprised.

‘Yes, it could be. I’m not really sure.’

Pernilla went over to the portrait to check whether there was a signature, but apparently couldn’t find one. She turned to Monika again.

‘Are you interested in art?’

Monika smiled.

‘No, not in art particularly, but in history. Especially the history of Sweden. You pick up a few artists’ names in the process. I go through periods when I get almost fanatical about reading history books.’

Pernilla gave a little smile, and this time her eyes began to sparkle a bit.

‘How strange. I’m really interested in history too. Mattias often used that very word. That I was almost fanatical.’

Monika stood silently, relinquishing the initiative. Pernilla looked at the portrait again.

‘There’s something consoling about history. Reading about all these destinies that have come and gone. At any rate it’s helped me gain a little perspective on my own problems, I mean all the trouble with my back after the accident and all.’

Monika nodded with interest, as if she were actually following along. Following along intently. Pernilla looked down at her hands.

‘But now I don’t know.’

She paused for a moment.

‘How there could be any consolation in history, I mean. Other than that he’s dead like all the rest.’

Just listen. Don’t try to comfort her, just listen and be there .

Silence. Not only because of what she had learned in her courses, but because she couldn’t think of anything to say. She glanced furtively at the jumble on the refrigerator door. She wanted so badly to have a closer look. Try to find more ways into Pernilla’s life.

‘He had to choose between this and what he had on when he died. When he was packing, I mean.’

Pernilla stroked the big woollen jumper she was wearing. Pulled up the collar and pressed it against her cheek.

‘I did a big load of laundry the day before he died. Emptied the whole laundry basket. So now I don’t even have the smell of him left.’

Just listen . But they hadn’t said much at those courses about how to act to be able to withstand everything you heard.

It was Daniella who rescued her. A newly awakened discontent was audible from the room next to the kitchen. Pernilla let go of the collar and left. Monika took three steps over to the refrigerator and quickly began looking through the collage. Family photos. Coupons from a pizzeria. A strip of pictures of Mattias and Pernilla from a photo booth. Several incomprehensible drawings by a child. Some clippings from a newspaper. She had barely managed to read the headline of one of them before Pernilla returned.

‘This is Daniella.’

The child hid her face against her mother’s neck.

‘She’s just woken up but she’ll be wide awake soon.’

Monika went over to them and put her hand on Daniella’s back.

Daniella pressed her face even harder into her hiding place.

‘We’ll have to say hello later after you’ve had time to wake up.’

Pernilla pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down with Daniella on her lap. Once again the feeling that she expected Monika to leave, as she had asked her to do. But Monika wanted to stay a bit longer. Stay here where it was possible for her to breathe.

‘What an elegant ceramic bowl.’

She pointed to a bowl on the windowsill.

‘Oh, that. I made it myself.’

‘Really?’

Monika went over and took a closer look. Blue and thrown a little askew.

‘Really very fine. I once took a pottery course too, but I haven’t had a chance the past few years. My job takes up too much time.’

That wasn’t even a lie. She had taken ceramics as an option in high school.

‘That one is really crooked. I only saved it as a reminder that I had to stop ceramics when I injured my back. I just couldn’t sit still very long anymore.’

Pernilla sat looking at the bowl.

‘Mattias liked that one too. He said it reminded him of me. I wanted to throw it out but he absolutely insisted we keep it.’

Each time his name was spoken Monika could feel her own heartbeat. How her pulse quickened, signalling danger. Daniella had come out of her hiding place and sat looking at her. Monika smiled.