Карин Тидбек - Amatka

“But I agreed with you.”

They looked at each other in silence. “So you did,” the librarian said slowly.

Vanja’s back was itching, as though someone was standing behind her. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody there, of course. But someone could be, at any moment. “I have to go,” she said, and held out her hand. “Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.”

The librarian took her hand and shook it firmly. “Samins’ Evgen.”

“We talked about books today.”

Evgen gave her a sudden smile. “If you want to talk about books again, I’ll be here.”

Back in the street, Vanja shoved her hands into her pockets. About Plant House 7 was in the left one. She’d forgotten to register the loan. It would have to wait. A strange energy was running through her. What if someone had overheard them? She reminded herself to breathe.

The double doors of Leisure Center Two were wide open. Music and voices spilled out into the street. Inside, citizens were divided into groups, engaged in fun activites. It was a packed full-day program: sack racing, three-legged racing, ring tossing, ball games, dancing. The sound of an old dancing tune could be heard now: The farmer stands like so, watch her walk and watch her sow.

Soon, it would be time for the communal evening meal. Children without active parents would be seated among the other households. Everyone would stand up and sing “The Pioneer Song.” Then they would sit down to eat. The children would tell everyone what they’d learned at the children’s house during the week. Their elders would listen and praise them for their diligence.

Vanja stepped inside and gave the clerk by the entrance her name and designation. She continued into the main hall without bothering to hang her anorak up in the coatroom. The hall was long and narrow; high above, square windows close to the ceiling let in the last gray light of evening. Below each window hung posters adorned with quotes and words of wisdom from the Heroes. The long tables in the back of the hall were already set with plates and utensils. Cooking smells spread all the way from the kitchen doors by the stage at the other end of the room. In the space between the stage and the tables, children danced in a ring. Their parents stood around them, clapping a rhythm on their thighs. Vanja found a seat as far back among the tables as possible. She glimpsed Nina and Ivar, playing awkwardly with their daughters in the crowd. She sat still and let the cacophony wash over her until it was late enough to make absconding acceptable.

At home, it was as Vanja fumbled for the light switch that her foot landed in something with a wet noise. The sound traveled up her leg as a cold shock. She forced herself to lift her foot very slowly and then turned the light on.

It was the suitcase. It had been out of sight under the bed, and she hadn’t marked it for several days. It had been so worn, the text on the lid almost erased. She should have scrapped it. Now it was too late. The whitish gloop it had dissolved into had spread across nearly half the floor. It stuck to the sole of her boot. Nothing but her boot between her and that substance. She didn’t know what would happen if she touched it, but it would spread to other objects if she didn’t act fast. Vanja struggled to untie her laces and kicked the boot away. She rushed down the stairs and collided with Nina in the coatroom. She grabbed Nina’s shoulders to stay upright, sending her stumbling backward into the front door.

“What? What is it?” Nina shouted.

“Don’t go upstairs, don’t go upstairs.” Vanja’s heart beat out syncopes against her rib cage. “There’s gloop on the floor.”

Nina exhaled slowly through her nose. “You stay here. I’ll get a cleaner.”

Vanja sat down on the stairs. Ivar came in; he was alone. He glanced at her and then up the stairs. Vanja shook her head, and Ivar pressed his lips together. He went into the kitchen.

Nina came back with two cleaners in yellow overalls in tow. They carried shovels and boxes. She ushered Vanja into the kitchen so the cleaners could pass.

Nina motioned for Vanja to sit down next to Ivar. She poured her a cup of cold coffee.

“Are the girls at the children’s house?” Vanja said, just to fill the silence.

“We have to make sure we mark things here,” Nina said.

Vanja looked into her cup. “It was an old suitcase.”

Nina snorted. “Then you should have had the sense to scrap it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”

“Maybe it’s different in Essre,” Ivar said. “Maybe you can afford to be a little careless there. Because there are more of you, I mean. More people who can mark things.”

“That doesn’t work here,” Nina filled in.

“I get it,” Vanja said. “Please, forgive me.” She pulled her unshod foot into her lap and warmed it between her hands.

They sat in silence, nursing their cups. The cleaners walked up and down the stairs several times. Creaking and scraping noises could be heard from the second floor. Eventually one of the cleaners came into the kitchen. Her face was sweaty.

“We’re done,” she said. “It had barely spread at all.”

“Spread?” Vanja exclaimed.

The others looked at her. “She’s from Essre,” Nina said after a brief pause.

“Aha. Hey,” the cleaner said. “MOSO, remember?”

“Mark often, scrap often,” Vanja replied automatically.

“Here, that means often. Or it’ll spread. You’ll keep an eye on her, yeah?” The cleaner gave them a wave and left.

“Well, then.” Ivar pushed his chair back. “Let’s see what’s what, then.”

The corner where the bed had stood was empty. The cleaners’ tools had left long scratches in the floor. Vanja’s boot was nowhere to be seen. “This is ‘barely’?” Vanja said. She took a step into the room. The foot without a boot tingled.

Ivar let out a short laugh. “It’s always ‘barely.’”

Vanja looked around the room. It would be very uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. And so close to where it had happened.

“You can sleep in my room,” Nina offered. “We’ll get you a new bed tomorrow.”

Vanja hadn’t been into Nina’s room before; the door had always been closed. It was more austere and unadorned than she had thought it would be. The bed was immaculately made, the cabinets shut. There was no desk. A poster of an old evening poem sat on the wall:

Nina stripped down to her green underpants and a shirt that fit snuggly across her shoulders and upper arms. They were beautiful shoulders, wide and rounded. She wasn’t wearing a bra; her breasts moved freely under her shirt. Vanja turned away and peeled off her outmost layer of clothes, folding and stacking them carefully. She was afraid to turn around.

“We’ll have to lie on our sides,” Nina said. “No room for sleeping on your back.” She was already in bed, facing the wall.

Vanja slipped in under the duvet next to Nina and stared out into the room. “Are you angry?” she asked.

“I got over it hours ago,” Nina mumbled. “But if you steal the duvet or snore. Then.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“Or if you apologize again. Then.”

“Sorry,” Vanja said before she could stop herself.

Nina gave her a kick. “Last chance. Good night.”

Vanja heard Nina’s breaths deepen and slow down, heard the rustle of sheets when Nina’s legs twitched as she drifted off. It shouldn’t be that difficult to fall asleep; it had been a long day. The business with the suitcase had been draining, and she was used to sharing a bed. But the warmth radiating from Nina’s back was so palpable. It spread down the backs of her legs and made the soles of her feet prickle. Vanja scooted as close as she could without actually touching Nina’s back with her own. She lay awake for a long time.