Карин Тидбек - Amatka

“It’s four o’clock,” the receptionist eventually said.

He picked up the receiver, pressed a button, and handed the receiver to Vanja.

The supervisor’s voice was faint and crackly on the other end of the line. She was very impressed with Vanja’s work so far, and would send her extra credits as a reward. She looked forward to seeing Vanja do a presentation when she returned to Essre. Vanja’s work was so outstanding it would be used as a model for future market research. And would she be interested in going to Odek or Balbit after this? Or would she prefer to stay in Essre?

“No,” Vanja said carefully. It felt right. “No. I’m going to stay here.”

“But you can’t do that,” the supervisor said. “You were supposed to give a presentation. That’s part of the assignment.”

“That’s not in my contract. It says I’m supposed to collect and send information.”

“No, but of course you’re supposed to present it, too. We have to be able to ask questions!”

“Everything is in the reports. There’s not much else. I’ll send the final report soon.”

The line crackled empty for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” the supervisor said eventually. “I didn’t see this coming.”

“My contract doesn’t state,” Vanja repeated, “that I’m supposed to do more than conduct an investigation and then send you reports.”

“But it’s a given.”

“Not to me. And it doesn’t say how long I have to work for, either. You only said to take all the time I needed. And I have.”

“I see.” The supervisor’s voice was strangely small. “You do understand that you’re making our job harder, Vanja. What we’re trying to do is no easy thing.”

“Well, be that as it may, I’m resigning.”

“You’ll lose your bonus.” The voice had slipped into a whine. “And I won’t write a letter of recommendation.”

“It’s just soap. Good-bye,” Vanja said.

“Shit,” the supervisor said.

Vanja put the receiver down. She let out a long, shuddering breath.

The receptionist lifted the telephone off the desk and looked at her with raised eyebrows. He had very obviously listened in on the conversation.

“I’m registering for residence.” Vanja took her papers out of the breast pocket on her anorak. “And I want to sign up for work.”

Becoming a member of Amatka’s commune was a quick process. A short form to complete the information she had given on arrival, a requisition form for transport of any belongings from Essre, a labor registration form where she listed her skills and work history. The receptionist took the finished forms, read them through, and then dug a list out of one of the piles of paper on the desk. He checked Vanja’s labor registration form against the list, nodded, scrutinized her, and then looked back down at the papers.

“You’ll be an assistant here at the commune office,” he said. “That’s what’s available. Because I noticed you have no farming experience.”

“No.”

“You’ll start on Firstday at eight, work until five, one-hour break at midday.”

“What will I be doing?”

“Admin tasks. We’ll go through them when you start. I’m busy at the moment.”

The receptionist sat back down behind the desk and demonstratively turned his gaze to his piles of paper.

Vanja stepped out onto the darkening plaza with a gnawing feeling in her stomach. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe it was completely insane. She walked along the twilit streets, following the weary stream of workers on their way home. The outdoor lamps lit up one after the other. The cold yellow light brought out lines and folds in the introverted faces around her. No one met her gaze.

When she arrived at the household—no, home—the front door opened a crack. Nina stood in the coatroom, arms folded across her chest. She had been waiting. Vanja felt her face break into a smile. Nina smiled back, at first warily, then broadly.

“You’re staying,” she said when Vanja reached the door.

Something in Vanja’s belly clenched hard and then relaxed. She nodded.

Vanja sat at her desk wrapped in the duvet. She finished her last report, in which she noted that the citizens of Amatka had expressed no need for new hygiene products, with two exceptions: a hypoallergenic laundry detergent and a mild antidandruff hair soap. She ended the report with her resignation.

She looked at the report she had just written, stood up, took a turn around the room, and sat back down. The duvet bunched up under her thighs. There wasn’t really anything else to say. She stared at her notes from the meeting with Ulla. They were unusable. They should be scrapped immediately. Instead, she put them at the very back of the NOTES folder. She gathered up the pages of the official report and popped them into a brown envelope. It wasn’t even midday. She stared blankly at the envelope until the lumpy duvet under her legs brought her back, and she had to stand up and smooth it out. A small noise made her turn around. Tora and Ida stood in the doorway, watching her. It was impossible to tell how long they’d been standing there. Tora’s shirt had food stains. Ida’s mouth hung open.

Vanja attempted a smile. “Hello.”

Without a word, they turned and ran.

Ivar was the one who had fetched the children. Vanja heard him pottering about in the kitchen, talking to them. Ulla was down there as well; the sound of her sharp voice carried up through the stairwell, but Vanja couldn’t hear the actual words. Vanja waited until Ulla had shuffled back up to her own room, then went downstairs.

Ivar was frying something or other he’d found in the fridge. The children sat at the table, whispering to each other. They fell silent when Vanja entered.

Ivar turned halfway around. “I heard you’re staying.”

“Yes.” Vanja hesitated in the doorway. She couldn’t tell what Ivar was thinking.

Ivar turned back to the frying pan and nodded. “That’s good. Nina will be happy.”

“Oh. Good.” Vanja stayed in the doorway.

Tora and Ida resumed their whispering.

“Could you make some coffee,” Ivar said after a while.

They ate in silence. Vanja washed the dishes, then went upstairs. After some hesitation, she knocked on Ulla’s door. This time, it took some time before Ulla opened. She looked tired and worn; her usual smile was gone.

“What?” she said.

“I need to ask you a question,” Vanja said. “Can I come in?”

“Certainly.” Ulla took a couple of steps back.

Inside, Vanja lowered her voice to a whisper. “Were you at the lake last night?”

Ulla raised an eyebrow. “Where does this come from?”

“I was there,” Vanja said.

Ulla’s smile returned. “Went down to the lake at night, did we?”

“I thought I saw someone who looked like you.”

“I heard you were drinking.”

“I was.”

Ulla nodded. “So you went out to the lake, alone, drunk. What did you see exactly?”

“Um,” Vanja said. “I saw someone… sticking a pipe into the water… and blowing into it. There was a noise.”

“You realize how all this sounds, don’t you?” Ulla smiled at her.

Vanja held her gaze. “I think that was you.”

“And why would I be doing that?”

“Someone came from across the lake.”

Ulla’s eyes brightened for a moment. “Is that so?”

“Who was it?”

For a moment, Ulla looked as if she was about to say something. Then she shook her head. “You’re very curious, my dear. And very reckless. I think you need to ask yourself what you’re doing.”

“So there was someone.”

“I think maybe you need to stay sober.” Ulla winked at her. “Now off you go.”