Карин Тидбек - Amatka

“No. I haven’t been back since the time you took me there.”

Evgen breathed out through his nose in one short snort. Beads of moisture had formed on Vanja’s eyelashes. Annoyed, she wiped them away and broke the silence. “What are you going to do?”

Evgen let out a shrill giggle. “It’s just a matter of time. Either they know who I am, and they followed me there. Or they’ll figure it out. Not a lot of people have access to those kinds of documents. It’s over, Vanja.” He pulled his coat tighter around him. “I’m going to be arrested. They’ll probably do a procedure on me, too. Do you know what they do with people after? They dump them in a secret camp and leave them to die.”

“I’ve seen it,” Vanja said.

Evgen seemed not to hear her. When she met his gaze, his eyes were blank and feverish. “The question is what I can do before they take me in. We have to act before… Look, it’s time. We have to do something, tonight. I have a plan. Follow me.” He held out his hand.

“What’s the plan, Evgen?”

“You won’t like it,” he said. “But if someone’s down there, I think we should talk to them.”

Vanja froze. “No,” she said.

“They’re coming to help us,” Evgen said. “Remember?”

“Evgen, wait,” Vanja said. “I have to go home to Nina, she needs me. And if I don’t come home… she’ll be suspicious. Could we just wait until a little later tonight?”

“It’s now or never, Vanja,” Evgen said.

“Just give me a few hours.”

“Fine. One o’clock.”

Evgen turned around and walked into Amatka, shoulders pulled up to his ears. He looked small against the plant-house wall.

Nina came down into the kitchen and ate the fried porridge Vanja served. She moved slowly as though she were in pain, but at least she ate. They didn’t talk. When Nina had managed a little more than half of her portion, she got up and put the plate in the fridge. Then she kissed the top of Vanja’s head and went upstairs. When Vanja came up a while later, she’d gone back to bed. Her own, this time.

Vanja went into her own room, closed the door, and sat down at her desk. She took the thing that had been a pencil out of her pocket and studied it. It still had the same approximate shape she’d managed to impose on it earlier. The whitish surface was cool and a little rough. She rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “Spoon,” she whispered. “Spoon, spoon, spoon, spoon, spoon.”

A tiny shudder went through the material. Her marking pen lay next to the typewriter. She uncorked it and wrote SPOON. The tip of her pen punched through the surface in a couple of spots; it felt a lot like sticking a fork in a mushroom. Vanja leaned forward over the table. She closed her eyes and tried to make herself do that thing with her mind, that shameful thing, to truly imagine that a thing was something other than it was. “Spoon,” she breathed. “Spoon, spoon, spoon, spoon, spoon-spoon-spoon-spoon-spoon-spoon—”

She was close enough to hear the wet noise of the substance shifting, and she opened her eyes. One of the ends had flattened into a concave disc. It looked like a spoon, sort of. She took a deep breath and tried again.

After an hour and a half, she had managed to create something that actually looked like a real spoon, albeit transparent, rough, and a little dented. The effort had made her head feel empty. Still, she had found the way that seemed to work best: to use speech, writing, and thought to describe in detail something that didn’t exist, to make it come into existence. At first it had made her nauseous, but then the pit of her stomach had begun to tingle.

Vanja resisted the temptation to try to create something bigger. She wrapped the spoon in a sock and stuffed it into the pocket of her anorak. It was late. She got undressed, went into Nina’s room, and crawled into bed. Nina wrapped an arm around her. She would just lie here until Nina was deep asleep, then go to meet Evgen.

She fell asleep instantly.

Vanja woke with a start to the breaking of the ice. How long had Evgen waited for her? Was he angry? Had he gone without her? There was no way for her to check until after work.

Nina was frying root vegetables in the kitchen. Her eyes were swollen but she was dressed and had made an attempt to untangle her curls. Vanja wrapped her arms around her and rested her cheek against her back, listening to the air rushing in and out of her lungs.

“Slept okay?” Nina’s voice vibrated against her cheek.

“Fine. And you?”

“Great. Hey, would you check if Ulla wants breakfast?”

Vanja frowned. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“I thought you knew.”

Vanja let go of Nina. “Not since… not for days.”

“Why haven’t we…”

They started for the stairs as one.

There was no reply when Nina knocked on Ulla’s door. She pushed the handle down, but the door wouldn’t budge. She ran up to her own room to get the spare key. Vanja put her ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything on the other side. When Nina finally found the spare key and got the door open, they were met by silence. Nina went inside and shrunk back from something before Vanja had time to see what it was. She backed into the door on the right.

Now that Nina wasn’t blocking the view, Vanja could see into the room straight ahead, Ulla’s room. The door was wide open. In the light falling in through the window, the substance flowing out of the room shimmered yellow. Nina let out a breath that sounded more like a groan, turned around, and opened the door behind her. Then she crossed the corridor on stiff legs and opened the door to the left. After looking inside, she turned to the first room and leaned over to see inside. She turned back to Vanja. Her face had taken on a greenish hue.

“Ulla isn’t here. I’ll go get cleaners.” She pushed past Vanja and ran down the stairs three steps at a time.

Vanja stayed in the doorway. The mess before her no longer inspired the same terror. She walked over to it, crouched down, and gingerly put a hand on its gelatinous surface. It was warm, body temperature, and buzzed under her hand, twitching almost. She rose and craned her neck to look inside the room. Ulla wasn’t there. Neither was the furniture. But on top of a quivering, transparent mound rested a box she recognized. The last time she’d seen it was in Evgen’s hands, in old Amatka. The outer and inner lids had been removed. The box was still brimming with papers—the letters, the logs that told the true story of Amatka’s past. Ulla must have shadowed Vanja and Evgen to old Amatka and taken them.

The other rooms were empty. Vanja returned to the corridor and for a moment considered wading into the mess and grabbing as many papers as she could. If she took her boots off, she might be able to do it. She was unlacing one of them when she caught the sound of Nina coming back up the stairs. Vanja hastily retreated to the hallway.

“They’re on their way,” Nina said from the landing. “They’re coming. Shut the door.”

She bent over, panting, her hands on her knees. She didn’t seem to notice Vanja’s unlaced boot.

“Ulla isn’t there,” Vanja said, pointlessly.

Nina nodded. “Nope. We’ll have to report her missing.”

“I will,” Vanja replied.

She pulled her anorak on and left. The papers would have to stay where they were. There was no way she could sneak them past Nina.

Outside, an acrid stink filled the air. A pillar of grayish-black smoke rose toward the sky to the north. There were residential houses in northern Amatka, plant houses. And the library. The closer Vanja came to the pillar of smoke, the more citizens hurried down the street, all heading north.