Helle Helle - This Should Be Written in the Present Tense

‘No need. I’ll just walk back and get it.’

‘Right you are. I’ll be off to the baker’s, then. Look after yourself,’ she said, and held out her hand. It was soft and moist.

I stood and watched as she pulled away. She turned and waved before disappearing round a corner by some redbrick flats. I laid the suitcase down and opened it and got my money out. Then I stood it on its end again and draped a top over it. I left it where it was and crossed the road to a corner shop where I bought three small cartons of juice and a packet of biscuits. When I came out Lars was standing on the square with a vanload of hanging fuchsias. For a second I thought it was some kind of welcome. It was such an odd coincidence all we could do was act normal. I gave him a juice and hid the biscuits away in my suitcase.

I lived with Lars in his bedsit in Haslev. We had a daybed with storage, and a corner unit and a desk that doubled as a dinner table. Every morning after he’d gone I went down into the little courtyard and picked a handful of flowers and arranged them in the pewter mug on the desk. I washed my hair in egg yolk, I walked round the town looking at clothes and jewellery. I bought coconut milk and packet noodles, and a funny purple fruit we couldn’t get open. The kitchen and bathroom were communal. The guy next door was from Egøje, he never rinsed the sink after himself. One of the others was a driving instructor. Lars was going back to teacher training college after the summer holiday, he was so tanned his stubble was luminous. He lay on the daybed with his hands behind his head, while I sat at the table looking at him. Or else I’d read a newspaper he’d brought home from the nursery and fiddle with the arrangement in the mug. We ate lots of potatoes with cold gravy. When we hugged, my eyes would blink madly behind his shoulder.

We didn’t go round the town together, we never went anywhere at all. I practised walking with a straight back, up and down Jernbanegade in a new yellow dress. I’d bought a pair of strappy high heels too. In the evenings I set the table nicely and we’d eat with the door of the French balcony open. There were two little girls who often played in the yard. They made dens behind a bush and had doll’s tea parties. I stood at the balcony door and waved to them, sometimes they waved back. I called for Lars to come and see, but they didn’t interest him much. I polished my nails with cotton wool dipped in sunflower oil. Now and then we had wine with our meal, diluted with sparkling water. I had a very small appetite, so I began to eat butter. I never had breakfast until after he’d gone. I made myself a piece of toast and a cup of coffee. I sat with a crossword while I drank the coffee. Afterwards I did a bit of dusting and let some air in. I washed the bed sheets in the laundry room in the basement. As soon as the washing machine had started I hurried back upstairs and set the egg timer. I lay down gently on the daybed so as not to mess up my hair, I’d started putting it up with hairpins. I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t picture what I read. Lars read Kafka, he didn’t see the point in reading anything else. When he read, his eyes darted from side to side. I wondered if mine did the same thing and if it was flattering. I plucked my eyebrows in a hand mirror in front of the balcony door. I took my clothes off even before he got home, and stood in various poses by the desk. I had my photo taken with a bowler hat on. The hat was kept on the corner unit, balanced on a bottle of Bacardi.

Once in a while I went and phoned Per. The nearest phone box was by the cinema. I always made sure to have five-krone coins with me, but I never needed them. His voice was by turns exuberant and weary. I asked how he was feeling and he said they were going to Anholt for the holidays. Then after that to Bulgaria. Only he didn’t know if he wanted to go to Bulgaria. It’d be nice to have the place to himself without the folks around, he said, and then he started crying. There was a rustling noise as he drew away. I stood there breathing into the black receiver, it steamed up. Then Ruth came on the line.

‘Listen, please don’t ring Per up any more. He gets far too upset,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘So please don’t.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. My palm was moist from clutching my change. I went the long way home. It was a Tuesday, market day on the square. I bought a carton of strawberries and a peach, and ate the peach as I walked. It dripped on my yellow dress. I prepared the strawberries and put them in the fridge. After that I lay down on the floor in front of the open balcony door and sunbathed. I used the sunbeds just past the church too, they cost ten kroner for twenty-five minutes. Two girls took turns on reception, one of them had thick hair and eyes like a cat. She spoke with a Jutland accent, I wondered what she was doing in Haslev.

‘Do you want to book another session while you’re here?’

‘Yes, please. For tomorrow.’

‘Are you on holiday?’

‘You could say.’

‘Brilliant,’ she said, and put me in the book for three o’clock.

‘Yes, brilliant,’ I said, I’d be able to get home and have a bath before Lars got off work. I found myself thinking she was probably his type, she had nice, neat hands. I washed the peach stain off under the tap, it dried again in a jiffy. My hair was almost white from the sun, it suited me. I put the dress back on and set the table with glasses and cutlery. Then I thought better of it and put it all back in the unit. I was sitting with The Castle in front of me when he came home. First he had a rest and after that a bath. Then he stood for a bit and looked out of the window without saying anything.

‘There’s strawberries, I nearly forgot,’ I said, and went out to the kitchen, only they were gone. It was the guy from Egøje.

At night we lay snuggled up close. The wind rushed in the treetops behind the building. When one of us couldn’t sleep we’d wake the other one up, it was an agreement we had. After that we usually fell asleep. The alarm went off at half seven, he was on eight till four. One Friday he said he’d be late home. It was one of his brothers’ eighteenth birthday and there was going to be cake and spit-roasted suckling pig at his mum and dad’s. I stood in the kitchen and waved to him when he left. I did the same every morning. He had green shorts and a T-shirt on. He turned and waved again at the top of the road. Now I had a whole day and an evening to while away. I let some air in and tidied the place up in no time. I sat and picked raisins out of the muesli. I counted my money. I needed to get some more out. Shortly before half past nine I went down to the bank. I bought an enormous ice cream from the sweet shop. I was the first customer of the day. I sat on the little square with the hanging baskets and ate it. Afterwards, I felt so drowsy I had to go home and have a lie-down. When I woke up I had a bath and cleaned the sink. It was just gone eleven by then. I tidied my clothes and put them away in neat piles. I squeezed a lemon and put the juice in my hair. It could be so quiet in that bedsit.

Late in the afternoon I decided to go and get my bike from the electricity substation. I hadn’t got round to it before, for various reasons. I left a note for Lars in case he happened to come back early. Then I changed my mind and crumpled it up. I put one of his shirts on, it nearly came down to below my shorts. I was barefoot inside my trainers. I looked into the front gardens along the way, I would have liked a front garden, with boxwood and ivy. The wind got under my shirt and lifted it up, it felt nice and cool.

There were still a lot of skylarks, and a pair of lapwings in the middle of the road. It struck me that I hadn’t been in the countryside all summer, only in the town, it was the first time in my life. Many of the fallow fields were bright pink, the fireweed was in season and I thought about the word as I went, it wasn’t one you forgot in a hurry. The same with will-o’-the-wisp and horsefly. Washing flapped in a farmhouse garden, a breath of fabric softener in a gust of wind.