Drowned (21 page)

Then there is only one ditch left, the ditch separating Anders and Karin’s garden from the field, I am just about to step across it when I stop for just a moment, enchanted. The grass is sparkling beneath the apple tree with all its lights, it is frosty now, frozen mist, the whole garden is covered in a white frosting, it is so beautiful, it looks so peaceful. I breathe out, I see the apple tree glittering through my steaming breath.

Then he grabs hold of my arm. His grip is hard and takes me completely by surprise, I spin around, try to pull away but instead my feet slip. Beneath the thin layer of frost the ground is still soft, perhaps there will be no deep frost this winter. The grass slides against the mud beneath my feet, I slip, fall, he doesn’t loosen his grip on my arm but falls with me, he looks surprised as he loses his balance. He lands half on top of me, muttering a curse.

I can feel one elbow aching, I must have banged it when I fell, but nothing else hurts, it’s nice to lie down even though it’s cold, I am so tired, too tired to be afraid anymore. Perhaps Gabriel can see it in my face, the fact that his quarry has been brought down, that I am not going to offer any further resistance,
because he doesn’t attempt to hold on to me. Instead he sits up, looks at me.

“What happened?” he says.

I have to close my eyes, I am so tired. I can feel how the frost has melted underneath me, turned to moisture that has been sucked up by my dress, I will leave an impression of my body in this spot, like a gingerbread man cut out of floury dough, I realize I am so cold I am shaking.

“I’m so tired,” I say.

I don’t know how we got home. Perhaps Gabriel dragged me back across the field, perhaps I managed to walk under my own steam. I remember warm water on my body and when I wake up I am wearing my nightdress and panties, I am lying in the big bed upstairs, with an extra blanket on top of the duvet. Gabriel is sitting on the bed looking at me.

“How are you?” he says.

I shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

My voice sounds hoarse, my throat is sore. I realize I hurt all over when I try to move, my whole body feels tender, as if every muscle is aching slightly from too much exercise. Twilight is falling, the clock radio by the bed is showing half past two in the afternoon,
the sky is unusually clear with just a few fluffy clouds on the horizon, burning pink and yellow. I can tell by the light outside the window that the snow which fell last night is still lying. The room is warm, it smells of hyacinths and cigarette smoke, I understand why when I see the big ashtray with the brass dolphin on the bedside table. One cigarette still glows among the pile of stubs. The daily paper lies next to the ashtray, with one of the blue-and-white coffee cups on top of it. I realize Gabriel has been sitting on the edge of the bed for a long time, waiting for me to wake up.

He looks at me, contemplates me with that dark, serious expression for a few seconds before he leans over and kisses me. I return the kiss, he touches me, his hands pull away the covers and slide down my arms, down my body and my thighs, I close my eyes.

Suddenly I feel a stabbing pain on the inside of my thigh, high up, at first I have difficulty in placing the sensation and my initial thought is that something is biting me, a snake, that something has penetrated my skin and is on its way into my bloodstream, some kind of poison, a fever, I can almost feel it spreading through my body, I know that when it reaches my heart I will die. Then the stabbing turns into a different type of pain, deeper, it feels strange, ice cold or red hot, at first I can’t decide which. Then it hurts so much I have to scream, and he leans over me and
kisses me again, holds me tight and presses his lips to mine, suffocating my scream, it is such a passionate kiss that for a moment I forget the pain and then it is gone and only the kiss remains and I am kissing him back, clinging to him, he gently caresses my thigh, brushes against the mark, I feel another stab of pain.

He gets up and stubs out the glowing cigarette in the ashtray, gazes at me as I lie there with my thighs parted, his expression is dark and warm at the same time, he lies down beside me again, buries his face in my hair and whispers in my ear that I have been a good girl.

When he has fallen asleep I gently extricate myself from his arms and slide out of bed. My body feels stiff, the floor is cold to my bare feet, I push them into a pair of slippers that happen to be in the bedroom. Even though it is dark in the room the mark on my thigh is clearly visible in the mirror, burning dark against my winter-pale skin, I touch it cautiously with my fingertips. In spite of the fact that it hurts it is not unpleasant, it is something else. This is the proof, I think.

I make my way carefully down the stairs, I have begun to learn how to avoid the spots that creak the most. The scent of hyacinths fills the entire house, soft and perfumed. It is as if the change in the weather
has affected the whole atmosphere, even indoors, as if the house itself has relaxed beneath its blanket of snow, grown calm and still.

There isn’t a sound downstairs. I cross the hallway and the porch to let Nils in, he meows and slides in through the door as soon as I open it, padding quickly toward his food dishes in the kitchen. The air outside is fresh, chilly. I inhale deeply, drawing it into my lungs, it feels as if my brain immediately becomes clearer.

When I have closed the outside door I notice the pot on the bureau. It must have been there ever since that Friday evening, I have lost track of the days. It is cold in the porch, there is no heating, and dark, only a small amount of light seeps in through the old beveled glass in the window of the outside door. Too dark for an orchid, I think, perhaps just as dark as down on the floor of the rain forest. And nothing to climb up in order to get closer to the light.

The whole plant is slimy and drooping, collapsed. The pink flower is dark, the stem soft and rubbery. I take it through to the kitchen, open the cupboard under the sink, and drop the pot in the garbage bag.

The darkness outside the window is different now, less dense. The field that extends on the far side of the garden is covered in snow, a thin layer, it gleams in the darkness. Stella’s diary with the shiny red cover,
what happened to that yesterday? I had it in my hand when I ran through the house last night, but what happened to it after that?

Perhaps I dropped it in the field, somewhere on the way toward Anders and Karin’s apple tree. In my mind’s eye I can see it lying there, in the mud that is frozen now, it is covered with snow, the words inside it will be dissolved by the dampness, they will be obliterated, disappear. I can see it lying there as the snow melts and the muddy earth becomes soft and wet, until the time for the spring sowing arrives, the farmer who cultivates the land will plow the field and the sharp blades of the plow will slice through it, shredding it into strips of white and red, digging them down into the ground. And then he will scatter seed across the field, seed that will germinate and sprout, growing into corn that will stand ripe and yellow beneath next summer’s sun.