The next morning he had completely forgotten about her. The curtains fluttered a little. He had dreamed about the redhead— that he was fiddling with her ears — and he had felt calm and relaxed. He went into the living room to find his cigarettes. There she stood with one leg flung up on a chair. She was slathering herself with his moisturizer, and one of his towels, clearly wet, lay on a chair. "Good morning, sir," she said with a huge smile. Her stomach was thick and she had short legs. A long scar twisted up from her pussy and continued past her navel. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The toothbrush was wet. He made do with rinsing his mouth. When he went to make coffee, he burned himself on the pot. It was full. She came running in with a wet cloth for his hurt hand and poured him a cup. She had also cooked rice and some egg concoction that had a smell that nauseated him, but she on the other hand was hungry. "You buy good curry, I make good food," she said, nudging him. Then she laughed out loud. He went right up to her. "Listen," he said intently, "today you will go home. I don't want you here, do you understand? You have to go home." "No, no," was the only thing she said. A glimmer of a smile flashed in her eyes and disappeared again. "No, no, no."
It felt like ants were crawling in his veins. He had a hard time breathing. Down in the street the super was sweeping.
He crossed the street and tried to look in through the tinted window in the basement. A "Closed" sign was hanging on the door.
He met with some of his fellow students to compare notes, and as usual he was quiet, chain smoking; a great uneasiness paradoxically made him sit motionless, locked in the same position. He had to go to the bathroom but didn't get up. On the way home after they were finished, Claes caught up with him. He heard him say something, but it wasn't until Claes grabbed him and looked directly into his eyes that he understood what he had said. "What's the matter with you, are you sick?" he said. "Are you sick?" But he couldn't get any words out. He couldn't say a foreign woman had moved into his apartment against his will. It sounded completely ridiculous. So instead he mumbled that he had stayed up reading most of the night. Claes kept staring at him. "You are sick," he said smiling.
* * *
When he got home, she was washing his clothes in the kitchen sink. She worked like mad. The clothes that she had already wrung out were hanging here and there from the furniture dripping. He saw that she had washed all the windows. And she'd put on a pair of his socks that were way too big. He came close to picking up a chair and smashing it right in front of her face.
* * *
He bought curry. She was a pretty good cook. He taught her how to use the washing machine in the basement. He got her to be quiet while he was reading. But he still couldn't concentrate. He got a blanket from the attic so that she had something to cover herself with at night. She cut her hair with the kitchen scissors. One morning he saw her grooming her pubic hair with his razor. And it was not until one Friday evening when Claes and Jakob dropped by unannounced and quite drunk, a complete surprise because they had never done that before, to see if he wanted to go out drinking, that it became really complicated. "You fucking better come out for a beer with us, you nerd." "Hallo!" she chirped, waving the dish towel. He grabbed his jacket, and hustled them out. She followed them into the hallway and watched with sad dewy eyes. Then suddenly she turned on her heels and closed the door behind her. They stared at him mystified. "What's going on? You have a girlfriend?" Down at the local bar, after they had ordered beer and were sitting at a table, Jakob said, "I didn't know you liked foreign pussy," and then Claes sprayed beer out of his mouth at him, and they both lay over the table, screaming with laughter. He laughed with them. They ordered more beer. A couple of young women sat down next to them. He thought about the redhaired neighbor. One of the women pressed her thigh against his under the table. When Claes and Jakob got really drunk, a fit of vulgarity came over them. But then he also got drunk. "She could be my mother," he yelled, "but I sure as hell don't want to suck those sagging foreign tits!" The two women looked at him horror-struck. He saw himself clenching his fist and hammering down on the table so that glasses and bottles tipped over.
She was lying on the sofa sleeping when he got home. He could see her back and the top of her crack.
* * *
Late one afternoon he almost collided with the fat blonde across the street when she came stomping up from the basement. She hissed at him, "Watch out, idiot." Then disappeared down into the depths again. He knocked on the door. Immediately, he had second thoughts and was already on his way up when the door opened. A young Thai woman with many clips in her hair stood in the doorway. "Come, come," she said, motioning with her hand. He didn't move. Another woman came up from behind to see. They said something to each other and began to giggle. "No afraid, come, come," the one with the clips said. Now he could just make out the fat blonde in the dark. She was taking groceries out of the bags. When she saw him she came right over. She shoved the others aside. "Do you want some or not?" He shook his head and hurried away. "You better learn how to make up your mind," she yelled after him. He was already a ways out in the street. "We can't run to the door day and night!" He walked around the block before he went home. He met the super on the stairs, who smiled suggestively. "Well," he said, "they're a bunch of really sweet girls, huh?" He leaned forward. "And talented." Now he was right up against his ear with his smacking lips: "And you can get it from them for hardly anything." He shoved the super aside and stumbled up the stairs. The super yelled after him, "It's nothing to be ashamed of!"
He smoked one joint after another, but he still wasn't able to calm down. The woman sat in the kitchen playing solitaire. She was wearing his bathrobe.
* * *
He visited his parents. His mother had made pea soup. They sat in the dining room. His mother told him about his cousin who had probably had a child. His father cleared his throat several times. Through the open door to the garden, he caught a glimpse of his old swing moving ever so slightly in the plum tree. He said nothing about the woman back home. Then the cat came into the room and rubbed against his leg. His parents watched him silently, as if they expected something from him, but he couldn't figure out what it might be. The cat purred delightedly, and in some way it was embarrassing, the animal's open enjoyment, the golden sunshine hitting its fur. When he got back home the woman was sitting on the windowsill staring down at the street. One of her legs swung in the air. The kitchen was a mess. He ordered her testily to clean up. She obeyed with a sigh. He saw the girl with the clips put a piece of cake on a paper plate and a glass with orange liquid out on the sidewalk. She closed her eyes and raised her face toward the evening sun. It looked as if she smiled, but he wasn't sure. He closed the curtain and took a joint from the desk drawer. He lay down on the couch and put on the TV. When she was finished in the kitchen she sat down next to him and lifted his head onto her lap. She caressed his hair with mechanical movements, and he let her do it.
* * *
He met the redhead on the bus. He tried to hide, but when they were both about to get off, she noticed him and said hi, and a little while later when he was waiting at a red light, she came up next to him, said hi again, and when he felt pressed to look up, she asked if he had gotten a roommate; she had met the woman in the laundry room. He shook his head. But she continued: "Is she your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"It's my cousin."
"Your cousin?"