Then Helle takes some onions out and begins to peel them. "Are you hungry?" I ask. She takes a knife out of the drawer and cuts the onions in quarters. Then I rinse the tomatoes and turn on the radio. Hard rock is playing, but I leave it on. I try to slice the tomatoes so that all the slices are the same size. Helle turns on the oven and places the chicken on the counter in front of me. But I pretend not to get the hint and instead put some water on for coffee. She's sat down on the stool. I turn up the radio and hand her a cup of coffee when it's ready. I look into her blue eyes and keep looking until she looks down. I reach out and carefully touch the rose on her arm. "What's the matter, Helle?" I ask.
* * *
We never cooked that chicken. I sautÈ the tomatoes and onions in a pan, and we eat them with rye bread. Helle has a tremendous appetite. She gets up several times during the meal and opens the refrigerator. She takes out cheese and sausages. She stuffs herself. After this she opens the box of chocolates I got from my grandmother and eats half of it. I just watch her eat. The neighbor drives the tractor out, and now I see clearly that it's him. I get up and go over to the window and he waves to me when he drives by. We've always had good relations, he and his wife are both friendly and helpful. Then Helle washes the dishes and goes back to her room. I start rinsing the blackcurrants. I boil them and measure the sugar. I turn off the radio and enjoy the sounds from the garden flowing in through the open window, the birds chirp and a soft breeze whispers in the large elm. Dusk creeps over the garden and rises like a blue shadow. I scald the glasses then pour in the jam. I lick my sticky fingers. And think about another man I have known. He was dark and short and stocky and had gentle eyes. His skin was so soft that I was surprised each time I touched him. We clung to each other. He made me laugh at things that weren't even funny. I made him long for me wildly, just by walking to the store for cigarettes. I remember every inch of his body. Every little hair growing on his toes. And when I close the door to the garden behind me and gather Helle's green jacket around me, I think about his voice. About what he said to me when he left. We don't have words for everything. It was just that there was someone somewhere else. The gravel crunches under my wooden clogs. I turn left at the road and see that there's a light on in the stable. But the neighbor must have gone to sleep long ago. A sheep bleats loudly. I can't stop myself from opening the door a little and peeking in. The few cows in there look as if they're sick. There's a sharp scent of manure and ammonia. And there, in the narrow path between the stalls, I see the neighbor's son on his knees. He's holding on tightly to the black sheep's wool. And he pushes his groin hard into the animal's backside. The sheep bleats loudly. He lifts his head backward. And as he rattles out a cry like a howl, I see that he has braces on his teeth. Train tracks. I hold onto the doorframe with both hands and shove myself out backward.
At home, Helle has probably already fallen asleep. I sit down in the kitchen and eat jam with a spoon. It's still warm. Helle could've said something before. That she's pregnant and will not have the child. As if I could read her mind. The jam looks almost black now.
The next morning the chicken is still lying on the kitchen counter. It's beginning to smell. I pick it up and carry it all the way across the garden and up to the road. There I let it drop down into the garbage container. Then I wave to the neighbor and his sweet wife, who are now just backing out of their driveway.
They're probably going out shopping.
TORBEN AND MARIA
What can you say about Maria? That her hair is blonde and dark at the roots? That she loves roast pork with cracklings? That as a child she loved to look out at the flat fields at dusk in February? Her eyes rested there, under the low sky, in the gray gray light, until it got so dark that she could see only her face reflected on the window, the green lamp on the table behind her, and all the way back to her mother, leaning against the door smoking.
The window, a black mirror.
Maria.
She hits her small child, until the screaming stops. It's a boy and his name is Torben. Not many people call their sons that any more. Ah, Maria! You can say this about her: "She gave her son the name Torben."
Soon he'll be two. He's a little weakling, and there's nothing special about him.
* * *
They're walking down the pedestrian street. Torben and Maria. They're holding hands. They stop at the fountain. Maria sits down on a bench and Torben runs under the chestnut trees. They're in bloom now and very beautiful. He scares up a flock of pigeons, then finds a little black rock. He takes his time with a piece of gum that has been trampled in the grass.
Meanwhile, Maria's phone rings. It's Bjørn.
"We're waiting for you, where the fuck are you, asshole?" Bjørn is held up. Maria sighs and turns to look for Torben. He's in the middle of a conversation with two young women. They smile and gesticulate. Torben shows them something. They bend down to get a closer look, and both laugh. One pats him on the head. Then they wave good-bye and cut across the lawn. Torben watches them until they disappear. A fly crawls across his forehead.
Maria lights a cigarette and calls him over. He darts back to his mother.
"What a good boy," says an older man who's sitting beside Maria on the bench. "Nowadays kids never do what they're told."
Maria pulls Torben up onto her lap. He shows her the black rock. The man smiles and says, "Hello there little friend." Torben hides his face in Maria's neck.
Then Bjørn arrives out of breath. Maria shakes her head with defeat and starts walking. Bjørn puts Torben on his shoulders.
Bjørn is Maria's brother. They're all going to eat at the restaurant in the train station where you can get roast pork. Bjørn carries Torben the whole way through town.
"Why are you so late, you asshole?"
"Business."
"Business, my ass."
"Really. Cell phones. We made a killing."
"Who's we?"
"Me and Rock."
"You better stay away from Rock."
"Chill the fuck out."
"Stay away from him."
"But he has connections."
"Like hell he does!"
"Chill out. He doesn't give a damn about seeing Torben. You know Rock."
Maria shoots him a furious look. Torben sings, "Bah, bah, black sheep," as well as he can.
"Stop SINGING, Torben!"
"Why can't the kid sing?"
"Because he can't."
Bjørn shrugs.
"You're insane," he says and sings along. He doesn't know the song, and sings both out of tune and way too loud. Torben looks frightened and keeps silent. Meanwhile, Maria crosses to the other sidewalk. Bjørn takes Torben under his arm and cuts to the other side.
"Get your shit together," he yells. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
* * *
They eat roast pork and drink Diet Coke. Torben has a hotdog and french fries. He barely reaches the table. They eat in silence. Then Maria notices the chewing gum stuck to Torben's left palm.
"You pig," she hisses, trying to peel it off.
It won't come off. She turns red and grabs Torben's wrist, squeezing it. Torben stares off into the distance. Maria yanks his arm so hard he bangs his head on the corner of the table.
"Leave the boy alone," Bjørn says with food in his mouth. "Maria!"
She lets him go. Torben continues to stare off into the distance.
"Do you beat him?" Bjørn asks, cleaning the meat and red cabbage off his teeth with his tongue. Maria narrows her eyes and looks at him.
"Stay away from Rock, okay?"
She pushes her plate away. She's eaten everything, even the little sprig of parsley decorating the potatoes. There's almost no trace of sauce left. Torben accidentally knocks over his Coke. Bjørn wipes it up with a napkin.