The girl was asleep in the car. She lay there hugging his coat. Ludmilla, fourteen years old, from Moldavia. She’d just sat there on the ferry, blue-eyed, cold, and frightened. Marek couldn’t get a single bite down her, so he’d gone into the dutyfree shop and bought a box of assorted candy, which she ate in the front seat. When they drove off the ferry she said, I have money for school, in English, and showed him a brown envelope. He looked out over the turnip fields and stuck a Marlboro in his mouth.
She’d fallen asleep while he was filling up in Tappernøje.
“Where is she?” Olek said, barging in through the back door. His eyes were bloodshot, he was every bit as blistered as his sister.
“Who?”
“You know, the new one.”
“We’ll get to her. She’s asleep in the car. Your mother says there’s something that needs taken care of quick.”
They sized each other up. Olek gave him the eye and turned on his heel. Marek followed him out to the stairway, where Olek took three steps at a time. Second floor: cubicles, they heard someone moaning in one of the closest. Third floor: rooms to let, they entered one and Olek passed him a photo-Adina Sobczak. Thirtyfive years old. Disappeared yesterday morning, emptied her closet and tricked a moronic Albanian at the till into handing over her passport. Last job: four Polish workmen on Mysundegade 3, the loft, lunch break, two hundred kroner per. Her roommate Lenja croaked yesterday morning, that might have made Adina crack. Olek pointed out Lenja’s things in the small room. Clothes, mashed down in a large sports bag. The breath freshener was hers too. Why don’t these fucking Lats brush their teeth?
Only the metal case belonged to Adina. Quickly they dumped it out, a barrette lay at the bottom. Marek picked it up. Hello Kitty. There was also a receipt. She’d bought a brush and something in product group 16 for 67.75 in Føtex on Vesterbrogade, the day before yesterday.
Not much to go on. Four Polish workmen who had gotten it on the cheap. He turned the barrette in his hand.
“Find her,” Olek said. “Find her and do her.”
Thursday 9:23 p.m. Abel Cathrines Gade 5, Fifth Floor, 1654 Copenhagen V
Adina brushed her long hair. The rain had made it ratty. Her back hurt, her lower back. Olek’s sperm burned inside her. All the humiliations, the beatings, the cold. Lenja had lain on the bathroom floor behind the shower curtain, naked, bloody behind her ear. Olek’s signature. He fucked them in the ass, then before he came he smacked them behind the ear so they would tense up and contract; they laid there waiting for that clout. She went over and opened the curtain a crack. One of Olek’s boys, Kofi, was selling dope on the corner. She’d have to wait until he left. She sat down and Henry came in with coffee and a plate of cookies.
“It’s strange having someone in the apartment,” he said, speaking into the air while he set the cups down. “It’s two years now since Connie died. We had two wonderful children,” he continued, calmly. “Tina and Jørn. I don’t see Jørn very much, but that’s because of his new wife. Tina lives in Perth, Australia. Would you like to see some pictures?”
He edged past the coffee table and over to the bureau, opened the lowest drawer, and returned with a photo album.
“Here, this is their ranch. Greg breeds horses. And here, that’s William, and this is Bill and Evan, and what’s his name, the little one, Ross, yes, his name is Ross.”
They went through the photo album, it was filled with photos, of horses and red-haired boys, two, three, four of them stood together, smiling at the camera. Adina followed along indifferently, the back of her eyes ached, and suddenly, without warning, she began crying. The tears streamed down, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“There, there,” Henry said, and grabbed her shoulders with both hands.
She shook her head and wiped under one of her eyes with her index finger.
“You know what?” he said, looking at her seriously.
“No.”
“There hasn’t been anyone but you after Connie died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say. I haven’t had other women except you since Connie died.”
“You’re saying that you’ve been true to me?”
“Yes.”
She started to giggle. She laughed through her tears. Henry looked hurt, which only made it worse. Her laughter turned hysterical, she doubled over, unable to stop. Everything that happened had been so horrible, she’d been all alone in the world, and now here he was, talking like this. It wasn’t funny-it was absurd. Henry, with his friendly eyes and sheeplike expression, his wrinkled forehead. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the forehead.
“Thank you, Henry. Thanks. That was beautiful, what you said. Too bad I can’t tell you the same thing.”
“No, obviously you can’t. Do you think Olek will kill you?”
“Yes.”
Friday, 9:45 a.m. Mysundegade 3, Loft, 1620 Copenhagen V
Karol: We tossed for her. Ryszard went first. I was number three, but I couldn’t. She just laid there. Over there on the mattress, on her stomach. Yeah, that’s where we sleep. She didn’t even turn over. And I just couldn’t. I asked her if she wouldn’t give me a handjob. She didn’t answer me, so I just sat down beside her. I thought about my son. His name is Krzysztof. After Krzysztof Oliwa of the New Jersey Devils. The hockey player, you know. He’s also from Tychy. It was Witold’s turn after me. He already had a hard-on and he told me to get away.
Ryszard: She just took her clothes off and then I fucked her. Her name? I don’t know. I didn’t marry her.
Witold: She was on time. Asked where she was supposed to lay down. We asked her if she wanted some salami and vodka first, but she didn’t. So then Ryszard went at it and we sat there and watched. He smacked her and yelled at her. Karol didn’t like that so he pushed him off. I turned her over when it was my turn. I like missionary best.
Jan: She wouldn’t say her name. I was sorry about that. There aren’t many Polish women up here you can talk to, you know. I asked her if she was going somewhere, but she didn’t answer. She had a big bag with her. Time? Little after two, I think. No, that picture doesn’t tell me a thing. I don’t remember her face.
Friday 2:47 a.m. Abel Cathrines Gade 5, Fifth Floor, 1654 Copenhagen V
The yellow light from the floor lamp softened Henry’s face, and suddenly she remembered her grandmother, her babushka in the mountains. They visited her in the summer and at Christmas, and she always sat in her armchair and watched TV, her big pale face, the deep wrinkles, her knitting.
They had watched High Noon, Henry’s favorite western. He said he’d seen it a thousand times and he hummed along with the title song, Do not forsake me, oh my darling, on this our wedding day… Adina had cried during the film. It was so beautiful and sad. Why didn’t he leave with Grace Kelly, why did he have to be so proud? They drank beer afterward, and Henry made sandwiches, piled high with lettuce and tartar sauce on the roast beef, onion and jellied stock on the liver paté. She lay on the sofa, she’d had enough. Vesterbro was a thousand miles away. She walked over and peeked down at the street. Kofi was still standing there, dealing. He looked purple in the yellow light.
“Do you know what I dream about?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“Moving to Australia. I’ve saved up twenty-seven thousand, and when I have forty I’m leaving. What about you?”