“Well, yes, sort of. I’m not saying any more.”
She played secretive, hugged him and went inside. The paint tin was in the car trunk, she’d fetch it later and smuggle it down to the cellar.
“Was there something in particular?”
“My fire alarm was wailing and I couldn’t switch it off.”
“Ah,” she said quickly, “so what did you do?”
“I rang the fire station and they came at once. Nice people. Sit down now, how long can you stay, can you stay a while? By the way, how long’s Emma going to be at Jostein’s, you’re not thinking of giving her up?”
“Don’t be so silly, I’d never even entertain the idea. I can certainly stay for a bit, I could make us dinner.”
“I don’t think I’ve got anything in.”
“Then I’ll go out and buy something.”
“No, you haven’t got the money to feed me, I’ll have a bowl of porridge.”
“What about fillet steak?” she asked with a smile.
“I don’t like you saying silly things,” he said crossly.
“My grant came today, and I’ve got nobody else to celebrate with.”
At that he gave way. Eva began to potter about the house, and his mind gradually became tranquil. It was the sounds he missed most of all, the sounds of another human being who breathed and padded about, radio and television weren’t the same.
“Have you seen the papers?” he growled a little later, “Some poor girl’s been suffocated in her own bed. People who do that sort of thing should be knocked on the head with a club. Poor young thing. Treating a girl like that, when she’s offering a service and a bed and everything, never heard the like. I thought her name sounded rather familiar, but I can’t place it, did you read about it, Eva? Is it anyone we know?”
“No,” she called from the kitchen.
He frowned. “Well, that’s a mercy anyway. If it had been someone I knew, I’d have tracked the bloke down and knocked him on the head with a club. Only punishment he’ll get is a cell with TV and three meals a day. I mean, does anybody even ask if they’re sorry?”
“Someone certainly will.” Eva knotted the neck of the rubbish sack and went to the door. She had to be careful now. “They take that into consideration during sentencing, whether they show signs of remorse or not.”
“Ha! So they simply say sorry for all they’re worth and get off lightly.”
“It won’t be that easy. They have experts who can tell if you’re lying for that sort of thing.” She shuddered at the sound of her own words.
Then she vanished outside, and he heard her banging the lid of the refuse bin. He waited a bit, but she didn’t return. There’s something up with the girl, he thought, as if she’s doing something I’m not supposed to know about, I know her too well to be fooled when she’s hiding things, just like that time when Mrs. Skollenborg died, she went quite hysterical about it, it wasn’t normal, the old woman was almost ninety and none of the children liked her, but then she was a horrible old bag. There was something fishy about it. And now she’s doing something in the cellar, what in the name of all that’s holy is she doing down there?
He thought as he struggled with a disposable lighter which wouldn’t light; he rubbed it hard between his rough hands until the gas pressure had built up sufficiently, and finally he got a light. He’d managed to get a flame out of a supposedly empty lighter up to ten times. You really do learn to economize when you’re a pensioner, he reflected.
“What d’you want with your steak?” asked Eva, who’d finally emerged from the cellar holding an ovenproof dish in her hands.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“I found it in the cellar,” she replied rapidly, “I’ll roast vegetables in it.”
“Don’t you boil vegetables?”
“Yes, sometimes. Do you like broccoli? Just tender with salt and butter?”
“See if I’ve got enough wine.”
“You’ve got plenty. I didn’t know you’d got an extra supply in the cellar?”
“That’s in case I lose my home help. You never know. The council’s trying to save money, this year alone they want to save twenty million.” He took a long drag at his cigarette to indicate that he didn’t want any comments.
“When did you start getting interested in food?” he said all at once. “You normally only eat bread.”
“Well, maybe I’m starting to grow up. No, I don’t know, I just felt like it. Porridge and red wine just don’t go together.”
“That’s pure nonsense. A good, well-salted rye porridge made with pork fat washed down with red wine is a really fine meal.”
“I’m going to Lorentzen’s, to their fresh-produce counter. Is there anything else you want?”
“Eternal youth,” he grunted.
Eva frowned. She hated him talking like that.
Without batting an eyelid she asked for half a kilo of fillet steak. The woman behind the counter was sturdy and wore disposable gloves, she reached resolutely for a large piece of meat that was almost the color of liver. Was that really what fillet steak looked like?
“Whole or in slices?” She raised her knife to cut.
“Well, what would be best?”
“Thin slices. Wait till the butter turns brown and then skim them quickly across the pan. Just as if you were running barefoot across newly laid asphalt. Whatever you do, don’t fry them.”
“I don’t think my father would take to raw meat.”
“Don’t ask what he wants, just do as I say.”
She smiled suddenly, and Eva was captivated by this chubby woman in her white nylon coat and becoming little net cap. A symbol of hygiene perhaps, but it looked more like a little crown, she thought, and all the dead meat on the counter was the realm over which she reigned.
She weighed the meat and put the price sticker on, gently, as if bandaging a wound. A hundred and thirty kroner, it was an unbelievable price. Eva wandered for a while among the shelves, picking out the odd small item, which she dropped in her basket, it was best to put them straight into the fridge without saying a word to her father, otherwise he wouldn’t accept them. Cheese, liver pâté, two bags of the best coffee, butter, cream. Biscuits with fillings. And on an impulse she grabbed three pairs of pants from the clothes rack. It was just a case of smuggling them into his chest of drawers and hoping he’d use them. By the checkout she added a box of marzipan and nougat chocolates, two magazines, and a carton of cigarettes. The final bill was overwhelming. But it struck her that all old people ought to be able to buy such a basket of groceries, at least once a week, so that they could enjoy themselves a little at the end of their lives. Young people can eat porridge, she thought. She paid, carried the bags out to the car, and drove back.
“Why did he do it, d’you think?” said her father, as he chewed the tender meat.
“Do what?”
“Kill her. In her bed and everything.”
“Why are you curious about it?”
“Aren’t you?”
Eva waited a moment and chewed slowly, mostly for show, she could have swallowed the meat whole. “Yes, a bit. But why do you ask?”
“I’m interested in the dark side of human nature. You’re an artist, aren’t you interested? In the drama of humanity?”
“It was a bit unusual, the world she lived in. I don’t know anything about it.”
“She was about your age.”
“Yes, and rather silly. Laying yourself open to that kind of trade isn’t particularly clever. She was probably only thinking of one thing: the most money in the shortest possible time. Tax free. They must have started arguing or something.” She filled her father’s glass and ladled a spoonful of gravy over his meat.
“It’s a sort of threshold they cross,” he said pensively. “I wonder what it is, what it means. Why some people overstep it, and others could never dream of doing so.”