My fat little one, she said to Lea. You’re cold, you. Come and warm up.
She spoke with two voices, one a high-pitched squeal, the other a blunt rasp. One was contained in the other, enveloped, like a thin wire pushed through a tough piece of gristle. Lea was not scared of the old woman. She did not listen to her words but relied exclusively on instinct, and Lea’s body felt unthreatened by the frail and nervous figure standing before her. She stepped into the room and the door closed behind her. An intense vinegary smell emanated from the hundreds of empty wine bottles scattered throughout the room. Only a rough path from the door to the stairway lay outlined between their shining shapes.
I’ll get you a blanket.
The old woman disappeared up the stairs. The candlelight faded until Lea could barely see anything. The ghostly shapes of bottles. A stairway, faintly shimmering. The sharp edges of metal cabinets against the right wall. When the old woman returned, she was carrying a wool blanket over one arm, and she held the candle in the other, and once more the bottles seemed to dance in the golden light. Lea walked slowly through them, eyes focused downwards, careful not to kick any of them over. When she reached the base of the stairs she stood at arm’s length from the old woman, and extended her open palm. The old woman handed her the blanket and took the wet jumpsuit from the child’s shoulder. Lea barely noticed. The blanket was made of wool, and it made her skin prickle, but she did not complain and wrapped herself in it, shivering and staring at the old woman, who started up the steps without looking back.
Come. I’ll dry this for you. Come up. It’s warmer here.
The old woman blew out the candle when she reached the top of the stairs. The golden light vanished, replaced by a grey gloom emanating from a grid-shaped skylight. Torn wires hung from dark holes in the wall, where the dusty outlines of long-absent machinery remained etched. Glass bottles stacked horizontally, heavy with black liquid, and stacks of cans, their labels printed with images of corn, fish, lentils, sausages, carrots, peas, and dog food. A filthy mattress lay against the wall with a single pillow propped up on it. A plastic lawn chair. In the far right corner of the room, a narrow metal staircase led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. The old woman hung the jumpsuit over one of the steps. She looked at Lea and smiled again, exposing the wide gaps between her purple teeth.
They turned the electricity off. I told them I need it, gonna burn the place down with these candles. You know what they said.
She sat in the lawn chair, legs up, one hand on the armrest, the other tilting a bottle to her lips, drinking wine, spilling some on her dress, a blue flower pattern, or what was left of it. Lea stood in the middle of the room shivering, holding the blanket around her body, bunching it to her nose and sniffing the damp mold, less sharp than the smell coming from the empty bottles.
Come on. Sit on the mattress, my fat little one. It’s for you. It will dry. It always dries. You can’t just wait like an idiot. You have to lie down. You have to sit. You have to rest, it’s important to rest.
Lea looked at the mattress and looked at the old woman. She did as she was told, sitting against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chin, small head protruding from the blanket like smoke from a teepee.
The doctor told me to keep warm and drink wine, it’s cheaper than pills. For the pain. I have terrible pain all over my body. I have terrible terrible pain. The worst is at night. That’s the worst. When it’s cold. The doctor said wine. I have epilepsy. My husband couldn’t take it anymore. He shot himself right in the mouth. He couldn’t take me anymore. But I wasn’t dead. He missed me. He shot himself and he missed me. It was dark. I stayed quiet. I didn’t say anything. Then when he shot himself I got up. I had two pellets in the back of my neck and my ear was missing. I couldn’t feel anything. I just heard the shot, whining and whining, only thing I could hear. He couldn’t handle the epilepsy. Said you stop flopping around like that. I surprised myself by not moving. If he had seen me. I didn’t move. I work all day, don’t need to work at night too, here’s a piece of wood to put in your mouth. You keep going like that we’ll have to call the hospital. Like an old goat. Bite this. They’ll take you away for good. What a brute. It’s epilepsy, I told him. He didn’t listen, he never listened. He was a real drinker my husband. I don’t drink alcohol, only wine. But he used to drink a bathtub of vodka every night. I can still hear through this hole in my head, but not where the sound is coming from. That’s the other ear. My friend Laurence told me he had cancer. Then why didn’t he tell me himself. His wife. His own wife. I knew what they did because of her face. He killed himself to save you from seeing him like that, she told me, but why in god’s name did he shoot my ear off. Ask his doctor. No answer, the doctor. A first-rate whore. I wore white. My head was wrapped in white, which was good for him, in the end. What he deserved. But I suppose it could have been me, the funeral, lying against his blown-off head. They kept the casket closed but everybody threw roses on the casket. I should have given her a slap. She cried at the funeral. I didn’t cry. I bought a cat.
The old woman drank from the bottle and smiled at Lea, who stared at this new creature, one whose words fell out like water from a tap, and without any meaning, or too fast to understand, so that Lea listened only to their rhythm, which she found pleasant and soothing.
Nobody has the right to take their own life. We should not tell the universe when and where we live or die. My husband is an idiot. What do you think about that, my little fat one. Not much. Too young to think about it. Once you reach a certain age it starts coming more naturally. You think of death. You think of the past. They’ll say many things. You tell them what to do. It’s the only way to deal with them. You’ll stay pretty for longer if you tell them what to do. Are you warm yet. You stopped trembling my little flea. It’s cold out there. It looks like you stopped trembling. It’s warmer in here.
The old woman took another swig from the bottle and put it back down. She rose and produced a penknife from the pocket of her dress. She opened it and stumbled around the room, knife forward, towards Lea, then turning around, remembering something, mumbling to herself, and walking towards the canned food. Lea did not feel any fear. She sat immobile and watching the old woman as she used the penknife to pry open a can of tuna. The sound of the knife splitting the can, causing Lea’s teeth to grind and her toes to squirm. The old woman held out the can, and Lea leaned forward to sniff the tuna. She pulled back and held the blanket to her nose again.
No. Well I suppose it’s not for everyone, fish. I used to cook a lot. No gas here. No gas.
She laughed for a long time before interrupting herself.
But if you want anything…
The old woman gestured to the other cans with the knife.
You just tell me. You tell me and I’ll take care of it.
She tipped the can of tuna into her mouth and chewed the pieces tumbling through the gashed metal, sucking the water, flecks falling onto her dress, and a trickle running down her chin. Lea stared at the old woman’s foot: it was wrapped in filthy blackened gauze.
You’re looking at my foot, my fat little one. This is just an accident from parachuting. It gives me pain like hell. It makes my life hard. If I had a hammer.
The old woman walked to the corner of the room and bent over. She untied a plastic bag, put the empty can inside, and resealed it.
And this world. This world. He killed himself for this. Men are stupid.
She sat in the chair again, her putrid foot looming large and black for Lea, who stared at it fixedly. The old woman drank more wine and mumbled incomprehensible things, but always with the same rhythm, and eventually Lea fell asleep against the wall, her hands loosening slightly, so that the blanket fell from her warm body, smooth in the dimming light, and the old woman drifted in and out of consciousness, speaking to phantoms, until she was also asleep. Objects became heavy and dark and the walls faded from grey to black until they disappeared altogether and the room became silent and still, with nobody there to witness it.