Justine would make herself scarce whenever Flora was in that mood. Sometimes she took the car and drove up to the cliffs near Lövista, wandered on old paths; never for long, though, anxiety drove her back home. What was Flora thinking of? Had she brought a real estate agent to the house, who was now wandering around figuring out how much it was worth?
All this remained unchanged for many years.
During the morning, they drank their coffee on their own side of the table, each fully dressed, neither wanting to appear in a robe in front of the other one. That would be a defeat. Flora was always made up, her eyelashes large and blue. These days they were a bit more uneven; her sight had started to weaken.
When the warm days came, she would move to the balcony or into the garden. She had always loved the sun. She asked Justine for help with the lounger and had her also bring out a carafe with white wine and water. Wearing her strong glasses, she would paint her nails, layer after layer.
Her stroke came on such a day, while she was sitting in her lounger on the balcony. It was a fine, clear spring day, one of the first really warm ones. She was wearing a bikini and she told Justine she had the same bikini since she was a young woman; her body was as cute and small as a girl’s. But now she had difficulty walking up and down the stairs.
Then she said that she had called a real estate agent. “There is an apartment on Norr Mälarstrand which I am thinking of buying. One floor with a large terrace. I can sit there and sunbathe. You know how I love the heat.”
“What about me?” asked Justine.
“You’ll just have to find something for yourself. The house is definitely going to be sold. The real estate agent said that there were a number of interested buyers.”
And she sank into the cushions and made herself comfortable. The sun shone on her knotty, hairless legs. She rubbed in lotion, stomach and arms; she raised her glass to her lips and drank.
Afterwards Justine told Nathan that she was extraordinarily angry at Flora that moment.
“So angry that I could have killed her. I thought I could put something into her drink, some poison or something. But where would you get that? Poison? Not like going to the drug store and asking to buy some strychnine. Don’t they use that in the mystery stories? I went to the garden, got in the boat and roared off; Pappa never liked it when I would take off like that: you ought to be calm and careful, he always said. But I was angry, furious; I think he would have understood me; he also wanted to keep the house. Because of Mamma. I made a few rounds out there, because it was a normal workday and people were at work and I thought about what it would be like if we had to move and whether I would have the chance to stop her.”
“But didn’t you both own the house?”
“We probably did, but I never paid attention to that stuff.”
“You never signed any papers?”
“Maybe I did. I don’t know, I was really depressed after Pappa died.”
He shook his head. “You need to remember those kinds of things, Justine.”
“Need, whatever. Now I pay more attention. At any rate, when I returned to the house, the sun had disappeared, and I thought that Flora had gone in. I started making dinner right away; it was probably five in the evening. I had been out for an unusually long time, landed somewhere that was completely still all around me, only the birds. I stood there on the beach and wished she would die, Nathan. I really did.”
“Did you ever give her a chance to be a mother to you?”
“Don’t you get it? Flora isn’t someone that you give something to. Flora is a taker.”
“Maybe I should come with you when you visit her in the nursing home?”
“No,” she said hastily, as if the old witch woman would arise from her sickbed, as if she would become strong again and begin to threaten them.
“Eventually I went upstairs. There was a draft from the upper level. I looked out and saw her sitting there in a somewhat distorted position. It looked so macabre, that dry old woman stomach and that bikini… She’d had a stroke. I tried to get her going, but she was slurring her speech and was strange. Later, they found that she was completely paralyzed and couldn’t even speak. Well, then I sent her off to the hospital and she never came back.”
He took both of her hands.
“You seem to be a bit grim to me, my darling.”
“She had me in her power for so many years.”
“Please pardon me in advance, but it sounds a bit exaggerated when you say that.”
“It’s not exaggerated.”
“It was surely not easy for her to become the step-mother of a spoiled child like you.”
“If you had met her, you wouldn’t think so.”
“Oh yes, you probably deserved a whipping or two!”
“Nathan!”
But the conversation had turned into play. He had that ability, to get her to forget that evil and hurtful past; he loved wrestling with her and taking off her clothes piece by piece, as if they were trophies. Then he placed himself between her legs. He kissed her and manipulated her until she was taken over by spasm upon spasm of orgasms. He enjoyed her amazement and her gratitude. A woman of her age so completely without experience.
But still she had carried a child.
When she explained more about that to him, he said that he had already surmised it. She was wider, not closed in the same way much younger women were. He was careful to say that it didn’t make her less attractive. It was one of the contrasts that made her so fascinating to him: so grown and wonderful but without any dissemblance.
He thought owning the bird was complete craziness. He came home with her once and the bird came flying, and he had to shout out in surprise. She had hoped that he would feel friendly. She had to close the door to the attic while Nathan was in the house. The bird did not like that. She heard him screech and fly around up there.
“I’m going to let him go into the wild,” said Nathan. “This is animal cruelty.”
“Do that and he’ll die. The others will attack him out there; they’ll hack him to death.”
“Isn’t it better to die a quick, albeit cruel, death rather than be forced to live in a house that was made for human beings?”
“You don’t get it. He likes this house, and I am his friend.”
“It can’t be all that hygienic, either.”
“People are always going on about cleanliness. Do you think that my house looks messy?”
“No, but…”
“Let’s forget about the bird. Come on, I’ll show you something else.”
She showed him photos of herself when she was little, pictures of her mother and the wedding photo of her father and Flora.
“Ah… so this is the notorious Flora.”
“Yes.”
“Such a skeleton.”
“She has always been thin and beautiful.”
“She probably rattled when she walked. No, Justine, you’re the beautiful one; you’re round and plump, something for a guy to sink his teeth into.”
And he pressed his mouth against her underarm and gave her a large, dark-red hickey.
When he saw her post horn, he lifted it from its hook and tried to blow it. Not a single sound came from it. He blew until he turned red.
“It doesn’t work, does it?” he said.
She took it from him. She had composed a few melodies when she was a child, but they were simple and easy to remember. Now she played them for him.
He wanted to try again. He blew and snorted, and finally managed a hoarse, deep sound.
“I’ve always been able to play it,” she said quietly. “My Pappa gave it to me. He said it was made for me.” Even Nathan thought she should sell the house.