She started the car. He couldn’t have reached the hotel yet; he didn’t start work this early. She drove toward Fyrspannsgatan and parked alongside the cemetery. It was a gray day. The wind ripped at her hair and clothes, made her freeze down to the marrow of her bones.
First she went to the wrong building. After searching around, she finally found Hans Peter’s entrance. She realized that she had never before been inside a rented place. She stood outside for a long time and read on the board in the entryway the names of the residents. In the distance, she heard the dampened sound of footsteps, then the sound of running water. A vague, almost unnoticeable smell of marble and stone. She saw his name, too long to fit completely, H. P. Bergman, fourth floor.
There was no elevator. She slowly walked up all the stairs. His door was directly on the right; she saw his name again.
No, he wasn’t home. She rang the bell many times and when he didn’t come, she peeked through the letter slot. His smell, the smell of Hans Peter and everything that belonged to him. She called a few times but finally realized that the apartment was empty.
Should she sit and wait? Or had he already gone into town? Maybe he’d done that. No sense in staying. She had her notebook with her, so she ripped out a page and wrote his name on it: Hans Peter, she wrote, I long for you so much, so very very much. Please forgive me if I hurt you. Justine.
She folded the paper in the middle and stuffed it through the letter slot. It fell down to the welcome mat. She saw it lie there and caught a glance of the edge of his winter coat, which was hanging on a hook.
She suddenly began to cry.
Chapter FIVE
The bird was in the kitchen. She’d forgotten to give him food. Where was it? Any frozen ground beef in the freezer? No, not even that. It was twenty to six.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’m just going to do some shopping.”
She drove to the shopping center. There was an incredible number of cars for a Monday evening, but she found a place next to the shopping cart storage.
In the bank window to her right, she saw a photo of a house that was for sale. This is where the real estate agent wanted to place her house, too. She got angry just thinking about it.
She hadn’t been here for a while. The library was being rebuilt; the personnel and the books were at another location for the duration. She stopped next to the pet store. A large guinea pig sat all alone in a big cage, displayed in the store front window. Once the store had been filled with all kinds of animals and was owned by a woman who called the animals her friends. They had been her whole life. Finally, she was forced to sell after contracting an allergy.
Impulsively, she went into the pet store. A man was standing at the counter, pricing cans of fish food.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“That guinea pig.”
She looked toward the cage. The animal had his front paws on the bars and sniffed at the air.
“He looks lonely.”
“He’s a she.”
“She looks lonely, then.”
“Yes, we’ve sold all the other small animals and birds. Just that guinea pig is left. We are going to concentrate solely on reptiles in the future. Snakes and lizards and the like. It’s very popular these days.”
“Really.”
“Do you want the guinea pig?”
“When I was little, I really wanted a pet. A girl in my class had a guinea pig. They weren’t sleek like this one, but black and full of cowlicks. They had babies, I remember. They used to toddle around on the floor after their mamma.”
“These little guys are pleasant and peaceful. They don’t need much.”
“They don’t?”
The man opened the refrigerator door and rustled a plastic bag. The small animal was ready and began to shriek with a heart-rending voice.
“She thinks she’s getting some lettuce.”
“Isn’t she then?”
“I guess.”
He held out a piece of lettuce to the guinea pig who elongated herself to grab it with her teeth.
“It’ll be hard to lose her,” he said.
“Are you fond of her?”
“No, not really, but nobody seems interested. If someone doesn’t take her soon, I’ll have to feed her to the snakes.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Eat or be eaten, the law of the jungle.”
“How much does she cost?”
“Tell you what, if you really want her, you can have her.”
“I can have her?”
“Sure. You really seem to like animals.”
“Well… thanks. I just need to get some groceries.”
She bought raw liver and two kilos of ground innards at the meat section. She picked up a large package of eggs, some onions, and two packages of white tulips. At the produce section, she took lettuce and a whole heap of vegetables, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes.
The cashier joked with her.
“If I didn’t see all that meat, I would swear that you’ve gone vegan,” she laughed. “Those militant vegans. I’ve read how they set sausages free.”
“I’m on the side of the sausages,” Justine joked back.
“And how is your mother?”
“Well, it is what it is. Unchanged.”
“Well, we all have our fate. To think that she was always so attractive and well-dressed. I used to admire her so much. I remember as if it were yesterday. She was so rich and distinguished, one would think, and yet she would come and shop here, a normal grocery store.”
“Yes.”
“There was something humble about her. She never acted stuck-up or superior. A wonderful woman, Mrs. Dalvik.”
Justine packed up her groceries.
“You probably go and visit her, right? Can you be so kind and say hi from Britt-Marie? If she’s able to…”
“Oh, yes, I can say hi to her from you.”
The bird flew toward her the minute she entered the house. He landed on the cage, tilted his head to the side, and looked curiously at the guinea pig.
“This is the new member of our family,” she explained. “She was nearly fed to the snakes, but I saved her at the last minute. If you are nice to her, maybe she’ll be your playmate.”
The bird plucked itself beneath one of his wings, apparently uninterested. A soft, downy feather fell onto the guinea pig’s back.
She put liver and eggs into his bowl. He flew there directly. She carefully lifted the guinea pig, felt her small paws with her fingertips.
“You look like a rat,” she whispered. “If you had a tail, it would be hard to tell the difference. I think I’m going to call you Rattie. Yes, Rattie’s the perfect name for you.”
She let the animal to the floor, and it scurried directly to the cabinet and tried to squeeze underneath it in order to hide. The bird flew there. He was bloody and sticky around his beak.
“Be nice to Rattie!” she scolded. “You are going to be friends, keep that in mind!”
He shook himself, took a few hops, and pecked lightly with his beak on the guinea pig’s round back. Rattie whirled around and raised herself onto her hind legs.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll get used to each other.”
At eight o’clock, she called the hotel. A man’s voice answered. She asked to speak with Hans Peter.
“He’s not here.”
“But… doesn’t he work there?”
“Yes, but he’s not here now.”
“Why not? Did he say why?”
“Can I take a message?”
She hung up the phone.
She woke up many times during the night. The same dream; it returned in quick sequences. Hans Nästman, with a cleanly washed, thinned face. He stood next to her bed; he didn’t move, just stood there. When she tried to get up, she found that she was chained to the bed with a rattan rope. Hans Nästman smiled and showed all his teeth. It’s over, Justine; you are to come with me now, and not make a fuss.
“You can’t prove anything!” she screamed. “Get out of here, leave me in peace!”