She asked Nathan, “Can they really be working here with tools, isn’t that called the destruction of the rain forest?”
He did not answer her, forcing her to ask again. Then he turned and his eyes were just as changed as they had been since the day that Martina had joined the group in Kuala Lumpur.
The sound was an insect. Such an insect that could make that howl, going straight to the marrow of her bones, and she froze, even though she was too hot.
Martina… she wasn’t much bigger than an insect herself. Keep thinking like that. You grind insects under your heel until they are squished. Insects like Martina are not worth much more than that. That’s what she had to keep thinking.
She herself was like the house. Made of silence and enstoned.
As if her words took time to construct, they had to search for a pathway that led out of her.
People got tired of waiting.
Nobody likes to wait for words.
Some people thought it was a sign of shyness. Others of a sense of self-importance. Her teacher used that exact word, self-important, about her, after only a few weeks of class. The next morning, when she thought about it, she was overcome by dizziness and sank to a squat with her head between her knees.
Flora was standing on the rag rug, right in the beige square, or maybe it was the Isabella-colored square; anyway, there she stood with her heavy, brown-lined eyelids, opening like small shutters.
“Get up, Justine!”
No. She sank deeper, into the rug. Flora was wearing boots, fine leather boots with stiletto heels. She saw the heels clearly from her position on the floor, how a tiny leaf had gotten caught in one of the points.
Flora’s hand on her head, at first lightly, as if reassuring her. Then the fingers bent, the nails, her hair, like ice in their roots when she was lifted up, ooowwww.
“So, at least you can open your mouth!”
Like a pendulum, back and forth, the short, delicate strands, how they burst.
Flora put her down. It was cold, she had stayed in her bed, and heard how Flora returned through the front door. In just her nightgown, she then went down the stairs.
“Do you know what your teacher, Miss Messer, said to me this evening? She said that you were stubborn and had a sense of self-importance. Stubborn and proud. That’s what she called you. I was forced to say that I was sorry, but she was absolutely correct.”
“That’s not true, that’s not true! She hates me!”
“No strong words, Justine. No one hates. This is called raising a child and it is her duty according to the law to contribute to the raising of a child.”
“Forgive me then, but tell me what I am supposed to do to get her to like me…”
“If I hear a single complaint from your teacher again, I will do such things to you that even your father won’t recognize you.”
Justine covered her ears, her eyes turned inside out, ugly and cold in her whole body, ugly and burning. Turned her face to the floor. The same rug, that one again?
Flora’s little booted foot, yes, it was little; she had heard her father say so when she stood in the hallway one night when they thought she was sleeping. She glimpsed Flora, nude and thin, like a girl, wearing her boots on the clean sheets.
Now the rug pressed against her temples, every bump and uneven spot, the smell of stale food. Flora pressed lightly with the sole, ground her foot against Justine’s cheek.
“I want you to say it loud and clear. That you are a disgusting repulsive child that no one likes.”
She couldn’t do that.
“That you are a spoiled, nasty and lanky child that no one in the entire world could love. Say it!”
She fell unconscious and everything was gone.
The bird came, his wings whistling. She boiled a couple of eggs, gave one to the bird and ate the other one. He was a large, well-shaped creature. He peeled the egg with his beak and shook the shell and bits of egg all over the kitchen.
“Fritz?” she said, not paying attention. “Is that your name?”
The bird screeched, flapped his wings, and flew to her shoulder. She stuck her finger against his gray stomach, and felt that his body was like a warm, living broiler underneath his feathers.
“I should get you a friend,” she said. “We are too lonely, you and I.”
He nipped her finger, lightly, lifted it, pecked it away.
He arrived at the house the day that Flora left it. Justine saw an ad in the newspaper: “Bird for sale due to change in family circumstances. Friendly and tame.”
Change in family circumstances. That was her case, too.
Without thinking about it for long, she grabbed the phone. The bird was at the other end of town, Saltsjöbaden, and at first the car wouldn’t start, but after a few sprays of 5-56 under the hood, she managed to get it going. It was an old Opel Rekord, and she always felt nervous using it, as it wasn’t very dependable.
She drove the wrong way at Slussen, and drove in circles for a while until she found the exit for Nacka. She had drawn herself a map, using large ink lines, and thanks to that, she finally was able to arrive at the right place.
The villa appeared well taken care of, and pleasant, just like all the other houses in the area. She parked outside the gate and rang the bell. After a minute, a man came and answered, she had spoken to a woman on the phone. The man was her own age; his face was terse and reserved.
Divorce, she thought.
He knew at once who she was, and asked her to come on in. Inside the house was complete chaos. There were halfpacked cardboard boxes placed throughout the hallway, a little farther in she could see the living room floor. It was covered with books, as if someone in a fit of rage had torn out everything in the bookcases. From the kitchen came the smell of something burning.
The bird was also in the kitchen, in a tall, ornate cage. It was dozing, ignored her totally.
“Is that him?” she asked. “For some reason, I thought he was a parrot.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Maybe because parrots are more common pets.”
“I guess. So you’re not interested any more?”
“No, no. It doesn’t matter what kind of bird he is.”
The man took a glass coffee carafe off the stove.
“Dammit, I forgot all about this.”
“Oh…”
He gave her a crooked smile.
“It’s been kind of crazy around here.”
She should say something, ask about the creature’s habits and what kind of food he ate. She couldn’t get the words out. There was something about the bird’s ruffled, black gray appearance that made her feel like crying. As if she were hunched inside that cage, left for others to take on.
The man cleared his throat and pulled out a cardboard box.
“We’re breaking up,” he said.
“Yes… I understand.”
“Yep, that’s it. After so many years together, one day comes where you’re no longer a family. You’ve taken it all for granted! Hey! Don’t take anything for granted, OK?”
“I don’t take things for granted.”
“Well, many people do. Like me, for example. I’ve done it… up to now.”
She didn’t know what to say. The man was silent for a while, and then he said.
“OK. Here’s the bird. He has lived with us for many years… he was part of our family. My wife found him out in the garden when he was young. He’d probably fallen from his nest. A cat had gotten him, a cat that wanted a toy. Know what I did with that cat? I shot him.”
“You shot him?”
“With an air gun. It died on the spot.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Fuck that. It’s my garden and I can do whatever I want in my own garden.”
“And the bird?”
“We took care of him and raised him. Well, like I said, now we’re heading off in different directions, my dear wife and me. And the bird needs a home.”