“I think you’re a little crazy, sweetheart. Not exactly right in the head.”
Alex laughed, but I could see in his eyes that he was serious. And he was probably right. After that, I gradually gave up any hope for emotional closeness. I had someone at my side. That was enough. We didn’t need to know everything about each other.
Then came the night when Alex pressed my naked body against the windowpane.
Don’t ever leave me. That’s what it said on the card that came with the flowers the next day. It might have been a plea. Or a command. No matter what, I didn’t leave. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone again. Instead, I placed myself in Alex’s hands, allowed him to lead me further into the dark. Pain slowly crept into our relationship.
But still I didn’t leave. I continued to cling to him. Alex led and I followed. Until the path led down into the abyss.
I hear a beeping in my pocket. I take a deep breath, look around in a daze. Where am I? I take in my surroundings, realize that I’m sitting in my car in a half-empty parking lot outside a small grocery store. How did I get here? I must have driven, of course, but I don’t remember doing that. Then I recall my encounter with the girl, the bike ride through the woods back to the cabin, the lactic acid in my legs, the taste of blood in my mouth. The fateful shouts about revenge and punishment resounding through the forest and inside my head. I remember the fear, can still feel it tingling in my fingertips and churning in my stomach. But it’s not only fear. It’s more than that. It’s a sense of rebellion, the desire to stand up and confront the enemy. Finally that feeling has awakened inside me. That’s why I’m here. To take action.
The beeping sound in my pocket again. I take out my cell. A text message from Katinka. Hope you guys are fine. Thinking of you. Only two sentences, but heavily charged with meaning.
As time passed, and my relationship with Alex changed, as I accepted more, asked for more, Katinka was always there with her silent, searching eyes. When I started calling in sick more often, she would ask me how I was really feeling. She was the only one who noticed there was something strange about the way I was walking that day. Or at least the only one who asked me outright.
“Why are you limping?”
“I’m not limping.”
“Maybe not. But you’re moving kind of strange. Sort of carefully. As if you hurt. What happened?”
She fixed her gaze on me. I pressed my lips together, tried to meet her eyes but had to make do with looking at the wall. Katinka slowly nodded. As if she understood something important. Then she told me I should go and talk to someone. I gave a start and asked what she meant. She didn’t reply, didn’t even say what I knew she was referring to.
“What do you mean?” I persisted. “What exactly do you think I need to talk about?”
Part of me wanted to hear her say it out loud, wanted her to make it real, everything that I wasn’t able to express.
“You’re not yourself anymore,” Katinka told me. “The way you’re limping. And you’re always tired. You should see someone.”
“Who?”
I expected her to suggest some sort of therapist. When I closed my eyes I pictured a mane of blond hair and felt a firm grip on my wrist. Things are going to get worse for you. And you risk being knocked off balance. But Katinka wasn’t thinking about a psychologist. She had something else in mind.
“Maybe you should see a doctor at the clinic.”
“Okay,” I said. “You’re right. I am tired. I’ll make an appointment.”
And I did. A few days later, I went to the clinic. Outside, the sun was shining and everyone seemed to be wearing shorts and light dresses. I had on long pants. The image of the blond psychologist again flickered through my mind. Cardigans and jackets in the middle of summer. I’d always found that strange. Now I dressed the same way myself. All covered up.
A short time later, I was ushered into the office of a woman wearing a white coat. I sat down in the chair in front of her desk. It took a while before I said anything. I waited, letting her study me in silence. I secretly wished that she’d just look at me and know, without me having to say a word. But her expression was so inquisitive that I was finally forced to open my mouth. Hesitantly, I told her about the fatigue, then answered her questions obediently, though evasively. When she ordered tests, I allowed the nurse to stick a needle in my arm to draw blood, and I peed in the container they handed me.
Afterward, we again sat across from each other. The doctor tilted her head to one side as she peered at me. Ask to look at my thighs, I thought. Tell me I have to leave him. But she did neither. Instead, she explained that I was pregnant. Nine weeks. Had I really not suspected?
I get out of the car and go inside the grocery store, which is housed in a low brick building. An elderly man is standing at the checkout counter closest to the doors, reading a newspaper. When I come in, he looks up and says hello. I pick up a basket and aimlessly stroll the aisles. It’s a sleepy country store, and the selection is accordingly limited. I could have driven a little farther, to the town where I was yesterday, but I don’t dare go back there. I don’t want to go anywhere near the police station and risk being recognized.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks when I think about the phone conversation with the female police officer. What a fuss I’d caused. And yet it could be worse, much worse. If the police discover that two people named Alex and Smilla have actually disappeared, and they also know that I’m lying about my relationship to them… It wouldn’t look good. Not at all.
In one of the aisles, I run into two old ladies who look amazingly alike. Maybe they’re sisters. The kind who have never married, who have stayed together in this slumbering town and shared a different sort of life.
They give me a cautious smile, the way you’d smile at an eccentric stranger, as we pass each other. I strain to return the smile. It’s not my fault, I want to shout at them. I just did what I was told.
I had asked Alex how he intended to introduce me if we met anyone while we were in Marhem. Back home, we never went out; we just stayed indoors, at my place. No movie theaters, no restaurants, not even walks in the evening. We never talked about the reason, but I assumed it was because of her. The town was small enough that if we went out we might run into someone who knew either her or Alex. Up to that point, the world that he and I had shared was no bigger than my bedroom.
Now we were suddenly going to step forward into an unknown universe. We would go away, spend our vacation together. I didn’t ask Alex what he’d said at home, but I guessed he’d conjured up some sort of business trip. He was a sales rep, always traveling, which meant she should have accepted the explanation. His wife. Because he did have a wife, after all.
So how was he planning to introduce me, I wondered. How did he want me to introduce myself? Alex shrugged at my queries, didn’t think it mattered because we weren’t likely to run into anyone. At least no one he knew. But I insisted.
“But what if someone asks?” I said. “What if? I want to know who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.”