That caught his attention. He stared at me for a long time, an unreadable look in his eyes.
“You’re my woman,” he finally said firmly. “If anyone asks, that’s what you should tell them.”
So that’s what I did. The man in the brown house, the police, the kids—that’s what I let all of them believe. That I was the one Alex was married to. But it was different with Smilla. Nobody had urged me to call her my daughter, yet I’d allowed her to become part of the charade. It had happened so naturally. It was almost alarmingly easy. Little Smilla, who had the same princess dreams I’d once had, and the same father figure—playful and fun as a dad, worthless and unscrupulous as a spouse. Smilla, who was connected to me through the child I now carried inside.
“Your sister or brother,” I whisper with a shiver as I stand in front of the grocery store cooler.
For a long time, I stare at the containers of milk, butter, yogurt, and eggs. Then I glance down at the red basket I’m holding. It’s still empty.
In the back of my mind, I know that getting in the car and driving here to shop for groceries is just a pretext. What I’m looking for is something else entirely. But what? The two old ladies are approaching. Quickly, I take two cartons of yogurt from the shelf and place them in my basket. I hope now I look like any other ordinary customer. Normal. At least outwardly.
I move to the back of the store, trying to keep it together. I put some fruit in a plastic bag, which I place in the basket along with a loaf of light rye bread. Suddenly I find myself in front of a shelf of diapers and baby food. And I’m staring straight into the memory of how Alex reacted when he heard I was pregnant. Have you made an appointment? I remember that afterward he took his time finishing his dinner, that he seemed to be chewing very calmly and carefully. Yet there was something alarming about the way his jaws kept grinding back and forth. Something that indicated suppressed rage. Or is that just my interpretation in hindsight?
After he’d cleaned his plate, he pushed it aside and left the room to get something. He came back holding a black silk tie. Then he took off his jacket and handed both items to me.
“Put these on over your panties. Nothing else. Wait for me in the bedroom.”
One more try, just one last time. Maybe that’s what I was thinking. Maybe that’s why I repressed the memory of the pain in my thighs, the pain that had eventually faded and yet had etched silent, indelible traces inside my body. In any case, I did as Alex wanted. I got undressed, slipped the tie around my neck, and waited. Then he came into the bedroom. And closed the door to the world.
It took a long time for me to fall asleep that night, and when I finally did, it was a restless and fitful slumber. A short time later I woke up, either from pain or because of sounds outside. The rumbling car engine, the loud screams. I lay there, listening to Alex carry Smilla inside, noting how he turned on lights and put her to bed in the room next to ours. Through the wall, I heard him talking to her, his words quiet and reassuring.
I didn’t get out of bed, but I was definitely wide awake. And it was at that moment I made up my mind. Actually, it was more of a realization than a decision. This has to stop.
There was a clarity in those words, a feeling that I’d been missing for a long time. I had to do what must be done. It made me feel both heavy and light. There was no doubt in my mind whatsoever.
I reach out and touch a baby bottle, then a sippy cup with a Winnie-the-Pooh decal. Is this what I’m looking for? Is this why I’m here? No. I lower my hands. My body moves away. I’m almost at the checkout counter, but I haven’t found what I’m looking for. Something is buried in my consciousness, mocking me, hidden. I put a bag of cat food in my basket, and then I’m in the section for home and garden supplies. My eyes land on a medium-sized ax on one of the lower shelves, and something clicks.
I set down the basket and squat in front of the tools on display. My ears are ringing as I reach out and grab the handle. I pick up the ax, weigh it in my hand. It’s substantial for its size.
I’ve never held an ax before. Yet the feel of the grooved plastic handle seems so familiar, completely natural. How can that be? I lean forward and read what it says on a sign fastened to the shelf. “Multifunctional. Case-Hardened Steel. Lifetime Guarantee.” I close my eyes a second.
Then I carefully touch the blade with my fingertips. The feeling prompts a bass note to resonate through my whole body. After it fades, a familiar echo starts up. In the worst-case scenario, that sort of state of mind could have very unfortunate consequences. For you, or for those close to you. I practically fling the ax away. What the blond psychologist warned me about—is that what’s happening now? Have I reached a point where I can no longer predict my actions or control what I do? Have I reached that point—or have I already passed it? Oh, Smilla!
I cover my eyes and rock desperately back and forth as I crouch there on the floor of the grocery store. We hadn’t planned to bring her with us to Marhem. Unforeseen circumstances prompted her nighttime arrival. The one who stayed and the one who left. And now… What is it I’m trying to tell myself now? That unforeseen circumstances are also behind her disappearance? I take my hands away from my eyes and again fix my gaze on the object in front of me. I need to be realistic. Once again, I reach out for the ax.
I’m approaching the highway exit for Marhem when my phone starts ringing. Katinka, I think. I didn’t answer her text, so now she’s calling to see if I’m okay. I remember what Mama said the first day after they went missing, when I was still taking her calls. Katinka is worried about you. Feeling tense, I pull out my phone. But it’s not Katinka’s number on the display.
My other hand jerks the steering wheel so hard that the car swerves across the lane. I shriek before regaining control. Up ahead, I see a turnout, a waiting area for the buses that travel the highway back and forth to town. I cast a frantic glance in the rearview mirror, but there’s no bus in sight on the stretch of road behind me. Clutching the wheel with both hands, I pull into the bus stop and brake, a little too hard.
My phone is still ringing, and I stare at it wild eyed. No, it’s not Katinka’s number. There are no digits on the display. Only a name. A very familiar one.
“Alex,” I whisper.
My hand picks up the phone. The skin on my palm twinges—it’s the wound from the other day, the wound from my own earring. Just before I press the “Answer” button, my eyes shift to the plastic bags on the floor in front of the passenger seat. The bags containing the groceries I bought. Yogurt, fruit, bread. And the ax. The multifunctional tool, with a blade of tempered steel and a lifetime guarantee.
I take a deep breath and answer, trying unsuccessfully to make my voice sound normal.
“Hello? Alex? Where are you? What happened?”
I hear a scraping sound on the other end.
“Hello?” I shout again, a little more firmly this time. “Can you hear me?”
Still no answer. All I hear is a rushing sound. Then total silence. I take the phone away from my ear and stare at it. I try again, shouting Alex’s name louder and louder. But the connection is dead. There’s no one there.
26
It’s gotten so dark. The last bit of strength has seeped out of me; there’s nothing left. Nothing to hold me up. I can’t get up, can’t do anything. All I can do is lie here in the dark and look around. It’s all so familiar, yet it seems different now. Changed. Ruined.