I don't talk to my neighbours. If they say hello over the fence, I say hello back, but keep walking. I'm not unhappy, but I'm not happy either. I don't know anyone who is. A doctor that I see once a year says that I'm as healthy as a horse. He says this in a stern, admonishing way, and I know what he's getting at, but he can't possibly understand. I don't feel like explaining. He's not being malicious or pretentious, he just sits there and looks at me. Wants to offer me something, but he doesn't really have the strength for it.
People are so different. It's easier to love things, or tasks, or animals maybe, but they smell and they leave hair everywhere, or something even worse. I spend the evenings tidying up the house. I wash and put things away and wipe and dust. Everything is clean. Finally I splash some bleach in all the drains. It kills bacteria and removes odours. Behind the house I have a beautiful garden and a small gazebo. If I sit outside in the summer I put up a windbreak made of canvas. If anyone were to stand behind the hedge and look in, they wouldn't be able to see me. Not that I'm sitting there wearing nothing but my underwear; that would never occur to me. But I like this enclosed space. I've never bothered anybody. Never made big demands or behaved unreasonably.
I don't cheat on my taxes, I don't shoplift, I pay all my bills a day or two before they're due. On Saturday evenings I sometimes drink a little wine, but never too much. I watch television. Read the newspapers. I know what's happening out in the streets and in Algeria and Rwanda. I sleep well, I rarely dream, and I'm not afraid of dying. In fact, I often wish I would die. Die suddenly, while I'm sitting in the red chair, without being aware of it. Next to the window, with the sun on my face. The last thing I felt would be a faint warmth. How sad it will be when I'm not here any more!
In short, I fulfil my obligations. What's wrong with obligations? Aren't they what hold society together? Every night when I go to bed, I can cross off one more day. That's a relief. I'm not ashamed. When I wake up in the morning, I'm always amazed that I'm still here. But I think that's great, and I do what I'm supposed to do. You mustn't think that I'm unhappy or anything; I'm doing fine. Or was. Until the incident with Andreas happened.
I was 16 when I left the yellow house. All the rules had closed around me like a cage. I didn't let anyone in. Behind the bars, I constructed a life, a state in which I could survive, one consisting of order and regulation, discipline and control. My parents regarded me with doubt and relief. There was something clearly legible in their eyes. Don't blame us, they said, if anything goes wrong. They didn't wave when I left. They wanted above all things to be left in peace. I never acquired a faith in God, either. There's more between heaven and earth, my mother would say, with her back turned. They passed on to me what they had learned themselves, the best way to make it through life. So I left, with the rules as a weight on my shoulders, and from behind the cage bars I observed the world. Everyone around me was vacillating and without purpose and disgustingly impulsive. Human beings have a tendency to just drift along, and that makes me nervous.
I have a friend. Did I mention that? Runi. She rarely visits me. Usually it is I who goes to visit her, and that's what I prefer. A guest in my house makes me feel like a prisoner. I can't get up and leave when I want to. She talks a lot and has all sorts of worries. No more than I do, but I'm not as eager to talk about them. Except for now, to you. Runi's a beautiful woman; in appearance, I mean. Modern without going over the top. She knows she's attractive. That's important to her. Most of the time she's gentle and talkative and lively. But she cackles wickedly about everything that's troublesome, and sometimes she's a downright nuisance. It wears me out. Occasionally there are things that I'd like to tell Runi, but I don't. Like when I use her toilet. I go into the tiny room, lift up my skirt and pee. Wipe myself thoroughly. Wash my hands. It costs me nothing. I can't tell this to Runi, because she wouldn't understand. You wouldn't either. Of course she's charming, but she lacks any connection with herself and with the ground she walks on. She never thinks things through. When something happens, she's never prepared. That childish attitude, thinking that nothing will ever harm her, where does she get that from? She's an adult now. And a terrible liar. One time – well, I have to confess it was in a fit of drunkenness – I was sitting in her living room, eating cake. With icing and green gumdrops on top. She started talking about how vigorously she always did the Friday cleaning, and how much her back hurt afterwards. I had my own thoughts on the subject. I could smell the dust in the room. I have a very keen sense of smell. When she went out to the kitchen to get something, I grabbed a gumdrop from the cake and tossed it under the sofa. And then I waited. At first for a week, but then I put my heart and soul into it and waited another week. And then, to really test fate, I waited one week more. Then I paid her a visit. When she went to the bathroom, I bent down and found the gumdrop. It wasn't green any more, and it was furry. I never confronted her with the furry gumdrop; I'm not a mean sort of person. I try to offer her something, since we're friends, for God's sake. And what is a friend?
Someone to spend time with, without too much discomfort? Because I don't really care for her that much. If she died I'd be extremely upset, but at the same time a lot would be over and done with. Grieve for her? That's not how I'd feel. It's good to be done with things.
She encourages me to go out, sometimes to a restaurant, or to the theatre. It takes an effort for me to do that. To sit there in a crowd of people, so close that you can hear what they're saying, is very stressful. One time we went to Hanna's Kitchen because it was Runi's birthday. That was a long time ago. We were sitting at a table right next to two young women, well, young compared to us, but definitely adults. They were howling and carrying on, giggling like a couple of teenagers. And they drank too much and got very drunk. I realised after a while that they were actually two streetwalkers. I'm no fool. Some of their conversation can't be repeated, it was so vile. And having them so close like that. Unable to get away! Runi makes all the arrangements if we're going to do something together. Sometimes I feel quite moved, when I hear her voice on the phone, when she asks me if I'd like to come along, and her anxiety that I might say no. She doesn't have anyone else. Life isn't easy for anybody.
If I'm ever brought before a court, they'll probably declare me guilty by reason of insanity. But I'm not. I remember everything, so I should be held accountable, shouldn't I? And you can see that my thoughts are coherent and orderly, can't you?
That I'm a normal human being and not mentally deficient? I'm sure of that.
I've pulled a plastic tarpaulin over the body. I don't plan on moving him. How could I manage that? He weighs a ton, so the most I could have done would be to lug him into a corner. I've hung an old potato sack over the window. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. He's lying on his back with his arms at his side. He's no longer handsome. As I've said so often, physical beauty is a fragile gift. I myself have little to lose. I'm know that I'm ugly. No-one has ever said as much out loud, but I can see it in people's eyes when I meet their gaze: the dead look they give me. "Why can't you fix yourself up?" Runi asks me, annoyed. It scares her that I don't fight back. Let the young people be sleek in peace, is what I think now. Like Andreas, he's young and sleek. Well, not any more. My thoughts are with him. It's not that he's been forgotten or anything. He'll never be forgotten. But as for myself, I'm not so certain.
C H A P T E R 4
Andreas smoked Craven A cigarettes. Not Prince or Marlboro, like other people. Every time he was out of cigs he'd go to a kiosk, lean forward and say: