Shame. Part 10

My beloved son.

So natural, always so present. And always so out of reach.

She placed her palms over his name on the cold stone, and in the depths of her heart she had only one desire.

That she once and for all might trade places.

14.

Maj-Britt was sitting in her easy chair and the TV was on. Programme after programme rolled by; as soon as any thought managed to penetrate the images flickering past, she would click to another channel. The only thing she hadn't managed to do was escape the pain in her back. After she read Vanja's words it was more p.r.o.nounced than ever.

Before she retreated to what the TV had to offer, she had managed to confirm the conspiracy. She hadn't said a word about her sore back, yet Ellinor had seen through her with her prying eyes. And she was the only one who could have told Vanja.

Everything would have returned to normal if it hadn't been for Ellinor. If Vanja sent any more letters, Maj-Britt could escape by refusing to read them, and what she had already been forced to read she could stifle with TV and food if she just made an effort. But then there was Ellinor. Pleasant little Ellinor, who in reality was in league with Vanja; it was no accident that they had both forced their way in at the same time and almost succeeded in overturning her world. Behind her back they had forged their evil plans; what they were after was incomprehensible. But hadn't life always been this way? Against her. And she had never understood why.

And then there was the shame. The fact that Vanja knew that she had lied about her life and knew that she was sitting there in the flat, dependent on home help for her continued existence. And the fact that through her lies Maj-Britt acknowledged what a failure she actually was.

She heard no word of greeting when the door opened and then shut. Saba raised her head and wagged her tail a little, but stayed lying there next to the balcony door. She wanted to go out, but Maj-Britt hadn't been able to get up.

She heard footsteps approaching, and when they stopped she knew that Ellinor was in the room, only a couple of metres behind her.

'Hi.'

Maj-Britt didn't reply, just turned up the volume with the remote. Ellinor appeared at the edge of her field of vision, on her way to Saba and the balcony door.

'Do you want to go out?'

Saba got up, wagged her tail, and squeezed her heavy body through the open door. Outside the wind was blowing, and when a gust tore the door wide open, Ellinor shut it again. Maj-Britt saw her standing there with her back to the room, gazing out through the gla.s.s door.

Something was different. Ellinor's usual chatter was gone, and there was an oppressive air about her that Maj-Britt found unpleasant. A confusing change that she had to handle in some way. Ellinor stood by the door for a long time, and when she suddenly started speaking it happened so unexpectedly that Maj-Britt gave a start.

'Do you know anyone in this building?'

'No.'

She answered even though she considered refraining. Ellinor's new behaviour scared her, especially since she now knew that the person behind the friendly facade was concealing her real intentions.

'There's a family living across the courtyard; the father died yesterday. In a traffic accident.'

Maj-Britt didn't want to know, but she could picture that father, the one who used to go out and push his daughter on the swing, and that mother who seemed to be in some kind of pain. As usual she was being informed of things that she didn't want to deal with, things she hadn't asked to be told. She changed the channel.

Ellinor opened the door to let Saba back in, and then Maj-Britt heard her go out to the kitchen. On the TV three people's faces were being transformed using plastic surgery and make-up, and Maj-Britt succeeded in keeping up her defences for a long time. But then Ellinor was back. Maj-Britt acted as if she didn't notice, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Ellinor come into the room with something in her hands and sit down on the sofa. She sat down with the self-confidence of someone who knows she can get back up from it at any time.

'I thought I'd mend this.'

Maj-Britt turned her head. Ellinor was sitting with her dress in her lap, one of the two she always wore. This one had started to come apart a bit at the seams. Maj-Britt wanted to object but knew it needed to be mended. The alternative was to take the trouble to have a new one made, and she shuddered at the memory of the last time she did that. Or sew it herself? Impossible. For some reason the thought had never crossed her mind, not even in the days when she could have managed it physically. She didn't even own a needle and thread. But to watch Ellinor's fingers moving over something that usually clung tight against her skin was repulsive.

Maj-Britt pressed her lips together and went back to watching TV. But then she reacted to a movement from the sofa. Ellinor had stretched her arm up over her head. Maj-Britt never had a chance to think. She never had a chance to figure out rationally what made her turn all her attention to Ellinor; at the same time she was filled with a terror so strong that she suddenly couldn't move. She stared at Ellinor. Between her hands was an arm's length of sewing thread, and Maj-Britt couldn't defend herself. As if bewitched she followed the thread down to the spool in Ellinor's left hand. And then it was too late. The memory forced its way in from the whiteness. Like a shade pulled down, with the spring stretched to the breaking point, and suddenly it rolls up with a snap. Maj-Britt sat as if paralysed and looked at what was taking shape before her. What had so long been repressed but which without warning had come back through all those years. And there was nothing she could do to protect herself.

Nothing.

She was sitting in the kitchen, but it wasn't her kitchen at home, it was the kitchen that belonged to the pastor and his family. She had been there for almost two weeks, sleeping in a cold room with two beds, and the pastor's wife had slept in the other bed. She had not been left alone for a minute, and she had not been allowed to leave the room for a second except to go to the bathroom, which she was allowed to do each morning and evening. But not alone; the door was always left ajar, with the pastor's wife waiting outside.

It was a big wooden house, and she didn't recognise the sounds that inhabited it. Particularly at night. The sounds would creep unexpectedly into the room through the dark floorboards, and then she was glad she wasn't alone. In the daytime she would have liked to be left in peace for a while. But that wasn't allowed. She was being punished and she knew it was necessary, knew that it was for her own good. It was meant to help her after the game they had played in the woodshed. It was supposed to help her drive out those thoughts that came over her and made her do things she didn't want to do.

Now she was sitting on a kitchen chair and watching the pastor's wife setting out cups and plates on a tray. She felt that she ought to help but didn't dare ask. In spite of the fact that they had spent every minute together the past few weeks, except for an hour now and then when the pastor himself had taken over, they didn't really know each other. Much of the time had pa.s.sed in silence, and the rest they had devoted to prayers and the Holy Scriptures. Maj-Britt felt grat.i.tude towards the woman who was willing to sacrifice so much of her time to help her, but she was also scared of her. It was quite clear that the pastor's wife didn't actually like her but was acting out of a sense of duty. It was something that had to be done.

Maj-Britt inhaled the sweet fragrance of newly baked buns and glanced towards the window. It had grown dark outside. So many times she had stood on the other side, outside the fence down by the road, and looked towards the lovely house. Gazing at the illuminated windows and fantasising how it would feel to be allowed inside. In there on the other side, in the house that was so full of love that G.o.d Himself had chosen the man who lived there to preach His Word. And now she was sitting here in the kitchen. They had taken her in, opening their home and offering their time to help her and her parents to set everything right. She was filled with tremendous grat.i.tude. They knew what she had done, and the first days she hadn't dared look any of them in the eye. She had done all she could to try and repress the memory, how she was standing in her knickers with her trousers pulled down in front of Vanja and Bosse when her father had discovered them. Bosse had been the doctor and Vanja the nurse, and they hadn't intended to do anything else, just pull down their pants one by one. The worst shame was admitting to herself that she had felt a tingling in her chest from excitement and curiosity. She hadn't even felt sick when Satan had seized hold of her, but she didn't dare admit to this. It would have to remain a secret that she would hide away forever, although it was impossible to keep any secrets from G.o.d. And maybe it was also impossible to keep any secrets from the pastor, because each night he had read to her: 'Though evil is sweet in his mouth, and he hides it under his tongue, though he spares it and does not forsake it, but still keeps it in his mouth, yet his food in his stomach turns sour; it becomes cobra venom within him. He swallows down riches and vomits them up again; G.o.d casts them out of his belly. He will suck the poison of cobras; the viper's tongue will slay him.'

And she had prayed all the more fervently that G.o.d might help her. For two weeks she had prayed to be chosen as the others in the Congregation had been chosen, that she too might be enfolded by His love and grace. She didn't ask to understand, she knew that His ways were inscrutable, but she wanted so much to be able to obey! For Him to force her into submission so that she might be cleansed.

Now she was sitting here in the kitchen and didn't know why, and since she didn't have anything else to do she began to pray, the way she had learned she should do the past two weeks. The Lord's grace must not be misused.

At regular intervals she heard the sound of china cups being returned to their saucers and the pling pling of the spoons as they slid beside the cups. The pastor's wife had gone into the dining room and it was from there the sounds were now finding their way back to the cupboards from which the cups had been taken. Everything felt homey and safe. The aroma of the buns and the sound of the table being set. She had been let out of her room, and that must mean she had fulfilled their expectations, that they had been successful in curing her and now trusted her to rejoin the rest of humanity. of the spoons as they slid beside the cups. The pastor's wife had gone into the dining room and it was from there the sounds were now finding their way back to the cupboards from which the cups had been taken. Everything felt homey and safe. The aroma of the buns and the sound of the table being set. She had been let out of her room, and that must mean she had fulfilled their expectations, that they had been successful in curing her and now trusted her to rejoin the rest of humanity.

'Maj-Britt, can you come here?'

She got up at once and went towards the dining room, from which the pastor's wife had called. She was standing behind a chair at the end of the table, resting her hands on the chair back. It was a beautiful room. A large brown table in the centre of the room with twelve chairs around it and then four more along two of the walls. The third wall was covered by a gigantic china cabinet which matched the rest of the furniture, and by the fourth wall stood Maj-Britt in the doorway to the kitchen.

'You can go and sit down there.'

She pointed to one of the chairs along the wall. Maj-Britt did as she was told. She wondered why the table was set with such lovely china and whom they were expecting for evening coffee. She almost felt a little thrill of antic.i.p.ation, it had been so many days since she had seen anyone but the pastor and his wife. And she wondered whether Mamma and Pappa would come. Then she could show them that she had done penance and that their prayers had not been in vain. She could almost feel a hint of pride, nothing big or boastful, but more a slight sense of relief. She had managed to get rid of everything inside that had led her astray. Of course she had received help, but she was the one who had done it. Through her fervent prayers she had finally succeeded in taking control of the thoughts that were constantly slipping beyond the rules she had laid down for herself. G.o.d had finally listened and come to her aid. In His grace He had forgiven her and would not let her suffer anymore. Or her parents either, they would also be spared.

The pastor's wife went over to the china cabinet and pulled out the drawer beneath the centre door. With her back to Maj-Britt she rummaged around and there were sounds of small things being moved about. Then she turned round with a spool of thread in her hand. A wooden spool with pure white thread on it.

'Now take off your skirt and underwear.'

Maj-Britt didn't understand at first what she had said. For a fleeting moment there was still only the smell of freshly baked buns and hopeful trust. But then the terror came sneaking over her. Her clothes didn't need mending. What was the pastor's wife going to use the thread for? Maj-Britt inspected her skirt, looking for a seam that had split, but she couldn't find any.

'Just do as I say and then sit back down on the chair.'

Her voice was kind and friendly. It didn't match her words, and Maj-Britt didn't understand what she meant even though she understood what she said. Then the pastor's wife raised her arm above her head and pulled out an arm's length of thread. On the way down she glanced at her watch.

'You'll have to hurry so I have time to finish setting the table.'

Maj-Britt couldn't move. Take off her clothes, here in the pastor's dining room? She didn't understand, but she could see that the pastor's wife was beginning to get impatient and she didn't want to make her angry. With trembling hands she did as she was told and sat back down on the chair. The shame burned like fire. With her hands in her lap she tried to hide her secret place. Her clothes lay in a heap next to the chair, and it was hard to resist the urge to pick them up and run away.

The pastor's wife came over and knelt down by her side. Then she took the thin thread and tied it tight to her right leg; right below her knee she tied it with a simple knot before she tied the other end to the chair leg.

'We're doing this for your own good, Maj-Britt, so you will understand the seriousness of what you did.'

She took the pile of clothes and stood up.

'It's out of love for you that your parents and all of us in the Congregation are trying to help you find your way back to the true path.'

Maj-Britt was shaking. Her body was trembling with humiliation and fear. He had duped her, He had not forgiven her, only lulled her into false hope, biding His time.

'Out of love, Maj-Britt, even though it might not seem so now, but when you grow up you'll understand. We only want to teach you how you should have felt when you exposed yourself to that boy. And how you will feel for eternity if you don't change your behaviour.'

She folded up the clothes in a neat pile and went out to the kitchen. Maj-Britt sat utterly still. She was terrified that the thread would break if she moved.

Time pa.s.sed. Totally white time, without seconds or minutes. Only moments that moved forward and grew more and more meaningless. There above the table hung a large crystal chandelier. The prisms blinked and s.h.i.+mmered. And the table was so beautifully set. Delicate white cups and two platters filled with the loveliest cinnamon buns. And it was good that she was tied to the chair, because otherwise she might have eaten all of them before the guests even arrived. But they seemed to be doing so now. She heard the doorbell and voices murmuring but not what was said, but it was surely none of her business. The draught from the front door made the prisms in the crystal chandelier glitter like gemstones. Imagine being able to sit and gaze at such a fantastic creation. And now all the guests were coming into the room, in pairs or one by one they sat down at the table; the Gustavssons and the Wedins, and there came Ingvar who led the choir. And the Gustavssons had their Gunnar with them, look how big he had grown. They were all wearing such fine clothes, suits and dresses, as if they were going to church on Sunday. Even Gunnar had a suit on, although he was only fourteen. It was dark blue and he was wearing a tie and looking so grown-up. And then Mamma and Pappa. It was so nice to see them because it had been quite a while, but they didn't have time for her now and she understood that. The pastor had begun to talk about things that had to do with the Congregation, and now the buns were pa.s.sed around and coffee poured into the cups. But her mother looked so sad. Several times she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and Maj-Britt would have liked to go over and comfort her, tell her that everything was all right, but she stayed in her chair and she knew that was what she had to do. They had done this for her sake, even though they were pretending she didn't exist. Only Gunnar stole a glance at her from time to time.

And suddenly everyone was leaving. They all got up and went out together to the hall and then all the voices stopped. Only a quiet murmuring which she had become accustomed to hearing from the pastor and his wife, and then time became divided into seconds again.

She was sitting on a chair in the pastor's dining room with no clothes on the lower part of her body, and now she understood how she should have felt.

And she had learned that she would never again do what she had done.

The next day she was allowed to go back home. They let her take the spool of thread as a reminder. It was put on the shelf in the kitchen so that she would never forget.

15.

Some things were not meant to be kept by anyone. The sole purpose of some things was merely to pa.s.s by and remind certain people of what they would never be able to have. To make sure that they didn't neglect their hopeless longing, or simply forget about it. Or maybe even learn to live with it and feel a sense of contentment. No, when people didn't want to acknowledge their need it was time to remind them, give them a little taste, refresh their memory a bit.

Thomas had been that sort of person.

A reminder who had stopped by to tell her how life could have been. If she hadn't been someone who lived at the expense of others.

Someone who had squandered her right to life.

Everything was shattered. The dizzying feeling of hope had run out, dissolved in the limitless hopelessness that replaced it.

She was sitting on a chair by the living-room window. Her lovely living room where no price tag had hindered her, everything hand-picked, exquisite and meticulously arranged. A source of pride for the one who lived there and a challenge to those who came to visit.

Offering comparisons.

Making them want to have these things, too.

All her fine, expensive things.

All the lamps in the flat were turned off. A cold glow from outside painted a wide path on the parquet floor but stopped halfway up the bookshelf on the opposite wall. Just above the shelf with the gla.s.s sculpture, the sculpture that many of her fellow doctors also owned. Not quite identical but almost, which showed that they had both the means and the taste.

She had turned off the sound on her mobile phone. He called several times but she didn't answer. She just sat by the window in the living room, which was growing less and less important as the hours went by.

It had been easy to fill up the rest of her time. TV, gym, late nights at work. As a single person she was used to organising her time precisely, avoiding gaps when everything would come to a standstill and the worrying could take over. It was tough enough just to be alive. And when it got to be too much it was always possible to find consolation in a new jumper, an expensive bottle of wine, a pair of new shoes, or something to make her home even more perfect. And she could afford it.

All she was missing was a life.

And no fortune in the world could fix what had now been shattered.

The contours of the path of light at her feet grew vaguer and finally dissolved as dawn broke. A new day was approaching for her and for everyone else who was still here. But not for Mattias. And for Pernilla and their daughter the hopeless journey towards an acceptance of life's injustices and its unfathomable purpose was now starting.

The first day.

She closed her eyes.

For the first time in her life she wished she had some religious belief. Merely a tiny handle to hold on to; she would gladly exchange every object in the room for the ability, for a single second, to possess even a sc.r.a.p of faith. A feeling that there was some meaning, some higher cause that she didn't understand, a divine plan to rely on. But there was none. Life had once and for all proven its total absurdity; no amount of effort had any effect at all. There was nothing she could believe in. No consolation to be had.

Her world was built on science. Everything she had learned, made use of, trusted in, had all been precisely weighed and measured and confirmed. She accepted only exact and rigorously worked experimental results whose validity could be proven. That was where security could be found. And here, in the perfect home. Things that could be seen and evaluated. That was how everything acquired worth. But now it no longer sufficed, not now that everything was toppling and shrieking for a purpose. It would be enough to have a sense of a tiny, tiny 'maybe' the slightest hint, if only to enable her to set aside all logic and feel rea.s.sured.

The telephone rang. The usual four rings before the answering machine started.

'It's me again. I just wanted to say that I ... I don't really know if I can handle things being this way ... I would be extremely grateful if you'd call me and explain what's happening, so I know. Surely that's not asking too much ... or is it?'

She felt nothing when she heard his voice. He was calling from another life that no longer had anything to do with her. She had no right to it now. And she had no obligation to him; it was to others that she was indebted.

The telephone stood on the windowsill. She picked up the receiver and dialled his number, those familiar digits, for the last time and he answered immediately.

'Thomas.'

'This is Monika Lundvall. You left a message on my answering machine and asked for an explanation, so I just wanted to say that I don't want us to see each other anymore. Okay? Bye.'

She went out to the kitchen and poured water in the coffee-maker, pressed the b.u.t.ton and stood there. It was twenty to seven. Somewhere not far away a little one-year-old would be waking up, and she no longer had a father. She went into her office, found the phone book and looked up his name. There was only one Mattias Andersson, but at least he was there. In the next issue he would be deleted. She wrote down the address and stored the number in her mobile. She went back to the kitchen. Steam was hissing out of the coffee-maker and she looked at the green b.u.t.ton that showed the coffee was ready. She ignored it. Instead she went out to the hall and put on her coat.