Hell Fire (3 page)

“Good morning, Simon,” said Kaja, who was the head of the daycare. “And what would you like to do today?”

He didn't have an answer. The little boy wasn't used to having his wishes fulfilled. He slowly wandered across the room, sat down on the big corner sofa, and picked up a picture book. He started to turn the pages with his thin fingers. He could read a few words—his mother had taught him—the word
ice cream
and the word
ape
, and his own name. As his mother's back disappeared through the door, he got up and ran over to the window. He watched the taillights disappear through the gate and down the road. Now he had to wait for nine hours. He walked slowly back to the sofa and started to look through the book. Kaja sat down beside him.

“You're on kitchen duty today,” she said with a smile. “You'll enjoy that, won't you? We're going to make bread rolls. And you can knead the dough.”

Simon didn't answer this either. The sight of the unhappy little thing who was only four and a half years old nearly broke Kaja's heart. No one should have to leave a crying child. It was wrong and she really felt for Bonnie Hayden. She tried to think about all the positive things: he didn't go hungry or get cold; he was a much-loved child. And that couldn't be said for all the children in her care.

Once in the car, Bonnie took a moment to pull herself together. It was the same pain every morning, the same terrible feeling of guilt that she had to push back down. She drove through the gate, on her way to Erna, who was incredibly demanding. She cursed her mean little life, the fight she had every morning with her crying son. Everyone else seemed so much happier than she was—had more energy and plans and dreams for themselves and their children. She often wondered if Simon would manage to get by in life and worried that he would also fall short and be left on the outside. Life was an endless succession of obligations and demands. He had to manage on his own at daycare. He had to make friends and get on with the staff and other children. Then he'd have to do well at school, get good marks, and learn to socialize. He would eventually grow up and have to get a job—preferably a well-paid one. Something secure. And she hoped he would get a girlfriend and that they would have children. And if they didn't have children, they would have to explain why. No, we don't want children or we can't have children. And if they did have children, they would have to manage the endless expectations of society. My little Simon, she thought with smarting eyes. How will things turn out for him?

The car spluttered when she shifted to fourth gear because there was a hole in the exhaust. It was about to fall to pieces, and if it did, she couldn't afford to buy a new one. And if she didn't have a car, she couldn't keep her job as a home health aide. Her heart got stuck in her throat at the thought. She gritted her teeth and put her foot on the accelerator. She knew that Erna would be sitting by the window, watching out for her like a hawk.

Erna's profile looked like it had been carved in stone as she sat waiting by the window. Bonnie could see the sharp ridge of her nose through the glass. The old woman took her time opening the door as usual, and only with great reluctance let her in. She always liked to make a point. As soon as Bonnie walked through the door, she breathed in the familiar smell of old people who are no longer able to look after themselves.

“It's cold today,” Erna complained. “You'll have to put the heat on. My legs are like ice. What about you?”

“Thank you for asking,” Bonnie said. “Simon was completely blue with cold when we left for daycare.”

“You mothers today, you just abandon your children,” Erna said sharply. “We didn't do that in my day; we were at home with them all day. And why is it you don't have a husband? Was he not getting what he wanted? You know what men are like.”

“He left, I've told you before,” Bonnie replied, upset. “He met someone younger, and there was nothing I could do. You should have seen him; he was completely obsessed. And I don't want another man. One was enough.”

Once she'd hung up her coat, she went into Erna's bedroom. In the corner of the room, there was a basket full of socks. Bonnie felt exhausted just at the sight of them. She stood for a while by the bed, her head hanging. If only she could lie down on the soft mattress. Her head ached with tiredness, and though she couldn't bear the thought of starting to clean, she picked up the basket of socks and went back into the living room. On the way out, she looked up briefly to study a photograph that was hung on the wall. It was of Erna at her confirmation, wearing a long dress. Every time Bonnie saw the picture, she was astonished. Could that really be Erna? It was hard to believe because the young girl in the picture was beautiful and beaming.

Erna was sitting in a wing chair with a blanket over her knees, watching her every move. Bonnie could feel her gimlet eyes on her back. She took a sock from the basket and bent down, lifted the heavy oak coffee table, and put the thick sock on one of the legs. Then she put a sock on the second, third, and fourth. She did the same on the armchairs, which were also as heavy as lead. Erna had an enormous dining table and six chairs at the other end of the room. Soon all of Erna's furniture was wearing white tennis socks with a red-and-blue stripe. Then it was time to get the heavy vacuum cleaner from the cupboard. The furniture was now protected from the vacuum head, which might otherwise bang against the legs and dent the wood. Erna was worried about wear and tear and the socks were a fixed ritual. Her eyes followed Bonnie as she worked. Her hands lay like claws in her lap and she moved her face from side to side like a bird of prey.

“We have to wash the windows today,” she commanded. “There are marks all over them. Will you never learn to use the squeegee without leaving streaks?”

Bonnie answered loudly over the noise of the vacuum cleaner. “It's too cold, Erna,” she said in a tired voice. But Erna had an answer for that.

“Put a little denatured alcohol in the water,” she said. “It's in the cupboard under the sink.”

Bonnie didn't have the energy to reply. She coaxed the vacuum head in between the table legs, terrified of hitting the precious woodwork. Because then Erna would flare up, call the office, and complain. She'd say that Bonnie was sloppy and didn't care. Not that Ragnhild in the office ever listened to her, but it was still unpleasant. Erna's radio was on; she was listening to the news. A caseworker in one of the employment offices in Oslo had been threatened with a knife.

“It was probably a foreigner,” Erna said. “An African, no doubt. Those people don't know how to behave decently; they just come here to sponge off us.”

Bonnie straightened up to release her back. She had waited in a line at the employment office herself when she was unemployed and on the dole, and had noticed that there were a lot of foreigners there. She was not proud of her bitter thoughts at the time. She bent down to carry on vacuuming. Simon, where are you now? Are you sitting inside the little house in the play corner, or are you on the sofa with a book? Or maybe you're outside sledding with the others. Don't cry; I'll be there soon. I just have to clean. Every day I have to clean. And maybe if I work really hard and save as much as I can, we can buy a plane ticket. To the Mediterranean. And then you can swim in warm water and play on the soft white sand.

“I hope the African is sent home,” Erna announced from the wing chair.

“If it was an African,” Bonnie said. “Norwegians can threaten people too, if they think it's necessary.”

She moved the floor lamp and a basket of newspapers, and glanced over at the windows as she did so. They were polished like a mirror. Denatured alcohol in the water? She wasn't going to get away with not doing it. She would have to stand on a stepladder in the snow to do the outside because the big living-room windows couldn't be opened. She put the vacuum cleaner back in the cupboard, closed the door, and sat down in a chair; she just wanted to rest a little. Organ music poured out of the radio. Erna had closed her eyes.

Now Bonnie had to wash the floor. She filled a bucket with warm water—but not too warm because that might damage the sheen on the oak parquet. Erna was persnickety about that. Then she did the kitchen and the bedroom, and finally the bathroom. The grout between the tiles was gray and Erna had suggested that she use a toothbrush to clean it properly.

Bonnie shook out the rugs. She did the laundry and changed the bed. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and polished a five-armed silver candelabra that Erna had once bought in Egypt. According to her job description, she wasn't supposed to do that kind of thing, but it was a job she liked. It was a welcome relief. She could sit still and rest her back. The candelabra sparkled when she was finished. But then she had to balance in the snow outside the living-room windows, while Erna stood inside and made sure she did a thorough job. She mustn't leave any streaks from the squeegee or she was done for. Her hands were freezing inside the rubber gloves, and her ears were cold. When she was finished, she carried the stepladder inside and put it away. She watered the plants and dusted, carried old newspapers out to the recycling bin, changed a light bulb that had blown in the kitchen, and put five white candles in the newly polished candelabra. Next she went through the food in the fridge. Quite a lot was past its sell-by date, including the milk, cheese, and ham. Eventually she collapsed onto a chair. Half a day's work done. Now she had to go to Marie's, which was a lot easier, as Marie lived in a small apartment in a complex for the elderly. Erna got up from the wing chair and shuffled across the floor to her bedroom. Bonnie thought about Marie as she sat and waited. After a while, Erna came out again with a shoebox, which she handed to Bonnie.

“This is for you,” she said briskly. “I've been saving it. I used to get them for Christmas. And I don't have use for them anymore.”

Bonnie looked at the box. It was quite light, the lid tied down with a piece of string. Erna had never given her anything. She was a real miser. The most she would do was gather up her crumbs and give them to the birds. Bonnie thanked her warmly for the gift and carried it to the door, where she said goodbye.

Marie sat in a chair while Bonnie gave her a shower.

She had a plastic poncho on over her clothes but still managed to get soaking wet, as she always did. The hardest thing was getting the temperature right because Marie was so sensitive. She had to test it on her feet first. First it was too hot, and then it was too cold. Then it was too hot again, but eventually she got it right. Afterward, once she'd dried Marie's thin body and she was sitting on the edge of the bed, Bonnie rubbed in some cream. Marie's old skin was so dry that it flaked. While Bonnie massaged her, Marie sat and mused about how evil people were, as was her wont. A man had strangled his wife with some rope. Then he had rolled her up in a carpet, put her in the car, and driven to the edge of a quarry and thrown her over.

“Do you think he'll come here?” Marie asked anxiously.

Bonnie had to smile. She had worked her way down to Marie's feet, which were as small as a child's. “No, dear Marie, why would he do that? They'd probably had an argument,” she assured her, “and you never argue. Anyway, he'll be sentenced to years in prison.”

“But he'll get out again,” Marie said. “And then he'll look for someone else. I'm not going to open the door. Give three short rings when you come so I know it's you.”

Simon sat and waited for her by the window.

Bonnie swung in and stopped in front of the daycare. She was happy because now it was just the two of them, all evening and all night. She would give him everything he hadn't gotten during the day; she would buy a bottle of ginger beer and a bag of dinosaur cookies. As soon as she opened the door, he came running toward her. His cheeks were red; he must have spent a long time outside in the cold. He sat down under the snail picture right away and she helped him put on his coat.

“Shall we build that tent when we get home? We'll make a big one—we can use a sheet and blankets and I've got lots of clothespins.”

Simon climbed into the back seat of the car and she fastened his seat belt.

“Marie asked me to say hello,” she told him. “She never remembers how old you are; she thinks you're already at school.”

“What's in the box?” he asked curiously. Bonnie had put the box tied with string on the back seat. She got in and started the engine, and as usual the Opel had to cough and splutter a few times before it started.

“No idea,” she said. “Erna gave it to me. What do you think it could be? Shall we guess?”

Simon reached over and put the box in his lap. He shook it first but heard nothing. “Is it shoes?” he asked in surprise. Bonnie had to laugh.

“No,” she said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “I couldn't wear Erna's shoes because her feet are too big.” She paused for a moment, looking right and then left to make sure it was clear. Then she pulled out onto the road.

“I wondered if it might be a vase,” she said, “or some coffee mugs that she doesn't need anymore. She said that she got it for Christmas and she doesn't need it. That's she's too old.”

“Do you get too old for coffee mugs?” Simon asked.

“No, of course not, that was silly of me. Perhaps it's chocolates; that's what old ladies get for Christmas. And then they'll probably be hard and moldy and we won't be able to eat them.”

“They also get slippers,” Simon said, like a little grownup. “Granny has lots of pairs and she got them all from us.”

“It might be a smart little handbag,” Bonnie said after a while. “That would be nice. Erna never goes to parties. So maybe she thought that I might have more use for it than she does.”