Unspoken (18 page)

And him. Now she mostly felt sick whenever she thought of him. His sweaty hands would paw at her, wanting to get under her clothes; he whimpered and whined like a baby. He wanted to do all sorts of strange things with her, and she didn’t dare protest. She felt disgusted with herself, revolted. He told her that now they were both involved, and she had to keep quiet about what they did together. He talked as if they shared a secret agreement, a pact. But that’s not how it was. Deep in her heart, she knew that. He said that he needed her, that she was important to him, and he gave her presents, which she had a hard time resisting. And that made her feel guilty. She was equally at fault, and she had only herself to blame. But now she didn’t want to go on. She wanted to get away from him, but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine how to do that. In her day-dreams she wished that someone would come around the corner and rescue her from everything. But no one ever showed up. She wondered what her father would say if he knew.

She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Spot followed and looked up at her with his sweet eyes. She took out the green box of razor blades and sat down on the toilet seat. Carefully she took out a blade and held it between her fingers. Tears welled up, hot and salty, and rolled down her cheeks to land on her lap. She held out one hand and studied her fingers. What use was this hand? The blue veins ran from her wrist and into her palm filled with her blood, which pumped through her body. How meaningless. Why was she born? To take care of her mother? So that some disgusting old man could paw at her?

She looked at Spot, and that was enough to make him wag his tail hesitantly.
You’re the only one who likes me
, she thought.
But I can’t keep on living just for the sake of my dog
.

She took a firm grip on the razor blade and pressed it against her leg, almost level with her kneecap. She wanted to watch it pierce her skin. She pressed harder and harder. It hurt. At the same time, it felt good, almost liberating. All her fear and pain collected there, in her leg instead of in her whole body. In one place. Finally the blood began to flow, running down her leg and onto the floor.

He saw Emma at once, as soon as she came through the door. He watched her for several seconds while she looked around. The restaurant was small, intimate, and very crowded. He was sitting in a corner at the back, and it was hard to see him from the entrance. Then she noticed him, and her face lit up. To think it was possible to be so beautiful. She was wearing a moss green jacket, and her hair was wet from the rain. It was unusual to see her in a restaurant in Stockholm, and he liked it.

They kissed. Her lips tasted of salty licorice, and she laughed into his mouth.

“What a day! I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I didn’t hear a thing they said. All I wanted was to get out of there. The course I was taking had absolutely nothing to say to me.”

“Were the speakers boring?”

He could feel that his whole face was smiling.

She threw out her hands. “I’m sure they were brilliant, inspiring, and super-charismatic. Everybody else was very pleased. But for me, none of that mattered. I just sat there thinking about you and longing to get away.”

Their hands met across the table, and Johan couldn’t get his fill of looking at her.

This is how it should always be
, he thought. On the ring finger of her left hand her wedding band gleamed, a reminder that he only had her on loan. Just as their food arrived, her cell phone rang. Johan could tell at once that it was her husband, Olle, calling.

“It was good,” she said. “Interesting speakers. Mmm. I’m sitting here having a glass of wine with Viveka. Mmm. We’re leaving soon. The banquet doesn’t start until eight.”

She glanced at Johan. Then she got a worried look on her face.

“What? He does? That’s too bad. When did it start? Hmm. How high is his temperature? Oh no. Try to get him to drink some fluids . . . Is he throwing up, too? How typical that he should get sick when I’m not home. Aren’t you supposed to play a match early tomorrow morning? Uh-huh. Okay. You and Sara aren’t sick, too, are you? If he keeps on like that, you should probably give him some fluid-replacement mixture. Do we have any in the house? Hmm. I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

“That was Olle,” she explained unnecessarily. “Filip has the stomach flu. He’s been throwing up all afternoon.”

She took a sip of her wine and looked out the window. Just a quick glance, but enough for Johan to realize that everything was much more complicated than he wanted to believe. She had children that she shared with her husband and she always would. He had watched her as she talked on the phone, and he understood how much of an outsider he was. What did he know about childhood illnesses? He didn’t even know Emma’s children. They had no relationship to him.

After dinner he wanted to show her around. It had stopped raining, and they strolled down to Hornstull beach, past Reimersholme, and out to Långholmen. Even though it was dark, they walked across the Bridge of Sighs, along the path past the old Mälarvarvet, and over to the other side. The lights from Gamla Stan, the city hall, and Norr Mälarstrand were reflected in the water.

They sat down on a bench.

“Stockholm is so damn beautiful,” said Emma with a sigh. “The water makes it seem like it’s not a big city, even though there are so many people. I could see myself living here.”

“You could?”

“Yes. I’m always so jealous when you tell me about everything going on here. All the people, the theater, the cultural events. It makes me really think about what I’m missing when I’m on Gotland. It’s nice there, but nothing ever happens. And just the idea that I could be anonymous. I could sit here in a café and no one would recognize me. Just blend in with everyone else. Watch people and be entertained. And I don’t really think the traffic is so bad. It must be the water,” she said, looking out across the dark mirror of Riddarfjärden.

“Yes, I love this city. I always will.”

“And yet you would be willing to move to Gotland?” she said, looking at him.

“For your sake, I would do anything. Anything at all.”

When they went back to his apartment and got into bed like an ordinary married couple, Johan was struck by a feeling of unreality mixed with joy. They should be able to go to bed like this every night.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24

Saturday started out with snow mixed with rain, a strong wind, and the temperature hovering just above freezing. Knutas and his children had made breakfast and put a bouquet of flowers on the table next to Lina’s place. Each of them was holding one of her birthday presents, and they had cleared their throats to make sure that their creaky morning voices would be able to handle the birthday song. On their way upstairs they started singing “Happy Birthday,” each of them in a different key.

Lina sat up in bed, still dazed with sleep, her red hair in a cloud around her head. She gave them a big smile and looked with delight at the presents. She was childishly excited about receiving gifts and started with the ones from Petra and Nils: a book, nail polish, and a calendar with cute firefighters holding kittens. Lina had been in love once before, with a firefighter. The children liked to tease her about her weakness for men in uniforms. She saved the present from her husband for last. Knutas watched his wife with anticipation. He’d had trouble coming up with something, but then a brilliant idea had occurred to him. There was one thing that he knew she really wanted. In spite of countless diets and halfhearted attempts to start exercising, she hadn’t managed to lose any weight. Consequently, he had filled a box with everything that might help her out: a year’s membership to Gym 1 in Visby, a jump rope and weights for exercising at home, and an introductory package to Weight Watchers.

When Lina realized what his present was, her expression darkened and red blotches appeared on her throat. Slowly she raised her head and met her husband’s eyes.

“What’s all this supposed to mean?” Her eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?” he stammered uncertainly and then began listing all the advantages of his gift. “You wanted to slim down, so here’s everything you need. If you don’t have time to go to the gym, you can work out at home, and Weight Watchers has a meeting for new members on Tuesday at Säve School. Plus you get a personal trainer for the first five times at the gym, so you’ll learn how to use the machines correctly.”

Knutas pointed eagerly at the brochure that was attached to the gift card.

“So you think I’m fat? That I’m not attractive anymore? Is that why you’re giving me all these things? Because you want me to be more buff?”

Lina sat bolt upright in bed, and her voice rose to a falsetto. Startled, the children looked from one parent to the other.

“But you’re always talking about wanting to lose weight. I just wanted to help you out.”

“And you think this is the sort of thing that I’d want for my birthday? To be reminded how fat I am? Can’t you at least let me enjoy my day?”

Now she was shouting and she had tears in her eyes. The children decided to leave the room.

Knutas lost his temper.

“What the hell is this? First you go on and on about weighing too much, and then when I give you things to help you lose a few pounds, you get mad. What the hell is that all about?”

He stomped downstairs and started banging the breakfast dishes around. Then he shouted to Lina, “Just ignore the whole thing. I’ll take everything back. Forget all about it!”

He called to the children, “Here’s breakfast, for anyone who wants it!”

“And what about you? Have you ever taken a look at yourself?” Lina yelled from upstairs. “I could buy you an arm exerciser for Christmas. And maybe some Viagra—that wouldn’t hurt!”

Knutas didn’t bother to reply. He could hear Lina still muttering angrily to herself upstairs. Sometimes he got really fed up with her hot temper.

The children came downstairs and ate their cornflakes in silence. Knutas spilled coffee on the tablecloth, but he didn’t care. He looked at Petra and Nils. All three of them shook their heads in agreement. None of them could understand Lina’s reaction.

“Go upstairs and talk to Mamma,” said Petra after a while. “This is her birthday, after all.”

Knutas sighed but followed his daughter’s advice. Fifteen minutes later he had persuaded his wife that she wasn’t at all fat, that he loved her just the way she was, and that she wasn’t the slightest bit overweight. No, she wasn’t.

She was afraid of him. It started when he discovered the cuts.

They had done it again, in their secret place. The sexual act was a torment for her. Pain and disgust in a violent combination. It was as if she took pleasure in punishing herself. When he was done and lay next to her, gasping, he took hold of her wrist.

“What’s this?” he said, sitting up on the sofa.

“Nothing.”

She pulled her hand away.

He grabbed both of her hands and held them out.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“No,” she said, ashamed. “I just cut myself a little.”

“What the hell for? Are you crazy?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

She tried to pull her hands away, but she couldn’t.

“Did you cut yourself just for fun?”

“No, it’s just something that I do. I’ve done it for years. I can’t stop.”

“Are you out of your mind!”

“Maybe I am.”

She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh got caught in her throat. Fear was blocking the way.

“You can’t keep doing this—you know that, don’t you? What if someone finds out? Your mother or a teacher at school or someone else? Then they’ll start asking a lot of questions. And you might not be able to keep quiet about us. They can manipulate you and coax you into talking. They might call in a bunch of psychologists and shit!”

His voice had gotten so loud that he was shouting. Saliva flew from his lips. He suddenly seemed dangerous, unpredictable. She drew the blanket tightly around her and watched him anxiously.

“No one is going to notice,” she objected quietly.

“That’s what you think. It’s just a matter of time before someone sees those cuts. I forbid you to do it again. Do you hear me?”

He fixed his eyes on her. They were dark with anger.

“Okay, I promise. I’ll stop.”

He shook his head and went into the bathroom. She stayed on the sofa, unable to move as her panic grew. When he came back he had calmed down. He sat down next to her and stroked her arm.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said in a gentle voice. “You might really hurt yourself. I’m worried about you. Don’t you realize that?”

“Yes,” she said. Tears were stinging her eyes.

“Now, now, honey,” he consoled her. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I was shocked when I saw those cuts, and I’m afraid of losing you. So I don’t want to see any more of this, okay?”

He put his hand under her chin and looked her deep in the eyes.

“Promise me, my little princess.”

She shuddered inside but nodded obediently.

In the car on the way back, she was convinced that she would never agree to see him again. In her mind she went over and over how she would phrase the words. She practiced the lines like a broken record.

He stopped a block away from her building, and turned off the engine. He wanted her to come and sit in the front seat for a last embrace before they parted. Lately he had made her sit in the back because he was afraid they might be seen.

When he had his nose pressed between her breasts, she gathered her courage.

“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

Slowly he raised his head.

“What did you say?”

“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore. We have to stop this.”

His eyes grew dark and his voice turned icy.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I don’t want to see you anymore,” she stammered. “I just don’t want to.”

“What the hell are you saying?” he snarled. “Don’t want to! What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘don’t want to’? It’s you and me!”