Blackwater. Part 11

Blank looks. Everyone looked at her. Brita said it was goat's milk and that was the milk they had. Annie was panic-stricken, not just a rapidly pa.s.sing shudder, but panic that would rule her for a long time. What if Mia wouldn't drink the milk? What if she refused to eat?

They were there. It was serious. Dan had disappeared outside. Above the stove built in between slabs of shale, a pair of socks was drying. She had such a bad headache she couldn't look out of the window, where the light was hurtling in. No one mentioned what had happened down by the Lobber. No one asked her what she had seen. The lilting voice was talking about species of wild seeds and growing things. Mia sat there with her mouth clamped shut, avoiding looking at the two strange girls.

They were to live in the sensible building. She thought that was probably better. The ceilings were higher. But it was hideous and connected with something called the cookhouse. She couldn't really make out what that was, but they didn't cook food in there. Further away was a goat shed of corrugated iron and planks.

Petrus and Brita did not go inside with her. Dan showed her the room and the first thing she saw was a head of untidy hair. Whoever was in the bed had pulled the blanket up so far that only the hair showed. The head did not move.

'Lotta!'

Dan said it appealingly, as if to a child. The face appeared and gradually the body, thin and rather bowed. This was no child. Lotta was a grown woman and she looked ill. Mia stared with attention and held on hard to the Cretan rucksack.

There were two bunk beds made of metal tubing. The room had only one window. Beneath it a piece of hardboard served as a kind of table, and on that stood a paraffin lamp, another hanging from a nail in the wall. The room was papered with wallpaper painted over in a greyish-blue colour, buckled and split in a couple of places. There was an iron stove by one wall and a mirror with a broken plastic frame by the door. She felt it. Not plastic. Celluloid.

Lotta was using one of the two chairs as a bedside table. She had arranged a nest for herself. Some pictures of cats were on the wall, but otherwise she hadn't bothered about the room. Nothing remained of the curtains except a pelmet of loosely woven cotton, once white but now yellowish grey, the stripes still red and green. The curtain material roused a sense of childhood in Annie, as did the frame of the mirror forties style. The rag rug running from the door up to the table by the window was so dirty, the colours could no longer be made out.

It was incredible. Perhaps she would have started planning white curtains, jars of meadow flowers, clean rag rugs had she not had such a headache. She was also feeling sick now, so she just sat down on the vacant bed, careful not to hit her head on the upper bunk, and stared at Dan. She was waiting for him to say something, explain, but his eyes avoided hers. He seemed to be busy untying the rucksacks and talking to Lotta.

'I'll go now and you two can settle how you want it here,' he said. But he did not sound calm, so he must have noticed after all.

From the very beginning Annie had said that she couldn't live in a commune. That was really the only thing she had stated with any conviction. Otherwise her life was open. She wanted to change it. But never to live with other people. Not after Enskede.

She hadn't told him about Enskede, though. It had seemed petty to complain about overcrowding in an ordinary house. The sounds from the lavatory. The stock-exchange quotes on the radio. The roar of the vacuum cleaner. The neighbour's circular saw. Perhaps it would have been paradise to Dan. A house.

He had promised to find a house of their own, and had finally written about Nirsbuan in his letters. But it wasn't possible to occupy it. He must have realised that. It belonged to someone, even if it was only a summer place. She had thought he was putting it in order for them, that it was almost ready. He hadn't written that, but he had surely said it over the phone?

'Is this bed free?' she said, unable to stop herself sounding ironic. That happened to her when she was under pressure. Lotta nodded. She was hunched up on the edge of her bed, looking cold.

'You two don't want to live with anyone else.'

Annie was forced to look at her grey face. The girl was like a dog waiting to be kicked out. Mia had climbed up on the top bunk. There was no ladder and Annie never even noticed how she did it. Now she was sitting up there with the striped rucksack in her arms, pouting and frowning so that she looked like a watchful, intelligent monkey. I must go carefully, Annie thought. With them all.

'Who else lives in the house?' she asked. 'Well, I know who lives here. But I don't know in which house.'

'There's only this one. And then Petrus and Brita's. There are two more rooms here. And the kitchen. Bert and Enel live in one and you know they have a little girl. And onis in the other with her Mats. Though they've got only one bed. I mean two. One like this, I mean.'

She had a Stockholm accent and was anxious about being thrown out. Her options were limited: here or with Bert and Enel. She smiled timidly. Mia said from above: 'Why are her teeth so grey?'

It should have been a whisper, but it was shrill. Lotta flung one arm round her pillow, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the blanket and rushed out. She came back shortly afterwards and started tearing the cat pictures off the wall, the drawing pins scattering down on the bed. I must remember, Annie thought. So that no one lies on them. How cold I am. I ought to stop her.

'Don't rush off like that,' she said, but not very convincingly. Her headache was so bad now, she was afraid of throwing up. If so, where? There must be some kind of privy somewhere.

Lotta pulled out a suitcase and two bags from under the bed, noisily, sc.r.a.ping and shoving. Clearly she had found some courage and was pleading with all this racket. But Annie had lain down and closed her eyes. She could smell mould from the pillow. The smell of old foam rubber must come from the mattress. One movement and I'll puke. Dan will have to do something about this. She heard the door slam and the frame of the mirror rattle against the wallpaper. They were alone.

She must try to sleep for a while so that her headache would lift. Dan came back and Annie knew a long time had pa.s.sed, but she couldn't look at her watch. The light from the window squeezed its way in even when she closed her eyes. Her headache rocked and crackled. He said they were to eat and she asked him to take Mia with him.

'Egg,' she whispered.

'What?'

'She eats eggs.'

In her torpor, images from the night had returned. That lined wooden face. A hood. Dear Lord, what was it? How could your mind produce images of things you'd never seen? Evil. Dry. A head that was dead and alive. Like rotting wood, crawling with life in the cracks.

Mia had come back and begun to unpack the Greek rucksack, where her Barbie dolls and their clothes were. Ken had nothing on but a pair of white gauze underpants. Barbie had a pink bra and matching panties. Mia was dressing them. Dan wasn't there. But the two girls were standing in the doorway. Annie knew they were nine and seven and called Sigrid and Gertrud.

It was like watching timid animals. She vaguely pretended to be asleep so she wouldn't have to make the effort to talk to them. Mia was chattering away, but Annie heard it was to the dolls, or they were talking to her. Her voice rose to a rather artificial falsetto when she was Barbie wanting to wear her silvery evening dress. But Mia was sensible and said it was windy out. Ken rumbled.

'Why weren't you on the bus?' she heard one of the girls say from the door. Annie didn't know whether the child was speaking to her and hoped it was to Mia, but Mia didn't answer, either.

The pathetic little troop by the bus! The Inca hoods. They believed we'd be coming, she thought. Well, we did. Though we were in the churchyard then.

The smell of foam rubber came and went in waves. I must borrow some sheets, Annie thought. Until my own come up. And something for this headache.

She woke in another light. Must be evening. Her head felt m.u.f.fled but better. She could see without it hurting.

Yes the rug was dirty, like the curtains. Everything was threadbare, dingy, stained with smoke and decades of damp. The house had belonged to Wifsta Fis.h.i.+ng Club, she remembered now, in the days when Wifsta s.h.i.+pyard had owned the forest round Starhill. It had long ago been sold to another company and their employees never came here. Perhaps they had another place.

She had come here to work. To make it beautiful. Not to step into something completed. Mia was mumbling away above. Ken and Barbie were no doubt being ticked off for their pretensions.

That evening there was a meeting in the main cottage. Brita gave them herbal tea with honey. Petrus explained to Annie that they planned the work for the next day at these meetings. Then each person could bring up his or her problems.

'Problems?' said Annie stupidly, and Petrus looked thoughtfully at her. There was a silence. Dan had tipped his chair back and was chewing on a piece of gra.s.s he had brought with him. The rosy light from the evening sun through the window fell on his face; he was made of gold. She felt a small movement in her loins and a wave of blood spread into her thighs. She felt like doing what he was doing, leaning back and closing her eyes.

Enel and Bert were on the kitchen sofa with Enel's daughter, a five-year-old or thereabouts. She was called Pella, a name that had made Mia snort through her nose.

Enel was thin and sinewy, Bert rather gaunt, his jeans loose on him. He was going bald and had brown eyes. They were both divorced and had moved here. Dan had written that Bert was an architect but that was not true; he had been a draughtsman employed at the town architect's office in Nynashamn. Enel had worked as a nursing a.s.sistant at the hospital there.

Marianne ohnberg was called onis and she was the only one from Jamtland. But she had lived in Stockholm for several years and had Mats. She had worked for the social services in a home for severely disturbed children. She was fat and her face was beautiful. She had bitten her nails so far down that the lacerated flesh on her fingertips had swollen. Lotta was sitting next to onis, hunched up, a jersey over her shoulders. She had been crying; her face and eyelids were puffy, her lips sore.

They were talking quietly about boiling. Annie gradually realised they were talking about goat's cheese. They discussed food supplements. Bert thought the lambs should be given extra. Melodiously, Petrus said the grazing was enough. The gra.s.s was lush enough, green and wonderful. Woooonderfoool, he said. His voice was remarkable. It sang, as if he were speaking an old-fas.h.i.+oned dialect. But which? Everything he said sounded calm and reflective. And he smiled into his light-brown beard which was yellow round his mouth. Annie was terrified Mia would say something about that. It somehow looked as if he had been eating something that had stuck there.

When I've had a rest I'll think all this is wonderful, Annie thought. All these people wanting to help one another. The calm.

They all spoke in very quiet voices, though Dan said nothing. That was unusual, too. He was sitting in the flood of light. She couldn't make out whether he was pale, whether he was in one of his difficult moods.

He was probably just tired. Tired and golden. When Mia had fallen asleep, they would make love, quietly and intensely the way it could be almost only when you were very tired or slightly feverish.

'Lotta . . .'

Petrus sounded pleading. Annie realised they had come to the problems. I must put away my irony. It is a defence. Dan used to run his fingertips lightly over her face, as if to take away the pain. You won't need that irony up there, he had said.

'It's difficult to talk when there are new people here,' Lotta said, and Annie thought that's one in the eye for us.

'Try.'

'I've been going crazy for several days now.'

She was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wooden wall, but then she roughly drew up her knees, flung her arms round them and hid her face.

'Annie,' said Petrus.

'What?'

They all looked at her.

'We want to get to know you,' said Petrus. 'Tell us why you're so tense.'

They waited. She simply had to say something, but it was obvious what was worrying her. So why did she have to say it? And she didn't want to say anything while Mia was there, not when the children were listening. They were sitting quietly and attentively beside their parents, and all of them were looking at her.

'It's what happened,' she said. 'The accident by the Lobber. I saw them.'

'Annie,' said Petrus, leaning over towards her, so close she could feel his breath. It smelt odd. Like an animal's. Was it the goat's milk?

'You mustn't think about that any more,' he said, the smell wafting over her, sour and mild at the same time. 'It's in the past now. It has nothing to do with us up here.'

'But I saw . . . you have to think about how . . . well, how it happened. That it'll be cleared up, I mean. We live so near.'

'No.'

What a fantastic thing to say! No. We don't live near. But she had no time to protest.

'You've left that now,' said Petrus. 'The tabloid world. You're here now.'

'Lotta, dear!'

Brita had put her arm round the bony back. Lotta looked like a child curled up on the floor. She raised her face and it was wet. Wet and swollen.

'What is it now?'

'It's hopeless because everyone notices it at once. I'm doomed. It's always like this. Everyone can tell by looking at me.'

'I don't think so,' said Brita.

'Yes, they do even that kid. The new one. "Why has she got such grey teeth?" she said. I can't take it. She saw it straight away.'

Annie looked at Mia, who had stiffened, pouting out her lips. She knew Mia was clenching her teeth hard. Her eyebrows shot forward and her face crumpled. The little monkey had appeared. Jesus, now she's really going to blow her top, Annie thought.

'Mia didn't say quite that,' she said quickly. 'You said just now you've been . . . troubled for several days. And we only came this afternoon.'

Cool and sharp. Oh, Christ! She had also spoken loudly, as if in front of a cla.s.s. All of them except Lotta looked at her.

'You don't have to defend yourself, Annie. Not here. We're friends,' said Brita. Annie wanted to say she wasn't defending herself, but didn't because she had seen from the corner of her eye a flash of something unbelievable Dan t.i.ttering.

'Has anyone got anything else?' Petrus asked. He talks like a book, Annie thought. Like a d.a.m.ned Bible. No doubt he had noticed that everything was going off the rails.

Sigrid with her gleaming plaits drew a deep breath.

'Yes?'

'The girl plays with Barbie dolls,' she said.

'Mia?'

She nodded repeatedly.

'Yes, well,' said Petrus. 'We're going to forget about that here. There's so much else. There are lambs and kittens, Mia. Alive and a lot of fun.'

He sounded kind, even very kind, but Mia's face was expressionless. He went on in his singsong voice as if at all costs he had to influence her. That wouldn't work, Annie knew. Not when she had that expression on her face.

'Barbie dolls are dead,' he said. 'Aren't they?'

Now there'll be h.e.l.l to pay, thought Annie. But to her surprise, Mia replied almost dispa.s.sionately: 'Then I suppose they should be buried.'

'That's right, that's right,' said Petrus. He gave Annie a smile and quite a genial look. It was the soft cloven beard that did it.

Then they broke up. It was warm outside, but they couldn't stay there because the stingers had emerged. She knew their name now, those almost invisible insects. They gave her an excuse to go into the house with Dan. Mia bustled in, fetched Barbie and Ken, then vanished again.

Annie registered that the mattress on Lotta's bed had gone. Perhaps she ought to sort that out now, but it could wait for the time being. They could have one night to themselves. Dan disappeared again. She didn't know what he did when he was gone, but things would become clearer. She went out and looked into the kitchen. There was an iron stove, a table covered with oilcloth, one cupboard on the wall, and some wooden boxes on the floor, apparently used as cupboards or shelves, for there were bags of groceries in them. Everything was clean and bunches of herbs were hanging drying above the stove. onis and Enel, she thought. They're sure to be clean people. This'll be all right. But Dan must make some cupboards.

Wailing sounds of singing came through the window, and to her surprise she saw it was Mia, with Sigrid and Gertrud joining in. A drift of flowers lay heaped on the slope above the house and Mia was squealing away, waving a sprig of birch about.

Going out, Annie saw Barbie's bare foot sticking out of the heap of flowers. The rigid little foot filled her with unease. Mia was burying Ken and Barbie with great enthusiasm. She had fas.h.i.+oned a cross with sticks, neatly made and fastened together with tacks. She must have had help. Perhaps Sigrid was already capable of that.

'Eaaarth to eaaarth, duuuust to duuust, G.o.d is deaaaath, deaaaath, eaaarth to eaaarth, duuust to duust,' Mia was chanting, and Annie wished she would get it over and done with.

'The bird shall come, the great bird, strike dust in deeeath!'

Sigrid and little Gertrud were trying to sing along but had no idea what to do with the words, or the tune, either. At last they had finished, as definitively as if it had gone according to the book.

'Now they're asleep,' said Sigrid quietly.

'They must have a tent,' said Mia and bustled inside. She seemed quite untroubled by the insects, but Annie couldn't stand them any longer. Moving to the kitchen window, she watched Mia put a handkerchief like a tent over the dolls and the harvest of flowers. Sigrid helped her prop it up with sticks and as soon as that was done, Mia left the other two without even looking at them.

She fell asleep the moment she was up in the top bunk. She ought to have washed, but Annie didn't really know how to go about it. Tomorrow, she thought. That's when we'll make a proper start. Dan had come in and stretched out on the bed. His face was very pale.

'What was it about Lotta that everyone saw?' she asked him.

'What?'

'That grey-teeth business.'

'We'll take that up when Lotta's with us.'

He had closed his eyes, his skin moist and greyish. He isn't well, she thought. He's having a bad time again. Yet she couldn't help asking again.

'I want to know.'

'Amphetamines.'