Fermentation (8 page)

GAMMELOST

A Norwegian cheese reeking of juniper berries. The mould is introduced to the cheese by piercing it with long metal needles. It has an overpowering flavour with a pungent aroma and unless eaten in small quantities bears a punishing aftertaste.

I walked through the city but I do not remember where I went or what I saw. The city had receded and my dreams were what I remembered. My world was being turned inside out: the waking hours vanishing or coming back to me in glimpses, the dreaming hours recalled in minute detail and mad, vivid colours. Or maybe both worlds merged but I could no longer tell where reality ended and the dreams began. The summer dragged on; July, August, September. I was floating at sea and the line on the horizon where the sea ended and the sky began melded into one. Perhaps it had always been like that but I had never noticed.

It was the hottest day yet. The thermometer measured 42 degrees at midday, the air was thick with flies and the stench on the streets had reached unbearable proportions. The army had been ordered to clear away the rubbish. They patrolled the streets at night, standing by their trucks with guns slung round their waists like exotic pieces of jewellery. It was all cosmetic. The smell clung to the air and had seeped into the buildings and the
pavements and the skin of the people. Our skin was porous and, just like the cheese which wept out its salt, so our skin drank in the rank, fetid atmosphere. It was all related. The smell of the city was in our sweat and the news broadcasts told of water shortages and bulletins advised us to share baths and not to water the plants.

The only thing that retained water was the body I lived in. I was hiding a secret reservoir that no one could tap, but the penance for this clandestine activity was that I could hardly move because I was so heavy, and my ankles had swollen so that it was painful to walk. I felt like a slug and yearned like Christian for a release from my burden.

That particular morning I discovered an old measuring tape in one of my cupboards. I slipped it round my waist but I could not make the ends meet. I was a custard marrow, a shiny dark aubergine: plants that slowly fill with liquid until their thick skins are set to split.

After my shower I left the apartment and went for a walk. I found a café and sat outside in the shade of a large green umbrella. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again Justine was sitting at one of the far tables. She was with a group of friends, talking and laughing. I sat and watched her ordering coffee and cakes and then a man came up to her and bent down and kissed her on the right side of her face. Eventually he turned round to where I was sitting and stared right at me. It was Serge.

I stood up and from my table hailed a taxi, but instead
of telling the driver to take me back to the apartment I told him to go to rue Trebec. I wanted to see the old man. As the car pulled off I turned round in my seat. I could see Serge standing on the pavement. His hands were in his pockets and he was staring at the car as it drew away. I thought I saw him shrug and then I thought I saw him smile.

Berthe was standing behind the counter when I walked in. She had taken to touching my stomach whenever I visited the shop and resting her ear against me, believing she might hear its heart beat like an African drum. ‘It's still sleeping,’ she'd say. ‘Maybe I'll hear it next time, eh?’

But this time when I entered she looked at me and immediately directed me to the chair.

‘What's wrong?’

‘Is he here?’

‘I'll call him,’ she said. ‘Just keep an eye on the shop.’

She disappeared into the back and moments later the old man came downstairs.

‘Come up. I'll help you.’

He took me by the arm and together we walked through to the back of the building and up a narrow staircase. He showed me into a small room without much furniture. There was a bed and a table with books on it. I sat down on the bed.

‘So?’

‘I saw him. I didn't know he was back.’

‘You've been crying.’

‘I feel ugly. Look at me.’

‘You're pregnant. You're fat. But you're not ugly.’

‘I'm a ripe cheese?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

The old man poured out two glasses of wine and handed me one. His hands were ancient. I noticed their veins and the brown mottled marks on their skin. ‘The wine will do you good,’ he said. ‘Drink it.’

‘Why do you live like this?’ I said, looking round the room.

‘I don't want anything else. I don't need it.’

‘You must want something.’

‘I'm happy here. I like the work . . .’

‘What about a lover?’

‘You're taken,’ he said, laughing.

‘Would you have had me?’

‘You wouldn't have had me. More to the point, isn't it? Stick to what you really love.’

‘But aren't you ever lonely?’

The old man looked down and for some reason I looked down with him, but there was nothing on the floor.

‘Berthe?’ I said.

He looked up again. ‘Yes. Berthe.’

‘But you never said.’

‘I thought you knew.’ He put his glass down on the table. ‘I've known her since she was a child. Are you shocked?’

‘I just didn't see it,’ I said.

‘I keep telling her to find someone her own age but she laughs.’ The old man looked over at me. ‘Lie down for a while. I think you should rest.’

I lay down and he came over and brushed his hand over my head.

‘You'll be fine,’ he said. ‘Believe me. I know.’

I closed my eyes. I heard him leave the room and go downstairs. I heard noises from the shop below and outside on the street and then I fell asleep. It was the first deep sleep I had experienced for what seemed like weeks. I slept all through the afternoon and I did not dream.

Later, when I went downstairs, the old man was waiting for me.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Gammelost. You'll like it. It's good and strong. The neat whisky of cheeses.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Try and rest more,’ he said. ‘You want this baby to be properly fermented, don't you?’

I nodded.

‘So take care of yourself.’

After I had stepped out on to the street he locked the shop door behind me and waved at me through the window as he hung a sign on the door. The sign read, ‘Closed.’

It was dark and the street-lamps had been turned on and drew out deep pools of light. I don't know what it was that made me take a different route home, but instead of
heading towards the river I turned down one of the many narrow streets and walked for several minutes before branching off again on to a second road, one I thought would bring me out close to the river. This second street must have led me in the opposite direction, however, for very soon I was lost, walking through a district I had never visited before.

I was alerted to a new smell, one of spices and herbs and sweet incense lingering and mingling in the heat. A short way ahead of me a door opened and a figure stepped out. The figure was swathed from head to toe in black. I could only see this person from behind and could not tell if it was male or female, but some instinct prompted me to follow him or her and so we began to wind our way through the labyrinthine maze where at length this figure was joined by a second. The two walked ahead of me for some time and I followed them past glittering window displays of televisions and hi-fi equipment and shops selling trays of strange-coloured sweets. The figures were my guides until quite suddenly they stopped and looked round. It was only then that I saw their faces, saw that they were wearing beak-like metal masks which glinted in the evening sun and made them invisible. They stared at me for what seemed like minutes as though they were passing judgment, although neither spoke or conferred in any way, and then, their decision made, they turned once more to the street ahead and continued walking. Now, more of these women emerged from doorways and side streets and I realised we
were all heading towards a square where a market had been set up with coloured lights strung between the stalls. The square was full of the beaked women wandering through the stalls of many-coloured fish and sea-fruits piled high. There were tables of sunset-pink shrimps and crates of langoustine and shimmering skate and everything smelt of dark seaweed and salt. The women passed through the stalls, their dark eyes peering from the slits in their masks like those of a shark.

I stood transfixed for a while on the outskirts of this scene, and the people came and went, dancing in dark patterns around me, and through the murmur and the noise of the market I heard a sound like that of a child crying, only I couldn't see any child, only the blackness of the invisible women moving around me, brushing against me. I turned and walked quickly away, all the time feeling that they were following me. I tried to recall the way I had come and walked as fast as I could, retracing my steps, looking for a familiar street sign, but everything was foreign to me; everywhere I looked I could only see strange writing and the curls and waves of the letters made no sense. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and a man came up to me and asked if I was lost.

‘Yes,’ I replied and he asked me where I needed to go and I gave the name of the street where the cheese shop was situated.

‘It's very near,’ he said. ‘Come with me and I'll show you.’

I followed him until we reached the cheese shop where he bade me goodnight.

When I returned to the apartment it was dark and I didn't see Serge standing in a small recess in the shadows of the stairwell. I had passed him before he spoke my name.

‘Hello Odissa,’ he said.

His voice was quiet and it startled me. He walked up to where I stood and put his hand out as though he were going to touch my arm, and my whole being filled with butterflies. We stood and stared at each other in the dim light.

‘How long have you been back?’

‘Since this morning. I was saying goodbye to the others. I was on my way to see you.’

‘Well, I'm still here, as you can see.’

‘Why did you run away like that?’

‘I didn't like what I saw.’

Serge didn't answer. Instead he cast his eyes over my body and then he stepped closer and brushed his lips against mine. I felt his hands slip down over my stomach and my body spin round like a schoolroom globe. His hands spread out over me and he kissed my eyes closed. He was lifting my dress up and stroking my thighs.

‘Tell me you didn't sleep with her,’ I whispered. ‘Tell me.’

‘Her body was soft,’ he said. ‘I kissed her mouth and her breasts,’ he said, kissing my mouth and then opening
my dress and putting his mouth to my breasts. I could feel he was hard and he pressed himself against me. The child was between us and he began turning me round just like the first time. ‘I kissed her face. I ran my tongue against her skin, over her scars,’ he said, and I could feel how his hands had touched her and made love to her. He was pushing himself into me now and I saw her face in front of me and felt his hands touching my face and my whole body melting.

Afterwards I walked past him and opened the door to my apartment. Serge stood on the landing. ‘You wanted the truth. You liked watching. You were there all the time.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I want to come back, Odissa.’

‘Do you?’

‘Please?’ He spoke the words softly.

‘I'm very tired,’ I said, before closing the door and locking it behind me.

I did not switch the lights on. I put my bags down on the floor and went into the bathroom. My face was burning and I splashed cold water over and over against my skin. When I had finished I came out and stood by the window in the dark. I stood slightly back so that no one could see me, and yet I could see out. Serge was across the street, leaning against a wall. He lit a cigarette. The glow from the flame illuminated his face. He did not look up at the window but stood and smoked his cigarette. At one point he walked a little way down the
street, and for a moment I thought he was leaving, but then he stopped and turned around and came and leant against the wall once again. I watched him as he stood there drawing on his cigarette, running his hand through his hair, and then he threw his cigarette on the ground and very slowly got down on his knees. It was only then that he looked up at my window.

I took one step forward. Serge did not move from where he knelt. He held his face up towards my window and the light from the street-lamp shone down touching his face and hair. I knew he could see me and I stood there and stared down at him. I remained like that for some time and then I turned away and went through to the kitchen.

I sat down at the table and took the cheese out from my basket and began to cram the food into my mouth, pushing it in with my hands, hardly stopping to chew before I swallowed and crammed more and more in. The cheese was strong and I could feel my mouth smarting against the assault of the rich salty paste. When I had finished I wrapped the remaining crumbs back in the paper and went to put them away for later.

My waters burst midway between the table and the fridge. I could feel warmth rinsing down between my legs and when I looked down a huge pool had formed on the dark blue tiles.

I remember opening the door and then calling the ambulance and afterwards going to the window and looking out but the street was empty. I lay down on the
floor of my bedroom amongst the cushions and closed my eyes. I had to count but the numbers didn't make sense and I kept losing my place as the contractions rode over me. Eventually two men arrived. They told me their names and asked if I could walk downstairs and when I said I couldn't they brought a stretcher up and made me lie down while they carried me outside to the ambulance like some giant stranded sea creature.

I remember some of the journey to the hospital, how fast we sped through the streets, but most of all I remember the sound of the rain. I remember listening to the wheels tearing through the wet streets and the sound of the water beating down on the ambulance roof. The two men smiled uncontrollably and as they manoeuvred me from the ambulance into the hospital they stopped for an instant so that I could feel a few drops of the water on my face. The air smelt fresh and cool.