In the Darkness (17 page)

‘Yes,’ said Eva wearily, ‘I suppose I do.’

‘Then you ought to stop dressing like a scarecrow.’

‘You really know how to dish out the compliments.’

‘Oh, I’m just jealous. You’re elegant, I’m nothing but a chubby bitch with a set of spare tyres and a double chin.’

‘No, you’re a well-rounded, warm-hearted woman with a zest for life. Have you any self-respect?’ Eva enquired suddenly.

‘About twice as much as you, I should think.’

‘I only wondered.’

‘I can envisage it already. The rumours about the leggy artist will run like wildfire through the town. Perhaps you’ll steal my clients from me, perhaps I’m just about to give away my entire livelihood.’

‘If you’ve got almost two million, I don’t feel sorry for you.’

Eva went home in a taxi paid for by Maja. At the same time she took the opportunity to order a cab for the following evening at six. She fumbled with the key and staggered into her studio, and began scrutinising her paintings with a critical eye. Because she was pretty drunk, they made a huge impression on her and, feeling content, she lay down on the sofa and fell asleep with her clothes on.

Chapter 18

JUST AS SHE
awoke, in the instant before the hangover made itself felt, she recalled her dream. She had dreamt about Maja. Only when she opened her eyes did reality return clearly, and she got up alarmed. She found to her amazement that she’d slept in her studio, and fully dressed at that.

She tottered into the bathroom and approached the mirror with some misgiving. Her mascara was water-resistant, it hadn’t run, but her lashes stuck out from the rims of her red eyes like singed straws. The pores of her skin were large as snakebites. She groaned into the basin and turned on the cold water tap. What had they been talking about? It came back to her slowly, and her heart gradually beat faster as she dredged up more of the conversation. Maja, the Maja of her childhood, her very best friend whom she hadn’t seen for twenty-five years, was a prostitute. A rich prostitute, she thought with horror, as she vaguely recalled how they’d discussed her own prospects for getting out of financial straits. It was incredible that she’d even contemplated the possibility! She splashed cold water on her face and groaned again, opened the door of the medicine cabinet and took out a packet of
paracetamol
. She washed a couple of tablets down with some water and pulled off her tee shirt and underwear. Maybe I’ve got a beer in the fridge, she thought. Then it struck her that she was feeling far too fragile to work and that yet another day would pass without any progress. She showered and scrubbed herself for as long as she could bear, felt the tablets working slowly and got into a dressing gown, black with Chinese dragons on the back. Then she went out into the living room to search her bag for a cigarette. She opened it and found herself staring down at a bundle of notes. For an instant she gawped at them in surprise, then she remembered. She counted them. Ten thousand kroner. Enough to pay off all the bills in the drawer. She shook her head in disbelief, then went into her studio and looked at her pictures again. One of them had been pulled out on to the floor, when had she done that?

But it was probably the best one she had. An almost completely black picture with a very bright stripe slanting across the canvas. As if it had been torn in two. She couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought of Maja’s face when she entered carrying this. Then she continued searching in her bag, discovered a packet containing just one cigarette, lit it and peered in the fridge. It was nearly empty. Butter, ketchup and a bottle of soya oil were all that was left. She sighed, then suddenly remembered the wad of money and smiled once more. What she needed now was an ice-cold beer. So, she threw on some clothes, heaved her coat on to her shoulders and trudged purposefully off to the small shop on the corner. Omar’s opened at eight in the morning, what a blessing he was. Nor did he look askance, even when people were buying beer before anyone else was up. His shop stood in that venerable district of detached houses
like
some strange bird, to the considerable consternation of many, but to Eva’s delight.

His teeth showed chalky white with enthusiasm when she entered his shop. She pulled a couple of half-litre bottles of beer from a crate, grabbed a newspaper and forty Prince Mild.

‘A very good day today!’ he smiled encouragingly.

‘Perhaps it will be in a while,’ Eva groaned, ‘but not just at the moment.’

‘Well, I know it will be a good day. But two bottles is not a lot if the day turns out bad.’

‘You know, I think you’re right,’ Eva said. She fetched another bottle, and paid.

‘Ah, I think I’ve got an account here, too,’ she remembered, ‘I’ll pay that as well.’

‘A very good day for me also!’

He rifled through the shoebox where he kept all his credit records. ‘Seven hundred and fifty-two.’

Eva was moved. He’d never mentioned it. She handed him a thousand-kroner note and glanced down at the mail order catalogue he’d been leafing through. ‘Anything exciting there?’

‘Oh yes, this here, I’m buying for my wife. Coming in the post in two weeks.’

Eva peered down. ‘What is it?’

‘Burl remover. Good for jumpers and sofa cushions and furniture. There are no burls in my country. You have strange materials here.’

‘I like burls,’ Eva said. ‘They make me think of old teddy bears. The teddy I had when I was young had lots of burls.’

‘Yes, yes,’ he sparkled. ‘Happy memory. But in my country there are no teddy bears also.’

*

The beer was tepid. She laid one bottle under running cold water, then searched the telephone book for Maja’s number. Just to mention that she must forget all the drunken talk from the previous evening, she hadn’t been in full possession of her faculties. The phone was dead. Of course, they’d disconnected it. She cursed softly, went to the bathroom and sat on the loo with her skirt pulled up round her waist. Well, today I certainly look like a whore, she thought, perhaps that’s what I am really, perhaps it’s a good day to begin. She finished, stepped out of her skirt and got into her dressing gown again. She went out into the passage and stood in front of the hall mirror, where she could see herself from top to toe. Just for a look, she thought.

Eva was 1.83 metres tall and most of it was leg. Her face was thin and pale, her eyes golden, not dark enough to be considered brown. Her shoulders were narrow, she possessed an unusually long neck and long arms with slender wrists. Her feet were large, size forty-one, it was enough to make one weep. Her body was thin, a bit angular and not especially feminine, but her eyes were fine, at least Jostein had always said so. Large and a little slanted, they were set well apart. A judicious makeover would have worked wonders, but she’d never understood that kind of thing. Her hair just hung there, long and dark with a slight hint of red in it. She bent closer. The hair on her upper lip had begun to grow. Perhaps her oestrogen level had begun to sink, she thought. The dressing gown slid open, she pulled it aside so that she could see her small breasts, her long lithe abdomen and thighs, which were as pale as her face. She gave a trial wiggle and tossed her head slightly making her hair fan out. If Maja can become a millionaire with that round
little
body, I certainly can with this! she thought wickedly. And she pictured the bundle of notes once more, thought about where they’d come from and shook her head, as if she couldn’t properly grasp what had happened, just last night. She did up her dressing gown again and retrieved the bottle from the sink. She wouldn’t think about it at all, she’d do it. Nobody needed to know anything. Just for a while, perhaps until Christmas, just to build up her finances. She drank some beer and felt her nerves subside. I haven’t really changed, she mused, merely discovered a new side to myself. She drank and smoked and daydreamed about her own small gallery which would be down by the river, preferably on the north side. Gallery Magnus. That sounded rather good. A sudden inspiration made her consider whether she ought to introduce a colour into her pictures. Deep red. Quite a thin line in the first picture, almost invisible, and gradually a bit more. She felt enormously inspired. Afterwards, she opened another bottle and thought that this was what had been missing from her life. Maja had been missing! But now she’d returned. Everything’s going to work out, she thought contentedly, this is a turning point. When all the bottles were empty, she fell asleep.

The taxi tooted outside at six o’clock.

Eva had wrapped the picture in an old blanket and the driver laid it carefully in the boot. ‘Drive carefully, please,’ she begged, ‘it’s worth ten thousand kroner.’

She gave the address in Tordenskioldsgate and all at once she had the feeling that he was staring at her in the mirror. Perhaps he knew Maja. Perhaps every other man in the street had been in her bed. She brushed a bit of fluff off her skirt and realised she was nervous, the high
from
the beer was almost all gone, and reality was returning. But it was strange how, when Emma was away so long, she almost seemed to pack away her whole maternal role in some drawer and just revert to being Eva. That’s who I am now, she thought, I’m Eva. I’m not taking any notice of what others think, I’ll do what I like. She smiled to herself. The driver noticed it and smiled back in the mirror. Don’t get any ideas, she thought, I don’t come gratis, you know.

Chapter 19

MAJA OPENED HER
arms wide and led her in. The previous day’s excesses hadn’t left a mark on the round face.

‘Come in, Eva. You’ve brought the picture!’

‘You’ll probably faint.’

‘I never faint.’

They unwrapped the picture and leant it up against the wall.

‘Crikey!’ Maja was dumbstruck. She studied the picture minutely. ‘Well, I’ll say this, it is a bit different. Has it got a title?’

‘No, you must be joking.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d be dictating what you should see, and I don’t want to do that. You must look at it yourself, and tell me what
you
see. Then I’ll respond.’

Maja had a good think, and finally decided. ‘It’s a lightning strike. That’s what it is.’

‘Well, not bad. I see what you mean, but I see other things as well. The ground opening during an earthquake. Or the river flowing through the town at night, in moonlight. Or glowing lava pouring down a charred slope. Tomorrow you might see something else. Anyway, that
was
what I was aiming for. You must try to rid yourself of your preconceptions about art, Maja.’

‘I’m sticking to the lightning strike. I don’t like things changing and turning into something else. And now it’s you who’s got to rid yourself of preconceptions, my girl. I’ve got the spare room ready, you must come and see. Have you eaten?’

‘Only drunk.’

‘You’re worse than a baby, you’ve got to be fed. Could you manage to chew on your own if I make you a sandwich?’

She drew Eva into the flat, into the spare room. It was a dark room with lots of reds, plushes and velvets and thick curtains. The bed was huge. It was adorned with a gold-fringed counterpane. The floor was covered in thick red and black carpet which felt springy under their feet as they walked.

‘These are your colours,’ Maja said emphatically. ‘And I’ve a red dressing gown for you that’s easy to open. Made of thin velvet. In here’ – she went to the far end of the room and pulled a curtain aside – ‘is a small bathroom with a basin and shower.’

Eva peered inside.

‘You can work here while I’m at the refuge. I’ve had another key made. Come on, you’ve got to eat.’

‘Have you done all this today?’

‘Yes. What have you done?’

‘Slept.’

‘Then you’ll be able to work late.’

‘Oh, God, I’m just not sure – if I really do dare, I thought one might be enough, the first time. Maja,’ she said fretfully, ‘are there lots of ghastly types?’

‘No, no.’

‘But occasionally someone says something disgusting, or does something nasty …?’

‘No.’

‘But aren’t you afraid? Alone with strange men, night after night?’

‘They’re the ones who are afraid, who’ve got bad consciences. In the first place, they’ve had to tell a whopping great lie to get away, then they’ve had to take money from the housekeeping to pay the bill. Going to a prostitute nowadays is terribly daunting. In the old days you weren’t a real man if you didn’t visit a brothel. Oh no, I’m never afraid. I’m a professional.’

Eva bit into the sandwich and chewed slowly. Tuna with lemon and mayonnaise. ‘Do they sometimes ask you to do special things?’

‘No, very rarely. They get the information they need from the jungle telegraph before their first visit.’ She opened a Coke and took a long drink. ‘They know I’m a proper prostitute and that certain sexual kinks are off limits. Almost everyone who comes here is a regular, and they know me. They know the rules and how far they can stretch them. If they start being silly, they won’t be allowed back, and that’s not a chance they’re willing to take.’ She finished with a small belch.

‘Are they drunk?’

‘Oh yes, but only slightly. They’ve often had a couple. Many of them come straight from the pub down the road, the King’s Arms. But others come at lunchtime, in suits and carrying attaché cases.’

‘Do they ever refuse to pay?’

‘Never known it happen.’

‘Has anyone ever hit you?’

‘Nope.’

‘I don’t know if I dare.’

‘Why should it be something you need to dare?’

‘Well, I don’t know – you hear so many tales.’

‘It’s when a man
doesn’t
get what he wants that he gets angry, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘They come here to buy something they need, and they get it. They have no reason to kick up a fuss. Is there anything wrong with going to bed with someone?’

‘Nothing. Apart from the fact that many of them must be married, with children and all that.’

‘Naturally, they’re the ones who come, they’re the ones who get too little. Married people don’t have sex with each other that often.’