Shame (19 page)

‘W
hy didn’t you say something?’

Four days had passed since the bathroom incident, and nobody from the agency had shown up. Now Ellinor was suddenly standing in the hall, and she flung out the question before she even managed to close the front door. The words echoed from the stairwell. Maj-Britt was standing near the living-room window and was so surprised by her own reaction that she didn’t even register that she had just been asked a question.

How she had detested that voice. It had plagued her like an ingenious torture instrument with its inexhaustible flow of words, but now she had a feeling of gratitude. She had come back. In spite of what had happened last time.

Ellinor had come back.

Maj-Britt remained by the living-room window. What she felt was so unfamiliar that she completely lost her bearings, she no longer remembered how you were supposed to act in situations like this, when you actually experienced something that might easily be mistaken for a mild form of happiness.

She didn’t have much chance to think about it because the next moment Ellinor came storming into the room, and it was quite obvious that she wasn’t
expecting to be welcomed with delight. Because she was furious. Really fuming. She stared at Maj-Britt and completely ignored Saba, who stood wagging her tail obsequiously at her feet.

‘You have pain in your back, don’t you, where you usually put your hand? Admit it!’

The question was so unexpected that Maj-Britt totally forgot her gratitude and retreated at once to her usual defensive position. She saw that Ellinor had a folded piece of paper in her hand. A piece of lined paper torn from a notebook.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘Are you aware that it’s been four days since the last time you were here? I could have starved to death.’

‘That’s right. Or you could have gone out to the shop.’

Her voice was just as fierce as her gaze, and Maj-Britt realised that something had happened during those four days Ellinor had stayed away. Maj-Britt sensed that it had to do with that piece of paper she was holding. It was so similar to other pieces of paper which had intruded into her flat a while back, and which she was sorry she had ever read. Ellinor must have seen her expression, because now she unfolded the sheet of paper and held it out to her.

‘This was why you thought I knew Vanja Tyrén, right? Because she wrote that you had pain somewhere, so you thought I was the one who told her, right?’

Maj-Britt felt her ears flame red. Since the past had come back she had been almost anaesthetised, it was as if a peculiar gap had formed between all
her emotions and what she had suddenly remembered. She sensed that the reprieve was temporary, and now that she saw the paper being held out to her the gap was reduced to nothing more than a thin little membrane. Nothing in the world could make her take it. Nothing.

‘Since you refused to tell me, I wrote to her myself and asked what actually happened, what it was that made you believe she and I knew each other. Today I got her answer.’

Maj-Britt didn’t want to know. No, she didn’t, she didn’t. She had been unmasked. With Ellinor’s letter Vanja had learned that Maj-Britt had actually lied; she now knew what a pitiful failure of a human being Maj-Britt had turned into. But naturally Ellinor did not intend to let her escape. Not this time either. Her voice lashed out the words when she started to read.

‘
Dear Ellinor, Thanks for your letter. I’m glad there
are people like you out there with a genuine empathy
for your fellow human beings. It gives me hope for
the future. Most people who are locked in the bathroom
by their clients would probably have left the
whole thing behind like an unpleasant memory and chosen not to go back there again. I’m glad for Majsan’s sake that she has you, and do try to forgive her. I don’t think she meant as much harm as it may have seemed and the fault is actually mine. I wrote something in a letter that no doubt scared her, and to be honest that was my intention, because I think it might be urgent. I wrote that if Majsan has pain somewhere then she has to seek medical help. I had hoped that she would have already done something about it before she got my letter, but apparently she
chose not to, and the choice is naturally her own and no one else’s
.’

Ellinor raised her eyes and glared at Maj-Britt, who turned her back and looked out the window. Ellinor continued reading.

‘
Now I realise that you probably wonder how in the world I could know this, and I sense that you have already decided to write another letter to ask me. To save you some time I’m answering you now. The only person I’m willing to tell it to is Majsan, and I don’t intend to do so either by letter or telephone. Best of luck, Ellinor. My warmest regards, Vanja Tyrén
.’

It was finally quiet. Maj-Britt felt that disgusting lump in her throat. She tried to swallow but it wouldn’t budge, and even grew bigger, forcing tears to her eyes. She was thankful that she had her back to Ellinor so she wouldn’t see. Her weakness would be used against her, she knew that, that’s how it had always been. It was when you dropped your guard that you made yourself most vulnerable.

‘Dear Maj-Britt. Let me ring and make an appointment with a doctor.’

‘No!’

‘But I’ll go with you, I promise.’

Ellinor sounded different now. Not as angry, but concerned instead. She had been easier to deal with when she was angry, when Maj-Britt was fully justified in defending herself.

‘Why should I listen to someone doing life in prison who has some peculiar notion about me?’

‘Because that particular notion is right. Isn’t it? You
do
have pain in your back. Admit it.’

She hadn’t even sounded angry in the letter. Even though Maj-Britt had lied to her. Vanja still cared about her welfare despite her nasty reply. She felt herself blushing, the colour of shame creeping across her cheeks when she thought about what she had written to Vanja.

Vanja.

Maybe the only person who had really cared about her. Ever.

‘Can’t you at least find out what she knows?’

Maj-Britt swallowed in an attempt to get control of her voice.

‘How? She didn’t want to say, either in a letter or on the phone. And she can’t come here.’

‘No, but you can go to see her.’

Maj-Britt snorted. That was impossible, of course, and Ellinor knew it as well as she did, although she felt she had to suggest it. Just to have an opportunity to emphasise Maj-Britt’s disadvantage. She leaned on the windowsill. She was so tired. So dead tired of having to force herself to keep breathing. The pain had been so constant lately that she had almost grown used to it, accepted it as a natural condition. Sometimes she even experienced it as pleasant, since it took her mind off what hurt even more. Until it got so intense that it was almost unbearable.

Maj-Britt’s knees began to give way and she turned round. The lump in her throat had become manageable and no longer threatened to expose her feelings. She went over to the easy chair and tried to hide the grimace prompted by the pain when she sat down.

‘How long have you been in pain?’

Ellinor sat on the sofa. On the way there she put
Vanja’s letter on the table. Maj-Britt looked at it and knew that she would read it again, see the words with her own eyes, the words that Vanja had written. How could she have known? Vanja was no enemy, never had been. She had merely done as Maj-Britt had asked and stopped sending her letters. Not out of anger but out of consideration.

But how could she have known?

‘How long have you been in pain?’

She couldn’t lie anymore. Couldn’t keep it up any longer. Because there was really nothing to defend.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, about how long?’

‘It crept up on me. It didn’t hurt all the time at first, just now and then.’

‘But now it hurts all the time?’

Maj-Britt made one last brave attempt to defend herself by not answering. That was all she could do. She already knew it was futile.

‘Maj-Britt, does it hurt all the time?’

It had lasted five seconds. Maj-Britt nodded.

Ellinor gave a heavy sigh.

‘I only want to help you, don’t you see that?’

‘Well, you are getting paid for it, after all.’

It was unfair and she knew it, but sometimes she said things out of habit. The words were so much a part of her life in the flat that they didn’t even have to be consciously thought before they spilled out. She was actually aware that Ellinor had done a lot more for her than she was really paid to do. A lot more. But for the life of her Maj-Britt couldn’t understand why. And of course Ellinor reacted.

‘Why do you always have to make things so hard?
I understand that you have probably had a hell of a lot of trouble in your life, but do you have to make the whole world suffer for it? Can’t you try to make a distinction between those you should hate and those who don’t deserve it?’

Maj-Britt turned to look at the window. Hate. She tasted the word. Who actually deserved her hate? Whose fault had it all been?

Were her parents to blame?

The Congregation?

Göran?

He had understood what happened. He didn’t accuse her straight out, but she remembered the look on his face. Göran’s contempt had soon developed to open hatred. When it was time to move to the flat they had been hoping to get for so long, she had to move alone. And here she had stayed. Hadn’t contacted anyone or given out her new address, not even to Vanja. She had no idea where Göran went after the papers were signed and the divorce granted, and after a couple of years she wasn’t even interested in knowing.

Ellinor sounded rather dejected when she went on; her voice had lost its fire and she started by taking a deep breath.

‘But Vanja’s right, of course. You make your own choices.’

Maj-Britt started at the words.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It’s your life, isn’t it? You’re the one who decides. I can’t force you to go to the doctor.’

Maj-Britt fell silent. She couldn’t face thinking it
all the way through. That it might be life-threatening. That whatever was hurting inside her body might be the beginning of the end. The end of something that had been so totally meaningless, yet she had taken for granted that it would go on.

‘Is it because you don’t want to leave the flat that you won’t go to the doctor?’

Maj-Britt considered this. Yes. That was definitely one reason. The thought of forcing herself out of the flat was terrifying. But it was only one of the reasons; the other was more crucial.

They would have to touch her. She would have to take off her clothes and she would be forced to let them touch her disgusting body.

Suddenly Ellinor straightened up and looked like she had just had an idea.

‘What if a doctor came here?’

Maj-Britt got palpitations from the mere suggestion. Ellinor’s attempt to find a simple solution was backing her into a corner. It would be so much easier just to admit that it was impossible, so that she could renounce all responsibility and not even have to consider making a decision.

‘What sort of doctor?’

Ellinor’s enthusiasm was back, now that she obviously thought she had found a solution.

‘My mother knows a doctor I can call. I’m sure I can get her to come here.’

Her. Then maybe that would be possible to endure. At least maybe.

‘Dear Maj-Britt. Please let me ring and ask her, at any rate. All right?’

Maj-Britt didn’t reply, and Ellinor got more excited.

‘Then I’ll ring her, okay? Just call and see what she says.’

And so apparently some sort of decision was made. Maj-Britt had neither agreed nor objected. She still had the chance to blame everything on Ellinor if things went wrong.

That would make it so much easier to endure.

If there were always someone else to blame.

T
he clock radio woke her at seven thirty and she didn’t feel the least bit tired. Her whole system was revving up even before she opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and then slept dreamlessly for three hours. That was enough. The sleeping pills had not failed her, they effectively blocked all entry and prevented him from getting in. Then she was spared the piercing emptiness in her chest when she awoke and he was gone again.

She left the radio on while she got ready and ate breakfast. In passing she was informed about all the murders, rapes and executions that had occurred in the world in the past day, and the information settled into some remote convolution of her brain as she put her coffee cup in the dishwasher. Pernilla’s papers were already packed into her briefcase. She had decided to call the clinic and say she wouldn’t be in before lunch.

She was out much too early. It turned out that the bank wouldn’t open for another thirty minutes. Now to her annoyance she suddenly had an extra half hour, and to stand and wait outside the door was not a viable alternative. She had to do something in the meantime. In future she would plan a little better. See to it that she didn’t have this sort of unwelcome
surprise that upset her planning. She headed down the street and scanned some display windows without seeing anything that interested her. She passed the news-stand, 7-year-old boy in ritual murder and woman (93) raped by burglar, saw that Hemtex was having a sale on curtain material, but didn’t notice the car that honked angrily as she crossed the street right in front of it.

She was the first customer in the bank this morning, and she nodded at a woman she recognised. The woman waved and Monika took a number for ‘other matters’. Her finger hadn’t even left the button before a beep told her it was her turn. She went up to the window indicated. The man on the other side was wearing a tie and dark suit and couldn’t be older than his twenties.

She placed her driver’s licence on the counter.

‘I’d like to check the balance in my account.’

The man took her driver’s licence and started typing on his computer.

‘Let’s see. Is it just a savings account or do you want to know about your interest-bearing cheque account?’

‘The savings account and my money market funds.’

Money had never really interested her. Not since she began making so much that she never had to worry. She had a high salary and worked a good deal, and she had no major expenses. Four years ago she had allowed herself to buy an apartment in one of the city’s newly renovated historic buildings, and her mother had expressed her utter dismay. Monika had never told her what it cost, but her mother managed to figure it out from the local paper, an article in
which the reporter was shocked at the scandalous property prices. And her mother had leisurely inspected the apartment and found more defects than a professional surveyor.

‘Let’s take a look. You have two hundred and eighty-seven thousand in your savings account, and then you have a money market fund that at today’s rates is worth ninety-eight thousand kronor.’

Monika wrote down the figures. Investing money had never interested her, but at some point she had followed the bank’s advice and put a little of her money into various funds. But it actually made her rather uncomfortable. In a bank account she knew what the interest was and wouldn’t be hit by any unpleasant surprises. The yield from a mutual fund was more uncertain, and she didn’t like taking risks.

‘Okay, what about the Asia fund then?’

He typed in some more numbers.

‘Sixty-eight thousand five hundred.’

Monika shifted her feet.

‘I’d like to cash in all of them and withdraw what I have in the savings account.’

He gave her a quick look before his hand went back to the keyboard.

‘Would you like a cashier’s cheque or would you like the money transferred to an account?’

She thought it over. Once more she was surprised at her lack of planning. It wasn’t like her to ignore details. In future she should think things through a little better.

‘If you put the funds into my cheque account, can I make transfers by phone to someone else’s account later? I mean even a large amount?’

He suddenly looked unsure. Hesitated a bit with his answer.

‘Yes, technically you can transfer the money, but it depends on what you want to do with it, whether it’s legal with regard to taxes, I mean. If there’s something you want to buy, then a cashier’s cheque is preferable.’

‘No, I’m not buying anything.’

He hesitated again. Looked around as if he wanted some colleague to come and help him.

‘This will be quite a considerable sum that is being transferred, so …’

He typed again.

‘Four hundred and fifty-three thousand five hundred and twenty-three kronor. I just want you to know that such a large transfer might interest the tax authorities.’

Monika suddenly noticed that her vague irritation was growing stronger and that it would soon become apparent to the man on the other side of the counter. This wasn’t like her, either. Not caring what that officious man thought of her. That for once she might be viewed as annoying with all her demands. But she would have to take it a little easy. She wasn’t finished yet, she had more matters to take care of, and it would be more difficult if she lost his goodwill.

‘Then I’ll take a cashier’s cheque.’

He nodded and was about to pull out a drawer when she continued.

‘And then I’d like to take out a loan.’

He began digging in the drawer and found the paper with the survey of her apartment. It was nine months old, but the building was known all over the city.
Everyone knew how attractive the flats were. For those who could afford them.

He gently closed the drawer, looking at her a bit longer this time, and then began reading the paper. She didn’t take her eyes off him as he scanned the document. She already had a mortgage on the apartment even though she could have made a large cash down-payment. Someone had told her that for tax reasons it was better to have the loan outstanding instead of paying it off with the money she had in the bank.

When he finished reading he looked at her again.

‘How much did you have in mind?’

‘How much could I borrow?’

He stood quite still. Then his hand went to his throat and tugged a little on the perfect knot of his necktie. He pulled out the drawer again and took out a form.

‘Please fill this out while I do some calculations.’

She read the paper lying on the counter. Income, length of employment, marital status, number of children to support.

She took a pen and started filling in the information.

Her gaze settled on the hand holding the pen, and suddenly she didn’t recognise it. She recognised the ring she had bought for herself and saw that her fingers were making the motions she was telling them to do, but the hand seemed somehow separate, as if it belonged to someone else’s body.

‘You can borrow three hundred thousand more on the equity in your property.’

He had gone over the completed form and familiarised himself with what else he needed to know,
and now he placed a loan proposal on the counter in front of her. She had seen him talking with one of his colleagues. Noticed that during the conversation they had looked at her a few times, but she didn’t care. It was strange how unmoved it all left her. But three hundred thousand wasn’t enough. She needed more, and she slid his proposal back across the counter.

‘How much can I borrow beyond this amount?’

She could see that he hesitated. She sensed his anxiety and was perfectly aware that she was the cause of it, but it didn’t faze her. She had a mission to fulfil and he had nothing to do with it.

And what should she do with her money if she didn’t even have the right to be alive?

‘It’s easier if we know what you will be using the money for. I mean, if, for example, you want to buy a house or a car, it would be much easier for us to grant a loan.’

‘But that’s not what I’m going to do. I’m quite pleased with my BMW.’

Her hand again. It looked different. And the words she heard herself saying were unfamiliar too.

‘I can see here that you have an excellent income and … you’re a doctor … and your ability to repay the loan is undeniably excellent. And only one child to support.’

He hesitated.

‘Wait just a moment, I’ll consult my colleague.’

He strode through the bank. She looked at the paper she had filled out.

She had at least been honest, obviously, and put down her obligation to support Daniella.

But
only
one child to support.

He was an idiot.

He was conferring with the woman she had said hello to when she came in. That was good. She presumably knew all about Monika’s spotless past. There were no payment problems; in all those years she had never paid a bill late. She had always been a conscientious citizen, no one could complain on that score. It wasn’t actually possible to accuse her of that defect any longer, the one that sat inside her but couldn’t be seen, because she had once and for all decided to atone for it. She would sacrifice everything she had ever wanted and subjugate herself. What more could she be expected to do? In order to get back the right to exist.

She didn’t notice that he had returned until she heard him speaking to her.

‘We can issue an unsecured loan for another two hundred thousand in view of the amount you usually save.’

He picked up his pen and calculated quickly. Nine hundred and fifty-three thousand, five hundred. It wasn’t really enough but apparently it was all she could manage at present. It would have to do. Pernilla would at least be able to pay off her loan. And Monika herself could continue to help with whatever she could.

‘Okay. I’ll take it in the same cashier’s check.’

‘In what name?’

She thought for a moment. The tax authorities might be interested.

‘Put it in mine.’

Her agitation increased with each step as she approached. With each intersection the accelerator seemed harder to press down. She had to force herself to drive in through the gates to the clinic grounds and further to the parking lot. Someone had had the audacity to take her parking space, and she angrily jotted down the licence number on a parking receipt. She would find out who the owner of that car was and personally ring and tell him off. Or her. She realised that it might even feel good. To be able to take it out on someone. Someone who had done wrong. To be able to say what a bloody idiot he or she was and be fully justified in taking the upper hand.

She parked her car in the next space and hurried towards the entrance. The red brick façade loomed before her. This had been her refuge, giving purpose to her life, but now she felt nothing. Everything associated with this building now stood in the way of what she needed to devote herself to. She had to drive to Pernilla’s and see how she was doing today. Whether she was feeling bad after all the wine she drank. Find out whether there was anything she could do. The distaste increased with each step she took towards the entrance, and by the time she managed to place her hand on the handle of the entry door she realised that it would be impossible. That familiar shape. The hand that instantly felt at home and tried to send impulses to the Monika who was usually there but who was no longer accessible.

You have sworn upon your honour that you in your
work as a physician shall strive to serve your fellow
man with humanity and respect for life as a guiding
principle. Your goal shall be to preserve and promote
health, to prevent illness, and to cure the sick and
alleviate their suffering
.

Only two people had the right to demand that of her. Only those two to whom she was indebted. They were the only ones.

Suddenly she felt ill. She backed up a few steps and then turned and ran back to her car. Behind locked doors she let her gaze sweep across the façade to make sure that no one had seen her from any of the windows. Without checking behind her properly she backed out of the parking space and almost collided with the ticket machine. Then she continued out the gates going much too fast, but when she had gone some distance she pulled over to the kerb and stopped. She took out her mobile and punched in the letters.

‘Taking one more week’s leave of absence. Best wishes, Monika L.’

Message sent.

It took only a minute before the phone rang. She recognised the head of the clinic’s number on the display but stuffed the mobile back in her handbag. A minute later the beeps sounded, telling her he had left a message.

Pernilla and Daniella were out in the playground when she parked outside their building. She could see them from the car, and she sat there, watching them. It felt good to sit there in secret and still be able to keep them under supervision. For once to have control even when Pernilla was nearby. To be spared subjecting herself to her moods and having to watch each word carefully in fear of being sent away. She sat there for a long time. Watching Daniella swing
back and forth, back and forth. Pernilla was pushing her, but with her gaze turned in another direction, out into empty nothingness.

Dinner yesterday. All the intolerable things Pernilla had said. If they could meet somewhere else it would certainly be easier. Somewhere Mattias’s presence was not so obvious. Where Pernilla and Monika could have the chance to be in peace with their tentative friendship. And then she decided. It would be better for them to meet at her place instead. Where there was no admittance to Mattias.

She started the car and drove back into town.

She drove past Olsson’s antiquarian bookshop. She had seen them that morning but hadn’t really registered what they were until she suddenly remembered now. They were hanging in the display window, two historical pictures in simple gold frames. One of them was a map from Sweden’s glory days and the other was a lithograph of Karl XIV Johan’s coronation. She bought them for twelve hundred kronor and then continued on to the Emmaus Secondhand Shop. They had several ceramic objects that looked home-made, and none of the ones she picked would make Pernilla feel inferior.