or locked, such as drawers, chests, windows, and doors. If her husband wanted to help her, he could attack something outside the house. He might take his ax and chop his plow in two.
Erika remembered that she had arrived for her night shift and inquired about the women in labor. The midwife said of one young woman: Tedious. It’s going to take time. Nearly twelve hours and only three centimeters’ dilation.
And she was no more than a child herself, thought Erika as she stood at the door of the maternity ward and saw the young woman in the light from the hospital corridor. No more than seventeen or eighteen, and alone. No boyfriend or sister or mother. No girlfriend. She was sitting in the middle of the floor in a white hospital gown, small and thin, with her face in her hands and her legs drawn up under her. She neither turned nor looked up as Erika closed the door behind her.
I crossed the floor and squatted down beside you. I took off the elastic band and unplaited your hair so I could run my fingers through it. You looked at me and let me do it, and finally you even rested your head on my shoulder.
After a time, as night became morning, the young woman gave birth to a girl, silently gasping for air and light. One day, thought Erika, she, too, might have her mother’s beautiful long hair.
Chapter 19
Erika opened her mouth to say something to the woman sitting beside her in the car. After all, she had to say something, didn’t she? No. She decided against it. Why say anything? And what about the boy in the back, who had not said a word and was not the woman’s son but reminded Erika slightly of Ragnar? She looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“Did I say Ragnar?”
The woman turned to her and replied: “You didn’t say anything.”
Erika smiled at her: “Sorry. I talk to myself sometimes, especially when I’m driving.”
She looked at the boy in the backseat and realized she had been mistaken.
He did not remind her of Ragnar.
Ragnar was spindly, with thin wrists.
This boy reminded her of Magnus.
Erika said: “I need to stop for gas and I must ring my son. I must tell him I shall be spending the night in Sunne instead of Örebro. Magnus likes to know where I am. He pretends not to be bothered but he is.”
The woman shrugged her shoulders, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Well, naturally, it’s your car. Do whatever you like.”
Erika stared at her. Was that it? Not the slightest veneer of anything polite or friendly? Erika had now even given away that she had been heading for Örebro, not Sunne; that she was actually making a detour of eighty kilometers for the sake of this woman she didn’t know. The woman became aware that Erika was looking at her. She looked down, fingering something in her lap.
“We’re hugely grateful, of course, that you’re giving us a lift.”
The woman was looking straight at her now. Her expression was defiant.
“Hugely grateful! You really have gone out of your way!”
What do you want from me?
“No problem,” said Erika.
She turned in at the next gas station. She found her mobile phone, opened the car door, and got out into the wintry rain, which would soon turn to dense snowfall. She left the car without saying a word to the woman or the boy. Erika didn’t look at her passengers as she shut the car door; she didn’t ask if they were hungry or thirsty. The woman could damn well buy her own food and drink. Erika ran into the shop and asked for the toilet. A young man with a scarred face and ginger mustache gave her a key and pointed to the right. Erika took the key and unlocked the door. She went in and locked it behind her. It stank of shit. The toilet was blocked, its seat missing. The bin was full and there was litter all over the floor. Erika imagined the woman in the car, her fellow traveler, who wasn’t the mother of the soaking wet boy, wasn’t anybody’s mother, and somehow this goddamned stinking toilet and everything that
Erika remembered that she had arrived for her night shift and inquired about the women in labor. The midwife said of one young woman: Tedious. It’s going to take time. Nearly twelve hours and only three centimeters’ dilation.
And she was no more than a child herself, thought Erika as she stood at the door of the maternity ward and saw the young woman in the light from the hospital corridor. No more than seventeen or eighteen, and alone. No boyfriend or sister or mother. No girlfriend. She was sitting in the middle of the floor in a white hospital gown, small and thin, with her face in her hands and her legs drawn up under her. She neither turned nor looked up as Erika closed the door behind her.
I crossed the floor and squatted down beside you. I took off the elastic band and unplaited your hair so I could run my fingers through it. You looked at me and let me do it, and finally you even rested your head on my shoulder.
After a time, as night became morning, the young woman gave birth to a girl, silently gasping for air and light. One day, thought Erika, she, too, might have her mother’s beautiful long hair.
Chapter 19
Erika opened her mouth to say something to the woman sitting beside her in the car. After all, she had to say something, didn’t she? No. She decided against it. Why say anything? And what about the boy in the back, who had not said a word and was not the woman’s son but reminded Erika slightly of Ragnar? She looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“Did I say Ragnar?”
The woman turned to her and replied: “You didn’t say anything.”
Erika smiled at her: “Sorry. I talk to myself sometimes, especially when I’m driving.”
She looked at the boy in the backseat and realized she had been mistaken.
He did not remind her of Ragnar.
Ragnar was spindly, with thin wrists.
This boy reminded her of Magnus.
Erika said: “I need to stop for gas and I must ring my son. I must tell him I shall be spending the night in Sunne instead of Örebro. Magnus likes to know where I am. He pretends not to be bothered but he is.”
The woman shrugged her shoulders, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Well, naturally, it’s your car. Do whatever you like.”
Erika stared at her. Was that it? Not the slightest veneer of anything polite or friendly? Erika had now even given away that she had been heading for Örebro, not Sunne; that she was actually making a detour of eighty kilometers for the sake of this woman she didn’t know. The woman became aware that Erika was looking at her. She looked down, fingering something in her lap.
“We’re hugely grateful, of course, that you’re giving us a lift.”
The woman was looking straight at her now. Her expression was defiant.
“Hugely grateful! You really have gone out of your way!”
What do you want from me?
“No problem,” said Erika.
She turned in at the next gas station. She found her mobile phone, opened the car door, and got out into the wintry rain, which would soon turn to dense snowfall. She left the car without saying a word to the woman or the boy. Erika didn’t look at her passengers as she shut the car door; she didn’t ask if they were hungry or thirsty. The woman could damn well buy her own food and drink. Erika ran into the shop and asked for the toilet. A young man with a scarred face and ginger mustache gave her a key and pointed to the right. Erika took the key and unlocked the door. She went in and locked it behind her. It stank of shit. The toilet was blocked, its seat missing. The bin was full and there was litter all over the floor. Erika imagined the woman in the car, her fellow traveler, who wasn’t the mother of the soaking wet boy, wasn’t anybody’s mother, and somehow this goddamned stinking toilet and everything that
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