The Woman Who Borrowed Memories: Selected Stories

  “Yes, of course. We’d like to thank you for your extraordinary kindness and generosity. A wonderful meal, so well thought out in every detail.”

  “Not so fast,” said X. “Get a grip on yourself. Quite simply, Viktoria, you’ve given us a chance. But don’t you think Josephine and I could just go on disliking each other?”

  “It’s possible,” answered Viktoria. “Indeed, why not? But here’s the cognac. What shall we drink to this time?”

  “Nothing,” said Josephine. “I’ve been talking too much. I really ought to go home. The dogs have been alone all evening.”

  “Their legs are too short,” said X.

  Viktoria raised her cognac and said, “Ladies, you waste your time on inessentials. When we’ve finished our coffee, I think we should devote ourselves to the contemplation of nightfall.”

  They walked through the café, where all conversation stopped, and came out onto the square.

  “It’s cold,” said Josephine, trying to fasten Viktoria’s chinchilla for her.

  “Leave it alone,” said X. “Viktoria knows whether she’s cold or not. Stop fussing.”

  “You always know better than anyone else!” Josephine snapped. “But you don’t know a thing about Viktoria, not a thing!” And she walked on ahead up the lane.

  “Take no notice,” said Viktoria. “She’ll see things more clearly in the morning.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course. Everything can change.” Viktoria did not explain in more detail that for her every new morning was a kind of happy challenge, just as it was with new opportunities, surprises, maybe even insights, yes, and plain excitement. In fact she’d done more than enough pontificating for one evening, and now she simply mentioned that José had promised to bring some firewood after nine. So she would sweep the patio and ask him to pile the wood in a different corner so it wouldn’t disturb the bougainvillea.

  X smiled. “Inessentials, my dear Viktoria. You mentioned inessentials, I think? All those tiny tasks and worries. Every new day filled with one thing or another. Look at Josephine up there. She spends half her day walking her dogs and playing her operas and the other half running to meaningless parties, and it’s hard work being insulted, making yourself popular, clinging hard to what little pride you’ve got . . . And you, a real Viktoria, you condescend to display a well-meaning tolerance. Oh yes, I saw you in that car! Wait, don’t say anything. I know for someone like you it’s hard to say no, but you have no real principles, not guiding ones that run consistently through everything you do. None of you have. You water down your drinks and your feelings. Do you understand what I’m saying? No single, firm, undiluted beliefs.

  Walking on, they caught up with Josephine, who was sitting on the long flight of steps leading up to her house.

  Viktoria said to X, “There are beliefs and beliefs. Hating the colony is not a particularly interesting one, and besides it’s pretty diluted too by now, don’t you think? You should find yourself a new one, a more useful one if you can. Or just forget it, of course.”

  “What do you mean, forget it?”

  “Well, you could accept the fact that you’re ordinary. I always find that quite exciting enough.”

  “Ha, ha, there you are,” said Josephine. “Totally ordinary—like Viktoria. That’s rare.”

  X helped Josephine to her feet and said, “Yes, yes, come on, let’s go. Good night, Viktoria.”

  “Good night.” For a moment Viktoria stood watching them climb the long, laborious flight of steps.

  Many other people had been watching, too.

  The next week X was invited to the Wainwrights’. And later even to Lady Oldfield’s, though she wasn’t accepted into the Inner Circle until the colony had assured itself that Miss Smith had interesting eccentricities that could contribute pleasantly to enlivening its social life. But that didn’t happen till the autumn.

  Translated by Silvester Mazzarella

  SHOPPING

  IT WAS five in the morning and still overcast. The dreadful stink seemed to be getting worse. As usual, Emily walked down Robert Street as far as Blom’s grocery store. The shards of glass squeaked under her shoes and she decided that one day she’d have to make the place a little more approachable. So long as it didn’t interfere with her constant shopping. They had plenty of canned food in the kitchen at the moment, but you could never be sure these days, Emily thought. Surprisingly, the big mirror was still there outside Blom’s, and Emily stopped for a moment to tidy her hair. Really no one could call her fat now; plump might be more accurate—or Junoesque, as Kris liked to say. In fact her coat fit a good deal better now; it was green and matched her shopping bags. She climbed a pile of rubble to get in through the window. Here it was rotting food that was smelling bad.

  She noticed at once that they had been there again, because now the shelves were almost empty. They hadn’t bothered with the sauerkraut; she stowed away what was left of that and helped herself to the last packet of candles and, while she was about it, a new scrub brush and some shampoo. There was no more fruit juice, so Kris would just have to make do with river water, like it or lump it. She could go on to Lundgren’s and have a look there, but that was quite a long way off. Another time. Wanting to make the most of her morning, Emily went into number six, left her bags near the entrance, and walked up one floor to the Erikssons’ flat. That was as far as you could go.

  Luckily the Erikssons had not closed their door when they left. Emily knew there was nothing important left to take; she had shopped for all she wanted from there a long time ago, but it was nice to sit on the fine living-room sofa and rest her legs. Although of course it was no longer so fine anymore, since others had stained it and cut it with knives. But Emily had got there first. And she’d had such great respect for the beauty of the peaceful room that she had taken nothing from it but food. Later, when everything had been trashed and soiled, she saved a few more things to brighten up the kitchen at home and to surprise Kris. This time she helped herself to the rococo wall clock which had stopped at five, her shopping hour. No one else was out at five in the morning; it was a good safe time.

  She started for home. She wondered whether Kris could eat sauerkraut, especially now his stomach was delicate. About halfway home she put down her bags, which were very heavy, and looked out over the changed landscape, the shrunken suburb where she lived. There certainly wasn’t much left; on the other side of the river, nothing at all. Strange the trees hadn’t yet burst into leaf in the park.

  And then she caught sight of them, right at the far end of Robert Street, only two specks but moving, quite clearly moving. They were coming. She began to run.

  The kitchen she shared with Kris was on the ground floor. They had always eaten at the kitchen table and had been about to have dinner when it happened. The rest of the floor was totally blocked. Kris had pointlessly injured his leg. In Emily’s opinion he should never have rushed out, ending up with half the façade on top of him. It was nothing but idle male curiosity. He knew perfectly well what you were supposed to do. There had been warnings on the radio: “Stay indoors in the event of . . .” and so on. And now here he was lying on a mattress Emily had found in the street.

  She had hung the rug up to cover the hole where the window had blown out, and later fixed the whole thing in place by nailing up boards from rubbish she found outside. Luckily the toolbox had been in the kitchen. Otherwise, absolutely anyone could have climbed in through the window. To be really safe she spent hours piling up camouflage on the outside as well. As Kristian lay on his mattress listening to Emily constructing their defenses, he couldn’t help feeling that she was enjoying herself—at least up to a point. He took care not to alarm her. He spent a lot of time sleeping. This business of his leg didn’t seem too serious but it did hurt and he couldn’t rest his weight on it. The darkness distressed him more.

  Now he was awake and groping for the candle and matches on the floor by the mattress. He lit the candle carefully so th
e match wouldn’t go out. He had the books from the Erikssons’ place, unread books from a world that had no meaning for him anymore. He wound up his watch, as he did every morning. It was a little after six; she’d be home any minute. There weren’t many matches left.

  I wish we could talk about what’s happened, thought Kristian; give it a name, have a serious matter-of-fact conversation. But I haven’t the heart to. And I don’t want to frighten her. If only we could have that damn window open.

  Here she was. She unlocked the kitchen door, put her bags on the table, smiled at him, and showed him the Erikssons’ gilded clock, a monstrous object. “How’s the leg? Had a good sleep?”

  “Excellent,” said Kristian. “Did you find any matches?”

  “No. And there wasn’t any more fruit juice. They’ve slashed the sofa at the Erikssons’.”

  “You’re out of breath,” said Kristian. “You’ve been running. Did you see them?”

  Emily took off her coat and hung the new scrub brush on the peg where the old one had been. “I must get some more water from the river so I can wash up,” she said.

  “Emily? Did you see them?”

  “Yes. Only two of them. A long way off. Somewhere near Edlund’s corner. Maybe people are moving to the center now the shops are empty.”

  “Edlund’s corner? But I thought you said it wasn’t there any more? That there’s nothing left beyond the petrol station?”

  “Yes, yes, but the corner itself is still there.” Emily put a plate with tomato juice and crispbread down beside him on the floor. “Try and eat something. You’re getting much too thin.” She took down the household book and entered the new cans of sauerkraut on the Vegetables page.

  Very soon Kristian started talking about the window. They had to open it, free it up and let in the daylight again. He couldn’t stand this darkness any longer.

  “But they’ll get in!” Emily exclaimed. “They’ll find us in no time and take all the food I’ve been shopping for! Kris, please do try to understand. You have no idea what I’ve seen! The Erikssons’ sofa . . . tons of smashed china, antiques as well . . . And anyway, it’s so dark outside.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, it just keeps getting darker. Two weeks ago I could go shopping at four and now it’s hard to see anything before five.”

  Kristian was very disturbed. “Are you sure? That it’s getting darker? But it’s the beginning of June—it can’t be getting darker!”

  “Kris, love. Calm down. It’s just that it’s always overcast. We haven’t seen the sun since . . . I mean, not even once.”

  He sat up and took hold of her arm. “D’you mean like twilight or . . . ?”

  “No—I just mean it’s overcast! Clouds, you know? Clouds! Why are you trying to upset me?”

  Far off in the city the siren started up again. It sounded intermittently, with long intervals, a sort of helpless lament that made Emily frantic. Kristian had tried to reassure her by saying maybe they had a generator at the fire station that had somehow got stuck, but it was no use. She’d just wept, like she was doing now. Then she sprang up and began blindly rearranging her cans and jars on the kitchen shelf. One fell to the floor, rolled across and knocked over the candle, putting it out.

  “Look what you’ve done,” he said. “How many matches do you think we have left! What do you think we’ll do when they’re all gone—sit here in the dark and wait for the end? We’ve got to have that window open!”

  “You and your window!” shouted Emily. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? You know you like it when I’m happy! And we’ve got it nice here at home, haven’t we? I found a bar of soap yesterday, you hear—a bar of soap!” Suddenly calm, she went on. “I’m making our home cozy and snug. I go out and shop. I find amazing things . . . Why do you have to scare me? Why do you have to make everything so dismal?”

  “How do you think it feels?” said Kristian, “How do you think it feels lying here like a corpse unable to help you or look after you! It feels like shit.”

  “You’re proud, aren’t you?” Emily said. “Has it never occurred to you that I’ve never in all my life had a chance to protect anyone else and make decisions and take responsibility for important things? Let me keep that. Don’t take it away from me! All you have to do to help is keep me from being afraid.” She found the matches and lit the candle. “The only thing that worries me is that they might come and take our food. Nothing else.”

  One day Kristian forgot to wind up his watch. At first he couldn’t admit it, not right away, not till evening. Emily was standing at the sink; she stiffened but said nothing.

  “I know,” said Kristian. “It’s unforgivable. My only duty and I’ve failed. Emily? Speak to me.”

  “They’ve all stopped,” said Emily in a very low voice. “All the clocks have stopped. Now I’ll never again know when it’s time to go shopping.”

  He insisted, “It was unforgivable of me.”

  They said no more about it. But this business of the watch changed something; it established uncertainty, a reticence between them. Emily went out less often with her bags; the food shops were empty and going to the Erikssons’ only made her sad. However, the last time she went there, she took the large Spanish silk shawl lying over the piano, thinking it might add a little color to their barricaded window. On the way home she saw a dog. She tried to get it to come to her but it ran away.

  When she came into the kitchen, she said, “I saw a dog.”

  Kristian was immediately interested. “Where? What did it look like?”

  “A brown-and-white setter. Near the park. I called but it got scared and ran away. The rats aren’t scared.”

  “Which way did it run?”

  “Oh, it just ran off. Funny no one’s eaten it yet. And what the poor dog must have been living on doesn’t bear thinking about. In any case, it wasn’t particularly thin.”

  Kristian lay down again. “Sometimes you astonish me,” he said. “Women astonish me.”

  Their life went on unchanged. Kristian’s leg got a little better, and now and then he managed to sit at the kitchen table. He’d sit there sorting the matches into piles and doing calculations: so many matches would last them such and such a length of time. Every time Emily came back from fetching water he would ask her if she had seen them. Then one morning she did see them.

  “Were they men or women?”

  “I don’t know. They were a long way off in the park.”

  “Couldn’t you see whether they were young or old?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder,” said Kristian, “I wonder if they’ve noticed too how it’s getting darker all the time. I wonder what they think about. Do they try and talk things over and make plans, or are they just scared. Why haven’t they gone away like all the others? And do they think they’re entirely alone, that there isn’t anyone else left, not a single—”

  “Kris love, I don’t know. I try not to think about them.”

  “But we have to think about them!” Kristian burst out. “Perhaps that’s all there is, us and them. We could meet them.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “On the contrary, I’m serious. We could talk to them. Figure out what we could do together. Share things.”

  “Not our food!” Emily shouted.

  “Keep your cans and jars,” said Kristian contemptuously. “We could share what’s happened, the things you never want to talk about. What’s happened, why it happened, and where we can go from here if there is any going on.”

  “I have to take the rubbish out,” said Emily.

  “You don’t have to do any such thing. You need to listen to what I have to say. It’s important.” And Kristian went on talking, trying to communicate to her the conviction that had formed in him during all those days and weeks of being imprisoned in darkness. He offered Emily his respect for her judgment in exchange for the trust and loyalty he felt she owed him as his woman. In fact he was making her a declaration
of love, but she didn’t understand that, and left the room without a word so she wouldn’t have to listen.

  When she had gone Kristian was gripped by a terrible rage. He made his way to the window and tore down the Spanish shawl. Then he pried loose the boards one after another, attacking the window with a hatred born of disappointment till his leg gave way and he sank to his knees. But through a little opening at one side, daylight came into the room.

  Emily had come back. She stood in the doorway and shouted, “You’ve torn my Spanish shawl!”

  “Yes, I’ve torn your shawl. The world is coming to an end and little Emily’s shawl is torn. What a shame! Give me the ax—now!”

  Kristian threw himself at the barricade. Time and again he collapsed and had to lower the ax—and then he’d try again.

  “Let me,” whispered Emily.

  “No. This has nothing to do with you.”

  But she moved forward to support him so he could continue. When the window was opened, she began sweeping up the mess he’d made. Kristian waited for her to speak but she said nothing. In the gray light from outside, their kitchen seemed unfamiliar, exposed, a room full of random shabbiness and unnecessary things.

  Then Emily said, “They’re coming,” and without looking at him went on. “You seem to be doing pretty well on your leg. You’re so difficult these days I can’t cope with you. Come on, let’s go out.” She opened the kitchen door.

  “But do you have confidence in me?” asked Kristian. “Do you believe in me?”

  “Don’t be so pompous—of course I do. But take your coat; it’s getting colder.” She helped him on with his coat and took his arm.

  Outside it was already getting darker as evening came on. The others had come nearer. Very slowly, Kristian and Emily walked towards them.

  Translated by Silvester Mazzarella

  THE GULLS

  NOW HE had ripped all the luggage open again, for the third time.

  “But Arne, darling,” said Elsa. “We’ll never get going if you don’t start trusting the lists. We’ve been making them for weeks.”