The True Deceiver

  “That’s what I think,” Katri said.

  Anna sat and thought for a while and then suddenly asked if Katri read detective stories.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Neither do we… I sit here thinking about what Madame Nygård said… that it’s not hard to be cocky in the morning but it feels different in the twilight. It was nice of you to promise to come with your dog. But only for a couple of nights. Then I’ll probably have forgotten the whole thing. I forget so easily…”

  Chapter Eleven

  KATRI MOVED INTO THE RABBIT HOUSE, and the dog got his place in the hall by the kitchen door. Katri was in such a state of nerves the first day that the simplest tasks seemed too much for her. She was sure of just one thing: she needed to move very quietly and be as invisible as possible, a shadow in no way encroaching on Anna’s long pampered and protected life. And time was short, every hour counted. Katri had only a few days to take possession of the house and convince Anna that independence was possible even if you weren’t alone. But Anna just sat by the fire and froze. She felt the cold more than ever and wondered why her house had never before seemed so absolutely empty and forsaken.

  Katri came in to say good night. “I don’t think,” she said cautiously, “I don’t think the lock matters so much…”

  “What?” said Anna, leaping to her feet. “What lock?”

  “I mean, there’s no decent lock on the door. But if you start shutting yourself in now, then it’s one more thing to attend to. I mean, a new worry…”

  Anna was irritated. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Why would I shut myself in? This place is shut in enough already! Calm down and go to bed.”

  * * *

  In the morning, an invisible Katri had put a breakfast tray beside Anna’s bed. Fires in the tile stoves, a bowl of periwinkles, the hem of her dressing gown mended. The right book opened to the bookmark beside Anna’s plate. A lot of small things, everywhere, all day. But Katri continued to be invisible. Anna grew more and more uneasy, it was like having a spirit in the house, one of those magically enslaved and obedient pixies that frequent the castles in fairy tales, diligent creatures, ever-present but always just vanishing. You catch a glimpse of movement and turn around – but there’s nothing there, a door closing silently.

  For the first time in her solitary life, Anna noticed the silence of the house, and it made her flesh crawl. By evening, she was beside herself and went out to the kitchen – making a careful detour around the dog. The kitchen was empty. So she ran up the stairs and shouted outside her door, “Miss Kling! Are you in there, or where in the world are you?”

  Katri opened the door. “What is it?” she said. “What’s happened..?”

  “Nothing,” Anna said. “That’s just it – nothing. You sneak around and I never know where you are. It’s like having mice in the walls!”

  * * *

  Katri changed her tactics. Her quick steps were heard everywhere, she rattled the dishes, she started beating rugs in the yard, and she came often to seek Anna’s advice about this or that. Finally Anna said, “But my dear Miss Kling, why are you asking me about things that you can very well decide without my help? You’re no longer yourself. I can assure you that you needn’t be nervous, there’s no cause for alarm.”

  “Miss Aemelin, I don’t understand.”

  “The break-in, of course,” said Anna impatiently. “Our burglar.”

  Katri started to laugh. Katri’s laugh had nothing in common with her terrifying smile. Her whole face opened in a peal of unalloyed hilarity – with very pretty teeth.

  Anna gazed at her attentively and said, “I’ve never seen you laugh. Do you not often laugh?”

  “No, not often.”

  “And what is it that’s so amusing? Our burglary?”

  Katri nodded.

  “Well, amusing and amusing. All the same, you’re no longer yourself, whatever the reason. You were nicer in the beginning.”

  At three o’clock, the phone rang, and Katri answered.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said the storekeeper. “Miss Aemelin doesn’t answer her own phone any more? Tell her the police caught them. They broke into another house. How are the guard duties going?”

  Katri said, “Set aside two bottles of milk and some yeast and put it on the bill.”

  “Are you baking now, too? Sounds like the rabbit house is becoming a real establishment.”

  “Yes, that’s all. I’ll call if there’s anything else.” Katri hung up the receiver and started back to the kitchen.

  “But why did the storekeeper call?” Anna asked behind her. “He’s never called before.”

  “I ordered some yeast. You’ve got flour.” Katri stopped in the half-open door, looking straight at Anna. Finally she said, quickly, “They caught them.”

  “What did you say?”

  “The burglars. The danger is past.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Anna said. “It surprises me, I didn’t think that constable seemed terribly competent. By the way, before I forget, would you ask Mats to look at the stove in your room? It doesn’t draw, it never has. If this weather continues, we’ll have you down with a cold or something,” she added dismissively and went back to her book.

  * * *

  Towards evening, Katri brought in wood to light a fire in the parlour. “It’s very wet,” she said. “There ought to be a roof over the woodpile. A woodshed.”

  “Can’t be done. Papa wouldn’t have a woodshed.”

  “But we’re going to get a lot of rain.”

  “My dear Miss Kling,” said Anna, “we’ve always had the firewood by the side of the house, and a shed would destroy the building’s lines.”

  Katri smiled her grim smile and said, “Well, this house isn’t all that beautiful. Although I’ve seen even worse from the period.”

  When the wood was finally burning, Anna sat down in front of the stove and said, “It’s so nice having a fire.” And then, casually, “And so nice that you seem to be getting back to normal.”

  The next day, Anna declared that she wanted to have a little party for the three of them. Katri was not to eat in the kitchen today. They’d use the silver and have wine and candles.

  Anna closely supervised the setting of the table and made certain changes to small detailed arrangements that a person of Katri’s generation and background would not have been taught as a matter of course. Mats arrived at the appointed hour, amiable and a little self-conscious. They took their places at the table. Anna had dressed for dinner. The role of hostess had never presented her with any difficulty, but today her social instincts and sensitivity were not what they should have been. After a few unconnected observations that did not lead to conversation, she allowed the meal to proceed without appearing to notice the silence of her guests. Every time Katri stood up to serve, Anna lifted her eyes quickly and then looked away. The table was lovely beneath the crystal chandelier, with all its lamps burning. Even the sconces were lit. The dessert came in.

  Anna touched her wineglass but didn’t raise it. Her sudden immobility was transferred to her guests, and for one frozen moment the room was as rigid as a photograph.

  “Attention,” Anna said. “Giving another human being your undivided attention is a pretty rare thing. No, I don’t think it happens very often… Figuring out what someone wants and longs for, without being told – that probably requires a great deal of insight and thought. And of course sometimes we hardly know ourselves. Maybe we think it’s solitude we need, or maybe just the opposite, being with other people… We don’t know, not always…” Anna stopped talking, searched for words, raised her glass and drank. “This wine is sour. I wonder if it hasn’t stood too long. Don’t we have an unopened bottle of Madeira in the sideboard somewhere? No, let it go. Don’t interrupt me. What I’m trying to say is that there are few people who take the time to understand and listen, to enter into another person’s way of living. The other day it occurred to me how remarkable it is that y
ou, Miss Kling, can write my name as if I’d written it myself. It is characteristic of your thoughtfulness, your thoughtfulness for me and no one else. Very unusual.”

  “It’s not especially unusual,” Katri said. “Mats, pass the cream. It’s simply a matter of observation. You observe certain habits and behaviour patterns, you see what’s missing, what’s incomplete, and you supply it. It’s just a matter of experience. Get things working as best you can, then wait and see.”

  “Wait and see what?” said Anna. She was annoyed.

  “How it goes,” Katri said, looking straight at Anna, her eyes at this moment deeply yellow. She continued very slowly. “Miss Aemelin, the things people do for one another mean very little, seen purely as acts. What matters is their motives, where they’re headed, what they want.”

  Anna put down her glass and looked at Mats. He smiled at her. He hadn’t been listening.

  “Miss Kling,” Anna said, “you worry about such peculiar things. If people come up with some pleasant way of helping or making you happy, then it’s just exactly what it appears to be… What became of that Madeira? Or port. Whatever you can find. Take Papa’s best glasses, they’re on the top, on the right. And don’t interrupt me, I have something to say.” Anna waited impatiently. When the glasses were filled, she declared quickly, almost angrily, that since the upper floor was empty, it would be a purely practical arrangement for Katri and Mats to move in. She forgot to propose a toast, rose from the table, wished them a pleasant evening, further discussion could wait for tomorrow, and would Mats please close the damper when the fire was completely out.

  Once in her room, Anna was gripped by alarm. She stood inside the door, trembling violently, waiting, but Katri didn’t come. Katri should have come. Finally, Anna crept in under the coverlet and hid from her irrevocable decision – to be alone no more. She was too warm. The silence lasted too long. Anna threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. The parlour was empty. In the hall she tripped over the dog she wasn’t used to, mumbled an apology, and was finally out in the snow.

  The door banged behind her in the wind. A few steps into the woods and the cold swept over her like a gentle warning. She stopped. Katri stood quietly in the kitchen window, waiting. Anna came back, the door slammed, and for a long moment there was quiet. Then Anna shouted loudly and very angrily, “Miss Kling! Your dog is shedding, there’s hair everywhere. You need to comb your dog!”

  Katri waited until Anna’s steps moved on, then she drew a deep breath and continued washing the dishes in silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE MOVE WAS MADE IN LILJEBERG’S VAN and was very simple: a few cardboard boxes, two suitcases, a small table, and a bookcase.

  “No problem,” said Liljeberg. “It’s practically next door. Not every village has its own transport!” It was nice to hear him laugh. Katri had scrubbed the room above the storekeeper’s shop, scrubbed it with a kind of painstaking rage, the way women clean when they can’t lash out. She scrubbed away the neighbours’ shamefaced talk about envy and petty favours, she scrubbed away all the black night thoughts, and most of all she scrubbed the doorway where the storekeeper used to loiter on some pretext, standing in hungry vigilance, waiting for some sign to tell him if he could go on hating or if there was the tiniest little handhold for his lust. The room became as clinically clean and naked as a wave-washed skerry.

  Liljeberg loaded the suitcases. “Jump in, little witch,” he said. “Cinderella on her way to the castle!” When he started the engine, the storekeeper shouted, “Give my regards to Miss Aemelin! Tell her I’m getting in some rabbit! Fresh, just killed! Just for her...” The village children ran after the van a little way, shrieking and throwing snowballs.

  “This feels right,” Liljeberg said and smiled at Katri. “There ought to be a big fuss when people move up in the world.”

  * * *

  Anna phoned her childhood friend Sylvia, who lived in town. She couldn’t think of anyone else to call now at a moment’s notice.

  “It’s been a while,” said Sylvia’s well-modulated voice. “How is everything out there in the big woods?”

  “Fine, everything is fine...” Anna was out of breath. They might be here any moment. Quickly and out of sequence she tried to tell her friend what had happened – Katri, Mats, the dog... Everything was about to change, everything...

  “You don’t mean you’ve taken boarders?” Sylvia said. “Surely you don’t need to. I mean, you’re quite well off, aren’t you? By the way, are you working on anything, a new little tale?”

  Sylvia’s interest in her work had always been very important to Anna, but not right now. Anna replied snappishly that she never worked in the winter, which Sylvia ought to know, and then went headlong into her news about Katri while she tried to see down to the road through the veranda window.

  “But dear Lord,” said Sylvia in a pause. “You sound so agitée. Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, yes, I feel fine...”

  Anna’s friend began to describe some alterations she’d had done in her apartment and talked about the newly started Wednesday Society for Culture, which Anna really ought to join. And Anna should finally come to visit. It was important to get out and about, she knew that well enough, all the years she’d been a widow. “One shouldn’t be alone, it leads to so much thinking...”

  “But I’m not going to be alone!” Anna said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! There are going to be four of us, didn’t you hear me? Four of us, counting the dog...” Liljeberg’s van was coming. “They’re coming,” she whispered. “I have to go...”

  “Well, we’ll talk again. Now take care of yourself and think twice before you do anything hasty. You cannot be too careful with boarders. I’ve heard so many stories. And as I said, drop by my little lair some day when you’ve got the time.”

  “Yes, yes, of course... Goodbye, I’ll say goodbye now, goodbye...”

  “Goodbye, little Anna.”

  They were coming up the hill. Anna stood close to the window and watched them come. Her heart had started pounding in a primitive impulse to get away, to just flee as far as the road would take her. So stupid. Why did she behave this way... and she’d been unpleasant to Sylvia, whom she liked so much and admired, had raised her voice and been impatient, although Sylvia was only being considerate and had even remembered to ask about her work... It had been a mistake to call. But it had felt absolutely necessary that someone she trusted should listen, listen carefully, and ask questions and maybe say, “But that sounds wonderful!” Or, “My dear Anna, what an exciting idea! You simply know what you want and go after it – just like that!”

  * * *

  Mats and Anna went up the stairs to the second floor. He said, “Can you believe it, Miss? I’ve never had my own room before.”

  “Haven’t you? How remarkable. Now, what I thought was that if Katri took the pink room, you could have the blue. It was very popular in its day.”

  They stood in the door and looked. Mats said nothing.

  Finally Anna said, “Don’t you like it?”

  “It’s awfully nice. But you know, Miss, it’s too big.”

  “How so, too big?”

  “I mean, for one person. I’m not used to such a big room.”

  Anna was distressed. She explained that there weren’t any smaller ones.

  “Are you sure, Miss? When people build such big houses, they usually have some cubby-holes left over. They figure wrong and wind up with extra spaces under the roof.”

  Anna thought for a moment and said, “Well, we have the maid’s room. But it’s full of stuff, and it’s always been too cold.”

  They went to the maid’s room, and it really was very cold. Furniture, objects, things that had once been objects, odds and ends – all of it piled randomly up towards the angled ceiling, a chaotic jumble broken by a shaft of winter light from the window at the far end of the long, narrow room.

  “This will be fine,” Mats said. “Excellent. Wher
e can I put all this stuff?”

  “I don’t really know... Are you sure you’d like to live in here?”

  “Positive. But where shall I put all the stuff?”

  “Wherever you like. Anywhere... I think I’ll go lie down for a little while.” The room had frightened Anna; it seemed threatening to her and tremendously melancholy. She went away, but the room followed. Very early images wandered through her head, images of the maid, Beda, who had been with them since she was a girl and had always lived in the dreadful room upstairs. Beda, who gradually became large and sleepy and who slept whenever she was free, just pulled up the covers and slept. How ghastly, Anna thought. I remember, they’d send me up when they needed her and every time she was just sleeping. What happened to her? Did she move away? Was she sick? I can’t remember. And all that furniture: where did we have it? I didn’t recognize it, but it must have been somewhere, it must have mattered. It must have been important to someone at some time...

  Anna lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a little wreath of plaster roses around the light fixture on the ceiling, repeated in a long ribbon around the bedroom. She listened. Heavy objects were being dragged around upstairs and then dropped with a thud. Steps came and went, and silences that strained her hearing to the utmost. Now, again, something being dragged and dropped, everything up there changing places; all the past, which had rested above Anna Aemelin’s bedroom as distant and undisturbed as the innocent dome of heaven, was in a state of violent transformation. All the same, Anna thought to herself, everyone has to have things the way they want them, and now I’m going to sleep. She pulled the pillow over her head, but sleep didn’t come.