Eva's Eye

20

She sat stock-still on a footstool behind the door. The room lay in darkness and no one could spot her from outside. Through the crack in the door she could see Maja’s bed, she could make out the bedside table and the lamp with its big shade, decorated with a pink flamingo. Otherwise the room was dim. She was waiting for the two short rings of the doorbell, it was the agreed signal. It was five to eight. The building was situated in a quiet street, there wasn’t a sound outside, only the subdued music from the stereo system. She was playing Joe Cocker. Hoarser every year, thought Eva. There was the sound of a car, it stopped in the street right under their windows. She looked at the clock again, it was showing three minutes to and her heart began to thump harder. A car door slammed. Then there was the dull thud of the door downstairs shutting. A sudden impulse made her get up and go to the window. She found herself looking down at a white car. It was parked by the pavement. A sporty model, she thought, peering through the opening in the curtains. She had a sharp eye for detail. This was an Opel, quite nice, but not a new model. It seemed familiar. Jostein had driven one like it when they’d met all those years ago. She crept back, seated herself on the stool, and placed her hands in her lap. The doorbell sounded the signal of two rings. Maja rose and walked across the room, suddenly she turned and gave a thumbs-up. Then she went out and opened the door. Eva tried to breathe calmly. There was so much material in the room, she felt everything constricting. A man entered. She couldn’t see him clearly, but he seemed to be in his thirties, a stocky man with thin, fair hair. It was long at the neck, he’d gathered it into a sad little ponytail with a rubber band. His denim trousers were a bad fit because of his beer belly. It was her greatest aversion, men who couldn’t wear trousers properly because of their stomachs. Jostein was the same, but he was Jostein and that was different. The man yanked off his jacket and threw it nonchalantly on the bed, as if he were in his own home. Eva didn’t like it, it seemed brazen. Then he reached into his back pocket and fished out a note, which he also threw on the bed. She heard Maja’s voice, but she was speaking so softly that Eva had to listen hard to make out what she said. Carefully, she bent forward so that her ear was as close to the opening as possible.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she heard. “Come!”

Her voice was as soft as silk. I couldn’t speak like that, Eva thought despairingly. The man suddenly moved in close and Maja seemed tiny even though he wasn’t especially tall. There wasn’t much light in the room, but she saw him open Maja’s green dressing gown and pull it off her shoulders. It fell and lay in a heap on the floor. Eva stared hard at Maja’s round, white body, and at the man, but she couldn’t make out his expression. The music murmured pleasantly in the background and Maja went to the bed now; she lay down slowly on her back with her arms out to the side. The man followed. He wore a checked shirt, which he suddenly wrenched out of the waist of his trousers. He’d done his paying, now he could lay claim to the goods he’d bought, and he did. He knelt next to her and began to fumble with his belt. Eva could see Maja’s black panties and her chubby thighs. They weren’t speaking at all now, both moved with accustomed slowness, they’d done this many times, they had a fixed routine. Then he went straight to it, opened his belt completely and Eva heard his zip as he pulled it down. The bed creaked slightly as he got into position. Maja remained motionless, as did Eva, she saw through the gap that he was pulling his trousers down his thighs, then he took hold of Maja’s panties and pulled them off. She helped by lifting her bottom languidly. Then she opened her legs. Just then something changed in him. He began to pant hard, he straddled Maja and pushed her legs even further apart. Then he dived in. Maja had turned her face to the side. She could only make out the man’s stringy hair and his white bottom working rapidly up and down at an ever-increasing tempo. Shortly after, he raised himself, straightening his arms and tilting his head back. He gave a long, drawn-out, throaty groan, then he subsided. It had taken maybe a minute. Just as he collapsed with his chin on the mattress, his hand slid over the edge. He fumbled along the side of the bed for a handhold, and there was a small thud. It made him lean over and look down, Eva saw that he was scrabbling for something on the carpet. Maja had turned her head, her dark eyebrows lifted as he suddenly raised himself once more. In his hand he held the knife. It flashed in the light of the flamingo lamp. He stared at it in amazement, and then at Maja who was trying to sit up. Eva put a hand to her mouth and stifled a gasp. There was total silence in the room for several seconds. Joe Cocker had just finished “Up Where We Belong” and was now pausing before his next number. The scene she beheld through the crack in the door made her blood freeze in her veins, and she found it hard to breathe. Maja, still naked and lying on the bed, her eyes watchful, the man on top of her, with his trousers about his knees and the sharp knife in his hand.

“What the fuck is this?” His voice was suspicious. He was staring at Maja, but she was as soft and mild as she had been when he arrived. She was a professional.

“Just a little protection for a lone woman. Lots of strange people come here.”

“Oh, really?” thought Eva.

“Oh, really?” he said. “So that’s what you think of us? You weren’t planning to stick this in me by any chance?”

“It’s more you that’s stuck something into me,” she laughed huskily.

He was kneeling as before, still with the knife in his hand, and didn’t budge. “I’ve heard of prostitutes who fleece people like this.” He looked at the knife, turned it in his hand, looked down at the naked body and chalk-white skin, as if he were enjoying it.

“Thank you,” she said, “I’ve already been paid. Now I think you ought to put it down. I don’t like you pointing that knife at me.”

“And I don’t like finding knives in the bed when I come here on honest business. You women are as treacherous as hell!”

He was beginning to work himself up. Eva bit her lip and had almost stopped breathing. Maja tried to rise, but he pushed her down.

“Calm down now!” she said loudly. “Stop being oversensitive.”

“I’m not oversensitive,” he snapped back. “You’re the ones who’re oversensitive, you think we’re after you the whole time. Fuck! Knives and stuff. Have you got a firearm as well?”

“Naturally.”

“You’re one of those paranoid types, I thought as much.”

“It’s you who’s paranoid. I had no cause to stick that in you. At least not then. But enough’s enough. Get moving now, otherwise you’ll have to pay extra.”

“Hah! I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” he answered, as he tugged at his trousers and struggled with the zip.

“You were ready a long time ago, and there are others waiting.”

“They’ll have to wait, then. You tarts are fucking greedy. I’ve laid out a thousand for a five-minute job, d’you know how long it takes me to earn that much at the brewery?”

“No,” said Maja wearily. She was staring at the ceiling now. Eva waited with three fingers stuffed into her mouth.

“Fucking bloody hell,” he muttered as he struggled with his belt buckle. “Cunts!”

“Right! That’s quite enough! You needn’t damn well come again. You’re not welcome here from now on. And I should have said that a long time ago.”

“Oh, I see!” He stopped and nodded, as if the scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes. “So that’s how it is! You lot welcome us with open arms, get us to empty our wallets, when really none of you can stand the sight of us! That’s it, isn’t it? Christ, you tarts are the most cynical bunch I’ve ever met!”

With a huge effort Maja rose and got herself on to her elbows. She tried to pull up her legs, but the man was furious and stopped her, she jabbed him with an elbow and twisted out from between his legs as she clutched for the knife, got a hold and pulled as hard as she could. Suddenly she was holding it in her hand. She rose on to her knees with the knife raised. The point quivered. She was staring at the man now, he was still kneeling on the bed as if he were about to spring, the little ponytail stuck out, like a young boy’s erection, Eva thought. She’d got her entire hand in her mouth and bit as hard as she could to suppress a scream. If he’d turned to the left, he would have seen Eva’s eye, a small gleaming point in the blackness of the slightly open door. But he didn’t, he grabbed a pillow and held it in front of him for protection. He glowered at Maja who was kneeling and shaking with the knife in front of her. A pillow and a knife. Everything went deathly quiet.

Eva buried her face in her hands. She had to make the appalling scene vanish, she was terrified the man would catch sight of her, come bolting across the floor and wrench open the door, she wondered what he would make of that, and what sort of rage would fill him then, if he knew she’d been sitting there in the dark staring at them. She crouched, still as a statue on her stool, struggled to breathe calmly, noticed that Joe Cocker had begun another song, “When a Woman Cries.” In the midst of her despair she felt a tremendous sense of relief. Never, ever would she allow some strange man into this room and let him pull her clothes off. Not only would she put an end to her own career before it started, but she would persuade Maja to give up as well. Maja’s a decent person really, she thought, considerate of others, and with almost two million, that was quite enough. She’d just have to make do with a little hotel. Eva looked up again and through the gap: the man had finally got off the bed, and was now pulling on his jacket. She saw the back of his head and his gaze flitting around the room, as if to assure himself that he hadn’t left anything behind. She held her breath when his eyes discovered that her door stood ajar. He stared hard for a few seconds, then turned and crossed the floor. Something was wrong. Not a word was spoken, it was suddenly so quiet. She could see Maja’s feet, they lay motionless on the golden counterpane, pointing out to the sides. And the man wasn’t dawdling anymore, he opened the door quickly, and slipped out.

Eva didn’t move.

She was waiting for Maja to call. Inside she felt her anger rising. It was directed at Maja, who had dragged her into this dubious apartment and who’d maintained that it was safe. But she heard no sound from the bed. At last she got up, pushed open the door, and now she could see everything, Maja’s white body lying diagonally across the bed. She lay quite still with a pillow over her face.

Eva didn’t scream. This was a normal Maja jape, and quite typical of her. She would stop at nothing if she wanted a good laugh. She folded her arms and shook her head. “If you let that one in again, you’ll lose all my respect,” she said dryly.

A car started outside, she turned quickly and ran to the window, peered down at the pavement as it moved into the street. It’s an Opel Manta, she thought, just like the one Jostein had owned. She caught a glimpse of the number. BL 74...

The tires screeched angrily. He did a U-turn and almost hit a sign on the edge of the pavement. Then he roared off in the direction of the pub. Eva followed him with her eyes, then turned and walked back. She reached across the bed and carefully gripped the corner of the large pillow. And then she screamed.

It was a piercing sound from deep in her throat. Maja was staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes, her fingers splayed on the counterpane. Eva backed away in horror and bumped into the bedside table, the large flamingo lamp wobbled precariously, and automatically she put out both hands to save it. She turned and ran to the window again, peered down into the empty street, which now was completely deserted, not a car, not a pedestrian was visible, but she heard a soft hum from the traffic a little further off. She ran back again, bent down and grabbed Maja’s shoulders, shook her hard, and watched as her mouth fell slightly open. Now she was lying there gaping. In despair, Eva looked around for a phone, but she couldn’t see one anywhere, rushed into the other room, searched on the bedside table, on the window ledge, came back, never thought about turning more lights on, and still couldn’t see a phone, just a shiny red model sports car on a shelf. That was the phone. She grabbed it, lifted the body, and was about to ring for help, but she couldn’t remember the number of the emergency services, the number had just changed, she’d heard it on the news, so she had to find a phone book and look there. Then she couldn’t find a phone book. She put back the receiver and dropped into a chair. She stared down at her red dressing gown and suddenly imagined the room crowded with uniformed police, photographers flashing away and her, sitting in a chair, naked beneath the red dressing gown, like any old whore.

Like a whore.

What would she say? That she’d been sitting watching from behind the door? Why didn’t I do anything? she wondered in amazement. Because it had all happened so fast. She’d been frightened of being discovered, frightened that his anger would turn against her instead. She’d been sure that Maja could handle the situation on her own. Maja, the professional. She got up suddenly and bolted into the other room. She found her own clothes and changed as rapidly as she could. She was listening for sounds the whole time, what if the doorbell suddenly rang and there was a new customer standing there — the thought made her run out and check that the door was locked. She couldn’t control her fingers, and doing up buttons was difficult. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Maja’s white feet the whole time. Nobody knows I’ve been here, she told herself, nobody except Maja. If anyone finds out, Jostein, or the police, or Child Welfare, they’ll take Emma away from me. I’ll run home and pretend it never happened. This has nothing to do with me or my life, I don’t belong here, in this velvet and plush apartment. She stumbled through the rooms and found her handbag, her long coat, then suddenly realized that her fingerprints must be everywhere. The idea brought her to a complete full stop. But as she wasn’t on any files, they couldn’t incriminate her. Or so she thought. She halted by the bed once more. She went right up to the headboard and bent down. There was a fly in the corner of Maja’s mouth. It walked across her cheek and settled in the corner of her eye, began to rub its long legs. Eva watched it despondently, tried to brush it away. But it kept on walking up her cheek and into the lower lashes, and finally, a little hesitantly, out on to her eyeball. There it stayed. It looked as if it sank slightly on to the eye.

Eva clapped her hand to her mouth and rushed out to the bathroom. She was violently sick, bending down far into the toilet bowl in an attempt not to make a mess. For a long while she remained there dribbling and panting. It left a rank, sour taste; she flushed the toilet, was about to get up to have a drink, when she suddenly slipped in her own vomit, fell forward and knocked her chin on the porcelain rim of the bowl. Her lower lip split. Her teeth dug into her tongue and the blood seeped out. Tears came. She mustn’t look at Maja any more, or she’d never get out. She pulled out several handfuls of toilet paper and began to wipe the floor. Some of it had splashed up the wall and down the pedestal of the toilet. She went on wiping and threw the tissue into the bowl, flushing occasionally so that it wouldn’t get blocked. But it did anyway, the blockage of wet tissue with her own vomit on it lodged in the bend of the toilet. She gave up, went to the washbasin and drank some water, tried to hold it in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Finally, she went back to the room again, stood with her back turned wondering how long Maja would lie like that before someone found her. Then she sat down again. The block was quiet, it was evening, she mustn’t be in too much of a hurry now. If anyone rang the bell, she must just keep still. She wondered if she could be convicted as an accessory to murder, because she’d just sat there and watched. If she phoned right away and told the whole story, right from their chance meeting in Glassmagasinet, would they believe her? She looked around at all the things Maja had collected. She’d had lavish taste and liked plenty of color. A great, strawberry-shaped tureen with the green leaves as the lid. It stood on a small table near the window. Eva got up slowly, she wasn’t quite sure where the thought came from, but she went to the window and carefully lifted the lid. It was full of notes. Quickly, she turned and looked at Maja. But, of course, she hadn’t seen anything. The roll of paper money was fat, it must have contained several thousand kroner. She looked about for other hiding places, caught sight of a blue and white vase with artificial roses in it, lifted the flowers and found another cache of money. A sewing box turned out to be crammed with money, then all at once she remembered the boots in the hall cupboard, went out into the little hall and opened it. She turned the three pairs of boots upside down and the money came tumbling out. Eva began to sweat heavily, she stuffed the money into her bag and continued searching. She found money in both bedside tables and in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Gradually, as she put money into her bag, her anger rose. She now avoided glancing at Maja’s corpse. Her friend had destroyed something in her life. She had revealed a side to her nature she didn’t know she had, a side she’d rather be without. It was Maja’s fault, and Maja didn’t need the money anymore. Her bag was now completely full of fifty-, hundred-, and thousand-kroner notes. She put her hand to her forehead and wiped away the sweat. The doorbell rang. She cowered in a corner, terrified at the thought that someone outside might be able to see her through the keyhole. Two short rings. That man out there would have been my first client, she thought, and held her breath, forcing herself against the wall. The bell rang again. Now she’d have to wait a while before leaving the apartment, she mustn’t be seen. She’d never been part of this, it had been an accident. At last she heard steps retreating down the stairs. She heard the front door bang and glanced at the time. It was a quarter to nine. Then she looked at Maja for the last time. She wasn’t so pretty now, something about her gaping mouth and staring eyes. “It’s your fault,” Eva sobbed. Then she waited, stiff as a board for exactly five minutes, standing with her back to the corpse and counting the seconds. Finally, cautiously, she opened the door and crept out.

She met no one in the stairwell. The air was dark and dank when she slipped out of the front door and turned to the left. Not to the right past the King’s Arms. She turned left again by the Methodist church, passed the Esso service station, turned left at the Gjensidige Forsiking insurance company building, and walked along the river until she came to the roundabout. Her tongue felt numb and painful, but the bleeding had stopped. She clutched her bag tightly to her. She continued up the hill at a steady pace, she kept her head down and was careful not to look at anyone, she mustn’t walk too quickly, no one must witness a woman hurrying away along these streets, on this evening, at just this hour, and so she sauntered. There’s nothing suspicious about a woman ambling through town, she thought. It was only when she’d reached the bridge that she broke into a run.

An hour later she was back in her own living room, still holding her handbag tightly to her. She was exhausted after coming all that way, but she hadn’t dared hail a taxi. She was breathing hard and had a stitch; she wanted to sit down, but had to hide her bag first. She felt it couldn’t sit on the table as usual, it was full of money, it had to be put away. Somebody might come. She looked about for a cupboard or a drawer, rejected the idea and went into the utility room. She peered into the drum of the washing machine, it was empty. She shoved the bag inside and closed the door. Then she went back to the living room, was about to sit down, but turned and went to the kitchen for some wine. The bottle was open, she filled a tumbler and returned, stared out through the windows at the darkness and silence. She took two large gulps and suddenly decided to close the curtains, so that no one could look in. Although there wasn’t anybody outside. She drew all the curtains and was just about to sit down with her glass when she remembered that her cigarettes were in her bag in the washing machine. She went to the utility room and retrieved them. She walked back again, forgot that she needed a light and retraced her steps. Her pulse was rising all the time, but she found her lighter and thought that now she could sit down — but then she remembered the ashtray. She got up yet again, feeling her fingers beginning to twitch. A car turned slowly into the street, she ran to the window and peeped out through a chink in the curtains. It was a taxi. It’s only looking for a house, she thought, went out again, found the ashtray on the kitchen work surface, and lit a cigarette. The phone’s been cut off, was her next thought, it was a relief, no one could get hold of her now. The door was locked. She took another drag on her cigarette and left it in the ashtray. If she turned off most of the lights, it would look as if she wasn’t at home. She went around the house switching the lights off one by one. It got darker, the corners were completely black.

Then at last she sat down on the edge of the chair, ready to get up again quickly. She had an unpleasant feeling that there was something she’d forgotten, so she drank the wine and smoked, breathing fast and unevenly, and after a while she felt dizzy. She attempted to shape thoughts into sentences inside her mind, but she never finished them before more thoughts came crowding in. This confused her. She had more wine and smoked more cigarettes. It was almost eleven o’clock. Perhaps they’d already found Maja, perhaps one of her clients had tried the door and found it unlocked. But if it was a man with a wife and children he might have fled just as she had done. A prostitute can die without anyone bothering to lift a finger, she thought with horror. Maybe she’d be there for a long time before anyone took responsibility, maybe days or weeks. Until the smell in the stairwell was such that they began to wonder what was wrong. She went into the kitchen and poured more wine. Soon Emma would be home, she thought, and then everything would be back to normal. She drained the glass standing by the work surface and went to the bathroom. It was better to go to bed and let the time pass. The quicker the time passed the better. She cleaned her teeth and got under the duvet. Perhaps the police would trace her anyway, it would be best to work out what to say.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but was constantly troubled by new thoughts. Had anybody seen her when she’d entered the apartment? She didn’t think so. But at Hannah’s and in the café in Glassmagasinet? She couldn’t hide the fact that they’d met each other, it was too risky. She would have to describe that day just as it had been, that they’d been for a meal, that they’d been back to Maja’s apartment afterward. The painting, she thought suddenly. Leaning against the wall in the living room. But she could have gone home to collect that the same day. And ought she to admit that she knew Maja was a prostitute? Wasn’t it best to tell the truth wherever possible? Yes, she knew that, because Maja had told her. Quite voluntarily. They had never had secrets from one another. She forced her eyes closed again, wanting to escape her thoughts. The taxi, she thought suddenly — the one they’d ordered. The one that had driven her to Tordenskioldsgate with the painting wrapped in a blanket, could they track it down? But she might only have gone to deliver it, stayed with her for a short while, and then had to leave because Maja was expecting a client. That was how it had been, of course. They’d met on Wednesday morning and had coffee. They hadn’t seen each other for twenty-five years. Later they had dinner together. Maja paid. She wanted to buy a picture and the following day she’d sent a taxi to pick her up. Had she seen this client? Heard a name mentioned? Had she met anyone on the stairs or out in the street? No, no, she’d left in plenty of time before he was due. She knew nothing about this man, didn’t want to know anything about him, she thought it was ghastly. It was gruesome. I don’t know how she died, she reasoned, only what’s been in the newspapers. I must read the papers. I must listen to what they say on the radio. I mustn’t make any mistakes. She kept staring on and on at the ceiling as she wrung her hands beneath the duvet. When did they broadcast the first news bulletin? Six o’clock? She looked at the alarm clock, which told her it was almost midnight. The light-green hands were splayed just as Maja’s legs had been splayed on the golden counterpane. She blinked and opened her eyes. Nightmares were queuing up in her head. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, put on her dressing gown, and sat down in the living room. She got up again and turned on the radio, which was playing music. She thought: I’d better stay awake. As long as I’m awake I know what’s happening.