Eva's Eye

25

She had to breathe through her mouth. She didn’t open her nasal passages even for an instant. Eva was afraid she might faint. She tried to listen to what he was doing, he was certainly searching for something. He didn’t bother to keep quiet, maybe he’d even switched the light on, she thought, and suddenly remembered her day sack, which she’d left on the living room floor. The thought of it almost made her sick. Could he have seen the light of her torch? She didn’t think so. But the day sack on the floor — would he realize that she was still here? Would he search the cabin from top to bottom? Perhaps that was what he was doing right now, and at any moment he might come tramping into the extension and tear open the door of the earth closet. But would he remove the lid and look down? She forced her nose into her kneecaps and breathed carefully through her mouth. There would be silence in the cabin for a while, and then the racket would break out afresh. After some minutes she heard his footsteps approaching, they were in the lobby again, she heard something topple and crash, and more swearing. Then he came into the workshop. Silence fell again.

She imagined him standing staring at the door of the bathroom now, and thinking as everyone else would have done, that perhaps someone was hiding inside. There were more footsteps, Eva ducked and waited, heard a great creak as he opened the door. The world stood still for several seconds, she was just one quivering mass of terror, hot blood pumping through her body, but then everything stopped completely, breathing, heart, and blood, which had become viscous as oil. Perhaps he was only a meter away, perhaps he could hear her breathing, so she stopped, until her lungs began to feel as if they were bursting. Each second was an eternity. Then she heard footsteps again, he’d retreated and was clattering about with something near the workbench. Suddenly it struck Eva that he might need to use the toilet, if he went on searching for long enough he might need to relieve himself, and then he’d come in again, remove one of the pieces of polystyrene and pee into the hole. He’d either get her feet, if he chose the hole next to the outer wall, or if he used the other one, he’d pee on her head. And if he switched on the light he’d see that there was someone sitting down there with a paint tin between her legs. She had no idea who he was. Maja hadn’t told the truth, there was something she’d left out, and it was Maja who’d got her into this crazy situation, just as she’d done a thousand times before, and Maja who’d provided the opportunity for her to get hold of some money, tons of money, even though she’d never wanted it, only enough for food and bills. She didn’t need any more. She’d willingly have given him the lot, or perhaps they could go halves, she thought, why did he have any more right to it than she did, it was the money of a childhood friend and they had shared everything. She’d been named by Maja as her beneficiary.

The man was now tearing through drawers of tools and rubbish, he sounded violent, agitated; judging by the noise the cabin would look like a battlefield before he’d finished. She wondered if he’d decide to spend the night there, perhaps bed down in one of the bunks beneath a thick winter duvet, while she sat here on this pile of feces with numb feet. She might get frostbite; if she had to sit here till the morning she’d die of cold and despair and the stink, but perhaps he was a common thief like herself and had to get away before daylight. That was what she hoped. She hoped and prayed, while he stamped about the cabin searching continuously. She felt herself becoming drowsy, realized that she mustn’t sleep, but she kept slipping away, the smell wasn’t so obvious then, or perhaps she was completely anaesthetized. It would have been lovely to sleep a while, it struck her that it might be difficult to get out again, it would be impossible to get a firm footing in the boggy morass she was sitting in, perhaps she’d be left down here on her own to die with two million in her lap. Maybe she ought to call for help, get out and take her clothes off and simply share the money with the bastard who was in there rummaging about not knowing where to look. She thought about this as she became vaguely conscious that it had gone quiet at last, as if he really had turned in, possibly on the sofa under the checked rug. Possibly he’d been down to the cellar and found a bottle of red wine, which he’d warmed on the gas stove and added sugar to; hot, sweet red wine, the fringed woolen rug, and a little fire in the grate. She flexed her fingers and discovered they were stiff. Slowly she seemed to shut down, against the cold and the smell, closed her eyes and her mind, leaving only one small corner of consciousness open in case he came in again to pee, or to search more thoroughly, but the corner became smaller, she receded inwards and downwards in the dark, and a last thought flew quickly through her mind: how on earth had she ended up here?

There was a loud bang.

Eva started. She flung out her arms in a pure reflex action and thumped her elbow on the semi-rotten woodwork. Perhaps he’d heard it. The walls were thin and everything was quiet. She realized it had been the door slamming, he was outside the cabin now, just by the wall of the earth closet. He took three or four paces then halted. Eva waited and listened, trying to guess what he was doing, she was as stiff as a post and couldn’t move her arms or legs. Then he coughed and immediately afterward came the well-known sound of a strong stream of urine hitting the frozen ground. Typical bloke, she thought, they were lazy, couldn’t even be bothered to go to the bathroom, but just poked the manservant out of the door, and it was presumably this that had saved her from being discovered. She almost laughed aloud with relief. The peeing went on and on, he must have been holding himself in a long time, and perhaps he’d had a beer, perhaps he was finished now and would be leaving. Strange that he hadn’t checked down the toilet but he probably hadn’t the imagination for that, she thought. She, who would have prodded the night soil with a ski stick if she hadn’t found the paint tin. Hope began to dawn that everything might soon be over now, and with hope returned the cold and stiffness, as well as the stench, which was unbearable by this time.

He went inside again. What’s the time, how long have I been in this torpor? she thought, and struggled to breathe calmly. Again there was a variety of sounds, doors, drawers, and pacing to and fro. Perhaps it was fully day and quite light, he might have pulled down the blackout curtains and now wished to search again. Then he’d revisit the extension, and look down into the night soil too, the thought would suddenly strike him like lightning, just as it had her. She tried to imagine what he’d feel when he saw her head and realized she’d been sitting there all the time, disbelief and fury, or if he were an innocent man on a lawful mission simply fear and alarm. But she didn’t give that any credence. She heard the door again and the key in the lock. She could hardly believe that he might be leaving. She didn’t move a muscle, but the footsteps through the heather really were receding, and at last the sound she’d been longing for most of all, it was almost too good to be true. The sound of a car door slamming. Eva began to tremble violently. The engine started with a roar and she sobbed with relief, it revved for a good while, and still she didn’t budge, just waited while the car maneuvered, perhaps he was turning around. She heard twigs scratching against metal and the engine slowing for a moment. Then he gathered speed. He was safely out on the road now, he changed up and drove off, and the engine faded slowly away, until at last, at long last, it could be heard no more.

A great peace filled her body.

She placed her hands on the tin and exhaled, sniffed a bit and tried to extend her legs. They were as crooked as ancient tree roots and she had no feeling in her feet at all. She pushed the polystyrene cover off with one hand. It was as dark as before, as if it were still the middle of the night. The torch, she thought suddenly, what’s happened to the torch? She clenched her fists and steeled herself, then began unwillingly to scrabble about in the muck searching for it, between her legs, out in the corners, it wasn’t a large area, she must find it. She fumbled behind her back and felt the ice-cold metal against her hand. Perhaps it was broken. She found the switch. It was working. With a sigh of relief she looked at her watch. It was half past three. It would be dark for a long time yet, she had plenty of time. She stuck the torch through the hole and laid it on the top of the toilet, then she took hold of the seat and tried to lift herself up. Her back ached and her legs would hardly support her, but she got her head through, squeezed her shoulders out, and suddenly it was as if she was being suffocated and couldn’t get out fast enough. She floundered and gasped and wriggled her way up, kicking as hard as she could at the soft heap beneath her, twisting herself through the hole, lay across the toilet, wrenched her legs after her, and knocked the torch, which fell on the floor. She stared down at the striped rug which was now illuminated, and pulled her feet through. She placed a foot to the floor. It was like being paralyzed. But she was standing on her own feet, she bent once again, aimed the torch down for the very last time, and reached for the handle of the tin. She had fought for this. Now the money was hers. She left the extension and entered the cabin. It was completely wrecked. Everything had been emptied and strewn about. She shone her torch around, he hadn’t removed the blackout curtains. Everything was dark, but the air was strangely fresh and soothing, she’d almost forgotten what ordinary air was, it was like inhaling cool mineral water through her nose. Unsteadily she tottered over to an armchair and threw herself into it. Her clothes had stiffened on her body. Everything would have to be thrown away, every stitch she had on. Perhaps she ought to cut her hair, too, maybe she’d never get the smell out of it. It was a long way to drive home covered in filth from top to toe, but possibly there were clothes in the cabin she could change into. She struggled up again and went into one of the bedrooms. Holding the torch she pulled out garment after garment from the chest of drawers, she found underwear, socks, an old undershirt, and a knitted jumper, but trousers were more difficult. She came out again, remembered the small entry where the outdoor clothes were kept, and was in luck. She found an old down snowsuit hanging there, it was lovely and soft, but possibly a bit on the small side. It would be like trying to get into a sausage skin. But it was clean. In comparison with what she had on now, it was clean. The scent of ski wax and firewood clung to it. She put the clothes on the floor and began to undress. Her hands were the worst, she tried to keep them away from her face, she couldn’t bear to smell them. Maybe she could slosh some disinfectant over them and dry them with a towel. She began to shiver with cold again, but at the same time she was in high spirits. She kept looking across at the tin, a flecked paint tin, it looked so innocent, who would have thought it contained a fortune, apart from her. But she, of course, was a person of imagination. An artist.

Finally, she found a pair of ski boots inside the settle bed and struggled with the laces. Her hands had begun to thaw, but they worked slowly. She pushed her filthy clothes into the day sack, which he’d chucked into a corner. She put the sack on her back, held the torch in one hand, the paint tin in the other. No need to struggle with the little kitchen window, after everything that had happened. The front door was locked from the outside. She went into the bedroom again, tore down the blackout curtain, and opened the window wide. She took a deep breath of mountain air and stepped up on to the sill. Then she jumped out.