Mind's eye

3

An insect crawled up his bare right arm. A persistent little bug only a few millimeters long; he watched it, wondering where it was headed.

For the light, perhaps. He had left the bedside lamp on, even though it was the middle of the night. He found it difficult to cope with darkness, for whatever reason. This was not like him. Darkness had never been a threat as far as he was concerned, not even when he was a child. He could recall several occasions when he had attracted more admiration for daring and courage than he deserved, simply because he was not afraid of the dark. Mankel and Li had been especially impressed.

Mankel was dead now. He had no idea what had become of Li. . It was odd that he should think of them now: he hadn’t given them a thought for years and years. There were so many other things he ought to think of instead-but who can control the capricious mechanisms of memory?

He checked the clock. Half past three. Had he been dreaming?

He’d slept restlessly, in any case. Perhaps something had come to him in his slumbers? In recent days he had become more and more convinced that everything would come back to him in his dreams. Nothing at all happened while he was 1 9

awake; after more than a week, that night was just as much of a blank as it had been the morning after. The developer used in the darkroom was faulty; no images, not even a hint of an outline materialized on the paper. It was as if he hadn’t even been there, as if nothing at all had happened after their wild lovemaking. The last images were clear enough: Eva’s thighs opening and closing around his penis, her back arched extrava-gantly at the moment of ecstasy, her breasts bouncing and her nails digging into his skin. . There was more to it than he had described to Ruger, but it was of no significance. After the embrace in the kitchen there was nothing. It was as blank as a mirror.

Like newly formed ice over dark water.

Had he simply fallen asleep? Passed out? He had been naked in bed when he woke up the next morning, dammit.

What in hell’s name had happened?

Eva? He had heard her voice several times in his dreams, he was sure of that, but never any words. Never any message, just her voice. Deep, puckish, somehow alluring. He’d always been fascinated by her voice.

The apartment had looked relatively tidy. Apart from the leftovers in the kitchen and the clothes on the floor, there had been no sign of untoward goings-on. A couple of full ashtrays, some half-empty glasses, the bottle in the hall. He’d cleared away what few things there were before the police arrived.

The same questions. Again and again. Over and over again.

Reflecting themselves in the mirror. Bouncing like a fistful of gravel over the ice. But nothing came back to him. Nothing at all.

And even if anything had come back to him in his sleep, how the devil could he be expected to hang on to it? And not to lose track of it, as he always did?

His sleep was more irregular than ever. Never longer than m i n d ’ s e y e

an hour, often only fifteen or twenty minutes. He’d smoked the last of the cigarettes from Ruger at about two o’clock.

He’d have paid a fortune for a puff now: there was a tingling in his body that he couldn’t get rid of, a sort of itch deep down under his skin that was inaccessible.

And weariness.

Weariness that came and went, and that might well have been a blessing in disguise, as it fended off other things that might have been even worse.

What was it that Ruger had wondered about?

Did he really want to know? Did he. .?

He felt a slight prick on his shoulder. The insect had bitten him. He hesitated for a moment before taking it between his finger and thumb and squashing it.

When he swallowed it, it felt like no more than an unchewed crumb of bread.

He turned over to face the wall. Lay there with his face pressed against the concrete, listening for sounds. All he could hear was the monotonous breathing of the ventilation system.

The whole of my world is going to collapse even more cat-astrophically, he thought. It’s only a matter of time.

When the breakfast cart arrived shortly after seven, he was still lying there in the same position. But he hadn’t slept a wink.