The Fire Witness

33

Flora Hansen is mopping the floor in the hall of Ewa and Hans-Gunnar’s second-floor apartment. Her left cheek is still burning from the blow and her ear is ringing. The shine was rubbed off the vinyl long ago, but the water makes it glisten again for a short time.

Flora has beaten all the rugs and mopped the living room, the narrow kitchen, and Hans-Gunnar’s room, but she’s waiting to do Ewa’s until Solsidan starts. Both Ewa and Hans-Gunnar are fans of the show and never miss an episode.

Flora shoves the mop into every crevice and corner. Walking backward, she bumps against a picture she made at nursery school more than thirty years ago. All the children glued pasta to a wooden board and then sprayed their pictures with gold paint. She hears the theme music of the TV show start. Now is her chance.

Her back twinges as she lifts the bucket and carries it into Ewa’s room. She closes the door behind her and blocks it with the bucket so that no one can fling the door open. Her heart starts to pound as she dips the mop into the bucket, presses out the excess water, and glances at the wedding photo on the nightstand. Ewa has hooked the key to her desk on the back of the photograph.

Flora does all the housework in exchange for a place to stay. She’d had no choice but to return to Ewa and Hans-Gunnar after she lost her job as an assistant nurse at Saint Göran’s Hospital and her unemployment ran out. She lives in the maid’s room.

As a child, Flora used to dream that her birth parents would find her and take her away, but apparently they were drug addicts, and Hans-Gunnar and Ewa say they know nothing about them. Flora came to their house when she was five and doesn’t remember anything about her earlier life. Hans-Gunnar always treated Flora like a burden, and ever since she was a young teenager, Flora has longed to escape. When she was nineteen, she’d gotten the job as an assistant nurse and moved to her own apartment in Kallhäll that same month.

The mop drips as she carries it over to the window. Beneath the radiator, the vinyl is black from old leaks. The venetian blind hangs crookedly in the window. There’s a Dala horse from Rättvik between the geraniums on the windowsill.

Flora moves slowly toward the nightstand. She stops and listens. She can hear the television.

Hans-Gunnar and Ewa are young in their wedding photo. She’s wearing a white dress and he’s in a tuxedo with a silver tie. The sky behind them is white. On a hill beside the church, there’s a black bell tower with an onion dome. The tower sticks up behind Hans-Gunnar’s head like a strange hat. Flora doesn’t know why, but she finds the picture unpleasant.

She tries to breathe evenly.

Silently, she leans the shaft of the mop against the wall. She waits until she hears her foster mother’s laughter before she picks up the photo and unhooks the ornate bronze key hanging behind it. Her hands shake so much she drops the key, which hits the floor and bounces beneath the bed. Flora has to support herself on the nightstand as she bends down to retrieve it. The blood beats in her temples and the floor outside creaks, but then goes silent again.

The key has landed by the dust-covered electrical cords that run along the wall. Flora can just reach it. She stands back up and waits a moment before she goes to the secretary desk and unlocks it. She lowers the heavy lid and slides open one of the tiny drawers inside. Beneath two postcards from Majorca and Paris, there’s an envelope where Ewa keeps cash for immediate expenses. Flora opens the envelope for next month’s bills and takes half. She stuffs the bills into one of her pockets and puts the envelope back. She tries to shut the tiny drawer, but it sticks.

“Flora!” Ewa calls.

Flora opens the drawer and doesn’t see anything strange about it, so she tries to shut it again, but she’s shaking so hard that she can’t. She can hear footsteps head down the hall. She shoves the drawer, and it jerks in, although it is crooked now. She lifts the desk lid back into place, but doesn’t have time to lock it.

The door is pushed open and water from the bucket sloshes out.

“Flora?”

Flora grabs the mop and moves the bucket as she starts cleaning up the spilled water.

“I can’t find my hand cream,” Ewa says.

Ewa’s eyes are tense, her lips pursed. She’s barefoot in sagging yellow sweatpants, and her white T-shirt strains over her stomach and voluminous breasts.

“It’s next to the shampoo in the bathroom cabinet,” Flora says as she twists the mop.

There’s a commercial break-the sound is louder and a shrill voice is talking about foot fungus. Ewa keeps standing inside the doorway, looking at Flora.

“Hans-Gunnar did not like his coffee,” she says.

“I’m sorry.”

Flora squeezes out the excess water.

“He says that you’re putting cheaper coffee into the expensive packet.”

“Why would I-”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Well, I don’t,” mutters Flora.

“Go get his cup now, right now, and brew him a new one, a decent one.”

Flora leans the mop against the wall. She asks forgiveness as she walks out and heads for the living room. She can feel the key and the bills in her pocket. Hans-Gunnar does not even look at her as she takes his coffee cup from the tray.

“Ewa, get the hell back here!” he yells. “The show’s starting again!”

Flora jumps at his voice and hurries away. She meets Ewa in the hallway and catches her eye.

“Do you remember that I’ll be gone this evening for a job-search class?”

“Like you would ever find a job.”

“But I have to go, those are the rules. I’m making new coffee now and then I’ll finish the floors. Maybe I can do the curtains tomorrow instead.”