The Fire Witness

64

The salon feels warm when they get inside; Elin’s housekeeper has lit a fire in the tile stove. They sit side by side on the couch with their malt whiskeys and talk about the importance of microloans to women in the third world. The Valium and alcohol still have a spell over Elin. She feels relaxed, becalmed.

Nassim is saying that the journalist from Vogue is very happy with the interview. Then he tells Elin that his mother is from Morocco.

“What you’ve done is incredible,” he says with a smile. “If my grandmother had been able to have a microloan, perhaps my mother’s life would not have been so hard.”

“I do what I can, but…”

She falls silent and looks into his serious eyes.

“No one is perfect,” he says and slides closer.

“Once I let a little girl down. A girl I never should have abandoned. A girl who…”

He touches her comfortingly on the cheek and whispers something in French. She smiles at him, tipsy and tingling. “If you weren’t so young, I might fall in love with you,” she says in Swedish.

“What did you say?”

“I envy your girlfriend.”

She can smell his breath: mint and whiskey. Like herbs, she thinks. She has the sudden urge to kiss him but thinks this will frighten him.

She remembers when Jack stopped sleeping with her. It was after Vicky had left their lives. She realized she no longer excited him. She had thought that it was just stress; they’d had too little time together; they were too tired. So she started to make an effort. She always dressed well, arranged romantic dinners, planned excursions. But he just didn’t react to her any longer.

One night he came to her when she was in bed wearing a delicately laced negligee and he told her that he was not in love with her any longer. He’d met another woman. He wanted a divorce.

“Watch out!” Nassim says. “You’re spilling your drink.”

“Oh God,” she whispers as she looks at the drips in her lap.

“Not to worry.”

He takes a cloth napkin and kneels in front of her. As he carefully wipes the spill his other hand touches her waist.

“I have to change,” she says, and she gets up and tries to stand upright. Her head is spinning.

He supports her and they walk single file through her apartment. She feels weak and leans back to kiss him on the throat.

The bedroom is cool and shadowy. A single lamp beside the bed casts a soft light.

“I have to lie down,” she says.

She says nothing more as he lays her on the bed and slowly pulls off her shoes.

“Let me help you,” he says softly.

She’s acting more intoxicated than she actually is and lies still as if she’s not even noticing how he’s unbuttoning her dress. She listens to his heavy breathing and wonders if he will dare touch her.

She’s lying still in her golden panties and is looking at him as through pulsing fog. Then she shuts her eyes. His fingers are ice-cold as he pulls off her panties.

She opens her eyes slightly to look at him as he gets undressed. His body is thin and tanned, and he has a gray Horus-eye tattoo on his shoulder.

Her heart begins to race as he lies down beside her. She thinks of stopping him, but she’s flattered by his desire. She thinks that she shouldn’t let him come inside her and instead let him look at her and masturbate as if he were a boy.

She tries to concentrate on what is happening and let herself enjoy the moment. He’s breathing quickly as he parts her legs. She’s wet and slippery, but her desire is fading. He is now over her and she feels him, warm and hard, against her soft folds. She slowly writhes away and presses her thighs together.

She opens her eyes and meets his puzzled look and then closes her eyes again.

Carefully, as if he does not want to wake her, he opens her legs again. She smiles and lets him look. She feels him over her and then he slides inside.

She moans softly. She wants to respond to his desire, but he’s in too much of a hurry. He’s thrusting too quickly and too hard. Loneliness catches up to her and what little lust she was feeling dies. She lies still until he’s finished and pulls out.

“Sorry, sorry,” Nassim whispers as he gathers his things. “I thought you wanted it.”

I thought so, too, she thinks, but she’s unable to speak. He quickly gets dressed and all she wants is for him to leave. Then she’ll get up and wash and spend the rest of the evening praying to God that Vicky is alive.