The Quiet Mother

23

The woman was reluctant to invite Marta in and hesitated for some time until the detective gently urged her again, asking if she had anything she wanted to tell her; it always took a bit of time to recall these things. Memory was a peculiar phenomenon. Some things stuck so firmly with you that you couldn’t get rid of them, no matter how hard you tried. Others vanished into thin air without you even realising it. The woman still wasn’t convinced; she’d already spoken to a policeman and had nothing more to say. ‘We’ll see,’ Marta said stubbornly. ‘All testimony is relevant to such a police investigation, however insignificant it appears,’ she added. That’s why the police wanted to talk to her a little more and try to refresh her shaky memory.

Finally, the woman gave in. She was torpid, diffident, and spoke so softly that she could barely be heard. Marta noticed Lego blocks on the living-room floor and asked about the children, who were all at school. Then she chatted to the woman about this and that, until finally directing the conversation to the incident in the block of flats across the street. The woman said it had been very difficult, experiencing such a thing. The neighbourhood was so peaceful and the people that lived here so nice that she still had a hard time believing that such a tragedy could occur there on their street.

Marta agreed with everything she said and added that, fortunately, major crimes like this one were extremely rare in the city and that, therefore, great emphasis was laid on solving them quickly and conclusively so that people didn’t have to live in fear. She said that the investigation wasn’t going as well as it should, which made it important that everyone cooperate and help the police if possible.

‘Do you work from home, by any chance?’ asked Marta, sipping her steaming coffee.

‘Yes, I have been for the past two years,’ the woman said.

‘Don’t you miss being in the workplace?’

‘Sometimes,’ said the woman. ‘My husband...’

‘Yes?’

‘No, it’s nothing.’

Marta had been watching the woman discreetly. She was the one whom Hallur had seen in a window across the street from the block of flats, and who appeared to him to look unwell. The residents of that street, including her, had already been spoken to and their statements recorded. Nowhere in the reports did it say that the woman had seen Hallur go to his car and drive away.

Marta directed the conversation towards this without directly reminding the woman of it, and suddenly she vaguely recalled seeing a man get into a car and drive down the street. She apologised for this oversight, but she hadn’t quite been herself that night. She had no idea if the man came out of the building, but the description could certainly fit Hallur. She hadn’t seen him very clearly and hardly knew one car from another; she thought it had been a red car, which matched Hallur’s.

From the living-room window, Marta looked down at the street. There was no view from there into the garden of the building opposite. She moved to the kitchen. From that window, one could easily see over the trees lining the garden and in through the window of the building’s laundry room. She asked the woman if she’d noticed anyone in the garden that same evening, but she couldn’t remember having done so. Then Marta asked if she’d noticed any unusual activity there in the garden or in the neighbourhood in the past few days, but the woman just shook her head and said she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately.

Marta felt for her, and decided not to stop there. Deep down, she got the feeling that the woman longed to speak to someone but didn’t have the strength to do so.

‘Tell me one other thing,’ she said. ‘Do you want it to continue?’

‘What?’

‘This that you have to go through?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the violence.’

‘The violence?’

‘That he inflicts on you.’

The woman looked at Marta in surprise.

‘Has it been going on for a long time?’ Marta asked.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the woman said hesitantly.

‘I understand it isn’t easy to talk about such things. Still, I really want to help you, if you’ll let me. I have expertise in these matters because of my work with the police. I’ve helped numerous women who’ve been in the same situation as you and I know how difficult it is to take the first step. Almost unthinkable.’

The woman avoided looking Marta in the eye.

‘It’s time for you to think a little about yourself,’ Marta said reassuringly. ‘Not him. Not the children. Not anyone else in the family. Not your friends and acquaintances, if he allows you contact with them. You shouldn’t think about anything but yourself for now. It’s long overdue. You shouldn’t sacrifice yourself for him any longer. For his will. His violence.’

Marta couldn’t remain silent. She’d noticed faint bruises on the woman’s neck, which the collar of her blouse couldn’t cover completely. She also had an old bruise by her eye and favoured one arm when she was busy in the kitchen. She bore all the signs of being in a long-term abusive relationship. Marta had met many victims of domestic violence in her job, and recognised those signs. A posture that hid the pain. Shame that the eyes couldn’t conceal.

‘If you want, you can come with me,’ said Marta. ‘I have good friends at the shelter. I know they’ll welcome you. We can go there now. If you feel up to it.’

‘You should leave,’ the woman said. ‘My husband will be home soon. You don’t want to meet him.’

‘Why would you say that? I’d love to meet him,’ said Marta. ‘It’s always interesting to hear what they have to say, these guys.’

The woman hung her head.

‘Look,’ said Marta, ‘I realise you don’t know me at all, and you feel as if I’m sticking my nose into things that aren’t my business, but I’m going to let you have my phone number and you can call me any time, day or night. Don’t hesitate to do so. I would appreciate hearing from you.’

Marta jotted down her number in a notebook that she kept in her pocket, tore the page from it and held it out to the woman. She refused to accept it, so Marta put the piece of paper on the table and stood up to leave.

‘So you didn’t see anything there in the garden?’ she asked before going. ‘No one sneaking about in the dark?’

The woman shook her head.

‘OK,’ said Marta. ‘I’m leaving, then, and...’

‘Would you please not tell anyone about this?’ whispered the woman. ‘I don’t know what you mean, saying the things you did. It’s just a misunderstanding on your part... it’s none of your business. None. Just leave me alone. For God’s sake, just leave me alone.’