The Quiet Mother

48

The band on the ground floor played their last song, a bitter-sweet melody perfect for slow dancing. The dance floor was packed with people. Others were lining up at the bar now that the dance was coming to an end. Soon the place would be closed. There were whispers of after-parties here and there. It wasn’t long before the lights came on and the patrons started streaming towards the exit. Couples and some who were apparently hooking up led each other out into the darkness of the night. Some were unsteadier on their feet than others. Some slipped on the ice behind the church and toppled over. Friends who tried to come to the rescue slipped and fell on their bums, too.

There were always a few individuals lying abandoned in the booths or slumped over the tables, smashed out of their minds or asleep from sheer exhaustion. Valborg went around the club and woke up those who’d dozed off and tried to revive others who were sloshed. It usually went OK, even if now and then some idiots gave her a hard time once they’d regained consciousness, at which point the bouncers and bar staff would deal with them. Once or twice, a fight broke out, and the police needed to be called.

The bands had packed up and gone and the staff trickled out as well. Care was taken to ensure that no one remained after the evening’s entertainment was over, and Valborg was delayed on the top floor when she came across a young woman who was out cold. She’d puked on the floor and the stench blended with the odour of alcohol and smoke that permeated the place. Sometimes the smell of smoke was so strong in there that Valborg, who didn’t smoke herself, put her clothes in the wash as soon as she got home following her shift. She had a hard time waking the woman, although she did eventually manage it. The woman was confused when she came to and started swinging her fists and swearing, but Valborg was able to calm her down and was about to help her down the stairs when one of her co-workers, wearing a coat, suddenly turned up and said he was on his way home and could walk her out.

Valborg thanked him. She was exhausted and sat down on a comfortable chair to rest a bit, and before she knew it, she woke with a start, having dozed off for a short time.

‘You’re still here?’ she heard someone say behind her. ‘Isn’t everyone gone?’

She turned and saw the man who’d asked her if she found it fun working there. At the place where it’s at.

‘We’re closed,’ she said immediately, as if to let him know that she wasn’t going to engage in any friendly conversation with him. ‘You shouldn’t be here. I need to ask you to leave.’

‘Yeah, no, I fell asleep in the toilet,’ the man said apologetically, with a smile.

Relaxed as could be, he lit a cigarette.

‘I drank too much, that must have been it. It doesn’t happen often.’

‘I’ll walk you out,’ said Valborg.

She was heading towards the stairs when he grabbed her.

‘Where are you going?’ he said.

‘Downstairs,’ she said. ‘You can’t be here.’

‘How about just being cosy up here?’ he said. ‘The two of us.’

‘Cosy?’ she said, breaking free.

‘Are you in a rush?’ he asked, positioning himself between her and the stairs.

‘I’m going to ask you to get out of here,’ said Valborg firmly. ‘If you don’t, I’ll have to call for help.’

She was wearing a rather short skirt and a light blouse and his eyes wandered over her, as if checking her out. He took a drag on his cigarette, then flicked it casually away with two fingers. As he did, he stared at Valborg and didn’t see it when the cigarette landed on a plush sofa nearby and rolled between its cushions. At the same time, Valborg backed away from him and he leaped at her just as she was about to shout for help, clamped his hand over her mouth and knocked her to the floor.

He was strong and had no difficulty keeping her down, shoving his hand under her skirt, tearing off her pants and groping her. At the same time, he held his other hand over her mouth. She tried to scream for help, but her screams were stifled by his hand, and it was as if it excited him even more when she tried to break free. She was quickly overwhelmed with fear, and he slowly released his hand from her mouth and nose and whispered that he would strangle her if she made a sound. He clenched his fingers around her neck and tightened his grasp to show that he was serious. He was like a wild animal on top of her, and she didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare shout for help. He’d wrenched up her skirt and she felt his hand on her breasts, then felt it as he unbuttoned his trousers. She cried and whispered to him to stop. Begged him. To leave her alone. Not to do this. She wouldn’t tell anyone. If he only stopped now.

‘I’ll kill you if you say a word about this,’ he growled. ‘I’ll come and kill you, you fucking cunt! I’ll find you and kill you! I’ll say that you wanted this. That you’re a dirty cunt who wanted to do it up here!’

She gasped in pain as the man drove it into her and clamped his hand back over her mouth when she started to scream. He slapped her and grabbed her by the neck and tightened his grasp and pounded her, whispering ‘dirty cunt’ again and again until he slumped over her.

She wanted to die.

Sick with disgust, she’d started to squirm her way out from under him when he stirred and pushed her down even harder.

‘Let me go,’ she begged. ‘It’s over. You’re done.’

‘Shut up,’ he grunted.

Valborg lay dead still and to her unbearable horror, before she knew it, he started again.