Shame

glad I was the one who became your girl pigeon.’
    And at that moment neither of them in their wildest dreams could imagine that the Monika who was just about to leave would never ever come back.

4
    I t took four days before she managed to gather her thoughts enough to begin to formulate an answer. The nights were filled with restless dreams, all taking place near large bodies of water. Enormous shapes hovered beneath the water’s surface like black clouds, and although she stood on land she perceived them as threatening, as if they could still get at her. She was thin again and could move unhindered, but something else had prevented her from moving. It had something to do with her legs. Several times she awoke just as a giant wave came rolling in towards her and she realised that she wouldn’t be able to escape it.
    The big pillow behind her back was wet with sweat. She wished she could lie down properly. For just one night, to be able to lie down and sleep like a normal person. That possibility no longer existed. If she lay down she would be suffocated by her own weight.

    It had been so many years since she had written a letter. She got one of the little people to buy her some stationery on the first day, but then she hid it in the top drawer of the desk. The letter she had to answer was in there too, smoothed out after having been crumpled up, and every time she passed the desk her eyes were drawn to the elegant brass fittings.
    * * *
    In the past few days some more fragments of memories had surfaced from the depths. Brief images in which Vanja was present. Vanja laughing on a blue bicycle. Vanja deeply engrossed in a book. She had distinctly seen her dark-brown ponytail, always tied back with a red elastic band. And then a vague image of the woodshed back home, whatever that had to do with the whole thing. Small shards that refused to fall into place. Small objective fragments utterly devoid of emotional content.

    She had emptied the refrigerator. She had eaten everything. On three occasions the urge had been so strong that she had to call the pizza delivery. The menu said half an hour, but just like all the other idiots they were never on time.
    To think that something that was empty could hurt so much.

    The letter was still occupying her thoughts. Most of all she would have liked to tear it up and throw it away, but it was too late. She had read the words and they had become etched inside her and were now impossible to ignore. And, worst of all, her anger was starting to subside and suddenly leave room for something else. An obscure feeling of dread.
    Alone.
    That feeling hadn’t bothered her in a very, very long time.
    The nights were the worst.
    She tried to convince herself that she didn’t have anything to be afraid of. Vanja was locked up and couldn’t reach her; if another letter showed up she could toss it away unread. She mustn’t let herself be lured into the trap again.
    But no amount of clever words helped. And she realised that it really wasn’t Vanja who scared her. It was something else.

    On this morning she had got up early, before it was even light. She never dared get into the shower when there was a risk that the little people might catch her unawares. It was so hard to dry off properly between all the rolls of fat, and she knew how the eczema on her back must look. The itching told the tale. If they saw it they would sound the alarm, and never in her life would she permit anyone to rub lotion on her. She owned two dresses that she always wore. Ankle-length tents with holes at the top. She had had them made fifteen years ago, and she didn’t want to think about the fact that one of them would soon be too small.

    After Saba had had her morning walk on the lawn and the balcony door was locked, Maj-Britt went to the kitchen and sat down at the table. She looked at the clock. It should be three or four hours before anyone showed up, but what did she know? They came and went pretty much as they liked. But, to be honest, she was eagerly awaiting them today. Her empty stomach was screaming to be filled. And despite the reproachful glances she had ordered extra provisions.
    Hi, Vanja .
    She really had no desire at all to say hi to her, but how else did you start off a letter? And how did you refute implied insults without revealing how upsetting they were? She wanted to sound cool and unperturbed, show that she was above all the embarrassing things that a confused inmate thought she was