Shame

Scriptures. It was now He would speak. Give the message He wanted to show her and which He had made her finger select.
    ‘Lord, do not leave me alone.’
    She was so afraid. All she wanted was a little reassurance, a single sign that she had nothing to fear, that she could be forgiven. That He was by her side now that everything would soon be over, that atonement was possible. She took a deep breath and put on her glasses, following her finger to the page in the Bible.
    And when she read the verse she understood once and for all that the fear she felt now was nothing compared with that which awaited her.
    Her hands shook when she read His Word:
    Now the end has come upon you, and I will send My anger against you; I will judge you according to your ways, and I will repay you for all your abominations. My eye will not spare you, nor will I have pity; but I will repay your ways, and your abominations will be in your midst; then you shall know that I am the LORD!
    A terror she did not think possible pressed the last of the air out of her lungs.
    She had received her answer.
    He had finally replied.

31
    H er sleep was dreamless. An emptiness where nothing existed. Only a tiresome noise somewhere in the background. Stubbornly it hacked away and demanded her attention. She wanted to slip back into the emptiness, but the noise would not relent. She had to make it stop.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Is this Monika Lundvall?’
    Everything was so fuzzy that she couldn’t reply. She made an attempt to open her eyes but couldn’t do it; only her hand’s grip on the phone managed to convince her that what she was experiencing was real. Everything was pleasantly diffuse. Her head lay on the pillow and in the brief silence that arose, sleep seized hold of her again. But then more words came.
    ‘Hello? Is this Monika Lundvall?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Because she thought that’s who she was.
    ‘This is Maj-Britt Pettersson here. I need to talk to you.’
    With an effort Monika managed to open her eyes, trying to distinguish enough of reality so she would be capable of replying. It was completely dark in the room. She realised that she was lying in her bed and that she had answered the phone when it rang and that the person who was calling was someone she never wanted to talk to again.
    ‘You’ll have to speak with the care centre.’
    ‘It’s not about that. It’s another matter. Something important.’
    She propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. To understand what was happening and if possible find a way out so that she could go back to sleep.
    The voice went on.
    ‘I don’t want to tell you on the phone so I suggest you come over here. Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow morning?’
    Monika glanced at the clock radio. 3.49. She was almost sure it was night because it was dark outside the window.
    ‘I can’t come then.’
    ‘When can you?’
    ‘I can’t come over at all. You’ll have to talk to your care centre.’
    Never in her life would she go there again. Never. She had no obligations. Not to that woman. She had already done more than anyone could reasonably ask. She was just about to hang up when the voice continued.
    ‘You know, when someone finds out that she’s going to die she’s not as afraid to go out any longer. And if she’s been sitting in a flat for more than thirty years, she has a lot of catching up to do. Like spending time with her neighbours, for example.’
    The fear was unable to penetrate the fog of the drugs. It stayed on the outside, pounded angrily a few times, and then gave up and stood watch. To wait her out. It knew that sooner or later a gap would open up and then it would be ready to overpower her. In the meantime it made her realise that she had no choice. She had to go there. Had to go there and find out what that disgusting woman wanted from her.
    She closed her eyes. So tired, down to her very core. Everything she had was used up.
    ‘Hello? Are you still there?’
    The woman most certainly was.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then let’s say nine o’clock.’

32
    M aj-Britt sat as if paralysed in her chair, unable to breathe. Her thoughts darted like frightened animals trying to escape. For hours she had prayed, beseeching Him for a sign that would show her what she had to do. Time after time she had let her finger race through the pages of the Bible without finding any intelligible answer. In desperation she had asked for clearer instructions and then,