Outside, the wind buffeted me. The snow that had fallen was thick and wound its way across the tarmac in twists and turns, here and there it swirled up in veils, as though this was a mountain plateau I had stepped onto and not an urban backyard near the Baltic. I stood under the porch by the front entrance, where only sporadic, particularly wild, gusts of stinging snow could reach me. The pigeon stood motionless in its corner, totally unaffected by my presence and movements. The café on the other side of the street was packed, I could see, mostly with young people. Occasional passers-by walked, bent double, into the wind. All of them turned their heads towards me.
The break-in I had nearly witnessed was not an isolated example. As the block was in the city centre it was sometimes used by tramps. One morning I came across one in the basement laundry room, at the back, lying asleep by a washing machine, whose heat he had probably sought, like a cat. I had slammed the door, gone upstairs and waited for a few minutes, and when I returned he had left. Also in the basement I had bumped into a tramp one evening at around ten. I wanted something or other from our storage room and there he was, sitting against the wall, bearded with intense eyes, staring at me. I nodded, unlocked our door and left when I had got what I wanted. Of course, you should ring the police, there was an implicit fire risk, but they didn’t bother me, so I let them be.
I stubbed my cigarette out on the wall and like a good tenant took it to the big ashtray, thinking seriously I would have to stop smoking soon. These days my lungs seemed to be burning. And how many years had I woken up in the morning with my throat full of thick mucus? But not today, it was never today, I said to myself half out loud, as I had got into the habit of doing lately, and let myself in.
While I was cleaning the flat I could always hear what Linda was doing with Vanja. She read to her, she found toys for her, which were mostly banged on the floor again and again — several times I was on the point of intervening, but our neighbour obviously wasn’t in, so I let it go — she sang songs to her, she ate ‘between-meals’ with her. Sometimes they came to see me, Vanja dangling from Linda’s arms, sometimes Linda tried to read a newspaper while Vanja was playing on her own, but not many minutes passed before she began to demand Linda’s full attention. Which she always gave her. But I had to be wary about going in and giving my opinion, it didn’t take much for it to be regarded as criticism. Having another child might loosen the tense dynamics. Having two certainly would.
When I had finished I sat down on the sofa with a pile of newspapers. The only jobs left were to iron the tablecloth, set the table and cook the food. But it was a simple meal, wouldn’t take more than half an hour, so I had plenty of time. Darkness was drawing in. From the flat across the way came the sound of a guitar, it was the bearded forty-something practising his blues songs.
Linda stood in the doorway.
‘Can you take Vanja?’ she said. ‘I need a break as well.’
‘I’ve just sat down,’ I said. ‘I’ve cleaned the whole bloody flat, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
‘And I’ve had Vanja,’ she said. ‘Do you consider that less demanding?’
Well, in fact, I did. I could have Vanja on my own and clean the flat. There were a few tears, but it worked fine. However, that was not a line I could take unless I wanted a head-on confrontation.
‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘But I have Vanja all week.’
‘Me too,’ she said. ‘In the morning and in the afternoon.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’m the one who’s at home with her.’
‘When I was at home with her, what did you do? Did you take her in the mornings and the afternoons? And did I perhaps go to the café every day when you came home, like you do now?’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll have her. Sit down.’
‘Not if you take that kind of attitude. I’ll have her myself.’
‘Surely it doesn’t matter what kind of attitude I have? I take her, you get a break. Simple. Everyone happy.’
‘And you keep going out and having cigarette breaks. I don’t. Have you thought about that?’
‘You’ll have to start smoking then,’ I said.
‘Perhaps I will,’ she said.
I walked past her, without meeting her stare, to Vanja, who was sitting on the floor and blowing into a recorder which she held in one hand while waving the other up and down. I stood by the windowsill and crossed my arms. I was definitely not going to fulfil Vanja’s every little wish. She had to be able to survive a few minutes without being fully occupied, like other children.
From the living room I could hear Linda flicking through the newspaper.
Should I tell her she could iron the tablecloth, set the table and cook the food? Or act surprised and say she was responsible for that now, when she came to take care of Vanja again? We had swapped, hadn’t we?
An acrid fetid smell began to spread through the room. Vanja had stopped blowing into the recorder and was sitting still and staring into the distance. I turned and looked out of the window. Snowflakes being blown through the street below, where the gleam from the hanging lights picked them out, but which were invisible until the moment they hit the window with a tiny, barely perceptible tap. The door of US Video forever opening and closing. Cars going past at intervals regulated by traffic lights out of my eyeshot. Windows in the flats opposite, which were so far away that residents were only visible as vague intrusions in the subdued light of the panes.
I turned back.
‘Have you finished now?’ I asked Vanja and met her eyes. She smiled. I took her under my arms and threw her onto the bed. She started laughing.
‘I’m going to change you now,’ I said. ‘It’s important that you lie still. Have you got that?’
I lifted her and threw her again.
‘Have you got that, you little troll?’
She laughed so much she could hardly breathe. I pulled off her trousers and she wriggled round and tried to crawl up the bed. I grabbed her ankles and dragged her back.
‘Lie still, will you. Do you understand?’ I said, and for a moment it was as though she did understand, because she was lying quite still and staring at me with her round eyes. With one hand I lifted her legs into the air while releasing the tabs with the other and removing her nappy. Then she tried to wriggle free, squirmed round and because I had a tight grip on her, she contorted like some epileptic.
‘No, no, no,’ I said, throwing her back onto the bed. She laughed, I pulled some wipes from the packet as fast as I could, she swung round again, I pressed her down and wiped her clean while breathing through my nose and trying not to react to the irritation I could feel was brewing inside me now. I had forgotten to put the full nappy away, she had her whole foot in it, I nudged it to the side and wiped her foot, somewhat half-heartedly, because I knew wipes were no longer up to the job. I lifted her and carried her to the bathroom, where with Vanja kicking and struggling under my arm I took the showerhead from the holder, turned on the water, adjusted it until it was warm on the back of my hand and began to spray the lower half of her body carefully while she gripped the ends of the yellow shower curtain. Once this was done I dried her with a towel and got her into a new nappy, after thwarting another bid for freedom. All that was left to do was to dispose of the used one, put it in a plastic bag, tie a knot and chuck it outside the front door.