Goggencontinued with a raised voice, at one level below shouting: 'I was very arousedbecause we could feel our pricks rubbing against each other all the time. Afterall, there was just a thin membrane between them!'
Katrinepeered up at Ole. Either he was embarrassed or he was furious. At any rate, hisface was red. As red as Goggen's. You're all the same, she thought, and hereyes wandered back to Goggen, who was now employing body language. He wasmiming, leaning backwards, overweight, flushed. With his face distorted into asick grimace, he puffed out both cheeks as though blowing a trumpet. Then hesat with his mouth open and revealed the white spots on his tongue. His eyes,dead and vacant, staring into empty space, Goggen said: 'She was screaming allthe time.' Saliva dripped from his full bottom lip as he imitated her. 'Aah…aaahhh.'
Olewanted to leave and grabbed her arm. She felt her alienation tip over intoaggression. A sudden fury that had been building up. But now it was beingreleased by Ole's smug self-righteousness. She stayed where she was. From thecorner of her eye she could see that he, too, had chosen to stay.
Thelaughter among the listeners died away, and the long-legged woman, who in somemysterious way had also appeared among them, whispered to the man next to herso that everyone could hear: 'Now that was a bit vulgar, don't you think?'
'Ohdear!' he said, miming a stifled yawn and patting his mouth with his hand.'Just so long as he doesn't tell the story about the piano stool. Whoops.' Herecoiled and added, 'Too late!'
'Iwas in Hotel Bristol,' Goggen said.'… I went in and saw a quite magnificentpiano stool in the bar, and I simply could not resist. I sat down and played alight sonata and I hardly noticed that I was playing until I sensed the silencearound me. But, by God, it was too late to stop then – so I kept going, andwhen
Ifinished I could feel there was a man standing next to me…'
'Aman!' Stork woman shouted in an affected voice. 'So exciting!'
Herneighbour: 'Yes, talking about piano stools and women, have you heard about thefat woman who's so good at playing she breaks two stools every concert!'
Olegrinned. He didn't mind joining in when Goggen was the victim. Ole's eyesshone.
Thestork woman winked at Ole. 'Breaks the piano stool?'
'Yes,of course, they're very fragile affairs!'
'Ifelt…' Goggen screamed with annoyance. 'I felt a hand…'
Avoice from the crowd: 'It's not mine!'
Laughter.
Goggenwas offended. 'Very droll, very droll. Well,' he continued with everyone'sattention back on him again. 'I was sitting there playing and I felt a hand onmy shoulder,' his voice entranced, his eyes half- closed, the pale whitesgleaming. 'I turned,' he said with dramatic emphasis, 'and I looked up… and wasstartled to hear a voice say: Nice!
Goggen,who had the audience with him now, paused. 'A beautiful, rounded, warm voice,'Goggen placed a hand on his own shoulder as though trying to feel the samepressure as he had long ago; he twisted in the chair pretending to hold thehand and turn to see who owned it… That was very nice, the voice saidand then this man let go and gave me…'
'Comeon,' one of the women at the table shouted. She turned round to make sure theothers were with her. 'What did he give you?'
Avoice from the table: 'Goodness me! With a hand, too!'
'Theman,' Goggen, undeterred, continued. 'The man was a venerable man of thetheatre. Per Aabel!'
Thewords had an impact. A wave of deep rapturous sighs passed around the table.Goggen surveyed those around him with a nod of triumph and repeated, 'PerAabel!'
Katrinenoticed Annabeth standing in the doorway. She was drunk as was everyone else.All those self-righteous people who dealt with others' drug abuse problems werepissed. Pissed and horny and old. She felt nauseous.
A manwho had not quite got the point of Goggen's story looked at the others with alittle grin. 'Christ, Goggen, isn't he the same age as you?'
Everyoneburst into laughter.
'Whosaid that?' Goggen stood up, raising an arm in the air, his bloated cheeksquivering with rage. 'Who said that? I challenge whoever it was to a duel.'
'Sitdown, you old goat,' a woman shouted. 'Sit down and tighten the truss!'
Morelaughter and raised glasses. Katrine turned because she sensed a movement bythe door. Annabeth was staggering towards her, and Katrine squeezed Ole's handand let him take her in tow.
Annabethblocked their way. She was swaying and struggling to keep her balance.'Katrine,' she called with warmth in her voice. 'I hope you're having a goodtime,' cutting off the ends of her words, because she was drunk. Katrine smiledbut felt sick. 'The food was lovely, Annabeth. Very nice.'
Annabethtook her hand. Katrine looked down at Annabeth's hand. It was the hand of anageing woman, pale brown skin, wrinkled fingers covered in rings. She lookedup. There was a lot of blusher on her cheeks. And dark shadows under thepowder.
'Welove you so much, Katrine,' Annabeth said and began to cry.
'Areyou crying, Annabeth?'
Eventhough Katrine wished she were many miles away, she managed to find the rightnote of sympathy. In front of her stood Annabeth, the director of the rehabcentre, completely pissed. The stab of discomfort she had felt in her stomachfrom the first moment she had set foot in the house, the little stab she hadbeen fighting to keep down freed itself now from the claws in her stomach.Katrine could feel the discomfort and disgust spreading through her body likewildfire, a numbing hot pain that started in her stomach and spread outwards.As her body gradually surrendered to the pain and repulsion, her mind was clearenough to remember the many times she had seen more wretched gatherings thanthis. She closed her eyes, opened them again and saw Ole. He was standingbehind Annabeth and staring at her, rapt. For a few seconds Katrine experienceddeep, violent contempt for him and all the people around her: Annabeth and hersmug acquaintances knocking back wine, beer and spirits to find the courage totell each other secrets, to slag each other off, to smooth the path forinfidelities and other hypocrisies. And there was Annabeth whispering secretsto her she didn't have the energy to hear. But the painful stabbing in herstomach also numbed her thinking. There was a rushing noise in her ears and shediscovered she could not hear what was going on in the room. Annabeth wasswaying and her lips were moving. Her teeth were long with black joins. Theywere the teeth of an old person. A person who has smoked too many cigarettesand uttered too many empty words. Annabeth's eyes were red, wet with tears,swimming with water. In her hand she was holding what looked like an openbottle of red wine. She waved the bottle and teetered again, took an unsteadystep to the side and the bottle exploded as it hit the door frame. In slowmotion a shower of red wine enveloped Annabeth; it was as though someone hadtorn off her skin, as though blood were spraying out, wetting her hair,streaming down her face and neck, a naked red wound that had once been a face.At that moment Katrine's hearing returned; it returned as the old woman let outa hoarse scream. The sound was just an undefined rush in Katrine's ears. Forone second she gazed into Annabeth's eyes; she stared into two dark, emptytunnels in a brain which was no brain, just a pulsating mass of white worms.Katrine's stomach heaved. She knew she was going to throw up, there was nodoubt in her mind; the contents of her stomach were on their way up right now.Her vision became even hazier. The white worms came closer, and the red liquidstreamed down Annabeth's neck, like blood, as though from a fountain of blood.
Someonewas supporting her. Katrine felt the cool tiles against her knees and knew shewas throwing up. She vomited into a toilet bowl. Sounds from the partypenetrated the lavatory door. She peered up. Ole was standing over her. Hisexpression was anxious. 'I want you out,' she groaned.
'Youfainted,' he said. 'The bitch smashed the bottle of wine and you passed out.Great party. You shouldn't drink so much.'