"What happened to your head?"
For a moment I looked at him, confused, while I thought: How can he know about that? I held my hand in front of my eyes and saw that it was bloody. My fingers felt sticky. And then I realised that I was still dreaming, that the man at the table wasn't real, just a dream. I had to play along; every dream comes to an end. So I told him what happened, that a thief had broken in and hit me with something, down in the cellar. He left, and I went to bed and lay down. No, I hadn't had the strength to see if anything was missing from the house. And I didn't see his face. It was dark down there. The man listened patiently. Asked me whether I wanted to file a report.
Report? It hadn't even occurred to me. They wouldn't do anything about it, anyway. Then he stood up and walked around. Went to the window and looked out.
"You have a nice place," he said politely. "With a nice garden. And a lovely gazebo. I took the liberty of having a look around the back of your house." There was a rumbling inside my chest, as if someone had lit a stove. The nightmare would soon be over, because I thought he was already starting to look a little hazy as he stood there with his back to me. But then he turned around, and some of his friendliness was gone. A commanding tone was clear in his voice.
"You should report this," he said. "Your cellar window is broken. The thief got in through the window. I'm going down to the cellar to take a look around. He may have left some tracks."
I leaned heavily on the table. At the same time I realised that the dream was over, because it always ends right before the big disaster. I tried to remember what the big disaster was, and happened to think of the body down in the cellar. That rubbish down there, or whatever it was. Of course he would see it and then come back up and say, "There's a dead man in your cellar, Irma. Do you know who he is?" I strained to think clearly. Did I know? Andreas Winther. Runi's son. Apparently there were many nightmares. And a reality too, which I was trying to remember, but it was far away. Would he believe me if I told him what happened? What really happened?
No, he wouldn't. He'd see me as someone who's very disturbed, which I wasn't. I'm not. I'm just so worn out.
"No," I said, surprised at how firm I sounded.
"Don't bother. I'm not going to do anything about it. My son can fix the window. Ingemar. He'll come over if I call him."
"But you were assaulted," he said. "That's a serious matter to us. I urge you to file a report."
"I'm the one who decides," I said swiftly. "This is my house."
Then he looked at me, and his face filled with curiosity. There we stood, an old woman like me and this handsome man, right there in my own kitchen. Runi should have seen it!
"Where are the stairs to the cellar?" he asked. I didn't answer. He was standing on top of them in fact; he had both feet on top of the trap door. Those nice shoes of his. He peered out to the hall, maybe he thought the stairs were there.
"My head hurts," I said. "I need to lie down for a while. I'm not feeling very well."
"I'll take you to a doctor," he said. "You should have that cut looked at."
My eyes widened at the thought. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm as strong as a horse. That's what my doctor says."
"No doubt," he said, "but you've suffered a blow to the head."
"I'll take a sleeping pill and lie down. I'm not some kind of weakling, either. I can put up with a lot." I said this with pride.
"I'm sure you can," he said. "And I can't force you, of course."
Silence. His eyes roved around the room, looking at the window and the trees outside, which were beginning to turn yellow. It wouldn't be long now.
"I'm looking for Andreas," he said softly. For a moment I pulled myself together and nodded.
"Andreas Winther. Runi's son. You know him. What do you think happened?"
I searched for a good answer. That thing under the plastic – that must be what he meant. They all talked about that young man with such reverent voices, as if society had mislaid something irreplaceable, and I had a strong desire to snort with contempt, but I restrained myself.
"Boys are always getting into trouble," I said.
"And I don't suppose he was any different."
"He most certainly wasn't. Do you know his friend?"
"Do you mean Zipp?"
I searched a bit, through the pounding in my head. "Runi mentioned him. But I don't know him."
"I suspect, as you say, that they'd got into one thing or another." He looked me in the eye with eerie directness. "I'm sure I'll work it all out." Yes. But by then I'll be long gone, where he won't find me. I was already on my way, I could feel the floor rocking beneath my feet, and then he stood up, and his face was very close. "I'll just take a quick look in the cellar."
I only came up to his chest. And I felt ridiculous, but I wanted that man out of my house at all costs, and they can't, for God's sake, use threats to get into somebody's house like that, so I said no, no, let's just drop the whole thing! I don't want to deal with this. And I assume that it's my decision. I haven't called anyone or filed a report, and if I needed help, I would have asked for it!
He just smiled and looked at me. "I think you might need help. Not everyone asks for it." He bowed a little bow and went to the door.
There he turned one last time, but he wasn't smiling any more, he looked serious and very determined when he said: "I'll send someone over. Goodbye, Mrs Funder."
But it was too late for that. I'm going now. You mustn't judge me, you weren't there! All my life I've measured people by what they ought to be, not by what they actually are. And now it's too late. I came into this world and I made nothing but mistakes. I'll soon be 60. I don't have the strength to start over again, it's too hard. When you know everything, what is there to live for? Something strange has seized hold of me right now, as I stand here, about to leave this house. Something that has kept me hidden for all these years. I shove the rug aside with my foot and open the trap door. Shout down the stairs: "I'm leaving now, Andreas. I'll leave the door unlocked!" I walk through town wearing my brown coat. I feel a sort of peace as I walk. Not the way I usually feel, afraid that I forgot something important, a window left open, a candle burning. The wind starts blowing, a light drizzle billows towards my face. There's something dreary about everything. The crowns of the trees look weighted down. The rubbish in the streets, white paper smeared with ketchup. Stray dogs. I don't like dogs, especially scrawny ones. They look so cowardly and are always begging. Be brave, Irma! I don't feel despairing. I've been to the theatre and I feel the same emptiness you feel when it's a bad play. It was wasted time. Now you know everything. But I don't care whether you read this or not. But think about what I've said when you leaf through the newspapers: You shouldn't believe everything you read. You shouldn't trust anyone.
I think about Mother and Father. They're still standing in front of the yellow house. They're not waving now either. No, that would have been a confession. And then, finally, I think about Zipp. About whether he might wake up and make something of his life. Find something decent to do. I look at the pale September sun as it shines low through the treetops, the dry leaves that are slowly changing to pure gold. Well, not right now, because it's starting to rain, but maybe tomorrow. But no-one taught him, and no-one taught me. The house stands there, shining behind me. Henry said it was built on clay soil, and it was just a matter of time, and enough rain, before it would pull loose and slide down.