Part 43 (1/2)

”So that... what. That fat one, you said ... Miriam?... that belly, it's just... a bag of dead kittens in there?”

”Yes.”

Lacke drank the rest of the gla.s.s, put it on the table. Gosta gestured to the gin bottle. Lacke shook his head.

”No, I'm taking a little break.”

He lowered his head. An orange carpet so full of cat hair it looked like it was made of it. Cats and cats all over. How many were there? He started to count. Got to eighteen. In this room alone.

”You've never thought about... having them fixed? Like castration, or whatever it's called ... sterilizing? You could make do with one s.e.x, you know.”

Gosta looked at him uncomprehendingly.

”How would I go about doing that?”

”No, you're right.”

Lacke imagined Gosta getting on the subway with maybe ... twenty-five cats. In one box. No, in a bag, a sack. Go to the vet and just pour out all the cats. ”Castration, please.” He chuckled. Gosta put his head to one side.

”What is it?”

”I was just thinking .. . you could get a group discount.” Gosta did not appreciate the joke and Lacke waved his hands in front of him. ”No, sorry. I was just... uh, I'm all... this thing with Virginia, you know. I...” He suddenly straightened up, slammed his hand on the table.

”I don't want to be here anymore!”

Gosta jumped in his spot on the couch. The cat in front of Lacke's feet snuck away, hid under the armchair. From somewhere in the room he heard a cat hiss. Gosta s.h.i.+fted his weight, wiggled his gla.s.s in his hand.

”You don't have to. Not for my . . .”

”No, not that. Here. The whole shebang. Blackeberg. Everything. These buildings, the walking paths, the s.p.a.ces, people, everything is just... like a single big d.a.m.n sickness, see? Something went wrong. They thought all this out, planned it to be ... perfect, you know. And in some d.a.m.n wrinkle it went wrong, instead. Some s.h.i.+t.

”Like ... I can't explain it. .. like they had some idea about the angles, or f.u.c.king whatever, the angles of the buildings, in their relation to each other, you know. So it would be harmonious or something. And then they made a mistake in their measurements, their triangulation, whatever the h.e.l.l they call it, so that it was all a little off from the start, and it went downhill from there. So you walk here with all these buildings and you just feel that... no. No, no, no. You shouldn't be here. This place is all wrong, wrong, you know? you know?

”Except it isn't the angles, it's something else, something that just. . . like a disease that's in the . . . walls and I. . . don't want any part of it anymore.” A clinking when Gosta, unasked, poured Lacke another drink. Lacke took it gratefully. The outburst had caused a pleasant calm in his body, a calm that the alcohol now suffused with warmth. He leaned back in the chair, exhaled.

They sat quietly until the doorbell rang. Lacke asked: ”Are you expecting anyone?” Gosta shook his head while he heaved himself out of the couch.

”No. d.a.m.n central station here tonight.”

Lacke grinned and raised his gla.s.s to Gosta as the latter walked past. Felt better now. Felt pretty OK actually.

The front door opened. Someone outside said something and Gosta answered: ”Please come in.”

Lying there in the bathtub, in the warm water that grew pink as the dried blood on her skin dissolved, Virginia had made up her mind.

Gosta.

Her new consciousness told her it had to be someone who would let her in. Her old one said it couldn't be someone she loved. Or even liked. Gosta fit both descriptions.

She got up, dried herself, and put on pants and a blouse. It was only when she was down on the street that she realized she hadn't put on a coat. Even so she wasn't cold.

New discoveries all the time.

Below the tall building she stopped, looked up at Gosta's window. He was home. Was always home.

If he resists?

She hadn't thought about that. Only imagined the whole thing as her taking what she needed. But maybe Gosta wanted to live?

Of course he wants to live. He is a person, he has his pleasures, and think of all the cats that will... think of all the cats that will...

She put the brakes on, willed the thought away. Put her hand over her heart. It had a rate of five beats a minute and she knew she had to protect it. That there was something to that thing with ... stakes.

She took the elevator up to the second to last floor, rang the bell. When Gosta opened the door and saw Virginia his eyes widened to something that resembled horror.

Does he know? Can you see it?

Gosta said: ”But... is it you?”

”Yes, can I?...”

She gestured into the apartment. Couldn't understand. Only knew intuitively that she needed an invitation, otherwise ... otherwise ... something. Gosta nodded, took a step back.

”Please come in.”

She stepped into the hall and Gosta pulled the door shut, looked at her with watery eyes. He was unshaven, the droopy skin of his throat dirty with gray stubble. The stench in the apartment was worse than she remembered, clearer.

I don't want to- Then the old brain was turned off, and hunger took over. She put her hands on his shoulders, saw her hands put on his shoulders. Allowed it to happen. The old Virginia now sat curled up somewhere at the back of her head, without control.

The mouth said: ”Do you want to help me with something? Stand still.” She heard something. A voice.

”Virginia! Hi! I'm so glad to ...”

Lacke flinched when Virginia's head turned toward him.

Her eyes were empty. As if someone had poked a needle into them and sucked out what had been Virginia and only left behind the expressionless gaze of an anatomical model. Plate number eight: Eyes. Virginia stared at him for a second, then she let go of Gosta and turned to the door, pressed the handle down, but the door was locked. She turned the lock, but Lacke grabbed ahold of her, dragged her away from the door.

”You're not going anywhere until...”

Virginia fought his hold and he got her elbow against his mouth, his lip splitting against his teeth. He held her arms firmly, pressed his cheek against her back.

”Ginja, d.a.m.n it. I have to talk to you. I've been so d.a.m.n worried. Calm down, what is it?”

She jerked toward the door but Lacke held her fast, coaxing her in the direction of the living room. He made an effort to speak calmly and quietly, as if to a frightened animal, while he pushed her in front of him.