The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [3]
Justus snorted and stretched out a hand to the light switch.
“No, don’t turn it on!”
She regretted it the instant she said it.
“It’s just that it’s cozy with a little darkness. I’ll light some candles instead.”
She felt his gaze from the doorway.
“You should make a little money,” she said.
“I don’t need any. And Dad has money, anyway.”
“Of course, but not a lot. You’ve been talking about buying a camera.”
Justus gave her a dismissive look. Was it a look of triumph?
“No harm in asking him, though, is there?” she continued.
“Nag, nag, nag,” he said and turned on his heel, in that way that only he could, and went back to his room.
She heard him slam his door and the creaking of the bed when he threw himself on it. She walked back over to the window. Harry and his tractor had disappeared. A number of lights were on in the building across the way. She could see families around the dinner table. A bluish TV light flickered in a few others.
A shadow moved next to the parking garages and she almost shouted with joy, but as she kept watching no John appeared. Had she only imagined it? If you walked down between the rows of garages you eventually came out by the garbage cans, but there was no one there. No John. Berit stared out into the darkness. Suddenly she glimpsed the figure again. She had seen someone for a moment, a man in green, but it wasn’t John.
Who was it? Why had he waited before emerging by the garbage cans? It occurred to her that maybe it was Harry’s brother, who used to help him with the snow removal. No John. The short moment of relief was replaced by loneliness.
The potatoes on the stove were still lukewarm. She turned the burner with the stew to its lowest setting. He’ll be here soon, she told herself, and cupped her hands around the pot.
She called Lennart at half past seven. He answered on the fifth ring and sounded sober. He hadn’t heard from John in several days.
“He’ll turn up,” he said lightly, but she could hear the concern in his voice.
Berit could imagine him restlessly shuffling back and forth in the hall.
“I’ll make a couple of calls,” he said. “He’s probably just having a few beers with someone.”
Berit hated him for those words. A few beers. She hung up.
She called John’s mother, but did not mention that he was more than a few hours late. She had called in the hope that he had looked in on her and been detained. They chatted for a while as Berit walked around the apartment.
Lennart called at a quarter past eight.
“Why’d you hang up on me?” he started, and she could hear that he had a few drinks in him. That’s when she knew.
“Where can he be?” Now her desperation broke out.
Justus came out of his room.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
She gestured to him to calm down and finished talking to Lennart.
“Do you have any idea where Daddy can be?” she asked.
She knew she shouldn’t be letting it get the upper hand, but the anxiety made her tremble. Justus made an awkward movement with his hand.
“I’ve no idea, but he’ll be here soon,” he said.
Berit started to cry.
“Mom, he’ll be here!”
“Yes, he’ll be back soon,” she said and tried to smile, but it was mostly a grimace. “I just get so worked up when he doesn’t call and let me know. The potatoes are ruined.”
“Can’t we eat in the meantime?”
She was suddenly furious. Because she interpreted Justus’s words as somehow disloyal, or because of an intimation that something terrible had happened?
They sat down at the kitchen table. Harry and his tractor reappeared in the courtyard, and Berit was about to say something again about snow removal but stopped when she saw his face.
The potatoes were pasty and the meat tender but lukewarm. Justus cleared the table in silence. She watched his mechanical movements. The jeans, which were two sizes too big, hung from his thin thighs and nonexistent butt. His fashion and music tastes had been changing lately, from a penchant for soft English pop, which Berit had often been able to appreciate, to a noisy, jerky rap music that sounded only discordant and angry to her ears. His taste in clothing