The Hummingbird (30 page)

‘
Šta je?
Why did you call?’ Zoran asked eventually.

‘I don’t know. I felt a bit lonely.’

‘You know I’m married. There are plenty of things Nataša pretends not to notice, like any good wife, but not for ever. I can’t start dating you.’

‘
U kurac, Zorane,
that’s not what I want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Pff, I don’t know. Nothing.’

‘
Ajde
, Anna. What’s the matter? You and me, we’ve … you know, in the past. You didn’t used to be the clingy type, that’s why I liked you.’

Anna stirred her tea, watched as the spoon formed a whirlpool in the cup. She had her reasons for contacting Zoran, and there was nothing romantic about them. But suddenly she had felt the urge to say something altogether different to that handsome, dark-eyed man almost ten years her senior, the man she had known since childhood and with whom she had spent a first night of passion after turning sixteen. Even back then, it was clear that they could never be a real couple. You’re too young, he had said, and then started dating Nataša, who was only a year older than Anna. You’re too independent, is what Anna knew he really meant.

But now she was unable to say anything.

Zoran sipped his coffee. Anna had always been charmed by the Serbs’ ability to enjoy the same cup of coffee for hours, to construct an entire social interaction around a single espresso.

And at that moment she realised that this was precisely what she had been missing.

A sense of homesickness tightened her throat.

She wanted to see Réka, to sit on the terrace outside Gong, to have a coffee and chat about things. She wanted to speak Hungarian.

‘Have you heard of the jogging murders?’ she asked eventually.

‘I read about it in the paper. Why?’

‘I just wondered if you’d heard anything.’

‘
Nista
. Nothing. This isn’t a professional job or immigrant gang stuff. Looks like it’s some local lunatic.’

‘If you hear anything, you’ll tell me, right?’

Zoran stared at Anna and sipped his coffee, lost in thought.

‘Sure. But trust me, I don’t know anything about this. Look, pretty nimble, huh?’

Anna turned and looked towards the counter and watched a man in a wheelchair taking a cup of tea and a slice of cake into his lap and wheeling himself to the nearest table.

‘I’d probably shoot myself if I ended up like that,’ Zoran continued. ‘Still, people can get used to all sorts of things.’

Petri noticed Anna and Zoran and waved. He looked unhappy. Now he’ll think I have a boyfriend, Anna thought in horror. And so fucking what? I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me.

‘You two know each other?’ Zoran asked, surprised.

‘We must have bumped into each other at work,’ Anna replied.

Zoran glanced at his watch.

‘I’ve gotta go. Nati is waiting with the kids.
Zdravo
, honey. See you around.’

Zoran winked and gave her a salacious smile. Anna felt like smirking back at him, but turned instead to gaze out through the streaks of rainwater pouring down the window. Arsehole, she thought.

Half an hour later Anna left the café with a raft of unpleasant thoughts heaving in her head like a sea in a storm. The wind almost blew her over and on the way home gusts of wind gripped the car and shook it violently. Needless to say, Petri had come over to chat with her as soon as Zoran had left. Straight away he asked whether Anna had received any more of those messages. Then he started asking how she was, as if they had once been much closer friends. Anna had forced herself to answer politely, and had even tried to smile a little, asking
him about his work, this and that, the things friends talk about. Petri had brought his tea and cake over to her table and sat there for a while chit-chatting. Then he asked her directly why she hadn’t wanted to see him again. Anna had been unable to answer. Was she with that man who just left? No. Was it because he was disabled? No. Then why? I don’t know. After that Petri didn’t say another thing; he wheeled himself outside leaving his half-eaten cake on the table. She had felt like bursting into tears.

Once she got home, Anna was unbearably tired. She smoked a cigarette beneath the kitchen extractor fan and tried to listen to some Pan Sonic, but the twang of guitar feedback left her restless. This isn’t even music, she thought and switched to classical. Five minutes of Handel, but even that couldn’t relax her. She switched off the CD player and crawled into bed; she huddled beneath the duvet and felt an enormous weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her own body felt estranged, distant. It’s a good thing there’s a storm raging outside, she thought. I don’t need to feel guilty for missing my run yet again. I don’t have the energy to run another step. All I want to do is sleep and sleep – so why can’t I get to sleep?

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the wind rattling the balcony railings. She rolled on to her side. She was too warm. She stuck her feet out from beneath the duvet and felt the cool draught from the window against her skin. I’ll have to buy some insulation tape tomorrow, she thought, otherwise it’ll be too cold in the winter.

At 3 a.m. Anna gave up and got out of bed. The linoleum floor in the bedroom felt like ice against her bare feet. She pulled on a pair of woollen socks and slippers and went out to the balcony for a cigarette. The weather front was already moving towards the north-east, and by now the rain was only spitting. The fatigue was like a dead weight in every muscle in her body. Her shoulders were tense and sore. She didn’t dare lean against the railing as she had a strange feeling that it might break, that someone was watching her through the shadows enveloping the apartment blocks, waiting for her to fall.

My family started changing when I was about twelve. Well, I don’t know if they changed or whether it was all because I changed. It must have had something to do with me starting my periods, though I didn’t get it at the time. That and the fact that I had loads of friends. Suddenly I wasn’t allowed to walk to school by myself or walk home afterwards. They got fucking Mehvan to shadow me, the little runt. I wasn’t allowed to visit my Finnish friends’ places, not even for birthday parties. I tried to ask Mum why, but she wouldn’t say anything except that it was all for my own good, for the good of the family, that I’d understand when I was older. I was mad at her and threw a glass bowl at the wall. Naturally, it was a special memento from Kurdistan. She told me to pull my trousers down; I was always allowed to leave my panties on. She thrashed my backside with the belt, not with the buckle like Dad sometimes did to Mehvan. She whipped me and wept, as if it was hurting her more than it was hurting me. I never cried. I gritted my teeth and in my mind I shouted at her in Finnish, saying, you can leather me as much as you damn well please. Mehvan cried, but only much later, secretly, in his own room. Mum always came and apologised after a couple of hours. I always said I forgave her, though I didn’t really.

You got used to all the rules quickly enough. I was allowed to spend time with a few other Kurdish girls and Dad’s cousin’s children – there were loads of them and some of them were really nice and they all lived in Rajapuro. In the eighth grade I spent all summer in Sweden with Mum’s relatives. I’ve got a cousin there who’s exactly the same age, and
abbou
what a summer it was! I had loads of friends and you didn’t really think about it when you were playing with them, though all the time, and I really mean all the freaking time, there was an adult relative watching over us. I was just so glad to get away from home for a while. What really irritated me was the way that annoying little shit Mehvan walked at my side to school every morning and how he took the job so damn seriously. He even followed me into the library. Back home I could see in
his eyes how he craved Dad’s praise and acceptance like a puppy. I never saw him get any praise. Dad thought Mehvan was stupid and that he’d never come to anything, but he still wanted Mehvan to become a doctor. Why do parents always want their children to be doctors? What’s so great about spending all day listening to sick people complaining about things, lancing their boils and wiping their arses? You won’t see me becoming a doctor, though with my grades it wouldn’t be out of the question.

It was only once I got to high school that I realised what a terrible dead-end I was living in: a rotting, amputated dream of Kurdistan preserved in a two-bedroom apartment. By some kind of miracle I’d managed to get Dad to agree to me applying to a high school downtown specialising in science. You needed a really high grade-average to get in. I think Dad thought it was great being able to brag to his friends and relatives about how smart his daughter was, especially as Mehvan gave him so little to brag about. He was lucky he made it from one grade to the next, and believe it or not, most of us are normal people who know the value of a decent education. And because I had a good leaving certificate I got in. Almost the best thing was being able to walk to school by myself; there was no way Mehvan could have taken me into town and picked me up again; he had to get to school himself, and with all the extra bus tickets it would have been too expensive. Of course, they expected me to come home on the first possible bus, and at first they were really strict about it. Dad would even come and wait at the bus stop, but when I only seemed interested in studying they eased off a bit. After a while I started hanging out in town after school, I told them I was going to the library to revise for an exam, and they believed me because even at home I always had my nose in a book and complained that I couldn’t concentrate with the TV blaring and Adan whining and asking me to play with her, when all the while I was going to cafés and shops with my new classmates and, later on, with Juse. Gradually I gained my freedom, because at home I was so good at playing the role of the well-behaved Kurdish girl who dreams solely of you know what – a free and idyllic Kurdistan, of course. I even covered our bedroom with maps and pictures to fool them, and they didn’t suspect a thing. Maybe they thought the worst was over, puberty had passed without too many problems so now there was nothing to worry about. Their non-existent sense of self-esteem was bolstered by the thought that their offspring, their own flesh and blood was attending an elite Finnish school, albeit that she was the wrong sex. They knew perfectly well that most of the other wog kids in Rajapuro had no hope of doing such a thing, and even if they had selected a husband for me, they probably thought: let her go to school seeing as she’s got a head for study and we can get benefits to cover the books and bus tickets. We can have the wedding once she’s graduated
.

25

ANNA
SAT
AT
HER
DESK
staring at the flaking surface of the wall. The cold light from the fluorescent lamps stung her eyes, and an infuriating hum filled her ears. She let the sense of numbness spread throughout her body and leaned her head against her hands. Sleep was near. Finally. Small electric shocks rippled through her tense muscles. Each flinch pulled her back to life, keeping her awake, but once she relaxed she sunk into a deeper, soporific state. It felt wonderful. She wanted it to continue for ever.

After Anna had been asleep for a princely twenty minutes, Rauno stepped into her office. Anna didn’t have the energy to raise her head.

‘Have you been out on the piss again?’ Rauno asked after staring for a moment at the woman slumped across the desk.

‘No…’ came the weak voice from between her arms.

‘Should I be worried about you?’

Anna finally raised her head and stared at Rauno, her eyes red and bloodshot. Did he have to walk in just as she’d nodded off? Anna felt like crying. Either that or exploding into hysterical laughter.

‘No, you don’t,’ she replied. ‘I’m just tired. Nobody ever asks that racist drunk things like that. Or do they?’

‘Don’t get upset. I just came into tell you Virve’s ready for interview in room number two.’

‘Can you help me out here?’ she asked, suddenly agitated. ‘I’m exhausted. I couldn’t get to sleep last night. I can be the bad cop glowering in the background, intimidating and a bit crazy. But please, you do the talking.’

Rauno gave her a quizzical look and nodded his head.

*

‘Let’s go through this once again from the beginning,’ Rauno began. ‘Where were you on the evening of 21 August after 8 p.m.?’

Anna pulled up a chair towards the back of the room, sat down and leaned her head against the wall, hoping that she could remain an observer throughout the interview. Her brain felt so stiff from lack of sleep that she feared she would be unable to formulate a single sensible question, let alone react in any way to the girl’s responses.

‘If I remember right, I’ve already told you. I was at home all day, all evening and all night.’

‘But nobody can testify to that.’

‘That’s not my fault, is it?’ Virve quipped irritably.

‘Then where were you on 14 September?’