When the Devil Holds the Candle (9 page)

"Shut up!" Zipp was getting hysterical. "I know that I'm not a fucking queer. You don't have to tell me that. For God's sake, shut up, Andreas!"

He tugged at his hair. He began sobbing, then wiped away the snot and tears and stared at Andreas's yellow shirt gleaming in the dark. His world was in ruins, but the damn church was still standing, holding its own. He wanted to smash that too! You couldn't be friends with someone who was gay. People might find out and then obviously they'd think that he was, too. That's how people thought: that they were together, or something, had been fucking each other for years. He turned and walked away, until he reached the corner of the church.

There, in front of the church, stood a bench. He sat down; he had to think. Go home to bed and fall asleep, after this? Impossible. His whole future had been wrecked. For years he had been living a lie, he had been duped. Maybe Andreas had wanted him even then? Had he been a figure in Andreas's dreams? Zipp's shoulders began to shake. He cried soundlessly. Andreas, gay. So it was impossible to tell. God, the entire world could be gay! Perhaps other people he knew, too, ordinary people. Girls even. He thought about Anita. What if Robert had been an alibi? Robert, and all the others she'd slept with. But Anita was dead now, so it didn't matter. Maybe nobody was what he pretended to be. And what about himself? Hell, no! He was a good friend. But was he? Did Andreas really expect him not to turn his back? That was asking an awful lot. At the same time, it was a matter of their friendship, all those years! He needed time, a few days to think things over, but he wasn't used to solving problems by thinking, and right now, he was freezing. Behind him he heard stumbling footsteps. It was Andreas, he knew. You'd think he would have gone a different way. Zipp stared at the gravel, wanting to be out of this situation, back to
what they had before, but that could never happen. They would have to find a new way. What would people say if they suddenly stopped hanging out together? They were always together. That would make the rumors start buzzing. The story would be launched, at first as a joke: Have you heard? Zipp has broken up with Andreas.

His shoes were wet with dew. His feet were frozen.

"If you ever do that again, I'll kill you!"

Andreas put up his hands. "I won't!"

They both shrugged. Zipp got to his feet, almost mechanically. At the same instant they started walking at a slow pace to the stone gate. As they passed through it, it was as if something closed up behind them and was gone for good: hidden in the dark among the graves. Zipp wiped his nose. He took some pride in his own generosity when he said, "Shit! People don't understand a thing. I hate this town."

Andreas nodded. It was a shitty town. Were there any decent people in this place? What did anyone know about how hard it was, all those people sitting in their warm living rooms, staring at American soap operas and criticizing anyone under twenty? Fucking shitheads! And what did they say in
Blade Runner
when the storm was at its worst? "
You're our best and only friend.
" And then, in the dark, two faint voices:

"
You're not going to tell?
"

"
No.
"

It was over. For a moment they had stared into an unfamiliar chasm. Now the door to it was closed again. For a few minutes they walked along as they had before, side by side. Zipp understood that Andreas needed him. Hadn't Zipp always given his friend the utmost respect? But what could he demand in return for keeping Andreas's secret? Something that Zipp had never been given?
The utmost respect!

He felt a singing inside, a brand-new sensation. He would no longer cower. Their relationship would have to have a new
quality. Andreas was more handsome, more intelligent, more popular; he had more money and nicer clothes, but he was bloody
gay!
The word had unpleasant connotations for Zipp: a torn rectum, Vaseline, and shit under your nails. Wasn't that what he had always thought? Life was basically great. He himself was totally normal. He suddenly thought about the desire he had felt at the touch of Andreas's hand. But what the fuck, he had been overpowered, and wasn't he in the prime of his life, surging with vitality? And no one had seen them. They shared a secret, a strange experience that was both powerful and frightening, but they'd find something else. Something better. He was sure of that. No, not sure, but he hoped so, the way only a young man of eighteen can hope.

They turned their backs on the dead and headed into town. They walked along without saying a word, on their way toward something cruel, something truly terrifying, worse than what had just happened. Both of them had stumbled off onto a detour, but now they were back on track. They scowled at everyone they met, turned down side streets, walking with their hands stuffed in their pockets. Andreas's knife swung at his hip. They had to find some way to remember this night that would overshadow everything else. Later, when they recalled that night, they would have to be able to talk about it to others, even though they both knew what it was really about—that it actually had to do with that moment when they landed in the grass, one on top of the other. Zipp could feel Andreas's sharp hip bones against his thighs. But he pushed all of that aside. He must move on.

It was almost midnight. They would leave the town center for quieter neighborhoods. They kept their eyes moving, but took care to avoid looking at each other; it was too soon for that. Tomorrow, perhaps. They had to get through this night. They passed the cinema on the left and crossed the street. Walked past the Gotten kiosk, an optician's, and a secondhand shop. The streets got more deserted as they went on. And there, sent by the Devil himself, was a woman on her own.

They noticed her at the same moment. A stout woman in a brown coat. She was wearing high heels, and it was clear that she wasn't used to them. Without a word, they picked up their pace, moving in unison—like a single, alert predator—with their heads close together, as if discussing something important. Sooner or later she would turn and see them. They didn't really know what they wanted with her. She had appeared at such an opportune moment; it was an exciting game for two capricious young men. There was something about the anxious figure that told them she was altogether alone, that no one was waiting for her. A woman close to sixty—or at least that's what they thought—who was walking along the street in the middle of the night, who hadn't been collected by a husband or by a son. Obviously she lived alone. And since she was walking, she must not live far away. Or maybe she didn't dare stand in line for a taxi. People had been killed waiting for a taxi; no doubt she read the papers like everyone else.

Then suddenly she looked back and they saw her pale face. She quickened her step, but had trouble because of her shoes. She hadn't gone more than eight or ten paces more before she turned, cut across the street, and crept along the windows of a real estate agent's office. Light was flooding from the windows; maybe that made her feel safer. She passed a park, turned left again, heading farther away from the town center. They were now on Thornegata, approaching a hill. She turned left once more. The street passed through an established residential area with older homes. Andreas decided that they should split up.

"I'll follow her," he whispered. "She'll relax if there's only one of us. You run up the hill through the back gardens so she can't see you from the street. We'll escort the old bag home!"
Zipp obeyed. He stared at the woman and thought about how scared she was, maybe afraid that she was going to die. Her shoes were tapping hard against the pavement. Andreas walked behind her up the hill while Zipp slipped into a garden and started running through shrubbery and fruit trees, invisible in the dark. Andreas kept going. He could hear the woman's rapid breathing. She kept looking round to see him striding along behind her. He tried to saunter to look less threatening. He felt as cold as ice as he touched his knife. Was she praying as she walked? Halfway up the hill she made another turn. Now she's almost safe, he thought. He passed her, casting a glance in her direction, listening to her footsteps on the gravel. A gate slammed. A key turned in a lock.

Andreas reached the far side of the house, pushed his way through the hedge, and crept into the garden, cloaked by the dark between the trees. He stood still and listened. Felt someone's breath on his neck.

"The old lady's inside. What do we do now?"

Zipp's eyes shone like delicate flames behind dew-covered panes.
My best and only friend.

Andreas thought for a moment. Then he took off his scarf and let it slide through his fingers.

"Shit. Are you going to strangle her?"

Zipp was pale. At that moment a light went on in the house. A faint glow from the window fell across the lawn.

"Do you think I'm a complete idiot?"

Andreas wrapped the scarf around his face so that only his eyes were visible. Then he took the cap from his trouser pocket and pulled it down over his hair. He put a hand on Zipp's shoulder, and was relieved when it was not brushed away. For a moment his knees felt weak with gratitude. They were going to share everything. The awful secret in the grass by the church, and what they were now about to do. Nothing big: just rob an old woman of her money. Not a single objection occurred to either of them.

"You wait here. I'll go inside."

"Surely the old lady must have locked her door," Zipp said.

"I can get in anywhere." Andreas's voice was deep and resolute. He was going to make up for everything that had happened. The terrible pain had to be overshadowed by something; sheer terror would do the trick. The risk and the excitement overwhelmed his body, shaking him out of the paralysis he had felt back at the church.

"Shit, Andreas," Zipp muttered. "This is a dirty business."

" 'I
am
the business,'" Andreas said in English, chuckling as he disappeared around the corner. Not the biggest or most dangerous animal in the forest, but the slimmest, the boldest, and possibly the most cunning. Not an enemy was in sight, only an easy prey. Zipp crept closer to the wall around the garden. He couldn't see over it, but he could glimpse the ceiling through the window and a chandelier in what must be the living room. Faint sounds were audible from inside. Zipp stood motionless in the dark. He prayed that the woman didn't have a husband with a shotgun, or a fucking dog. He'd heard stories about what could happen, but at the same time he was giddy with excitement. The black night had a strange luminousness. The dew on the grass had turned silver in the moonlight. He leaned against the wall and pressed his ear to the cool paneling.

How handsome Andreas was. No doubt he could have had any girl he wanted. It's easy to love what is beautiful. Those who are believers talk about God's perfect creation with an idiotic gleam in their eyes, but a number of people are uncommonly ugly. People like me, who have to work so much harder, emphasize other qualities, so to speak. But even I found someone, or maybe Henry found me. I was so surprised when he proposed, so very moved by the courage it must have cost him, that I said yes at once. I didn't think anyone else would ever ask me. Would I, Irma Funder, get other offers? The woman with the eyebrows that had grown together and the fat thighs? The woman built like a horse? I didn't think much about whether I loved him; I didn't demand that much from life. Isn't marriage a job that has to be done? What is it anyway, this business about love? To need someone more than you need yourself? The lovely feeling that you've finally come out of yourself, taken off and flown inside another being? I don't know what in the world could ever free me from myself, except death. And what is sorrow? That you no longer have companionship? I don't grieve for Henry, nor for my son, who never comes to see me. Does there exist an unselfish thought in anyone at all? I'm helping Runi with something today, because she helped me yesterday. If I love this child enough, he'll carry me in his arms when I'm old. Well, not Ingemar. But
I once hoped for equilibrium. Buy and sell. We will survive here, teeter around on this never finished building site called Earth. We build and build: we don't dare stop. As long as we keep building, we have the hope that one day something will tower above us and surpass everything else. Then we meet someone and heave ourselves out. The rest is all overflowing hormones, heat, dampness, a pounding heart, everything that courses inside us: biochemistry. Do you understand me? Henry and I even had a child. We lived like everyone else, or at least I think so. When he disappeared I felt odd at first, the house was so quiet, but I quickly got used to it. I like being alone. No longer did I have to keep asking what he thought or believed. I'm lonely, of course, but who isn't? There are plenty of worse things. Illness and pain. Degradation: the way Andreas degraded me. He was thoughtless, but above all he was young. In that sense, he probably had a right to sympathy. Doesn't everyone? I don't know why he chose me. Maybe it was random, the way life is random in a disgusting way.

Runi had called and wanted me to go to the theater. It had been restored following a fire. The King was there for the opening; she'd seen it on television and the chandelier alone was worth the price of admission. The play was called
Chance Encounters.
I said yes when she called—I should have said no. I've always thought there is danger associated with going into town at night. They sell heroin in the square. But I didn't want her to suspect that I might not be like other people, so I said yes. Runi is my cover. I have to show a little enthusiasm at regular intervals if I want to be left in peace most of the time. I got dressed up. The sky was still light, and it didn't occur to me to worry about the twenty-minute walk into town. I chose a navy blue dress with a white collar. Underneath I wore nice underwear: silk panties and a tight vest to hold everything in place. My shoes had high heels, but I didn't have far to go. I left in plenty of time. When I arrived, I took note of the door labeled ladies, something I always do. At the bar, Runi chattered and laughed the whole time, but every once in a while she would start complaining, as usual, about young people or whatever else might occur to her. Life in general. I agreed with her at appropriate moments—there's something rather odd about a person who never complains. Or at least Runi would think it odd, so I spent a few minutes griping about the bus, even though I had walked: I said it never came on time. And about television programs, and the steady increase of crime in the city. There's certainly enough to talk about. Inconsiderate youths. Rubbish on the streets. All the synthetic additives in food. You know what I mean. She nodded as she drank. It's nice to have someone agree with you.