A Burnt Child: A Novel

A Twilight Meeting

146 A TWILIGHT MEETING hello, bengt, she says when he opens the door. He does not say a word. Thirty seconds go by, maybe more. In her red dress, Gun is standing completely still on the cold, gray doorstep. Bengt doesn’t look at her but past her, looks out at the stairs that slowly lead up to the silent and empty attic. But when he finally does look at her, he notices that she isn’t looking at him either. She was looking past him, through the dark entrance as if she were searching for someone. He turns around and looks for himself . He can see farther than she can. He can see the broken sewing machine underneath the dusty cover all the way at the end of the hallway. Papa isn’t home, he mumbles. It isn’t until then that they look at each other, uncertain of what to say, afraid of what might be said. Oh, Gun whispers, but he should be home tonight. Then she turns not only her gaze from him but her head, too, and looks up at the same staircase. There is a smooth gray wall beyond the staircase window, the wall of a newly built building, where she lets her gaze hang for a while, like a window washer hanging 147 A Twilight Meeting from his ropes. Bengt pulls the door toward him. He eventually decides to close it, but she holds her hand on the doorknob. So he lets the door stay where it is. Papa’s at a fiftieth birthday party, he says. He’ll probably come home late. Very late. Gun notices that he said “very late.” Or more precisely, she notices how he said it. Suddenly Bengt notices, too, and, confused, he wants to take it back since it’s none of her business. But instead of taking it back, he opens the door a little wider, and she lets go of the doorknob. Downstairs, the front door slams. Someone whistling is approaching, coming up quickly. Then it occurs to him that she can’t keep standing where she is, not when someone is coming. Please come in for a bit, he says, I was just making coffee. Of course, it isn’t true. She realizes this once she’s in the kitchen , and Bengt does, too. He sits down on the kitchen bench and stares down at his hands. He doesn’t look up until Gun turns on the gas. She is standing with her back to him, a slender, straight back in a red dress. It’s a dress he recognizes, but he isn’t sure he has ever seen this particular back before. She opens the jars on the shelf and finds the coffee in the last one. She is busy for a while washing spoons, drying cups, and slicing bread. She dries more cups than they need and slices more bread than they will be able to eat. He is glad that it’s taking so long, but he’s afraid it will suddenly be silent in the kitchen, and then he won’t know what to say. As she sets the table for him, he feels ashamed. It occurs to him that he’s sitting in his mother’s kitchen and that a stranger is using it as if it were her own. What will he say if his mother asks him about it? But when they sit on opposite sides of the table, they talk about something else. They talk about Berit. And Bengt is the one who initiates the conversation. He has just written a letter to her, a still unsent letter. I sent her your regards, he says and looks at her, in a separate P.S. Then he realizes how stupid it is that he said “P.S.” It doesn’t matter whether he did it in a postscript or in the body of the letter. I think Berit is sweet, Gun says. Papa thinks she’s ugly, Bengt replies. Then he quickly adds: 148 A Twilight Meeting But I don’t think so. I don’t think so either, Gun says. I think she is very sweet. So they both think she is sweet. They sit for a while thinking of what else they can say about Berit besides that she is sweet. But then Bengt realizes there’s nothing more to say, so he...