off, and the water from the fountain made a certain amount of noise. ‘Sorry to trouble you, but I’ve got to nip over to the Dixie quickly to fetch something. You couldn’t keep an eye on Miranda for me while I’m away, could you?’
She leant over the wheelchair, straightened Miranda’s dress again; it was a beautiful dress, I don’t know how people can dress their children up like that when they’re on Social Security. She was doubtless on Social Security too, just like the alcoholic Arnfinn, that’s what the system’s come to now, you can manage for a long time without a job, some people spend a whole lifetime without contributing to society.
‘It’ll only take ten minutes,’ she added, ‘I’ll run all the way.’
She gazed at me under mascaraed lashes and gave the small pout of a wheedling child. As for me, I was completely dumbstruck. I couldn’t believe my ears. Miranda, that helpless, speechless child in my depraved custody. The two of us alone in the park by Lake Mester, a little disabled girl, entrusted to me and my whims, my defective impulse control. I checked the surrounding park several times, but no one else was in sight, just a few sparrows hopping about searching for food at the base of the fountain. They found nothing, only sweet wrappings and other bits of litter. Decomposing leaves from the previous year were rustling about on the ground, and there was a soughing from the trees lining the paved path. A gust of wind blew through the park ruffling my hair; quickly, I patted it down.
Keep an eye on Miranda. Had I heard her correctly? I took myself sternly in hand, making an effort to appear responsible. How long had we both been coming to the park by Lake Mester, Lill Anita and I? For at least a year, regularly. I had always behaved in a respectable manner. I was well dressed, too, in a decent jacket and trousers and, as I’ve said, we were on nodding terms.
‘I’ll look after Miranda,’ I promised, and rose from my bench. I walked calmly across the parterre, with slow, measured steps and open, candid hands. Although my head was seething. Although my fingers were itching and my whole body was tingling, I kept calm. That feeble, gesticulating child. In my care. Lill Anita jumped up straight away, finished her conversation and slipped the mobile phone in her pocket. She nodded at the path and over towards the café.
‘Ten minutes tops,’ she repeated. ‘I’m only going to collect a film. You don’t have to speak, she’s so hard to understand, I mean, for anyone except me. Just sit quietly on the bench. If she tries to wheel herself away you’ll have to stop her, she can be a bit difficult sometimes, but the brake is on. Make sure of the brake,’ she said breathlessly.
Then she ran off down the paved path. She ran past
Woman Weeping
in her studded, faded jeans, and then she was gone.
The wheelchair was a Plesner and seemed well equipped.
At the back there was a colourful netting pouch which contained a few clothes, a knitted jacket and a threadbare teddy with eyes of black glass. It was old and covered in burls, and quite smelly when I put it to my nose. But the child smelt of soap. It had a scent that was sweet, like wild flowers. Her trainers were clean and white; she couldn’t walk in them, their only function was to keep her feet warm. The laces were tied with a double bow. She immediately became restive when I seated myself on the bench, restive because her mother wasn’t there, and because she didn’t know me. I could read it in the attitude of her thin neck, and from the hands that fluttered over her lap, and I didn’t speak a word, I waited. The silence made her uneasy. One can relate to words, but thoughts can’t be monitored, and she was probably used to the various clumsy comments people make, what a lovely wheelchair you’ve got, can I see your teddy bear? Or similar inanities. Five minutes passed. I sat absolutely still on the bench with my hands in my lap,