Fog Island. Mariette Lindstein

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      We have planned the evening down to the tiniest detail.

      She lies in the straw, on the cloak. Her hands are up over her head, her hair spread out like burning fire. And the candles are in front of her, their flames flickering.

      I stand there looking at her until I’m totally hard, and then I take out the belt.

      She’s used to it by now and doesn’t look frightened, which is too bad because I enjoyed that look in her eyes.

      There’s a trick, something I’ve learned — thrusting into her as I pull on the belt. It’s best that way. Maximum pleasure.

      I am careful to get it right this time. The last time.

      I place the belt around her neck and lean over her. I thrust and pull at the same time, and she gasps and whimpers. It feels so good that I almost lose myself for a moment, but then she resists and starts kicking wildly.

      She cries out — a shrill, piercing scream that has nothing to do with our game.

      Someone might hear her. She has to stop.

      I pull a little harder, just to make her be quiet.

      Her eyes roll back in their sockets in such an odd way; all I can see are the whites and she goes strangely limp in the straw.

      I loosen the belt and try to jostle her back to life. But it’s as if she’s made of jelly, soft and lifeless.

      A hellish pain flares up in my foot and when I turn around I realize she must have kicked a candle over, because the straw behind me is on fire and big flames are licking at my feet.

      I give a shout, then stand up and grab my trousers.

      I toss them over the fire, trying to smother it, but it only gets worse.

      My trousers are on fire now and the flames are crackling and spreading through the straw. I realize I’m naked and pull on my briefs, the first thing I find.

      My mind is working incredibly fast. I’ve got to fix this. I’ve got to make it out.

      I place her hands over her chest and cover her body with the cloak. It’s all I can do.

      Got to hurry, the fire’s spreading. It’s at her feet now.

      I run out of the barn.

      I run like a madman.

12

      She felt guilty, and the guilt only got worse the more she worried that they would be discovered. They had grown careless. A quickie in the library bathroom, his hand on her bum in the food line — lust was making them take risks. And now she couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. She felt like the staff were staring at her with suspicion. She couldn’t bring herself to look Oswald in the eye when he came to assembly. At last she found herself wishing Benjamin would go to the mainland for a while, just so she could work in peace.

      ‘We have to stop.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘That we have to stop. I can’t handle it anymore.’

      ‘Sofia, come on. Let’s just move in together.’

      ‘Never. Or at least, not right now. I have to finish the library.’

      ‘But it’s no big deal to live together. And that way we don’t have to sleep in the dorms.’

      ‘Later, maybe, but for now we need to take a break.’

      ‘What do you mean, a break?’

      ‘No more sex until the library is done.’

      ‘That’s going to be hard.’

      ‘Then we’ll just have to deal with it.’

      She gazed out the window as he reluctantly left the library, in a sour mood. He dragged his feet as he crossed the yard. Pointedly — he knew she could see him. She sighed; she knew it really would be hard.

      It was the second Sunday of Advent. It seemed they would have a white Christmas; there were several inches of snow on the ground, which meant an endless amount of shovelling every day. The sky would clear now and then, but clouds would gather again almost right away, ready for the next snowfall.

      She had decided to go home to her parents for Christmas. Benjamin had tried to convince her to remain on the island, telling her about last Christmas, when the staff had four days off and celebrated together.

      But she refused to give in. She was going home.

      Dusk was just falling and the big spruce in the middle of the courtyard was all lit up. Someone went around lighting lanterns and torches. It was so beautiful that a shiver ran through her.

      The speaker on the wall crackled. Madeleine’s voice echoed through the empty building: ‘Come up to Franz’s office. Immediately!’

      The message sounded rushed and urgent as usual, but Sofia had learned to take Madeleine with a grain of salt. Nothing was ever as serious as Madeleine made it out to be.

      She pulled on her boots and winter coat. As she walked up the shovelled path to the manor house she dragged her feet, mostly just to annoy Madeleine in case she could see her from the window. The snow crunched under her boots. The sky was clear and starry; there was a full moon. The cold, crisp air carried the scent of smoke from the fireplaces in the living quarters. Other glorious smells came from the dining room: freshly baked bread, glögg, and roasting ham.

      When she knocked at Oswald’s office door, Madeleine came out with a fretful expression and put a finger to her lips. Sofia could see Oswald on the phone inside.

      ‘What took you so long?’ Madeleine hissed.

      Sofia didn’t have time to respond. Oswald had just hung up the phone and was waving her in.

      No Christmas decorations in his office. Not even a single Advent light or paper star lantern. Everything was bare and white, and, in Sofia’s opinion, just plain boring.

      ‘Come in, Sofia, have a seat.’

      She sat down in front of him. He looked at her and nodded as if she had said something. She had come to understand that this implied some sort of approval. Sofia had been one of Oswald’s favourites since the fire. She could tell because he would come and talk to her now and again after assembly. There were some staff members he didn’t pay any attention to at all. He would even turn his back on certain staff if they tried to approach him.

      ‘So here’s the deal — I have to go away for a few days and I would have loved to take a look at your plans for the library before I go, but I don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back on December twenty-second. I was thinking we could devote the twenty-third to your presentation, and perhaps even the morning СКАЧАТЬ