Читать книгу Justine - Iben Mondrup - Страница 22

Three

Ane came all the way out here while I snoozed, right through the door, no slipping through the wall like Vita. Her timing isn’t the best, I was in the middle of a party at some other allotment society, Våren, I think it was. Bo was also there, in shorts. His legs stuck out the bottom with crinkly hair and large, well-trimmed hooves. He was confiding something and was leaning over me with his entire weight when Ane came bursting in with the baby in a sling on her chest.

“How wild, Justine. You got a haircut. It looks wild. Why did you do it?’

I shake my hair.

“Well, it’s weird. But somehow it fits you.” She unfastens the child and puts him in the stroller. “I just came by to see if you had enough room.” Her gaze sweeps the space, moving from paintings to work table. “You can stay here as long as you want.” In one smooth motion she’s at the table, rummage, rummage. “So, is there anything new on the fire?” She flips papers, takes something out, covers it up, rolls it all together.

“Do you need the studio?” I ask.

“No, not at all. I’ve already told you that.”

She gives me a look that implies both consideration and vexation.

“How are you doing?”

She turns her back to me and tries stuffing the roll into a cardboard tube, but it’s too loose and bursts apart.

I make for the elsewhere of the kitchen and wait a bit before returning.

She’s finished packing. The baby is awake and the pacifier slides wetly in and out of his mouth.

“I finally got him to take it. Did you see?”

She bends aside so I can see the baby’s face.

“It’s funny,” she says. “It really does seem to help a bit.”

Now it’s choking him. She pulls on the pacifier to persuade him to take it again, but he refuses. So she steps over the mattress, takes a seat at the table, and starts liberating her breasts.

“There’s been a lot of turnover out here lately,” she says.

The boy’s big irises scream: Help. With a hand she supports his head and forces it onto her breast. He has no choice but to accept the nipple that’s swollen and pearled white. The boy coughs and milk streams out.

“But you’re next to Trine Markhøj. You know Trine pretty well, right?”

Burp. Ane holds the baby out from her, milk splatters the floor.

“Take him,” she says.

She tucks her breasts back into place. The boy’s a disaster, a baby elephant that’s shat itself.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say.

He goes back in the carriage and Ane starts rocking.

“You have to do it with some force. That makes him fall asleep faster,” she says.

Back and forth, back and forth, she doesn’t take up much space without the kid. Her gaze makes a final sweep and lands on me.

“I should go.”

Good.