‘The psychologist’s name is Sofia Zetterlund. You could see her as early as next week, if you’d like to.’
She realises that’s a guess, but knows Sofia well enough to be sure she’d agree. As long as Ulrika herself wants it.
‘Is it OK for me to give her your number?’
Ulrika squirms. ‘Well, I suppose so … But no funny business, all right?’
Jeanette laughs.
‘No, I promise. She’s good.’
Sierra Leone, 1987
‘EAT UP NOW, Victoria.’ He glares at her across the breakfast table. ‘When you’re finished you can put a chlorine tablet in the pool. I’m going to have a swim after my morning meeting.’
It’s already more than ninety-five degrees outside, and he wipes the sweat from his brow. She nods in response and pokes at the steaming, disgusting porridge. Every spoonful expands in her mouth and she hates the sweetened cinnamon he forces her to sprinkle on top of it. His colleagues from the development agency will soon be here, and he’ll leave the table. Then she can throw away the rest of her breakfast.
‘How are your studies going?’
She doesn’t look at him, but can feel him observing her. ‘Fine,’ she says flatly. ‘We’re reading Maslow. It’s about needs and motivation.’ She doesn’t think he knows about Maslow, and hopes his ignorance will shut him up.
She’s right. ‘Motivation,’ he mutters. ‘Yes, well, you could do with some of that.’ He looks away and goes back to his breakfast.
Needs, she thinks.
While she pretends to eat the porridge she thinks about what she’s read about the hierarchy of needs, which starts with physiological needs. Needs such as food and sleep. She thinks how he is systematically denying them to her.
After that comes the need for security, then the need for love and belonging, and then the need for esteem. All things he is denying her, and will continue to deny her.
At the top of the hierarchy is the need for self-actualisation, a term she can’t even understand. She doesn’t know who she is or what she wants; her self-actualisation is out of reach because it’s beyond her, outside her own ego. As far as her needs are concerned, he has denied her everything.
The door to the terrace opens, and a little girl, a few years younger than Victoria, stands in the doorway.
‘There you are!’ he says with a smile on his lips as he looks at the girl, who works as a general maid. Victoria has liked her since the very first day.
Bengt has also taken a shine to the slender, happy little girl, and has been courting her with compliments and ingratiating remarks.
At dinner on the first evening he decided that she should move out of the servants’ quarters and into the main house for practical reasons. From that day Victoria has slept more soundly than she has for a long time, and even Mum seems happy with the arrangement.
You blind cow, she thinks. One day it’s all going to catch up with you, and you’ll have to pay the price for keeping your eyes closed.
The little girl comes into the kitchen. She looks scared at first, but calms down slightly when she catches sight of Victoria and Birgitta.
‘You can clear the table when we’ve finished,’ he says, turning towards the girl, then gets interrupted by the sound of car engines and wheels on the drive outside the open window. ‘Damn, they’re here already.’
He gets up, goes over to the girl and ruffles her hair. ‘Did you sleep well?’ Victoria can see that the girl probably hasn’t slept at all. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and she looks nervous as he touches her.
‘Sit down and eat now.’
He winks at the girl and hands her a banknote, which she tucks away at once before sitting down beside Victoria.
‘There,’ he says before he goes. ‘You could teach my Victoria a thing or two about appetite.’ He nods towards the plate and disappears into the hall, laughing.
Victoria knows that the evening will be difficult. If he’s in this good a mood in the morning, then the day usually ends with darkness.
He’s behaving like some fucking colonialist, she thinks. Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency and human rights? That’s just a cover for prancing about like some bastard slave owner.
She looks at the skinny little girl, who is now concentrating on her breakfast.
What has he done to her? She has some bruises on her neck, and a scratch on her earlobe.
‘Well, I must say …’ Mum sighs. ‘I’m going to sort out the laundry. You two can look after yourselves, can’t you?’
Victoria doesn’t answer. Well, I must say? You never say anything. You’re a silent, blind shadow without any definition.
The girl has finished eating, and Victoria pushes her plate over to her. She lights up, and Victoria can’t help smiling back as the girl gets to work on the grey sludge surrounded by lukewarm milk.
‘Would you like to help me with the pool? I can show you what to do.’ The girl looks at her over her dish, and nods between mouthfuls.
When she’s finished eating they go out into the garden and Victoria shows her where the chlorine tablets are kept.
The Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency has a number of houses on the outskirts of Freetown, and they live in one of the largest, but also the one that is most secluded. The white three-storey building is surrounded by a high wall, and the entrance is guarded by armed men in camouflage.
Victoria can hear the men’s voices from inside the house. They’ve moved the conference here because the situation in Freetown is too unstable at the moment.
‘You pull open the edge of the pack,’ Victoria says. ‘Then you carefully put the tablet into the water.’
She can see doubt in the girl’s eyes, and remembers that the pool is strictly out of bounds for the staff.
‘It’s OK,’ Victoria says. ‘It’s my pool as well, so I can say what gets done to it, and I’m saying you can.’
The girl smiles the triumphant smile of someone who for a fleeting moment is allowed to join the elite, and with an elaborate gesture she drops her hand into the pool. Her hand moves up and down before she lets go, and she watches as the tablet slowly sinks to the bottom. She pulls out her wet hand and looks at it.
‘Was the water nice?’ Victoria asks, and receives a nod in reply.
‘Shall we have a swim before he comes?’ she goes on.
The girl shakes her head and says that isn’t allowed. Victoria dismisses her concerns. ‘I’m telling you that you can,’ she says, glancing over at the house and starting to get undressed. ‘Don’t worry about them, we’ll hear when they’ve almost finished.’
She dives into the pool and swims two lengths underwater.
She floats for a while just above the bottom, and enjoys the pressure on her eardrums. The water between her and the world up above forms a dense shield.