The Unit Page 7

“Well…,” I said. “I suppose I could give it a go.”

  “Fantastic!” said Lis. “In that case, you start tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. That will be immediately after you’ve seen Arnold.”

  “ Arnold?”

  “Your psychologist. Arnold Backhaus. The research group works in lab 8. If you come here after you’ve seen Arnold, I’ll take you over there. I’m actually”-and she said this in the tone of voice you use when you’re passing on something that you expect will be an enormous and wonderful surprise to the listener-“starting as an assistant on this particular experiment tomorrow!”

  She smiled her dimpled smile. Her eyes sparkled. I couldn’t make any sense of her at all.

  When I passed the waiting room on my way out, I stopped and looked at the appliqué landscape with the flocks of birds forming a face. The face seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t work out who it resembled. On the other hand, I was almost completely certain that the picture had been created by Siv.

  3

  I took a shower. It was the first time I’d done that alone, and in my own bathroom. Up to now I’d showered at the pool or in the sports complex, surrounded by other naked women the whole time. Now, with no one to talk to, I became very aware of the surveillance cameras, and in my mind’s eye I could see someone sitting in a control tower somewhere in front of a bank of monitors, closely observing the particular monitor that showed me showering in my bathroom. It was as if I were showering for someone else, doing some kind of number, putting on a live show. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it gave me a feeling of unreality, as if I were playing the role of a person showering rather than actually showering.

  By this stage I had already managed to get used to going to the toilet without bothering about the surveillance; I simply took it for granted that whenever a resident did something as intimate as carrying out their bodily functions, any observer would look away discreetly and turn their attention to another monitor.

  After drying myself and putting on clean clothes, I realized I was hungry and thirsty. My first impulse was to go to the restaurant and eat a meal that someone else had cooked, but halfway out the door I stopped myself.

  If I’ve managed to take a shower alone, I thought, I might as well try to eat on my own as well. So I closed the door, walked resolutely through the living room to the kitchenette, took a packet of crackers out of the cabinet and butter, cheese and orange juice out of the refrigerator. Poured myself a big glass. Drank it standing by the sink. Then I spread butter on a cracker, sliced some Port Salut and placed it on top. Ate-still standing, but leaning against the counter facing the room. Chewed. The hard cracker crunching between my teeth. When I’d finished I made another one the same. Then I remembered that I had some tomatoes, so I got one out, cut it into four thick slices, and placed two of them on top of the cheese. Ate. Poured another glass of juice. Just as I raised the glass to my lips, I happened to catch sight of one of the small camera lenses up in the corner of the ceiling. It was pointing straight at me.

  I took the glass away from my mouth, raised it in the air, said “Cheers!” and drank. Then I made another cracker sandwich with cheese and the remaining two slices of tomato, turned my back to the camera, and ate. I was full after that, and I didn’t know what to do next, so I put the butter, cheese and juice back in the refrigerator and went out anyway.

  I took the elevator up to the Atrium Walkway, went through one of the airlocks into the winter garden. Ambled-I made a real effort to walk slowly, strolling rather than behaving like someone consciously chasing the body’s endorphins-along the gravel paths through arbors and shrubbery and past little fountains and marble benches where people were sitting chatting or reading; they would look up and nod or say hi as I wandered past and on into other darker, bushy areas. I stopped by a hibiscus with enormous flowers, pointing their stamens at me in a challenging way. A bumblebee, buzzing heavily, found its way right inside one of the flowers, where it fell silent for a moment before tumbling out, buzzing once again, and flew away. I moved on, nodding, smiling or saying hi to the people I met. I knew some of them already. I recognized most of them. There were a few I hadn’t seen before. One or two I was seeing for the last time. I passed the olive grove, then spent a long time walking slowly among the extravagant flowerbeds. The whole time I was inhaling different scents: cypress, rose, jasmine, lavender, eucalyptus. I walked through the citrus grove and finally reached the big lawn.

  Beneath a cedar tree a small group of people were sitting on a blanket having a picnic. A little way off a man on his own was lying on his stomach, also on a blanket, reading a book. I lay down on my back on the slightly damp grass which smelled of earth. I lay there with one leg draped over the other, gazing up at the sky through the leaded glass dome. It was striped, the dome, with running water. It was raining up there, out there, raining on the glass. Through the stripes I could see gray, sodden banks of cloud scudding across the sky. It wasn’t only raining, it was blowing too. Hard. It looked as if it was almost storm force. I would have guessed it was blowing at maybe thirty-five miles per hour. But in here, down here where I was, everything was still. There was no wind to speak of here, and no rain of course, just a faintly humming air-conditioning system, but you could hardly hear it at this time of day when the air was filled with different sounds: people moving about, people chatting, bees, birds. Watering took place at night, automatically and in accordance with a carefully planned schedule.

  It was pleasantly warm, very easy to relax. I was lying there half asleep when I felt a movement in the grass just behind my head: light, running steps, and in some strange, dreamlike way I was in my garden back at home, while at the same time I was here in the unit’s winter garden; I was lying on the grass resting and it was summer, and the steps behind my head moved away, then came back, came closer, and closer still, and I heard the faint panting, felt the nose nudge my hair, the warm breath against my scalp, and I smiled and turned, but there was no one there. No dog. No person. No bird. Not even a mouse or a beetle. Nothing. I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my chest. But I steeled myself and managed to quell the impulse to sit up. I didn’t even press my hand against my chest, but forced myself to lie still and focus my attention on the weather and the wind up there on the other side.

  It was still raining. The racing clouds were darker now, shading from gray into blue-black. I realized it was twilight. The air quickly grew cooler and damper-an artificial dew came down-and when I eventually sat up it had grown dark around me. The picnic group was packing their things away. They were shadowy figures, silhouettes, until the lampposts around the lawn flickered into life and spread a yellowish muted glow over them. Then I saw that Alice was among the group. I hadn’t seen her since the party almost a week ago.

  Just as I got up and shouted to her and she turned and peered in my direction, I suddenly thought, “What if she doesn’t recognize me, what if she doesn’t remember me!”

  This had happened before, it had happened quite often, out in the community; I would say hi to people who didn’t recognize me, despite the fact that they’d been sitting opposite me at a party or some other event just a few days ago. But as soon as Alice caught sight of me her face brightened, and she waved and shouted “Hi Dorrit!” and came over.

  “If I’d known you were here earlier,” she said, “we could have invited you to share Ellen’s delicious raspberry pie. But it’s all gone, unfortunately.”

  “I’ve only just seen you,” I said. “Besides, I needed to be on my own for a while. It was that big health check today.”

  “Oh right, how did it go?” said Alice.

  I told her about the exercise experiment.

  “Wow! Congratulations!” Alice raised her hand and we gave each other a high five. “Does it feel good?”

  “It feels absolutely fine,” I replied.

  “ Alice!” shouted one of her companions, who had gathered up the blankets and baskets and was ready to leave. “You won’t forget your inj
ections?”

  “No, I’m coming now!” Alice called back, then she turned to me: “I’m involved in some test with male hormones. Don’t ask me what it’s all about, because it’s so complicated that I’ve forgotten, but I presume I’ll soon end up with a beard and a hairy chest.”

  Just as she said that I realized her voice was slightly deeper than it had been on Saturday at the party.

  “See you around!” she said, starting to move away, but then she stopped herself. “But I’ll see you at the opening of the exhibition the day after tomorrow, won’t I?” she said. “Majken’s exhibition. You are coming?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Good luck with the jabs.”

  She gave me the thumbs-up sign in reply, turned and walked away.

  I also set off across the lawn, but in the opposite direction. The man with the book had fallen asleep. He was still lying on his stomach. I stopped, hesitated. Should I wake him up, or leave him alone? He’d get cold, lying there. But maybe he wanted to be left in peace? I set off again. But he was lying so very still. What if he was ill? It was probably best to check after all.

  When I got right up to the man I could see it was Johannes. He was lying with his cheek resting on the right-hand page of the book. I knelt down beside him, and a glance at the left page told me it was a play he was reading; I caught sight of a line roughly halfway down the page: “People who stand at a stove all day get tired when night comes. And sleep is something to be respected…”

  I could have taken that as a message, an indication that I shouldn’t disturb him. But Johannes was lying so strangely still and-it seemed to me-not breathing, and for a moment I was afraid that… well, I feared the worst, as they say, and I spontaneously put my hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

  “Johannes?”

  “Mm… what is it, Wilma?” he mumbled from somewhere inside a dream.

  “It’s not Wilma,” I said. “It’s Dorrit. Are you okay?”

  “Dorrit…?” He stirred, raised his head, opened his eyes, first one, then the other. “Oh, Dorrit, my dancing queen. Hi there.”

  He winked with one eye, either flirting or still half asleep-I couldn’t decide which, but went for the latter. Then he rolled over onto his back and sat up. He was supple, I noticed: how supple his body was, not stiff at all after lying there sleeping on the damp grass. But his thin white hair was standing on end and his face looked worn-slightly more so than the previous evening, when Elsa and I had met him while we were having dinner in the restaurant.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m just really tired. Hey, it’s gotten dark. Time passes, Dorrit.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It does.”

  He got to his feet, closed his book, shook and folded his blanket, then we walked together through the garden toward one of the exits. He told me about the psychological experiment he was participating in.

  “It’s just a series of tiring exercises in cooperation, loyalty and trust. I don’t know what they think they’re going to get out of conducting this kind of experiment here. I mean, none of us here understand the business of trust. Do you?”

  I laughed. “No, to be honest I don’t suppose I do. I’ve never understood why it’s regarded as such a good thing, being able to rely on other people. To me it just sounds naive.”

  “Exactly,” said Johannes. “And loyalty? What do you think about that? Isn’t it just a kind of blindness, in actual fact?”

  “Or another name for dependence,” I said. “And being at a disadvantage. An expression for obsequious respect. Perhaps even fear.”

  Johannes sighed. “You should see us trying to solve a problem together. Or attempting to reach a common standpoint on some issue. You can’t imagine how much babbling it takes! It makes my ears hurt. That’s why I get so tired. Do you know what I mean?”

  I knew.

  “But I shouldn’t complain,” said Johannes. “At least there’s no physical danger, no chemicals and no scalpels involved. But how are things with you, Dorrit? What’s happening with you?”

  And as we left the Atrium Walkway via one of the warm air locks, I told him about the exercise experiment and was congratulated once again, only this time with a hug instead of a high five, a hard, warm hug that smelled of a man, and I became… what did I become? Not sexually aroused, but not far from it, something along those lines at any rate. My head was buzzing, it was like being dizzy, and a quiver ran through my body-a hormone specialist would presumably say I was reacting to Johannes’s pheromones-and I suddenly felt embarrassed. When he let go of me I didn’t quite know where to look.

  To cover my embarrassment I asked him if he was going to Majken’s exhibition on Saturday.

  “Are you going?” he asked me.

  I told him I was.

  “In that case I’ll come,” he replied, winking at me, and this time it couldn’t be because he was half asleep, so I said as firmly as I could:

  “Are you flirting with me, Johannes?”

  He smiled. Tilted his head to one side and said:

  “What do you think?”

  Out in the community I could have reported a man behaving like this for sexism or mild harassment-in fact I would virtually have been forced to do so. For the first time I was glad-yes, glad-that I wasn’t out in the community, because I have always felt secretly flattered when men flirt with me; it makes me feel happy and sort of soft all over my body-soft in the same way as when I put on my black dress, nylon stockings and high-heeled shoes.

  But despite my pleasure, despite the fact that I was flattered, I attempted to maintain an indignant facade, and looked sternly at Johannes.

  But he just laughed at me and I blushed and looked away and felt completely foolish. To my shame, however, I liked it-which made me feel even more foolish; I felt like one of those silly women in old films, capable of nothing but giggling and fainting and busying themselves in the house and being seduced. And suddenly I thought of the cameras and microphones which, even if no one happened to be watching us right now, registered everything. I was worried that my body language would have consequences for me.

  As if Johannes had read my mind, he said:

  “Nobody minds, Dorrit. Haven’t you realized that yet? Not here.” And in a teasing, almost mocking tone of voice he added:

  “You can be yourself here, totally yourself.”

  I considered whether to pretend that I didn’t understand what he meant, to say that he had misinterpreted me and was presuming things about me that were untrue. But instead I just mumbled: “Okay…”

  And so we separated. He went toward elevator F. I watched him go. He turned, winked. I couldn’t help smiling in response.

  I was just on my way to elevator H to head home when I remembered that I had no idea how Elsa’s conversation with the nurse had gone, so I went to look for her instead.

  She wasn’t in her room in section A1, so I knocked on other doors until I found someone who had seen her. She had gone off with a small bag in one hand and a bathing towel around her shoulders.

  I found her in the sauna by the swimming pool along with Lena, a cheerful woman with white, short, unruly hair and eyes as bright as a squirrel’s, and Vanja, whose appearance was the exact opposite of Lena ’s: a serious expression and iron gray hair caught up in a long braid.

  “Hi Dorrit!” said Elsa when she spotted me in the doorway. “Come on in and sit down!”

  I grabbed a towel, got undressed, took a shower, stepped into the dry heat and sat down on one of the top wooden benches.

  We chatted for a while about this and that. Eventually Vanja left, then Lena, and Elsa and I were left on our own. I was sweating like mad, and kept wiping my forehead so that the sweat wouldn’t run into my eyes; I enjoyed the feeling of little rivulets of sweat trickling down my spine and between my breasts.

  “How did things go for you today, Elsa?” I asked. “The chat with the nurse, I mean.”

  “Oh, I think I got lucky,” she
said. “I’m joining an experiment that’s already under way, where they want more so-called ordinary people, people who’ve been in employment and are used to colleagues and compromises and fixed working hours, that sort of thing. It’s to do with testing people’s ability to work together, and with mutual trust and loyalty. Working in a group to allocate and delegate tasks in order to solve a problem together. It sounds really interesting, actually.”

  “That must be the one Johannes is involved in,” I said.

  “Oh yes? How does he find it?”

  “Too much time spent talking rubbish, according to him. But completely safe, of course. It’s just that he gets very tired.”

  I told her about finding him lying on his stomach on the grass, fast asleep, and Elsa laughed.

  “I’ve got nothing against getting tired,” she said.

  “Me neither,” I said.

  4

  “Who’s Wilma?” I asked.

  Johannes turned quickly to face me; his expression was surprised, but there was something else, something strained, like anger or suspicion, and I immediately regretted asking.

  We were standing in front of one of Majken’s paintings, each of us with a sparkling fruit drink in our hand. The picture showed a skinny old woman in a hospital bed. She was lying on her side in the fetal position, her arms and legs locked in contractures-the picture was actually called Contractures. The woman was wearing green incontinence pants; apart from that she was naked. Above her, in the air, a shoal of white, long-tailed sperm was circulating.

  “What do you know about Wilma?” asked Johannes.

  “Nothing. When I woke you up on the lawn the other day, you said: ‘What is it, Wilma?’”

  “Oh!” His expression softened, his eyes became calm again, less watchful.

  “Wilma is my niece,” he said.

  “Right,” I said. I wanted to ask questions-How old is she? Did you see her often? Did you get on well? Did you look after her sometimes? The questions stuck in my throat. I wanted to know what it was like to be close to a child, to be part of its social network, to look after a little relative, to be woken up by a niece or nephew who wanted to play with you or wanted help with something.