They had thought about recovering from the grief. None of them was sure it was a good plan, but they had no other. The other option was to lie down and slowly fade away. Emba dragged the scraper along the wall. The paint came off easily. It had already started to peel off well, and all she had to do was to give it a little help. It was July and the sun was burning, and a tuft of hair had stuck to her sweaty forehead. Her hand hurt, as for the third day in a row she made the same monotonous movements, up and down. But she liked this physical pain. And when it became more intense, it softened for a while the other pain, the pain of her heart. She turned and saw Morten standing over on the lawn, in front of the house, sawing boards. He seemed to feel her gaze, as he looked up and raised his hand to greet her, as if she were an acquaintance passing by on the street. Emba felt her own hand make the same awkward movement.
Although more than a year had passed since their lives had become ruins, they still did not know how to behave toward each other. Every night they lay back to back in the double bed because they were afraid that the slightest touch would cause something they could not handle. It was as if grief had overwhelmed them to such an extent that there was no room for other feelings. Neither love nor warmth nor compassion. Guilt hung heavy and unspoken between them. Things would be easier if they could define it, decide where it belonged. But guilt moved back and forth, changing intensity and form, making constant raids from new strongholds.
Emba turned again toward the house and continued scraping. Under her hands, the white paint fell off in large flakes, leaving the wood exposed. She caressed the boards with her free hand. The house had a soul in a way she had never experienced before. The small detached house in Gothenburg, one among many similar ones in a row, which she and Morten had bought then, was almost new. How much she had adored it then, when everything was shining, when everything was untouched. Now this new was simply a reminder of the old, and this old house with its flaws suited her mental state better.
