Our everyday life in the reserve bank unit really revolved around scientific humane experiments. That was what we were mainly used for, in reality. They tried to keep us alive as long as possible, in fact, and some individuals who were very fit had lived in the unit for six or seven years before they were taken in for their final donation. Those who are dispensable constitute a reserve, and those who are needed and are seriously ill are first of all given organs produced from their own stem cells, and if that doesn’t work, they go on a waiting list for organs from younger people who are pronounced brain-dead after an accident. They don’t use the dispensable until it is obvious that no other method and no other material is available for a particular patient with a serious illness, or in those cases where it is extremely urgent. This whole thing-“this whole free-range pig farm” as Elsa angrily called it-is in other words significantly more humane than I could have imagined at first.

9

It was another new month, April this time. It was Saturday morning, and nine new dispensable individuals were expected. One of them was to have Majken’s room, I had heard. I was sitting in my pajamas and robe on the sofa in the lounge, drinking my morning coffee and reading a book when she arrived, accompanied by Dick and Henrietta.

She was very tall and fine-limbed, strikingly feminine in her stance and her movements; she had the palest skin, black, shiny, shoulder-length hair, almost unbelievably red lips and big, watchful eyes. Henrietta was carrying her two suitcases, Dick her thick, bulky winter coat. I thought it must either be unusually cold for April out there, or she felt the cold a great deal. Or perhaps the coat meant something special to her. Because here in the unit there is no need for winter clothes, and she must have known that; it’s one of the positive things they highlight in the information packet. My own peacoat and the heavy winter boots I had been wearing when I arrived two months ago were still in the top part of my closet, and I hadn’t given them a thought until now.

When Dick caught sight of me he introduced us. Her name was Vivi. I got up, tightened the belt of my robe and went over to shake hands. Her hand felt cold and slightly clammy. I looked up at her face and saw her terrified expression. I said:

“If there’s anything you’re not sure about, or if you just need to talk to someone, or if you simply don’t want to be alone, then I’m here on the sofa or in my apartment for the next few hours. It says Dorrit Weger on the door. Don’t hesitate, you mustn’t think you’ll be disturbing me, because you won’t.”

“Okay,” she muttered, then she and Dick and Henrietta carried on through the lounge, past the laundry and the kitchen, and disappeared out of sight into the hallway.

The same evening, during dinner at the welcome party, I sat with Vivi, Erik, and Alice, which wasn’t exactly the best combination in the world: Vivi, tense, introverted and terrified, Alice with one cloudy unseeing eye, stubble, a deep voice and her Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when she came out with her loud laugh, and as if that weren’t enough: Erik, who was so deeply depressed after the loss of Vanja that he could barely speak or eat. He sat there, alternately stammering or completely silent, poking at the food on his plate. Fortunately Alice was in a good mood as usual, exuding warmth and confidence, and gradually Vivi seemed to relax a little.

When dinner and the entertainment were over I took her to the bar, where we tried out different colorful drinks with umbrellas in them, tasting of fruit and sweets. The bartender was new; he had arrived the previous month, and he was now showing what he could do. I ordered a banana and lime drink that was served in a cocktail glass. It was called a Green Banana and was a cold, yellowish green in color; the umbrella had green and yellow stripes and there was a slice of lime perched on the side of the glass. The drink was cloyingly sweet and sharply fresh at the same time; the sharpness balanced the sweetness and vice versa. It was delicious. Vivi chose Raspberry Rock, which consisted of freshly squeezed orange juice mixed with raspberry juice, with frozen raspberries in it. The umbrella was red, blue and orange, and there was a frosting of blue sugar around the rim of the glass.

“Food coloring?” I guessed, but Vivi tasted the frosting with the tip of her tongue and shook her head.

“Blueberries,” she said.

She didn’t say any more after that, she just sipped slowly, in silence. A raspberry kept bumping against her top lip. I didn’t know what to say, so I just gave her a little smile and smoothed down an invisible crease in my dress, which I had put on for the first time since arriving at the unit. It made me feel elegant and sexy, but a bit unsure of myself at the same time. So we were standing there, Vivi shy or scared or both, me unsure about my outfit and about my self-appointed role as supporter, when Elsa turned up, cheerful and sweaty from dancing, and exclaimed:

“Oh, what fantastic drinks! If there’s alcohol in them the evening will be perfect!”

“Unfortunately not,” replied Vivi, looking amused-for the first time I saw her smile.

I introduced her to Elsa, they shook hands and immediately started chatting. They seemed to like each other straightaway. I felt relieved. Elsa ordered a Black Night, and it really was black. It was served in a tall, narrow glass with a black-and-red-striped straw, and something red, perhaps a candy, at the bottom. She bent over the glass, and as she placed the straw between her lips and took the first careful little drink, Vivi and I stood on either side watching her reaction. She let go of the straw, swallowed, looked thoughtful.

“Not bad,” she said. “Strange, but delicious. Recommended.”

Vivi put her half-finished orange and raspberry drink to one side and ordered a Black Night. And I probably would have done the same if Johannes hadn’t just elbowed his way through the crowd to us. After a friendly but brief nod to Elsa and Vivi, he turned to me, took my hand, and said:

“Dorrit, you look lovely tonight,” at which point he bent forward and kissed my hand.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked.

I accepted, and without a word we sailed out onto the dance floor.

It was a rock ballad. The singer in the band had a hoarse voice. Johannes led; I followed, the hem of my dress brushing my calves. He was holding me around the waist, I had one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand. Our joined hands formed a point, the prow of a ship; he was port, I was starboard. When I closed my eyes he was Nils.

10

We left the party together and walked slowly through the winter garden. I liked to take this diversion late in the evening or at night, when everything was still and quiet, the artificial dew glistening on the greenery, the air full of different fragrances. I liked to remember Majken here in this stillness and among these scents.

Johannes had his arm around my shoulders, and when we reached the patio with the fountain and the marble benches, he said:

“Shall we sit for a little while?”

We sat down on the cool, slightly damp marble and peered up past the branches of the palms and through the glass dome to the night sky. It was full of stars.

“There’s Ursa Minor and the North Star,” said Johannes.

“Where?” I had never been particularly good at constellations. I could just about make out the Dipper.

Johannes pointed, describing Ursa Minor as a smaller version of the Dipper, and then I saw it in the angle between two palm leaves.

“And the North Star is the big one there right at the front, the one that’s shining so brightly. It’s always in the north,” he went on, and showed me the easiest way to find it: it’s along the line between the two stars right at the back of the Dipper.