When the Devil Holds the Candle Read Online Free PDF Page B

rarely visits me; usually I am the one to visit her, and that's what I prefer. A guest in my house makes me feel like a prisoner—I can't get up and leave when I want to. Runi talks a lot and has all sorts of worries, although no more than I do, but I'm not as eager to talk about them. Except for now, to you. Runi's a beautiful woman—in appearance, I mean. Modern without going over the top. She knows she's attractive and that's important to her. Most of the time she's gentle and talkative and lively, but she cackles wickedly about everything that's troublesome, and sometimes she's a downright nuisance. It wears me out. Occasionally there are things that I'd like to tell Runi, but I don't. Like when I use her toilet. I go into the tiny room, lift up my skirt and pee. Wipe myself thoroughly. Wash my hands. It costs me nothing. I can't tell this to Runi, because she wouldn't understand. You wouldn't, either. Of course she's charming, but she lacks any connection with herself and with the ground she walks on. She never thinks things through. When something happens, she's never prepared. That childish attitude, thinking that nothing will ever harm her, where does she get that from? She's an adult now. And she is a terrible liar.
    One time—well, I have to confess what I did was done in a fit of drunkenness—I was sitting in her living room, eating cake with icing and green gumdrops on top. She started talking about how vigorously she always did the Friday cleaning, and how much her back hurt afterward. I had my own thoughts on the subject. I could smell the dust in the room—I have a very keen sense of smell. When she went out to the kitchen to get something, I grabbed a gumdrop from the cake and tossed it under the sofa. And I waited. At first for a week, but I put my heart and soul into it and waited another week. And then, to make it a real test, I waited one week more. Finally, I paid her a visit. When she went to the bathroom, I bent down and found the gumdrop. It wasn't green anymore, and it was furry. I never confronted her with the furry gumdrop; I'm not a mean sort of person. I try to offer her something, since we're friends, for God's sake. And what is a friend? Someone to spend time with, without too much discomfort? Because I don't really care for her that much. If she died I'd be extremely upset, but at the same time a lot would be over and done with. Grief for her? That's not what I'd feel. It's good to be done with things.
    She encourages me to go out, sometimes to a restaurant, sometimes to the theater. It takes an effort for me to do that. To sit there in a crowd of people, so close that you can hear what they're saying, is very stressful. Once, because it was Runi's birthday, we went to Hanna's Kitchen. That was a long time ago. We were sitting at a table right next to two young women, well, young compared to us, but definitely adults. They were howling and carrying on, giggling like a couple of teenagers. And they drank too much and got very drunk. I realized after a while that they were actually two streetwalkers. I'm no fool. Some of their conversation can't be repeated, it was so vile. And having them so close like that—to be unable to get away from them! Runi makes all the arrangements if we're going to do something together. Sometimes I feel quite moved, when I hear her voice on the phone, asking me if I'd like to come along—her anxiety that I might say no. She doesn't have anyone else. Life isn't easy for anybody.
    If I'm ever brought before a court, they'll probably declare me guilty by reason of insanity. But I'm of sound mind. I remember everything, so I should be held accountable, shouldn't I? And you can see that my thoughts are coherent and orderly, can't you? That I'm a normal human being and not mentally deficient? I'm sure of that.
    I've pulled a plastic tarpaulin over the body. I don't plan on moving him—how could I manage that? He weighs a ton, so the most I could do would be to lug