Amatka Read online

  KARIN TIDBECK

  AMATKA

  Karin Tidbeck is originally from Stockholm, Sweden. She lives and works in Malmö as a freelance writer, translator, and creative-writing teacher and writes fiction in Swedish and English. She debuted in 2010 with the Swedish short story collection Vem är Arvid Pekon? Her English debut, the 2012 collection Jagannath, was awarded the Crawford Award in 2013 and shortlisted for the World Fantasy Award. Amatka is her first novel.

  ALSO BY KARIN TIDBECK

  Jagannath

  A VINTAGE BOOKS ORIGINAL, JUNE 2017

  English translation copyright © 2017 by Karin Tidbeck

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in Sweden by Mix Förlag, Stockholm, in 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Karin Tidbeck.

  Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Tidbeck, Karin, 1977– author.

  Title: Amatka / Karin Tidbeck.

  Other titles: Amatka. English

  Description: New York : Vintage, 2017.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016043285 (print) | LCCN 2017002988 (ebook) | ISBN 9781101973950 (paperback) | ISBN 9781101973967 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Language and languages—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Literary. | FICTION / Science Fiction / General. | FICTION / Visionary & Metaphysical. | GSAFD: Dystopian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PT9877.3.I45 A6313 2017 (print) | LCC PT9877.3.I45 (ebook) | DDC 839.73/8—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2016043285

  Vintage Books Trade Paperback ISBN 9781101973950

  Ebook ISBN 9781101973967

  Cover design by Joan Wong

  Cover images: city © Algol/Shutterstock and smokestacks © rsooll/Shutterstock

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Also by Karin Tidbeck

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Train

  The First Week

  Firstday

  Seconday

  Thirday

  Fourday

  Fifday

  Sixday

  Sevenday

  The Second Week

  Firstday

  Seconday

  Thirday

  Fourday

  Fifday

  Sixday

  Sevenday

  The Third Week

  Firstday

  Seconday

  Thirday

  Fourday

  Fifday

  Sixday

  Sevenday

  The Fourth Week

  Firstday

  Seconday

  Thirday

  Fourday

  Fifday

  Later

  Acknowledgments

  THE TRAIN

  Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two, information assistant with the Essre Hygiene Specialists, was the only passenger on the auto train bound for Amatka. As soon as she had climbed the steps, the door shut behind her and the train jerked into motion. Vanja took a new grip on her satchel and typewriter case and pushed the suitcase through the sliding door with her feet. On the other side, the darkness was complete. She fumbled along the wall and found a circuit breaker next to the door. The light that flickered on was weak and yellow.

  The narrow space of the passenger car was bare except for the brown vinyl bunk couches that lined the walls and the luggage racks, stacked with blankets and thin pillows, which were wide enough to sleep on, too. It was built for migration, for transporting pioneers to new frontiers, and its capacity was pointless here.

  Vanja left her bags by the door and sat on each of the couches. They were all equally rigid and uncomfortable. The upholstery looked slippery but felt unpleasantly rough to the touch. She chose the couch at the far right-hand corner, where she’d be close to the common room and have a good view of the rest of the car. It was all vaguely reminiscent of the dormitory in Children’s House Two so long ago: the same vinyl mattresses under the sheets, the same lingering scent of bodies. But back then the room had been full of children and the sound of their voices.

  She took a look at the tiny common room. The only window in the car was on the right wall, low and wide with rounded edges and a roll-down curtain. On closer inspection, the window turned out not to be an ordinary window, but a white screen that lit up at the press of a button. It was probably meant as a substitute for daylight. Under the screen, a table was bolted to the floor along with four chairs. One of the two high cabinets on the other side of the room held a tiny lavatory with a washbasin, the other a small pantry with preserves and fresh root vegetables. Everything was marked in large and comforting letters: WASHBASIN, PANTRY, TABLE. This area smelled vaguely of manure, either from the lavatory or from the containers that rode at the front of the train.

  Vanja fetched her suitcase and undid the buckles. One of them looked like it was about to come loose. It had been a gift from someone, who had inherited it from someone else, and so on. In any case, it wasn’t going to last long: the word SUITCASE was almost illegible. She could fill in the letters, of course, but the question was what would happen first—that the bag simply fell apart from wear or that it dissolved when she put it away. She really ought to scrap it.

  “Suitcase,” Vanja whispered, to keep it its shape just a little longer. “Suitcase, suitcase.”

  She flipped the backrest to free up the lower bunk and made the bed with the set of sheets she’d brought. They too would soon need new marking.

  The preserves in the pantry were apparently meant to be eaten cold. Vanja found a spoon and pulled the lid off one of the cans. According to the ingredient list, it contained “stew with a base of mycoprotein,” which meant a smooth, bland paste that stuck to the roof of her mouth. Vanja forced down half of the can’s contents and put it back in the pantry. The vegetables were fresh and tasted better. She cut a chunk of rutabaga into smaller pieces and slowly ate them one by one.

  The train car swayed gently back and forth; a rhythmic pounding noise emerged through the floor, and though this must mean that the train was moving forward, it was impossible to tell at what speed. The window screen grew dim. Vanja looked at the clock on her wrist. The second indicator was stuck at one o’clock, twitching. She had forgotten to follow instructions; she should have left it at home or handed it in at the station. Looking at it while on the train was a bad idea. Unless they were made from fine matter, mechanical things sometimes didn’t behave like they should between the colonies. The train was safe, of course, but the little clock might not be. Vanja took it off and put it in her pocket.

  She went back into the main car and changed into sleep clothes. They were getting too big for her, again. Her breasts dangled half-empty on her ribs; her belly no longer sagged from fat but from loose skin and flaccid musculature; her legs were no longer firm. She knew her face had thinned down in the same doughy manner, its warm bronze yellowed and fading into the shade of her dull eyes and hair in a nondescript spectrum of brown. She looked older than she was. Her supervisor, Illas’ Öydis, had treated her with exaggerated care. This is an important mission, she had said, so take all the time you need. No need to hurry. It was an important mission, carried out with the committee’s blessing. She was, after all, the first of her kind.
/>   Vanja left the ceiling light on and huddled under the blanket. Everyone knew that there was nothing out there except the empty steppe: billowing grass, some hillocks, and combes. The lack of windows was just a security measure. She tried to give in to the rocking of the train. The corner should have felt safe, but it didn’t. The walls were too thin, a frail shell between her and the unseen landscape through which she was traveling.

  THE FIRST WEEK

  * * *

  FIRSTDAY

  Vanja watched from the doorway as the train pulled in to Amatka’s station, a simple block of concrete in the colony’s outer ring. The colony looked small compared to Essre, but its shape was familiar: the low gray cubes and rectangles of houses placed in concentric rings around the central building, the eight streets radiating from its center to the outer ring of domed plant houses. Beyond them, the yellowy gray of the endless tundra.

  She heaved her suitcase down onto the platform, where it landed with a thud. She stepped off the train and shuddered. The air was raw, noticeably colder than in Essre. A group of workers waited on the platform to unload the two freight cars attached to the end of the train and load the pallets and sacks that stood in neat rows on the concrete.

  —

  A woman in blue overalls and jacket approached along the platform. Wisps of auburn hair curled out from under her black hat. She was maybe half a head taller than Vanja, possibly the same age as her, green-eyed.

  “Welcome to Amatka. Ulltors’ Nina Four.” Her smile revealed a small gap between her front teeth.

  Vanja took her outstretched hand. “Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.”

  A nauseating stink was spreading across the platform. The workers had begun to unload the large manure barrels from one of the freight cars.

  Nina followed Vanja’s gaze. “It’s for the mushroom farms. You send us shit and get mushrooms back. Practical, isn’t it?” She chuckled.

  “Oh. Yes.” Vanja cleared her throat.

  Nina smiled. “Come on, let’s go. It’s not far.” She picked the suitcase up one-handed. “You’ll meet the others at home.”

  Nina kept talking as they left the platform and walked toward the center of the colony. She was excited to have a lodger, she said; it was the first time her household had been drawn in the solidarity lottery. And since Amatka got so few visitors, it was a special occasion. Vanja refrained from impolitely asking how the household members would be compensated, but Nina told her anyway: they would be allowed time off.

  “And it’s great that you gave such early notice,” she added. “This way we had time to get your room ready.”

  Vanja blinked. “A whole room? Why?”

  Nina shrugged. “It’s been empty for a while. Olof, the guy who lived there before, moved out last year.”

  “In Essre, we’re two to a room. Even three, sometimes.”

  “We’ve been short on people for a while.”

  “Short? I’ve never heard of a shortage before. Why is that?”

  Nina briefly clenched her jaw before giving what sounded like a rehearsed reply. “There was an accident. We lost a hundred comrades. It’s been a while, we’re recovering, and the committee has decided that we don’t talk about it. I’m only telling you this so you’ll know. And that’s all there is to say about it.”

  Nina paused. “Textile workshop,” she said, and pointed at the building nearest to them.

  “Textile workshop,” Vanja repeated automatically.

  They’d already passed the plant houses and entered the factory ring, which consisted of gently curved one-floor buildings with small windows and wide doors. Their facades were all marked with name and function in black, square letters. “Vegetable refinery,” Nina continued, pointing at the next building.

  “Vegetable refinery.”

  “Medical supplies factory.” It was slightly smaller than the others.

  “Medical supplies factory.”

  Repair workshop, printing workshop, paper factory. Nina pointed out each one, naming them in turn, and Vanja repeated her words. The factories were smaller than in Essre but seemed to be better maintained. The words painted on them looked wet and fresh.

  The streets were all but empty. The few people who passed by walked with hurried steps, and Nina’s voice echoed alone. Vanja stopped and dug her wrist clock out of her pocket.

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten thirty.”

  The clock still worked. It was, however, running either six hours slow or fast. Vanja set it and struggled to put it on, her fingers cold and clumsy. She pulled her sleeves down over her hands and picked the typewriter case up.

  They left the factories and entered the residential ring, where narrow alleys separated three-story houses. Through a window in the nearest building, Vanja glimpsed two men by the kitchen sink, one washing dishes and the other drying them.

  Nina pointed. “Kitchens are on the ground floor, as you can see, and bathrooms, too. The two upper floors have three rooms each.”

  Vanja nodded. “Kitchen and bathroom on the ground floor, three rooms each on the upper floors.”

  “On the two upper floors,” Nina corrected.

  “Sorry. On the two upper floors. I didn’t sleep very well on the train.”

  Nina gave her a pat on the shoulder and pointed to the long children’s house that could be glimpsed farther down the curve of the residential ring. They continued inward to the first ring. A full quarter of its circumference was taken up by the clinic that dwarfed the other facilities. And in the very center, a towering pillar that Nina didn’t need to mention. Vanja knew exactly what it was: the commune office.

  Nina pointed out the stores—pharmacy, groceries, clothing, tools, household items, sundries.

  “You did bring your credit book, didn’t you?”

  Vanja pulled out the little green booklet from the breast pocket of her anorak. It was made of good paper, recycled cellulose from the old world. Personal documents were too valuable to use mere mycopaper. “I got an advance on next month’s credit. And a special one for requisitions.”

  “For what?”

  “I mean the company’s requisitions. So I can collect things for the study. For my assignment.”

  Nina scratched her chin. “You know, we weren’t actually told what it is you’ll be doing here.”

  “I’m an information assistant.” Vanja tucked the booklet away. “I’m supposed to find out what kind of hygiene products people use here. Soap and such. So the company knows what products they should try to launch here.”

  Nina hummed. “I suppose it’s mostly the commune’s own products. I don’t know what it’s like in Essre, but nothing much changed here after they allowed free production. People around here, they like familiar things. But why did you have to come all the way out here to find that out? Don’t you know all about these things in Essre already?”

  Vanja shook her head. “The administration does, I guess. But it takes so long to get the facts; it’s forms here and forms there. There are so many new companies now. And my supervisor wanted more than just figures. She wants to know what people want. So here I am.”

  “How many of you are there in this…”

  “The Essre Hygiene Specialists,” Vanja said.

  “You can just call it E.H.S.”

  “How many employees are you at E.H.S.?”

  “Twenty, but I am the first to venture out of Essre as part of this new program.”

  “Wow,” said Nina. “And you’re going to make us use our credit to buy your soap.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I mean, what difference does it make?”

  “I don’t know,” Vanja replied. “Because it’s new.”

  “I don’t know if I think that’s a good thing,” Nina said. “We’re here.”

  They’d made their way through the center and arrived at the residential houses on the other side. Nina turned down the row and opened the third door on the right, marked HOUSEHOLD NUMBER 24. She set the su
itcase down in the little hallway and opened the door to the kitchen.

  The ground-floor kitchen and common room was sparsely furnished and had only two small windows. Under the one facing the street was a stove and a kitchen counter with shelves and an inlaid sink. A small refrigerator rattled in the corner. Cans and carefully sealed bags were lined up in neat rows on the shelves of the doorless pantry next to the fridge. Everything looked old and worn but carefully marked. Vanja thought of her own kitchen, where the labels were scratched and worn: not so here. The long dining table against the far wall was covered by a bright yellow cloth that was almost luminous in the drabness.

  A slender man with his plaid shirt stuffed into a pair of green dungarees stood by the sink with a steaming cup in his hand. He put it down and came to greet Vanja.

  “This is Jonids’ Ivar,” said Nina. “Ivar, Brilars’ Vanja.”

  “Welcome.” Ivar’s handshake was dry and light. He briefly met Vanja’s eyes before looking away. His dark eyes were bloodshot. “Hello. And good-bye. I’m off to my shift.”

  He stepped past Nina, who stroked his back, and into the hallway.

  “So that was Ivar,” Nina said when he’d closed the door behind him. “He works at the mushroom farms. He’s really very sweet. He’s just a little terse.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “I’ve got the day off. So if you want me to take you anywhere or something, just ask. Otherwise I’ll probably be reading in my room.”

  Nina gave her a tour of the kitchen, which looked just like the one at home. Everyone took turns buying food according to a shopping list displayed on the fridge door. Behind the kitchen there was a bathroom. Then Nina guided Vanja back into the hallway and up the narrow stairs to the apartments. The door on the first landing had only one name on it: DOOR. HERE LIVES SAROLS’ ULLA THREE.