And Jacob gives in and slaps him across the face, which makes him look up with an almost contemptuous expression.

‘That was nothing,’ he says. ‘You should be embarrassed. Hit me for real.’

Jacob looks at him and hesitates again. But then he raises his hand and strikes him with full force across the cheek.

The young man turns his head up again and smiles weakly. Redness spreads across his cheek. ‘There we go,’ he says. ‘Pull my hair now. Force me.’

*

Afterwards, he sits in the back of the Volvo, unable to speak to the driver beyond monosyllables, completely unable to think. The lights and traffic, the people outside the windows of the car seem blurred.

‘Just drive me home,’ he says, opening the fridge, pouring himself a glass of wine, bringing it to his lips.

What exactly happened at the bathhouse? Who did he become in there?

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. Everything he did, everything the man wanted him to do. It was exciting, but now he feels only anxiety. Not about the young man; he wanted what happened, and they had a brief, almost friendly talk afterwards. But he feels uneasy about the role he played. Dominant, brutal. Would he rather have had the other role? He knows that’s true. He would rather be on his knees in front of Yassim.

For a short while in the massage room he thought that might be enough, enough to let go of that night in the garden and move on. But sitting in the back seat of the embassy car on his way home through eastern Beirut, he realizes Yassim planted something inside of him that Jacob can’t let go of.

He takes another gulp of the wine, and his phone vibrates in his bag. He almost spills his wine in his eagerness to read the message. Four words from a blocked number, no sender, as if it dropped straight into his phone from space. Still it’s enough for the world to regain its sharpness, enough for his brain to come back to life:

Next Saturday. I’ll call.

Yassim.

21 November

Sankt Anna

She holds her breath to listen again. The sound of a car’s motor is getting louder. Is Gertrud on her way back? Did she forget something?

Klara looks up along the road. A pair of headlights bounces over gravel on their way to the hostel. Suddenly the lights disappear, but the sound of the engine is still there – as if the headlights were turned off in order not to be seen.

What the hell is going on? she manages to think just before the sound stops completely.

She stands at the window, her senses fully alert, staring into the darkness and the melting snow on the window. All she hears is wind.