Hell Fire

by Karin Fossum

  Britt was also delighted by what had happened. Bonnie’s life was back on track and she hadn’t seen her so happy since she had been with Olav. She could never have dealt with all those difficult old people. She liked the drama of her work with the air ambulance; the first decisive minutes in which she could save a life made her feel important. But what Bonnie did was important too, only in another way. They saw each other more often now than before. Bonnie had more energy, so she got her mother to babysit and they went out on the town.

  Bonnie didn’t mind staying out late. When the alarm clock rang in the morning, she jumped out of bed right away to wake Simon, often with a song. He was also quick out of bed. They were both looking forward to the summer that would soon arrive.

  38

  THE CANCER HAD really started to ravage her body. The pain increased, especially in her bones, and she continued to lose weight. She still hadn’t said anything to Eddie. There was fear in his eyes as he watched his mother getting thinner and thinner, but Mass reassured him that it was just age.

  “You know,” she said, “old people are never fat.”

  “But you’re not old.”

  “Yes, I am. I will be soon enough anyway.”

  One day, when Eddie was sitting at the computer, Mass came into the living room with two plastic bags of food and drinks, newspapers, and fruit. And chocolate for Eddie, even though it wasn’t good for him. She had been out for some time because she’d had a few errands to run. She was suddenly reminded of the winter she turned thirteen. She had nagged and nagged her parents until they let her get a perm, because other girls in the class had curly hair. She had straight hair. It was long and thick, to be fair, but not even a wave in a single hair. So after going on and on about it, she was eventually allowed to do it—only to come back from the hairdresser with what could only be compared with black sheep’s wool. When she went to school the next day, the boys in her class flopped over their desks, howling with laughter. They shouted and yelled and pointed, baaing like sheep. They punched her and threw erasers at her. After the last class, she slunk home, burning with embarrassment. She sat down at the fireplace in despair and cut off all the curls as close to her head as she could. She threw them into the fire and could still recall the smell of burnt hair. When she looked in the mirror afterward, she looked like a plucked chicken. And as if that wasn’t enough, she then tore off her clothes and threw them on the fire too. She remembered the episode now, standing in the middle of the room with a green scarf around her head. Eddie looked at her in astonishment because she had never used a scarf before.

  “Is that in fashion now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Mass said. “Let’s hope so.”

  “But you’ve got such lovely hair, you shouldn’t hide it.” He turned back to the screen, his fingers racing over the keyboard.

  Mass collapsed into her chair; she looked at her son’s broad shoulders and his brown hair that curled so beautifully at the neck.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, turning around again. “You were gone for ages. If you’re going to be that long, you have to say. Otherwise I just sit here waiting and not knowing.”

  “I went to the hairdresser,” Mass said in a feeble voice.

  “What?” Eddie couldn’t believe it. “But you’ve got a scarf on. Did she make a mess of it?”

  “No.” She turned away. She knew that she couldn’t avoid it any longer. It was as if there was a wolf between them, snarling. Get to the point. Coward.

  “I don’t have hair anymore,” she said and looked straight at him.

  “What do you mean, you don’t have hair?”

  “I’ve shaved it off,” she explained, “because it was starting to fall out.”

  “But why?” he asked, horrified. “Are you ill? Will you get a wig?”

  “I’m not going to get a wig, Eddie. It’s the medicine I’m taking that makes my hair fall out.”

  Finally Eddie understood. He gasped once, took a deep breath, then two, three more. His voice, which was usually so loud, was thin and reedy.

  “Right, but it will grow back, won’t it?” he asked nervously. “I’ve heard that it does.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not going to happen.”

  “But why not? You’ll get better again.” He tried to stay the panic that was rising.

  “Cancer?” he said slowly.

  “Yes,” she said, “cancer. It started in the pancreas and has now spread everywhere.”

  “Seventy percent of people who get cancer survive,” he said doggedly. “That’s what I read on the Internet.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know. But I don’t belong to that seventy percent. I’m going to die, Eddie, and quite soon.”

  “No,” he said feebly.

  “Yes.”

  “The doctors often make mistakes,” Eddie suggested. “And you’re strong. I know you’re strong. You’re like an ox.” He punched the table.

  “But the cancer is stronger. You’re going to have to live on your own, Eddie, and you’ll need help. You will have to accept all the help that’s offered. People will come to the door, and you must cooperate. You know, home health aides and people like that. People from the council.”

  He got up without turning off the computer and just stood there in the middle of the room.

  “I’ve got some savings,” Mass continued. “But from now on, you’re going to have to get by on your disability. And that means you can’t live on Coke and cinnamon rolls. You’re going to have to make yourself proper food or you’ll get ill. Are you listening to me?”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, desperate. “People get it wrong all the time.”

  Mass struggled to get up. The pain in her bones was intense, and she knew it would only get worse. That it would spread to every single cell. She couldn’t bear to look her son in the eye. Everything felt so heavy, her heart, her head.

  She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge; she had thought of frying some eggs and bacon for them both. Eddie followed her in his tartan slippers. He sat down and put his hands on the kitchen table. He swallowed hard. Every time a thought started to form in his head, it was interrupted by another—just like when a bonfire burns at night and the sparks fly up into the sky, a shower that will only last as long as there are flames. His mother dead and buried. Strangers coming to the door, people demanding impossible things of him: that he should get out and meet people, that he should try to find a supported workplace. He thought about all the things his mother had done for him over the years, all the things that he had taken utterly for granted. She had cleaned and tidied and made food. She had done the shopping and kept things in order and changed the beds. She had made sure there was toilet paper and had taken the car in to be serviced. She had paid the bills and done the tax returns, about which he knew zero. She had kept a check on his spending.

  “Do you have to go to the hospital?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes, soon. I’ve thought about it long and hard, because at first I wanted to stay in my own bed. But you can’t look after me here; it would be too much for you.”

  “But I can do the shopping and things like that,” he said, “and I can go to the pharmacy for you. And you can tell me how to do things from the bed, and I’m sure I’d manage.”

  She went over and stroked his cheek. “I would do anything in the world if it meant you didn’t have to go through this,” she told him. “You are my greatest joy and have been my greatest comfort, especially after Anders left. But now you have to be stronger than ever before. You simply have to manage. You just have to take one thing at a time, and you will have to get people to help you. You’ll have to arrange the funeral and all that. Don’t use Jølstad, they’re too expensive.”

  Eddie couldn’t speak anymore. His father had left him and now his mother was about to do the same. “To be honest, Mom,” he whispered, “I don’t think it’s going to work.”

  “Don’t say that,” she said in anguish. “That�
��s not what I need to hear when I’m dying. You went to Copenhagen on your own. Just remember that.”

  “Maybe there’s something after,” he said, trying to be hopeful. “We don’t know for certain.”

  “That’s one thing I know for sure,” she said firmly. “I will not live on, neither here nor there. Only in your thoughts,” she added, to soften it. “You will have to manage alone.”

  They ate their eggs and bacon in silence. Eddie dipped his bread into the egg yolk, his feet fidgeting under the table. After they’d eaten, he went back to the computer and started to search. He got lots of hits. He sat for a long time reading about pancreatic cancer and how it spread to the bones and marrow. The symptoms were described in detail, and he recognized them. Some people could be operated on but not everyone. And often it went unnoticed until it was too late. The last thing he read terrified him. Among doctors, this form of cancer was known as “The Silent Killer.”

  39

  June 2005

  HE GOT UP, put on some clothes, and then opened the door to his mother’s room. He asked if she wanted a yogurt for breakfast. She could have strawberry or melon and he could take the top off and find a spoon. She said no. She managed to get herself out of bed and tottered across the floor. He could see her sick body through the fabric of her nightie. The evening before, they had packed some things into a bag that was now standing ready by the door. While his mother was in the bathroom getting dressed, he sat in a chair and waited. He thought about trying to find a doctor other than Bromann—someone who was better. They could go to China, for example, because he’d heard that the Chinese knew everything about medicine. Then he pulled himself together. Don’t be a fool, Eddie. China’s too far away and too expensive. She wouldn’t be able to cope with it because she’s too weak.

  Eventually she emerged from the bathroom and they went out to the car. She didn’t even look back at the house; her eyes were trained on the road ahead.

  An hour later, Eddie said goodbye. He found the car in the parking lot and drove carefully out of the gates. He stopped by the mailbox when he got home to pick up the papers. Ansgar appeared with Kennedy at his heels.

  “Been out driving, Eddie?” he asked, bursting with curiosity.

  “Yes,” was Eddie’s curt reply.

  “Yes,” Ansgar continued. “A lot to be getting on with now that summer’s around the corner.”

  He already had his mail, but he stood studying Eddie.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your mother,” he said. “Is everything all right? She’s not ill, is she?”

  Eddie glared at Ansgar—he had always hated him. His dark, nearly black eyes and that loathsome grin. His skin had a yellow tinge. Eddie knew that he’d done service in Afghanistan and was ridiculously proud of it.

  “Yes,” he said. “Mom is ill.”

  “Oh dear,” Ansgar stammered. “Is she in the hospital?”

  “Yes, I took her there this morning.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” he responded, looking somber.

  Eddie clutched the newspaper in his hand. “It’s very serious. She’s dying.”

  For once, Ansgar said nothing. He picked Kennedy up and looked at Eddie, dumbfounded. Then he turned and hurried back to the house to tell his wife the shocking news.

  Eddie let himself in. He put the mail down on the kitchen table and walked into the living room. The house was horribly silent. He thought he could hear a low ominous humming, as if some great machine had started up. There was gurgling in the pipes, banging at the windows, and heavy doors slammed shut, never to be opened again.

  June was cold and blustery. Simon still wore a thin hat when he went to daycare. There was a lot of rain and he had to wear rubber boots as well. He had stopped asking about the money; in fact, he had almost lost hope. In the evenings, he sat glumly in front of the television while Bonnie tried to cheer him up as best she could. But that was the nature of children: they couldn’t wait. Not for Christmas, not for birthdays, not for summer vacations. So she took him to a travel agent, where they each sat down in a chair. Bonnie explained that they needed help to plan a trip to Africa.

  “We’re not actually traveling quite yet,” she said, “because we’re waiting for some money, and I don’t know when it’s going to come. Sometime soon, anyway. But what kind of price are we looking at? For the two of us? A fortnight’s safari?”

  The consultant clicked on his computer. “I would recommend Tanzania or Kenya,” he said. “Then you’ll only have to change at Heathrow for a direct flight to Nairobi. You’d have the first week on safari with an excellent guide. And for the second week, you would be left to your own devices but would stay in a very good hotel in Mombasa. Which is by the Indian Ocean.”

  “That all sounds very expensive,” Bonnie said and laughed, feeling extravagant. “How much should we reckon on spending?”

  “Around fifty thousand, I should think. But everything is included. Food, everything.”

  “Will we be camping?” Simon asked hopefully.

  “No, you’ll stay in small huts, which are very nice. They’ve got straw roofs and you have to go up a ladder to get in. So the animals can’t get in too. And you mustn’t feed the apes,” he said in a stern voice. “It’s forbidden.”

  “Why—do they bite?”

  “They bite and they steal food. And they can make you ill. Remember, if you go to Kenya, you have to do a lot of things beforehand, like vaccinations, et cetera. And there are some places where you’re not allowed to take photos, but the guide will let you know about things like that. She’ll be with you all the time.”

  He gave them a thick catalogue and that evening they sat on the sofa together looking through it. Bonnie pointed and explained. Simon was full of hope once more that the inheritance money would soon come; he could just imagine Falck the lawyer staggering to the bank with a big bag of money. He was so excited that he didn’t want to go to bed, and Bonnie had to read him several stories before he calmed down. Bonnie was also excited. I must be mad, she thought, traveling so far away with a five-year-old. But then she reminded herself that they would be part of a bigger group. Every step would be planned.

  Before going to bed, she called Britt and they talked for a long time about the summer. Britt and Jens were going to go to Crete. They had been there many times before and Britt was always tanned when they came back.

  For Bonnie, the days just raced by. She drove from client to client and listened to the weather forecast, hoping that the warm weather would come soon. The meteorologists promised a fantastic July; there was even the prospect of some tropical nights. She told Simon that everything would be better in July, especially as it was his birthday, on Sunday the tenth.

  “And you’re going to be five,” she said, “and that’s halfway to ten. To think that you’re that big already. This winter you’ll have to help me clear the snow; I’m sure you can manage that now. I think your muscles are growing bigger already.”

  She squeezed his upper arm. Yes, he was very strong. Granny Henny had once said that he was the man of the house and he had to help Mommy with whatever he could. So he strutted around the house, like a man, while he waited for the African heat.

  One evening, when Eddie came home from sitting by his mother’s bed, something happened that terrified him. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom and saw something odd hanging from the curtain rod. It was dark in the room because the blinds were always down. He turned on the light, but he still couldn’t understand what the thing was. It was totally unknown and alien to him. It made him think of rotten fruit or a dead bird. He thought he could make out a pair of legs and some big ears. It hung there immobile, and he reversed back out into the living room and slammed the door. He realized that the windows in several rooms had been open all day, and the hideous thing must have come in through one of them. He had no idea what to do. Should he sleep in his mother’s bed and just wait until it disappeared by itself? But what if it didn’t disapp
ear and just hung there like a bad omen?

  He mustered his courage and went into the kitchen, found a flashlight in the drawer, and went back to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a while staring at the thing. Then he approached it slowly, one step at a time, and turned on the flashlight. The beam of light slid over the curtain and then he understood. A bare animal with no feathers or fur but noticeable ears and folded wings. It was a bat. Eddie knew that bats were wild, that they could bite if they felt threatened, and that they could carry rabies. He had to get the beast out, and his mother was not there to help him. He didn’t dare get any closer, so he backed out of the room again. He got the mop from the cupboard. He opened the door and windows, approached the bat with care, and then nudged it with the mop handle. Suddenly there was movement everywhere. Eddie pulled back in fright; the bat flew frantically around the room, in tight, fast circles—he’d never seen anything so fast. He stood in the middle of the room, with the mop raised in defense. Why couldn’t the mad animal find its way out? All the windows were open. Suddenly it flew straight into his face. He waved his arms around wildly, but then, to his great relief, it vanished out through the open living-room window. He immediately rushed over to close it. Never again, not even in summer, would he have the windows open. There weren’t just bats out there; there were wasps too.

  Afterward he sat in his chair and studied his wrists under a lamp. The veins on his left wrist were thin and spread out to the palm of his hand like a three-pronged fork. But it was completely different on the other wrist—the veins seemed to be bigger, perhaps because his right arm was stronger. A thick blue vein ran from left to right; he put his finger on it and felt his pulse, the gentle thud.