Hell Fire

by Karin Fossum

  They weren’t looking forward to the holidays, because then Bonnie wouldn’t come and they would have to put up with a temp whom they might not like. Gjertrud thought that she would hide her bottles of eau de vie—you never knew who might come. And Alex wouldn’t have anyone to play chess with. Bonnie tried to do that little bit more for them and promised with her hand on her heart that she’d come back. But when she then told them that they were going to Kenya, many of them got even more anxious.

  “They have the death penalty down there,” Alex said. “A student once stole a computer from the university and he was hanged.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said, but then had to laugh. “I’m not exactly a criminal,” she added. “I promise not to steal so much as a coconut. We’ll stay on the straight and narrow.”

  In the evenings, she and Simon sat writing long lists: everything they had to remember, everything they had to take with them. Britt had given her some good advice and promised to call every evening until they left. Her mother Henny was less enthusiastic.

  “Why couldn’t you just go to Majorca, like everyone else?” she said. “It’s perfectly nice there.”

  “I wanted Simon to choose,” Bonnie told her. “He hasn’t had that many of his dreams fulfilled.”

  Eddie would sometimes go for a walk around the garden and look at the things that were growing. His mother had taught him the names of all the flowers: primula, flox and tulips, bleeding heart and freesia. Sometimes he would squat down to pull some weeds. Even though he didn’t really manage, he tried to keep it as tidy as he could. Indoors he had problems with the washing machine; it wouldn’t start, even when he pressed all the buttons. Often all that he produced was a red flashing light. So he wore the same top with a Rottweiler on it day after day. He wondered if he should tell Inga Nielsen; he could always ask his mother but she would probably say no, so he did nothing more. It was June 20 and the promised summer weather had still not arrived. A cold wind blew over the country.

  His mother was now in so much pain that she couldn’t move. Some small clear drops of morphine dripped from a bag straight into her arm. They didn’t talk much anymore. Eddie sat lost in his own thoughts and Mass lay completely still with her eyes closed.

  There wasn’t much time left.

  Eddie barely left her side. He held her hand tight and sat leaning forward in the chair, making his back ache. The nurses were in and out all the time, and always had a friendly word for him.

  “Would you like to be alone?”

  “Yes,” Eddie replied.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Yes.”

  Sometimes his mother opened her eyes as if she wanted to check that he was still there. She felt him squeeze her hand, but her own lacked strength. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her hairless head was the color of wax. Eddie prepared himself for her imminent death. When the evening drew in, she clearly had something on her mind. She tried to turn her head to catch his eye.

  “Eddie,” she whispered. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Yes, Mom,” he replied. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “No, it’s not something I want you to do. It’s something that you should know. And I don’t have much time left.”

  Eddie leaned even farther forward.

  “Anders,” she whispered. “Anders Kristoffer. He’s not your father.”

  Eddie dropped his mother’s hand as if it were a burning coal. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, alarmed. “I went to his grave.”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t your father. Not your real father.”

  Eddie felt himself swaying on the chair. He thought about the two photographs hanging on his bedroom wall, the ones he looked at every night before falling asleep. His father and him. Inga and Mads. She had taken everything away from him in the space of a second.

  “But who was my father, then?” he asked.

  Mass closed her eyes. “You’ll never find him, Eddie. Let it lie.”

  “Is he dead as well?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where he is. Let it go.”

  “Does that mean you slept around?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not what you think.”

  The thought of having to look for a new father winded him. No father, no brother in New York. But what bothered him most was the fact that his mother had lied to him. He had lived a lie all his life and he didn’t know if he could forgive her. But perhaps she had her reasons for keeping it secret. His mother looked like she was sleeping. He thought she was perhaps already dead.

  But a little while later, she came to life again. She coughed without any force, and a single trickle of blood appeared in the corner of her mouth.

  “You have to forgive me, Eddie,” she whispered. “I only ever wanted the best for you. And the truth isn’t always the best. And we’ve had a good time together, you and I. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “So please take what I’m about to say with composure.”

  Eddie didn’t know if he dared to listen.

  “I’m not your mother, Eddie,” Mass told him. “Not your real mother.”

  He sat on the chair for a long time, as though paralyzed.

  Then he got up and went over to the window. He could see the parking lot and all the cars far below. And behind were the green hills where people went for walks in both summer and winter. He had been there as well, with Mass, for the first time when he was a baby in a blue Simo carriage. Then on his own two feet. To get to the top, they had to drive through a tunnel called Spiralen, and there was a big troll in the middle of the tunnel. He turned back to the bed.

  “I couldn’t have my own children, Eddie,” Mass explained. “Anders and I were foster parents, and initially you were supposed to go back to your real mother. But then that didn’t happen. And after a year we formally adopted you. I want you to know that I was over the moon, Eddie. You’ve always made me so happy.”

  Eddie stepped closer and bent down over the bed. “But my real mother,” he asked, confused. “Why didn’t she want me?”

  “There were lots of reasons. It’s not easy to explain.”

  “What was her name? Where does she live? Or don’t you know that either? I have to know, Mom; you have to tell me!”

  Mass clawed at the blanket. The blood was barely flowing through her veins and her heart was barely beating. “I’m not so sure that you should try to find her,” she said. “It’s not always such a good idea. Remember Adelina-Susann who went all the way to Lahore.”

  “But why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Is she poor?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be pleased to see me, then?”

  “She was only fifteen when she became pregnant,” Mass explained, “sixteen when you were born. She gave you away, Eddie; she couldn’t keep you. She was far too young.”

  Eddie flared up. For a few mad seconds, he lost control. Mass didn’t recognize his voice; it was hoarse and dark. He leaned down over the bed and put a hand on either side of her head.

  “Tell me who she is!” he shouted. “Now!”

  Mass died so quietly. One moment she was there, the next she was gone—no fight, no movement. Just a small sigh. Her eyes were open but she no longer saw him.

  He contacted Eiker funeral directors and asked for help. He would rather go to their offices because he didn’t want to open the door to strangers at home. They promised they would organize everything, and that all he needed to do was say what he wanted. He sat and looked through the catalogues, and then made a relatively swift decision and ordered the cheapest white coffin, which cost six thousand kroner. And the cheapest gravestone from the stonemasons. He didn’t want any kind of wake after the funeral because it would cost money and he couldn’t afford it. Not many people would come anyway. He didn’t know much about hymns and he didn’t want to follow the coffin to the grave. Someone else could carry her out. He would drive straight home and lick
his wounds. They told him that he could apply for financial assistance from social services and said that they would help him fill in the forms and notify all the necessary authorities of his mother’s death. Eddie accepted their help. He asked them to order a simple wreath with no card because there was nothing he wanted to write on it. There was no need for any singers; he just wanted the whole thing over and done with.

  In the evening, once everything had been decided, he sat in a chair at home. His cheeks started to burn. When he touched them with his hand, he could feel the heat, and after a while he got up and went to look in the mirror.

  His face was red and it was spreading down his neck. What Mass had told him had started to burn him up inside. His real mother had given him away because she didn’t want him. She had given him away like some package, pushed him around like garbage. And no doubt she now had other children whom she loved. He turned off all the lights and sat down again. His cheeks continued to burn and sting. It was an unfamiliar feeling for someone who never went out in the sun. He sat there quietly, alone in the dark, and felt the fire burning.

  Ansgar came to the funeral, but he had the good sense to sit at the back. Eddie didn’t so much as look at him. He was having trouble enough looking at the white coffin. He knew that Mass was lying inside, but he still couldn’t comprehend it. As the organ released its sad tones, he felt that the church was closing in and he bowed down as far as he could on the hard pew. He thought the priest was meanly dressed, in a simple cassock with a belt around his waist. You don’t know Mass, he thought; you don’t know what you’re talking about. God has nothing to do with this.

  When the service was over, the priest wanted to shake his hand. It was weak and half-hearted and Eddie turned and walked down the aisle and then out. As he stood by the car, Ansgar came over and seemed to want to say a few words. Eddie pursed his lips, opened the car door, and got in. His neighbor bent down and looked into the car.

  “How awful for you, Eddie,” he said. “What’s going to happen to you now? Will you manage alone, or will you have to go into care?”

  The temperature started to rise at the end of June; people had been waiting for the summer and looking forward to the best time of year. It was what they dreamed of during the long, cold winter months. One day, Bonnie received an important phone call. Christian Falck called to say that the inheritance money had finally been transferred. He wished her all the best and Bonnie lifted Simon up and swung him in the air.

  “Finally,” she said and danced around the living room. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the travel agent and book our trip to Africa.”

  She opened the doors and windows. She couldn’t resist calling the bank to hear her balance. Then she went into the bathroom and stared at the happy Bonnie in the mirror. She thought that she might even tell Olav—her newfound wealth appeased her, and she could forgive everything. But then she changed her mind. I can manage without you, she thought, just you wait and see.

  They booked their trip to Africa for the middle of August, so she only took the first week off in July. She went to the bank and paid off all her debts. She bought a bike for Simon and an expensive dress for herself, which was white with ladybirds on it. In the autumn, she would go to the car dealership and buy a new Opel. She went to the hairdresser and had her long fair hair styled. Olav had always liked her hair, and whenever she wore it in a braid, he would pull off the band so that it tumbled down over her shoulders. Now it was her turn to shine.

  Eddie got into the car and drove to Blåkollen. He had been given the exact address when he inquired. A short distance from the house, he pulled over to the side and stopped. It was a small yellow house with green window frames, and it looked old. There were two bikes leaning against the wall and an old Opel parked in the driveway. I’m here, he thought. You didn’t expect this, did you? He didn’t let go of the steering wheel. He could hear his own shallow breathing. As he sat like this, thinking, a little boy came out of the house with a helmet under his arm. He went over to the bikes and put on his helmet. Then a beautiful blond woman appeared in the doorway.

  She stood there. Like an angel. She was a harp, she was a flame, she was a jewel. She came down the steps and walked over the gravel, swaying as she went. She put her hand on the boy’s head with the same love and reverence as a priest would bless a baby. It looked as though she was giving the boy instructions on where he could cycle. So he did have a brother, a little brother. Who now had something that was his. Bonnie Hayden.

  The two of them, close as close can be; they would always be together. She would never give away that little boy. She went back indoors. The boy pushed his bike out onto the road, and just as he was about to get going, Eddie got out of the car. He walked over and looked him up and down.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Simon.”

  “And your mom is named Bonnie?”

  “Yes.” The boy looked as though he was about to cycle off, but Eddie put one of his big hands on the handlebar.

  “And how old are you?”

  “Nearly five.” He turned and stared back at the house as if he wanted his mother to come and rescue him, but Eddie kept his hand there. He glared down at the anxious little face and took in every detail, the curls, the blue eyes. He was blond like his mother. Eddie shook the handlebar. The boy struggled to keep his balance, his face white with fear. Eddie continued to shake the bike, looking at the boy with black eyes. Then suddenly he let go and went back to the car to sit there and watch him. The bike wobbled a bit as the boy hurried away.

  He went back again the same night. He parked some distance away and walked to the house, imagining them both lying asleep, maybe cuddled up together in the same bed. Just as he had cuddled up with Mass when he was little. He went up the steps and read the nameplate. It looked handmade. Bonnie and Simon live here. Then he walked around the house. There was a rabbit cage at the back with two tiny rabbits in it. They looked just as scared as the boy had been, and he hit the chicken wire with his hand a couple of times. The rabbits huddled together in a corner. He looked up at the dark windows and wondered which one was her bedroom. It was impossible to see in. Then he went back around and sat down on the steps. He felt he had a right to sit here; this house should have been his. He sat there until it started to get light, and they would soon be up. Then he drove to the end of the road and waited. At seven o’clock, the pale blue Opel drove by. He caught sight of them as they passed, and he followed the car at a safe distance.

  It wasn’t far to Simon’s daycare. He stopped right by the gate and watched Bonnie get out of the car; she undid the seat belt and Simon clambered out of his child seat and they went in together. Mass had always stayed at home, he thought. She looked after me.

  Five minutes later, she came back out. It was warm and she was wearing a white dress and sandals. He followed her into the center of town where she disappeared into a house. After waiting for an hour, he drove home again. He went into Mass’s bedroom and opened her wardrobe. He stared at the coats and dresses and the neat row of shoes at the bottom. He stood for a while breathing in the smell of the clothes, and when he’d had enough, he closed the wardrobe door. Her bed had been left as it was since she went into the hospital, and he decided to make it up. He did the best he could, smoothing the sheet and puffing the pillow. Then he put the quilt on. He would never go into the room again, never. He concentrated on Bonnie and his brother, Simon. He followed them for several days, learning their habits and routines. He always made sure to park at a distance, even though he was not afraid of being discovered. He could stand in front of her and tell her the truth, that he was her son. And he could ask her why she had given him away, and he would see the confusion in her eyes. The shame and embarrassment. Just like Adelina-Susann’s mother by the River Ravi.

  He soon understood that she was some kind of helper, as she went from house to house. Maybe she was a cleaner, he thought. When she finished for the day, she went to collect Simon from daycare,
and then they went to the store to buy food. Simon often came out with a bun in his hand. It was just the two of them. Bonnie was always touching Simon: ruffling his hair, stroking his cheek, and sometimes lifting him up to give him a hug. There was something caring and sincere about her that made him bitter and sad. His cheeks burned constantly. It was worse than ever. The fire had spread to his head and heart.

  It was Sunday and Bonnie had the day off. She drove up to Geirastadir with Simon. He had a little backpack on and they disappeared up toward Svarttjern. Eddie sat in the car and watched them go.

  40

  August 2005

  ONE DAY TOWARD the end of the month, Randen appeared in the outbuilding and wanted to talk to Woiciech. The sexton from Haugane had called because he needed someone to paint the long fence around the graveyard. The man who had originally agreed to do the job had put his back out and was on sick leave, and the wood was drying out and needed some attention. Woiciech immediately accepted the job. He needed every krone he could get, and he liked it up at Haugane Church. He liked working outdoors as well, and he started right away. The fence was to be painted white like the church. He got down on his knees in the green grass and worked hard, as he always did when he took on a job. Woiciech was a happy man; his life was good. He was strong and healthy and had a family. There were no obstacles as far as he could see.

  People came and went in the graveyard at regular intervals, tending the graves. They brought watering cans, trowels, and plants. He noticed an elderly woman who came every day to the graves of the mother and child who had been killed up at Skarven. He watched her walk slowly between the graves, her head bowed and her back bent as she went out through the wrought-iron gates.

  He was just getting ready to leave one day when a man drove up and parked beside him. He got out of the car and went down into the graveyard. Without knowing why, Woiciech sat and watched him. There was something about the way he walked. A heavy, slow man dressed all in black. He didn’t have anything with him either—no flowers or trowel or watering can. But he was not just out for a ramble; he definitely knew where he was going. Woiciech waited. When the man got to Bonnie’s and Simon’s graves, he just stood there and stared, as though he didn’t really know what to do with himself. A lot of people had visited their graves; they were presumably curious. The case was so gruesome that it had attracted attention beyond the country’s borders. Woiciech looked at the car that was parked beside his. He had read about the details in the newspapers, like everyone else. The man by the graves stood with his hands deep in his pockets and occasionally kicked at the soil. Eventually he turned back to the parking lot, got into his car, and drove off down the avenue of trees.