The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  He put his glasses back on.

  “To drown a child on purpose and to stand there watching while he or she struggles in the water requires a degree of madness,” he said. “To be blunt, it requires a cold heart. So, what do you think in relation to the mother? She’s only nineteen. Is she capable of such brutality?”

  “Too early to say,” Sejer replied. “We’ve only spoken a couple of times.”

  Snorrason rolled his chair back to his desk to indicate that he had a lot to do.

  “I’ll contact you as soon as I hear from the lab,” he said.

  13

  DID SHE STAND there and watch? Sejer thought miserably.

  Did she carry him down to the water while Nicolai was busy with some old bicycle? Did she walk through the grass and along the jetty, throw him into the water, and watch him flail and thrash around? Did she watch with dead eyes and an icy heart? I couldn’t even drown a rat, Sejer thought. It would repulse me. The fear, screams, cramps, and panic. Whether it was from a human or an animal, it was just as bad.

  He put on a Monica Zetterlund CD, found a pouch of tobacco in a kitchen drawer, and started to roll a fat cigarette. He only smoked one in the evening; he was a man of moderation. And he had to have a whiskey after all the day’s endeavors, a generous dram to warm his heart. Frank lay at his feet, his breathing shallow, his little pink tongue hanging out the corner of his mouth. Elise, he thought, and looked up at the wall where a photograph of her beamed down at him. The whiskey made him sentimental, and the nicotine gave him a head rush and made him slightly dizzy. Elise, can you see me now? Can you see that we’re doing OK, Frank and I? But you know, there are always difficult days in a person’s life, days that we can’t avoid. There is no life without resistance, no days without worry, no years without pain, no nights without loneliness. There is anguish, dark thoughts, and sparkling hope in every person’s life. And we switch between these all the time, he thought. Everyone is caught in a storm throughout his or her entire life. Carmen and Nicolai were in the middle of the storm. He took a drag on the cigarette and drew the smoke down into his lungs. He was still a bit fuzzy in the head, light and floaty, and outside himself. Dusk was falling outside, night was on the way, and he welcomed it like an old friend. He heard the rumble of thunder in the distance and it slowly rolled closer. I’m actually quite happy now, he mused, and took a sip of the warming whiskey. I’m certainly fairly content with life. If only my health doesn’t deteriorate, if only this dizziness doesn’t take over completely. Why should I get away with it? Not that I’ve ever really thought like that, we humans are exposed to so much. Every day someone is knocked off their feet, thrown brutally and mercilessly to the ground, and abandoned without hope. Sooner or later, fate will catch up with me. Hey you, fate will say, you’ve got away with it for too long; now it’s your turn. Time for you to get up and fight, because it’s now or never.

  Frank padded out into the kitchen to drink some water. Sejer could hear the slurping from where he was in the living room. It was a relaxing sound. The whiskey warmed the pit of his stomach and he felt at ease. Not surprising that people turned to alcohol, he thought, it helped against most things. Against pain, despair, sorrow, worry, and anguish. Against all kinds of obstacles and difficulties. The alcohol flooded his veins and made him feel warm and light. He got up and went over to the window, looking down at the town he loved so much. The river with all its bridges, the beautifully lit brewery, the elegant church. And the busy port, where all the imported cars came into the country before rolling out onto the Norwegian roads: Hondas, Toyotas, and Mercedes in endless lines. Trains on their way into and out of the station; boats on the river with lanterns lit. He put his glass down on the kitchen counter and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and went to bed. Frank trotted in behind him and lay down on the rug by the bed as he always did, and they lay there together awake for about fifteen minutes. Then they dozed off and soon fell into a deep sleep free of worries.

  14

  FIFTEENTH OF AUGUST. Afternoon at Granfoss.

  Carmen walked around with a large garbage bag and picked up toys from all the nooks and crannies: a teddy bear, a pacifier, a teething ring, a yellow plastic tractor, and a red fire engine. Things that boys like to play with. Wind-up toys and soft toys, Lego blocks and Playmobil animals. Then she went to the chest of drawers in the bedroom. She pulled out the drawers and started to put the baby clothes in the bag. Her movements were quick and efficient; she did not hesitate for a moment. The clothes were folded and put away.

  “We can take it to the Salvation Army shop,” she said in a very practical manner. Nicolai stood in the doorway and watched her wide-eyed. Repugnance and rage churned inside him. He couldn’t believe what was happening—that she was tidying Tommy out of the house and getting rid of every single little thing before he was even in the ground.

  “Surely you could wait with that,” he objected.

  But Carmen wouldn’t listen. She continued with what she was doing.

  “The funeral people will be coming soon,” she said, “and everything’s such a mess. And I don’t like being reminded. His things are everywhere. And he’s never coming back.”

  “You said we could have another baby,” he remarked. “You said we could maybe have a girl. Have you changed your mind? We could use his clothes then, and the toys would come in handy. The carriage, the crib, everything. What are you thinking?”

  She carried on putting the clothes in the bag. Most of them were blue or white, trousers, tops and overalls, mittens and hats. She said nothing in reply to his comment, just gritted her teeth and completely ignored him. I am the mother, she thought furiously; I am the one who decides.

  Nicolai tried to pull himself together. He felt like a coward, because he couldn’t confront her with all his feelings raging inside. Deep down he felt an inexplicable fear, roaring in the depths of his being, that something was wrong. He wasn’t sure about what had actually happened on August 10 and his imagination was running wild. Tommy, he thought, my little man. We’ll meet again in a better world. He allowed himself these thoughts, even though he wasn’t a believer. Because the alternative, that he was gone forever, was simply unbearable. For sixteen months, he had been a devoted father. He had lifted the boy up and thrown him in the air so he screeched with delight, thrown balls and sung songs for him at night. He had felt the warmth of his body against his cheek, the soft, soapy smell of a freshly bathed baby. In his eyes, Tommy was the best little boy in the world, full of joy and delight, despite the Down syndrome.

  “Maybe we could sell the carriage,” Carmen said and glanced over at him. “I’m sure we’d get quite a bit for it, since it’s as good as new.”

  “But the carriage was a present from your parents,” he said, horrified. “Get a grip, Carmen; what do you think they’d say?”

  “Cross that bridge when we get to it,” was her reply. “And Dad will understand. And in any case, it’s blue. And next time we might have a little girl.” She bent down over the garbage bag again and continued to fill it with clothes. It was almost full. Before, when she stood like that with her neat little bum in the air, it produced an explosion of burning desire. Now he felt nothing except deep antipathy. She straightened up and paused. She brushed the platinum hair away from her eyes and put her hands on her hips with that elegant tilt to her hips that he normally liked.

  “Maybe we should cremate him,” she said. “Then we’ll get an urn and we could maybe take it home with us. Then he’d be here with us; what do you think?”

  Nicolai looked at her in disbelief. He felt himself wobbling and had to lean against the door frame. Burn poor little Tommy to ash? No, there was no way he’d allow that.

  “He’s going to be buried,” he said in desperation. “Don’t say things like that.”

  Up went her bum again and she carried on with the bottom drawer.

  “Oh well, just thought I’d mention it,” she said. “I don’t think we should cremate him eit
her. I just wanted to know what you thought. I mean, God, we have to talk about things, don’t we? Don’t be so sensitive!”

  “You don’t care what I think in any case,” he said. Tears welled up and stung his eyes.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said after a while. “Put the bag down, we’re going out. Let’s go to Stranda. I need a swim.”

  She continued emptying the bottom drawer, wanting to get it finished. But the thought of going to Stranda appealed to her, although first she had to go to the bathroom. They might run into someone and she wanted to look her best. She was concerned about that. And now, especially when things were so hard, she had to keep up appearances.

  They walked hand in hand down the path like a young couple in love. There had been a big thunderstorm in the night and it had rained heavily afterward. The clouds had cleared again and everything felt new and fresh, and the heat they had had for so long had returned. The sun burned down relentlessly from a hazy sky. He held her hand tightly, so hard, in fact, that she whimpered. He had put his trunks on under his jeans and the thought of a long swim worked wonders.

  “Do you think they’ll have finished the autopsy by now?” Carmen asked. She gave his hand a little squeeze, as though she wanted to take the edge off this painful question.

  “They promised they’d call,” Nicolai replied, “and we haven’t heard anything yet. I don’t know. There’s nothing to find anyway. I wish it wasn’t necessary, but there’s no point in protesting. They’ve got all the power.”

  Now it was he who squeezed her hand.

  “Sorry,” he said all of a sudden.

  Carmen looked up at him and gave him a squeeze back. She was wearing her ring with a red stone in it, and he felt the sharp edge hard against his palm.

  “Why are you saying sorry?”

  Nicolai had started to walk faster, and she had to trot a little to keep up.

  “I know that I’m being difficult and mean,” he said. “I know that I’m complaining. But at the moment I’m just so sad. And I don’t want another child, just so you know. There’s no point in talking about a replacement, because it’s not possible.”

  Carmen shook her head in exasperation; now it was her turn to be sad.

  “You’ll learn to love another one just as much,” she said. “I know you. You’re so kind. You’re the world’s best dad. And we can wait a bit, anyway, until everything has gone back to normal. We’re in the middle of it all right now and that makes it difficult to think. Maybe after the funeral we’ll be able to move on. Pappa Zita says that the funeral is a kind of turning point. I hope we get a place for him under the birch trees beside Louisa.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way.

  When they got to Stranda, Carmen sat down on the warm sand and Nicolai took off his jeans. He walked slowly down to the water, waded out, and then dived in. He was a strong swimmer and kept good speed straight out from the shore, with strong, determined strokes. She followed his progress.

  “Don’t go too far,” she called to him. “It’s best to stick to the shore, and I can’t save you if you get cramps.”

  She forced a little laughter, but it felt uncomfortable in her mouth. Nicolai didn’t answer; he just kept on swimming with steady strokes. Carmen could see a tanker farther out. The red hull was visible on the horizon. She kept her eye on Nicolai the entire time. He was now so far away that she started to get anxious. And he showed no sign of turning back. Terrible thoughts flooded her mind: maybe he couldn’t face any more, and he was leaving it all behind. She stood up and shaded her eyes, catching sight of his head in the gentle waves, bobbing up and down like a cork. She started to dig in the wet sand, trying to make a sandcastle. But she wasn’t any good at it, and the castle kept collapsing. As a child, she had come here often with her father. He was as strong as an ox and had carried her on his shoulders all the way, and she rocked and felt like she was on a boat. Then he’d lifted her down onto the sand and answered all her questions. Why don’t fish drown? Well, her father told her, they get air through their gills. A fine profusion of tiny bubbles of oxygen. And just think how fast they move in the water. Everything that lives in this world needs air. Yes, her father was always on her side. No matter what happened, he was her mentor and her servant and he made her happy. She looked out at the water again to see if Nicolai had turned. But he hadn’t, so she started to shout.

  “Nicolai, you idiot, come back or I’ll go home! I didn’t manage to save Tommy. And I won’t be able to save you!”

  Finally he came to his senses, turned back, and swam toward the shore. She sighed with relief. She felt her body relax and started to build her little sandcastle again with eager hands. She managed to build a tower and dig a moat to channel in the water. She was delighted with her work, beaming up at Nicolai when he came out of the water.

  “You scared me,” she said later as she took his hand.

  “Why?” he asked. “I’m a good swimmer. I’m best in the water and you know that.”

  He looked over the small sandcastle but was not particularly impressed, and she was hurt that he didn’t even make a friendly comment. As they walked back, she was silent for a while. She had her turquoise sandals on. One of the straps was beginning to rub; they were not good to walk in. She knew that she would get a blister that would then burst and become a sore so she would have to use a bandage. Stupid damn shoes, she thought and got herself wound up.

  “People will think you’ve wet yourself,” she said with a little smile. There were dark patches on Nicolai’s jeans from the wet trunks he still had on underneath. But he didn’t care; he just kept walking. He wanted to get home again. He wanted to go down into the dim cellar where he could be alone.

  “Don’t walk so fast,” Carmen complained. “I’ve got a blister.”

  15

  SEVENTEENTH OF AUGUST. Morning at Møllergata 4.

  His name was Felipe Marian Zita and he came from Barcelona, but his wife Elsa was as blond and blue-eyed as a Norwegian fjord. Zita himself was dark and olive-skinned. One of Sejer’s first questions, given Carmen’s almost white hair, was whether he really was her biological father.

  “Genetics is a complex area,” he said, “and it certainly played a trick on us. Carmen’s tow-colored hair was quite a surprise. Many people have asked before you,” he added. “You’re in good company. But please, sit down, sit down. Elsa has made some coffee. And I’ve just spoken to Carmen, because she calls every day. She said that she’s having bad dreams, which isn’t surprising given what’s happened. Lots of nightmares, recurring bad dreams. Nicolai is devastated and I’m really worried about him. He’s such a sensitive boy. Carmen is coping better. She’s strong, that girl, takes after me. I’m not sure what you’re after, but we can certainly have a chat. I’m sure you have your reasons. And we don’t go against the system, because that’s not who we are. We’re humble folk.”

  Zita was obviously nervous and he talked a lot and fast. But this was perhaps due to his Mediterranean temperament, Sejer thought. It was hard to stop him once he had started.

  “Sit yourselves down. Elsa’s just coming with the coffee, if you’ve got time.”

  Sejer and Skarre thanked him and settled among the colorful, bright cushions.

  “Carmen will definitely have another child,” Zita said. “And as soon as she can, if I know her right. But Nicolai thinks otherwise. He no doubt wants to wait awhile. He says that Tommy can’t be replaced. But that’s not what we want, that’s not the point.”

  He got up and took some cups and saucers out of a cupboard and then sat back down at the table. The living room was obviously influenced by his Mediterranean background. Dark, heavy furniture, tapestries on the wall, potted plants in the windows. A carved wooden rocking horse with full saddle and bridle in leather. Tommy probably sat on that many a time, Sejer reflected sadly. He admired the modern chandelier with hundreds of cut-glass pieces that sparkled in the light from the window.

  “And is it t
rue that everyone calls you Pappa Zita?” Sejer inquired.

  “Yes,” said Zita, as he sipped his coffee. “It was Carmen who started calling me that, when she was quite small. And then everyone started to call me Pappa, which I like. I’m happy to be everyone’s papa. Especially Nicolai, as he lost both his parents in a light-aircraft accident. They flew a Cessna straight into a storm—maybe you heard. And I’m a dad to everyone who works at Zita Quick. I’ve trained them all, and they’re good. Perhaps people don’t realize it, but working in a fast-food restaurant is a demanding job. And we have a fantastic reputation to live up to. Every day we have to deliver the very best. And we’re the only ones in the area who are open twenty-four hours a day. So that means lots of employees, high wage costs. But it’s good business. Very good business,” he concluded.

  Elsa nodded. She was incredibly reserved. She studied Sejer and Skarre, her blue eyes full of doubt and suspicion.

  “Why are you here?” she asked with a sharp edge to her voice.

  “It’s a sudden death,” Sejer explained. “Conversations like this are part of the procedure.”

  “That’s what you say to everyone,” she said, her voice now bitter. “Just routine, you say. But I don’t see how we can be of any help. No wrong has been done. Just so that’s clear, because I know what you’re thinking. That’s why you’re here, and I can’t bear the thought that you’re here to poke around in our lives.”

  Sejer blew on his coffee and took a small sip. “Yes, we say that to everyone,” he said, unruffled, “because it’s the truth. Tell me what you thought about the pond, the fact that it was so close to the house. Did it worry you?”

  “Yes,” Zita replied. “We worried a lot. Water can be so alluring. But Tommy was still small, and we thought we had plenty of time. I mean, of course we’d thought about putting up a fence around the house. With a latched gate. But we never got around to it; then suddenly it was too late, because he’d started walking. I feel so sorry for Carmen and Nicolai. I don’t have words.”