The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  “If it gets too hot, I’m going to take it off,” Carmen retorted. “I don’t care what you say. I’m the one who’s lost my baby, so I decide.”

  “OK. The dress is lovely,” her father conceded, “but it is better suited to other occasions. Do you have anything simpler, a little more respectable?”

  “No,” Carmen said petulantly. “This dress fits all the rules. It’s black. All my other dresses are bright and colorful. Pink and blue and yellow. And I don’t want to wear pants on a day like today.”

  “Then you must be prepared for people to comment,” he said. “You look lovely, Carmen. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just trying to give you some advice. Remember that I’m older than you. There are some things I know more about.”

  “You’re just old-fashioned; that’s all it is,” she said. “And what’s more, you’re a Catholic, and I’m not. So there.”

  Her father wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Carmen’s iron will overwhelmed him and made him weak.

  “I don’t want to drink coffee and eat cake. I don’t want to exchange clichés. I don’t want to dig up old memories about what has been, the good old days,” Carmen had said. She had also told the people from Sentrum and the female priest who was performing the funeral service that she couldn’t face watching Tommy’s coffin being lowered into the grave. The three spades of earth on the lid. So the ceremony was going to finish in the church. Nicolai had protested in his hesitant way. He felt that it would be betraying Tommy in some way not to follow him to the grave; in fact, he thought it was cowardly. But she didn’t listen. It was always Carmen who won. Carmen with all the tears. Carmen whom he, in brief moments of desperation, did not believe.

  Finally they were on their way in the black car, progressing slowly through the late summer streets. People were caught up with their everyday lives. Going outside to call in the kids, he thought. Shouting and taking it for granted that they would appear. Healthy and happy and full of energy. Alive and without injury. Imagine if it was all a bad dream, he thought. Was that possible? Maybe if he dozed off in the back seat, he would wake up afterward in his old, happy life. He tried to relax his body and breathed as slowly and steadily as he could. But it didn’t help. He couldn’t sleep and couldn’t forget all the awfulness. The nights were insufferable and he couldn’t bear them.

  “I don’t like female priests,” he said. “I wish we’d gotten someone else. Sorry, but I just had to say it. You can call me what you like. But the way I feel at the moment, I don’t care what you think.”

  Carmen turned around in the passenger seat and gave him an angry look. “Do me a favor,” she said, exasperated. “She’s who we’re having. And she knows what she has to say. So why bring it up?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He felt ashamed. “I just don’t like them. It should be a man, because they have more authority. I don’t like female doctors either. And I don’t like policewomen. You’ll just have to accept the fact that I think differently from you.”

  Elsa made no comment. It was warm, so she had taken off her suit jacket. She was wearing a white blouse with a bow at the neck underneath. Elsa had always been a bit uptight, but Nicolai had nothing against her. She was a kindly soul. When she said something, she meant it, and he liked that.

  “I’m sure it will be a good funeral, all the same,” Zita assured him, trying to smooth things over. They stopped for a red light. There was some roadwork and one side of the road had been closed. A convoy of eight cars drove toward them and edged past. A group of three men in safety vests filled in the holes in the road with soft, hot asphalt. An intense smell of tar lingered as they drove past.

  In the church, the sun streamed in through the stained-glass windows and illuminated the images of intense red, green, and blue. A woman sowing corn; an apple tree bearing red fruit; a flock of birds departing from a branch; and a sky lit up by a bright, blazing sun. But that was not what Nicolai saw. His attention was fixed on the small coffin by the altar, drowned in a sea of blue and pink flowers. A heart, a wreath, a bouquet. He managed to walk, but his legs felt like they wanted to buckle. The church bells hurt his ears. Soon the church organ would pump out its mournful music, as though death was something beautiful. As though this would soothe the pain. Carmen walked beside him up the aisle in her short, tight dress.

  She had taken her cardigan off in the car and no one could face nagging her anymore about her unsuitable outfit. Her strong will drained them all. Silent and tense, Nicolai went to the front pew on the left-hand side. He let Carmen sit down first and then took his place. Marian and Elsa followed behind. While they sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, he was assailed by a sudden panic attack. His panic made him gasp for air. Who was actually in the white coffin? Was it really Tommy, or had they made a mistake? A fateful mix-up at the last moment. Was it a baby they didn’t know? He had heard about things like that, and now he broke into a cold sweat. Had everything been done correctly? Or had they been sloppy and too quick at some point? People made mistakes, just as they had with Tommy. They hadn’t kept an eye on him, hadn’t built a fence. The thoughts roared in his head and he could not sit still. He jumped up from the pew and went over to the coffin, looking at the two undertakers with pleading eyes.

  “I want to see him,” he said, determined. “I want to see my son.”

  Carmen was horrified. She sat there, pulling down her short dress and feeling embarrassed in front of all the people who had come. Mortified at the outburst that she could not control.

  “We haven’t got time for this now,” she whispered from where she was sitting. “Come and sit down. People are starting to arrive, so we have to sit still.” But the two people from Sentrum nodded. Finally someone was on his side. It would take quite a lot to throw them for a loop. They had been in the business for a long time, and the father had every right to see his dead child for the last time. So they stepped forward and lifted off the lid. Nicolai stood beside the coffin and held his breath. Yes, it was his Tommy, but a more pale and aged version of his son who was so full of life. Dry. Cold. Sunken. His lips were without color; the thin blond tufts of hair had been combed to one side. And he knew that under the clothes there was a seam from his neck down, because they had opened him up. Maybe his liver and kidneys were missing. Maybe he was lying there without a heart. He thought that the blue onesie was very baggy. But the sight of his son’s teddy bear calmed him, lying there in the crook of his arm.

  “Carmen,” he called quietly. “You have to come and see.”

  She hesitated before standing up, as if something was holding her back. Then she reluctantly walked the few steps needed and stared down at her dead child with a pained expression.

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s lovely. Like I always said.”

  Nicolai stood for a while in silence.

  “Did you?” he asked in a bitter voice. “I’ve never heard that.”

  He touched the white cheek.

  “He’s freezing,” he said to Carmen. “Feel.”

  18

  THERE’S SOMETHING GOOD about funerals, Sejer thought to himself afterward. Something healing, final, a sense of closure. Even if the deceased was a child. Even if the deceased has been killed—yes, even if the death was a catastrophe. Even Elise’s funeral had felt good. Heart-rending but good. The swell of the organ and the candles, the priest’s consoling voice, the liturgy. All the flowers, the most beautiful wreaths in the world. The pews full of mourning people, elegantly dressed, silent and pious. Friendly hands stroking a cheek and good, warm embraces, observant eyes. Psalms, the most sublime thing he knew. I know a castle in heaven above. The sun streaming in through the stained-glass windows instilled a special peace in one’s soul. But then there was God and heaven, and that was more problematic. He glanced at his colleague Skarre, who was sitting beside him in the Volvo.

  “Good,” was all he said.

  “Mm,” was Skarre’s response. “Can you stop here by the kiosk? My blood sugar is
low. I need candy.”

  Sejer swung to the side and parked the car but left the engine running. Then he sat and waited for his younger colleague. He hadn’t felt dizzy for a long time; that was a good sign. Maybe it’s passed, he thought hopefully. After all, some things do just pass. Small everyday miracles, false alarms. A little girl on a yellow bicycle rolled into the square in front of the kiosk, and he sat and watched her. She leaned her bike up against the wall and disappeared through the door, probably to buy candy. Children were insatiable when it came to candy. He wondered why. Then Skarre came out and got into the car, and they drove back onto the road. Skarre opened the bag and mumbled to himself.

  “Oh damn,” he said. “I meant to get jelly beans.”

  Sejer glanced over and saw some colorful jelly figures through the plastic.

  “And is that not what you’ve got there?”

  Skarre shook his head. “No, these are sour monsters. And that’s not what I wanted. I took the wrong bag.”

  “But they’re jelly as well?” Sejer suggested. “They certainly look like they’re jelly. Is it a problem? Should I turn around?”

  “No, heavens. I’ll just have to live with it this once.”

  They drove on for a while in silence, and Skarre popped a sour jelly-bean substitute in his mouth. He smacked his lips and made a face. “Well, they’re certainly sour. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”

  “Have you always believed in God?” Sejer asked, changing gears.

  Skarre held the bag out to him, but Sejer shook his head. “Oh yes,” Skarre replied. “Remember, my father was a priest. It’s in my blood. What about you? Have you always been godless?”

  “You make it sound like a swear word,” Sejer commented. “But yes, no one in my house believed in anything at all. Sorry to be nosy, but I’m just curious. When little toddlers drown in a pond, it’s hard to believe there’s a meaning. That’s all really. And according to your faith, everything has a meaning; isn’t that right? That’s what I’ve always struggled to understand.”

  He rummaged in the center console for his sunglasses. He found them and put them on, and turned on his right blinker.

  Skarre took another sour monster and chewed it slowly.

  “Yes, it’s not easy, I have to admit. And to be honest, I sometimes falter too. But doubt is an important part of faith; that’s all there is to it. And unlike you, I at least have somewhere to go with my complaints. Others flail around without focus, but I couldn’t take that. I need a wailing wall.”

  “Fair enough,” Sejer said. “You’ve got a point.”

  He stopped at a red light and they waited.

  “So, you’ve complained to God about the loss of Tommy? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, I have,” Skarre said. “I’ve had my say.”

  The light changed to green and Sejer drove through the intersection, the Volvo engine purring.

  “And do you believe in eternal life?”

  Skarre looked over at the detective inspector, and a grin spread across his face. “So, is this an interrogation?”

  “Sorry,” Sejer said as he turned on his left blinker. “I’m just curious. When I think of all the catastrophes, it’s difficult not to ask questions. Drought, war, and lack of food. Natural disasters and disease, pain and desperation. Mothers who kill their children,” he said and gave Skarre a stern look.

  “Yes,” Skarre replied, “they’re the usual arguments. I struggle with those things too, if you want to know.”

  Then there was silence in the car again. After a while Skarre spoke.

  “That was quite an outfit she was wearing. Carmen, I mean. I’ve never seen such a short dress in my life. And she could barely walk on those heels. But she’s good at crying; I’ll give her that. Your phone’s ringing,” he added. “Is your hearing getting bad?”

  Sejer pulled to the side and answered, recognizing Snorrason’s Icelandic accent on the other end.

  “We’re just on our way back from the funeral,” he explained. “On our way to the station. Sorry? You’ve got the results?”

  “Yes, I’ve got the results,” Snorrason said. “And you’re probably dealing with a murder case. The mother will have difficulties explaining this away. Is she good at explaining things?”

  “Not bad,” Sejer said. “We’ll have to wait and see. What have you found?”

  Snorrason told him, trying hard to minimize the terminology. And when he had finished, Sejer gave a quiet whistle and looked over at Skarre.

  “I’ll take them in for questioning then,” he said brusquely. “Both of them. But we’ll give them a couple of days. The boy’s not long in the ground. Yes, thank you. I’ll keep you posted.”

  He finished the call and pulled out onto the road again.

  “It’s as we feared,” he said to Skarre. “Tommy presumably had some help in reaching heaven, or at least it certainly looks like it. You can send another complaint in to God.”

  19

  HE WALKED SLOWLY through the empty rooms and listened. Tommy’s absence was deafening. No more hiccupping laughter, no more sobbing tears. The child was dead and buried, and over time the body would decompose, disintegrate, and become dust. But the bones would remain. A fragile, tiny skeleton in the black earth.

  “It’s all just empty words,” he said. “‘Until you return to the ground, for out of it were you taken.’ It’s just garbage. To be honest, I feel ashamed.”

  Carmen wriggled out of the black dress, threw it down on the bed, and put on some everyday clothes. “The priest was nice, wasn’t she?” she commented. She was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Should we just take his crib down now? I mean, we don’t need it anymore and it takes up quite a lot of space. We could put it in the cellar until we have another baby.”

  Nicolai gasped. To be saying that now—what was she thinking?

  “Jesus, you’re in a rush to get rid of any traces,” he said, upset.

  She pushed past him and went out into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard, took out a glass, and turned on the faucet. She drank water in greedy gulps until she was sated. Some water trickled down over her chin and between her breasts.

  “I don’t need all these reminders,” she said. “It just makes things worse, going to bed at night with the empty crib staring at us. That’s just the way I am; I want to forget it. I don’t want to be upset by memories.”

  He walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He felt so tired, like he’d shifted down a gear. Everything that normally happened in his body was now so slow, and he felt cold, despite the late summer heat. The warmth of the sun pressed in against the windows and glittered on the surface of the vile pond with its single water lily.

  “Maybe we should move,” Carmen called from the kitchen. “Get away from it all. Start again somewhere else. I can talk to Dad. Because if I want a new house, he’ll get me a new house.”

  Nicolai protested. He felt they had to stay in the neighborhood, close to the church and the boy. Tommy should be within easy reach, and the grave by Møller Church was only twenty minutes away. He was up between the birch trees beside Louisa.

  Carmen had come into the living room. She stood there with the glass of water in her hand. He saw her nipples stiffen under her T-shirt, despite the heat. He had never seen a girl with such small breasts as Carmen; she could almost be a boy.

  “If we dismantle the crib, it will take less room,” she said. “And there’s so much junk in the cellar already.”

  Junk, Nicolai thought. So she thinks Tommy’s bed is junk.

  Carmen drank some more water and dried her mouth.

  “I want to start working again,” she said with determination. “The days go faster. Don’t you want to start working again too?”

  He nodded. She went into the kitchen again and he heard her opening a drawer.

  “Do you think they’ve buried him by now?” she shouted. “Was it stupid of us not to go to the grave?”

  “Y
es, it was stupid. I told you it was. You could have listened. You always want your own way, but I’ve got opinions too. Opinions and wishes.”

  “We can go there tomorrow, if you like,” she called, in an attempt to placate him. “To look at the grave. It’s great, isn’t it, that he got a place under the birch trees? Just like I wanted. I’m so glad.”

  Tommy is dead and buried, he thought, and you stand here and say you’re glad. Jesus, you’re unbelievable. But everyone grieves differently, he reminded himself. Carmen is not someone to dwell on things. She’s impatient and wants to move on. I have to remember that, he thought. But he felt overwhelmed by her energy and will all the same.

  “I’m sure we’ll have another baby, sooner or later,” she said. “Life goes on, doesn’t it? You do agree?”

  He went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He studied her narrow back at the counter.

  “But that’s not what I want,” he said defiantly. “Not anymore, at least. Don’t go on about it; it just makes me depressed.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” she said, offended. “I’m just trying to hold things together. It’s hard for me too, you know.”

  He looked at her with doleful eyes. I don’t think I love her anymore, he thought. He felt exhausted and helpless and sad. Everything we had is falling to pieces and too much has happened to get over it. How, he thought, will it ever pass?

  “We need to eat,” Carmen said after a few seconds’ silence. “I’ll make some spaghetti and meatballs.”

  He declined. No, he was sure he didn’t want any food. He wanted to punish himself by not eating to atone for Tommy’s death, for the fact that he hadn’t looked after him better and put up that damn fence. Instead he had gone down into the cellar to tinker with bikes. As if that was important. There are always moments like that, he thought. A few minutes when the child is not being watched. But then Tommy had just learned to walk, and the door was open and he had toddled off toward the glittering water. Children and water. Of course it was just waiting to happen. He followed Carmen with his eyes as she wiped the counter with a cloth. She opened a cupboard and took out a box of spaghetti.