The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  He waited for nearly an hour, his body restless and on edge. Finally a nurse came to the door and called his name. The plastic shoe covers rustled as he walked across the scrubbed floor.

  The doctor was alarmingly young, but Sejer felt he was given the best care. He was asked how long he had had this dizziness that came and went, which so often threw him off balance and to the floor. When he answered, he was embarrassed and awkward.

  “I’d rather not answer that,” he said. “Not without my lawyer here.”

  The doctor, Hannah Chen, smiled with white teeth and looked at him indulgently. “I see,” she said. “I take it that it’s been some time since your last visit. You’re certainly not part of the furniture here.”

  “I’m sorry; I never make an appointment unless it’s urgent,” he said. “I’m a cautious man.”

  She referred him to Oslo University Hospital for an MRI, and he realized there was no getting away from it; the bugger was going to be caught once and for all. Then she started to ask him about all kinds of things, and he answered as best he could. No, there’s no history of cancer in my family. My father had a bad heart, and my mother died of kidney failure; she was born with only one kidney and then it got inflamed. Both of them lived to a good age though. My wife died of liver cancer, some years ago now. She was only forty. No, I don’t drink much. Just a whiskey in the evening. Although, to be honest, it’s quite a generous dram. And I smoke one single cigarette every day and have for years. But I believe in moderation. Otherwise I lead a healthy life. My diet is rather Spartan; I keep fit. I’m never ill. Never. This is a new experience in my very orderly life, whatever it is that’s bothering me. And yes, I’m a bit anxious. So what do you think? Will I live until Christmas?

  Dr. Chen made some short notes. Her black hair was swept up into a tight, shiny bun on the top of her head.

  “I’m guessing you will,” she said calmly. “But we have to take this seriously. You’re not getting any younger, I’m sorry to say. None of us are. The human body is an intricate thing, and it’s amazing that so many manage to get by without mishap well into old age. People have never lived as long as we do now. And you’ll live to be old too, just you wait and see. So, I’m going to ask you to go to the lab and get some blood tests, and then you can go home safe in the knowledge that things have been set in motion. The hospital will send you a letter about your appointment. Try not to worry. You really are in very good shape.”

  He tried to calm his nerves and push the thoughts from his mind. In the afternoon, he drove over to Pappa Zita’s house. Carmen opened the door, came onto the front step, and held out her hand with a brave smile. She said nothing at first, as if she had gotten stuck, but then she composed herself and managed to speak.

  “Oh, have you come to bother us again?” she said with a dark, defiant flash.

  She walked into the hall and then closed the door behind him with a slam.

  “No,” Sejer replied. “I haven’t come to bother you. I just wanted to give my condolences, because this is all so terribly sad. I feel it too. And you have experienced more tragedy than anyone deserves. That was all I wanted to say, that my thoughts are with you.”

  “It would be nice if you came to the funeral,” she said. “Because he liked you a lot. He said so. Dad isn’t at home. He had to go to Zita Quick for a meeting. The business is growing, so we have to employ more people. I’m going to start working again soon, because I’ve been at home for so long now. You can bring the dog in if he’s out in the car. But to be honest, I think it’s time you left me alone now.”

  The words just poured out. It was as if she feared silence, because it would reveal something. Because when nothing is said, your body can betray you with a thousand small signals—nervous hands, a twitch of the mouth—even though she was doing all she could to be relaxed. He declined the offer and said that Frank was fine in the car; he was used to waiting. Was she not going to talk about Nicolai? How could she ignore his death? He couldn’t understand what she was thinking.

  “Is it true that they break their neck?” she asked, suddenly looking at him directly. “Is it quick?”

  He looked her in the eye and thought for a moment before answering.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he said, almost reluctantly. “And yes, so you know, it is quick. It takes about five to ten seconds before they fall into a coma.”

  She sat for a while thinking, digesting the information.

  “But those seconds must be awful. Everything twisting. All that blood left in the head.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Possibly. But we’ll never know, will we?”

  “Do they go blue in the face? Do their tongues stick out of their mouths?”

  “I haven’t seen Nicolai, so I can’t tell you.”

  “Or you don’t want to,” she said curtly. “You want to protect me. Well, that’s fine by me. But if I want to see him, then no one can stop me. And if I want you to leave me alone, then you’ll leave me alone.”

  “Of course,” he said, “but think hard before you do it. The image will haunt you for a long time to come. And the beautiful picture you have of Nicolai might be lost forever. Think about it before you sacrifice those happy memories. Where is your mother today? Are you alone?”

  “Mom’s gone out,” she said. “But she’ll be back in an hour. Would you like me to make some coffee? Just say if you want some, and I’ll get it.”

  Again, he declined the offer, observing her intently all the while. She was wearing a flowery top and three-quarter-length pants, and looked very pretty with her platinum hair and big eyes. All her life she had bathed in others’ admiration, looking in the mirror and admiring herself. It was as though she was always posing. He didn’t care much for it, but it was an attitude he had noticed with other girls too.

  “This must be more than you can bear,” he said in a friendly voice. He struggled to overcome the edge of antipathy that he always felt in his meetings with Carmen.

  “Yes, it’s enough now. But I want to find a new boyfriend. That’s if there’s anyone who wants me.”

  She cocked her head when she said this. The statement caught him off guard. Was that really what she was thinking, a day after Nicolai had committed suicide: a new man?

  “Carmen, really,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think you need to worry about things like that now.”

  She smiled back. “Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,” she clucked. Then they both laughed a short burst of liberating laughter, despite all the sadness.

  “Will you be using the same funeral directors?”

  “Yes, we’ve got an appointment with them this evening. They’re coming around at seven. We’ve told them what happened; it was Dad who told them. You know what, they took it well, because they have to. We’re going to tell the truth in the church, that it was suicide. I’m sure that’s what Nicolai would have wanted. He didn’t like sweeping things under the rug. You might not know it, but I really did love him.”

  “I believe you,” Sejer said. Then he asked: “Did you notice anything in the days before? When he left the house yesterday evening?”

  “I’ve known there was something wrong ever since Tommy died,” she said. “He’s not been himself since. He was really down in Majorca, didn’t care about anything. Just moped around, chain-smoked, and drank whiskey. I couldn’t get through to him. So I was very worried. But I wasn’t that surprised really. Nicolai is very reserved and always has been. And I often worried what he might do.”

  “Do you know where he went yesterday?”

  “No, I’ve got no idea. I suppose he just drove around in the Golf. He might have gone down to Stranda. I went to bed about midnight and fell asleep right away. When I realized that he hadn’t slept in the bed, I got really worried. I’m so glad that it was Dad who found him, so at least I didn’t get the worst shock.”

  She picked at the scuffed pink nail polish on one of her nails.

  “He didn’t go to Stranda,” Sejer told he
r. “He came to see me. I found him on the stairs around midnight.”

  “What?” She opened her eyes wide.

  “He came to tell me something important; it wasn’t a long visit.”

  “Something important?” she repeated and looked confused. “What was it?”

  “I can’t tell you. But I’m taking it very seriously.”

  “But what did you talk about?”

  “Well, he was worried about the court case. And then we talked a bit about you and your last statement.”

  She pouted, as though she was sulking. “Yes, Nicolai was furious that I told the truth. But that’s always best, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I agree. So, Carmen, how will your life be without Nicolai?”

  “Well, I’ll just have to make it work, won’t I? And Dad will do everything he can to help me.”

  “And how is your epilepsy? Are you managing to control it?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “It’ll always be there. But I’ve just had a major seizure, so at least I know it’ll be some time until the next one. But generally, it’s OK as long as I remember to take my pills. Dad keeps an eye on me, because I sometimes forget. And by the way, it’s Mom who tends Tommy’s grave. She thinks it’s better for me not to go. She’s planted some ivy and it’s growing nicely.”

  “I know,” Sejer said. “I’ve been up there. And you’ve got Friis as your lawyer,” he added. “He’ll look after you well; he’s good. Be honest with him and he’ll do all he can to help you.”

  “He says that I should be cleared,” she said, “because everything that’s happened is so terrible. Because I was mentally incapacitated. After the epileptic fit I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought I had to cover it up. He’s already spoken to my physician. And I’m not worried about the case; I’m going to manage it. Say hello to Skarre for me. He’s nice but he does go on a bit.”

  He promised he would and asked her to take care of herself. Then he got up from the sofa and walked toward the door. She followed him and then grabbed his arm and grasped it as tight as she could.

  “I’m going to tell you something,” she said, “something you might not know.”

  “OK.”

  He continued into the hall and started to open the front door.

  “Over sixty percent of fetuses with Down syndrome are aborted; they’re never born. People don’t want to have them.”

  He stopped and looked her in the eye. He was rather horrified by the statement; six out of ten Down children, he thought—was that really true? And he wondered what people with Down syndrome thought of the statistic. That they shouldn’t be here at all, that lots of people wouldn’t want them, that they were a burden?

  “Why are you telling me that?” he asked as he opened the door.

  “I just wanted you to know,” she said. “And I think I deserve sympathy, because no one understands how hard it is to have a child like that.”

  He went out onto the step and turned and put his hand on her arm.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “You have all my sympathy. But no one gets what they deserve in this life. Please take good care of yourself. And no matter what you might think, I wish you well.” Then he said goodbye and went to his car. He saw her still standing on the step as he drove away.

  38

  NINETEENTH OF OCTOBER. Rain.

  The sky was dark and threatening on the day Nicolai was laid to rest in Møller Church, and they had to battle pelting rain, wind, and fog. Trees and bushes, flags and sails were tossed around as the rain bucketed down. A modest gathering of neighbors and friends, colleagues from Zita Quick, and uncles from Barcelona followed him to the grave, which lay beside Tommy’s under the birch trees. As they came out of the church and were about to walk down the stone path to the gaping grave, the rain intensified. But the priest remained unperturbed, even though the wind tore angrily at his vestments, revealing his spindly legs and worn-out shoes. He continued on determinedly toward his destination as was expected of him, his neck bowed in humble prayer. Carmen sought shelter behind her father’s broad back and sang the last psalm as best she could. “Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.”

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest chanted as he threw three shovels of dry dirt on the white coffin lid. Nothing had been arranged for after the funeral this time either. In the death notice, it had said that the funeral would finish at the grave. Carmen just wanted it over and done with. Her mouth trembled as she clung to her father like an exhausted child. In part out of a sense of loss, but most of all out of panic. Because her life was out of control.

  “Must be a message from above,” Skarre commented when the ceremony was over and they hurried back to the Volvo to seek shelter from the rain. “It’s been the driest and warmest autumn in memory. But today there’s a downpour.”

  “What did you think of the priest?” Sejer asked. “Did he pass?”

  Skarre closed the car door and dried the rain from his face.

  “The priest was excellent,” he said. “A pillar of strength. Nicolai would have liked him. No avoidance or vague explanations, just the truth, and that’s the way it should be. Not even the pouring rain put him off his stride. To be honest, the stormy weather seemed quite appropriate today. What about you?” he added. “Do you feel guilty?”

  “Yes,” Sejer replied. “I should have heard the alarm bells; I should have heard them and done something.”

  He put a Fisherman’s Friend in his mouth and ran his fingers through his wet, coarse hair.

  “He said it outright, that he wouldn’t be present at the court hearing. Then he left the apartment and went straight to the ever-after. I’ll never forgive myself.”

  He stared glumly at his younger colleague. His eyes pleaded with Skarre for understanding.

  “Console yourself with the fact that you would only have managed to delay it for a while,” he said in a comforting tone. “It would only have happened later. I believe that suicide is like a ticking bomb in the genes. Sooner or later it will explode and nothing in the world can stop it.”

  “Thank you for that. I’ll still always feel guilty, though. But I’ll just have to live with that.”

  “Everyone lives with guilt,” Skarre stated. “Welcome to the club.”

  “Well, you’ll have to file a complaint with God,” Sejer commented.

  “Come on, God can’t be responsible for everything. We humans have to take some responsibility too.”

  “But isn’t He the almighty? Isn’t that the point of it all?”

  “Yes,” Skarre conceded. “But I could talk forever about His inscrutable ways. I’m pretty unflappable, and you will never make me lose hope. The explanation will come,” he claimed.

  “On the Day of Judgment, you mean?”

  “Yes, why not? And you know, there’s an explanation for everything we wonder about, for all the mysteries. There is an answer. Does God exist or doesn’t He? Is there life after death or not? Everything can be answered with a simple yes or no. Imagine.”

  “Good of you to simplify things,” Sejer said, “but I just can’t bring myself to believe it. We’ll never get those answers. When did you become so sure of God’s existence?”

  “Oh, I’ve never been certain,” Skarre quickly assured him.

  “But you said you believed?”

  “I believe, but I don’t know; that’s something different. It would be easier, of course, if I experienced a miracle. It wouldn’t need to be a big one. But I’ve never really been the type for absolute certainty. And anyway, doubt makes us human.”

  Sejer didn’t sleep well that night.

  He tossed and turned, pushing the comforter away because he was too hot and pulling it up again because he got too cold. He kept changing positions and could not settle. And finally with the first light he sank into the restless world of dreams. He dreamed that he was running for his life through dry sand. Behind him, his pursuer had a gun; he could make out a figure in black with a hood and flapping
coattails. He could clearly hear him breathing, and every now and then the man gave a kind of low, terrifying growl that scared the living daylights out of him. When he turned around to see who it was, he discovered that the white face beneath the hood was not a human face but a clock face, and that the hands were pointing to twelve. He kicked up clouds of sand in panic. But instead of moving forward, he just dug himself deeper and deeper into the sand dunes. A bullet would hit him at any second, through the left-hand side of his back, shredding his heart. Blood would flow and death would be upon him. But despite the panic, somewhere deep inside there was a rumble that this was perhaps just a dream and nothing to worry about. Still he scrambled to get away. Fascinating, all the layers between being awake and deep sleep, he mused once awake. Feeling agitated and tired, he leaned over the edge of the bed and looked down at Frank.

  “That was a bad dream,” he said and groaned. Frank opened his eyes, stood up, and trotted to the head of the bed. He got a rub behind the ear and then went and lay down again. Sejer fell back to sleep, only to dream the same dream again. The feeling of kicking helplessly in the dry sand without being able to move made him panic. Later, when he woke up for the second time, he wondered what the dream might mean. There was something fateful about it, he thought, because the clock hands showed twelve. That meant that time was out—could that be it? Was his subconscious trying to tell him there was no hope? That the dizziness was his final fate? He tossed the comforter to one side and put his feet on the floor. I guess I’m ill, he thought disconsolately, and felt a sharp pain in his chest. And yes, it was the left side. Could there be something wrong with his heart? he wondered. Was his life about to collapse? He went over to the window and looked out at the town blanketed in darkness. And he was struck by a melancholy thought. He would never know the answers to life’s great questions, and God would never reveal Himself to him. But we’re modest, aren’t we? he said to Frank. I would be happy with a burning bush.