by Karin Fossum
In short, I fulfil my obligations. What's wrong with obligations? Aren't they what hold society together? Every night when I go to bed, I can cross off one more day. That's a relief. I'm not ashamed. When I wake up in the morning, I'm always amazed that I'm still here. But I think that's great, and I do what I'm supposed to do. You mustn't think that I'm unhappy or anything; I'm doing fine. Or was. Until the incident with Andreas happened.
I was 16 when I left the yellow house. All the rules had closed around me like a cage. I didn't let anyone in. Behind the bars, I constructed a life, a state in which I could survive, one consisting of order and regulation, discipline and control. My parents regarded me with doubt and relief. There was something clearly legible in their eyes. Don't blame us, they said, if anything goes wrong. They didn't wave when I left. They wanted above all things to be left in peace. I never acquired a faith in God, either. There's more between heaven and earth, my mother would say, with her back turned. They passed on to me what they had learned themselves, the best way to make it through life. So I left, with the rules as a weight on my shoulders, and from behind the cage bars I observed the world. Everyone around me was vacillating and without purpose and disgustingly impulsive. Human beings have a tendency to just drift along, and that makes me nervous.
I have a friend. Did I mention that? Runi. She rarely visits me. Usually it is I who goes to visit her, and that's what I prefer. A guest in my house makes me feel like a prisoner. I can't get up and leave when I want to. She talks a lot and has all sorts of worries. No more than I do, but I'm not as eager to talk about them. Except for now, to you. Runi's a beautiful woman; in appearance, I mean. Modern without going over the top. She knows she's attractive. That's important to her. Most of the time she's gentle and talkative and lively. But she cackles wickedly about everything that's troublesome, and sometimes she's a downright nuisance. It wears me out. Occasionally there are things that I'd like to tell Runi, but I don't. Like when I use her toilet. I go into the tiny room, lift up my skirt and pee. Wipe myself thoroughly. Wash my hands. It costs me nothing. I can't tell this to Runi, because she wouldn't understand. You wouldn't either. Of course she's charming, but she lacks any connection with herself and with the ground she walks on. She never thinks things through. When something happens, she's never prepared. That childish attitude, thinking that nothing will ever harm her, where does she get that from? She's an adult now. And a terrible liar.
One time – well, I have to confess it was in a fit of drunkenness – I was sitting in her living room, eating cake. With icing and green gumdrops on top. She started talking about how vigorously she always did the Friday cleaning, and how much her back hurt afterwards. I had my own thoughts on the subject. I could smell the dust in the room. I have a very keen sense of smell. When she went out to the kitchen to get something, I grabbed a gumdrop from the cake and tossed it under the sofa. And then I waited. At first for a week, but then I put my heart and soul into it and waited another week. And then, to really test fate, I waited one week more. Then I paid her a visit. When she went to the bathroom, I bent down and found the gumdrop. It wasn't green any more, and it was furry. I never confronted her with the furry gumdrop; I'm not a mean sort of person. I try to offer her something, since we're friends, for God's sake. And what is a friend? Someone to spend time with, without too much discomfort? Because I don't really care for her that much. If she died I'd be extremely upset, but at the same time a lot would be over and done with. Grieve for her? That's not how I'd feel. It's good to be done with things.
She encourages me to go out, sometimes to a restaurant, or to the theatre. It takes an effort for me to do that. To sit there in a crowd of people, so close that you can hear what they're saying, is very stressful. One time we went to Hanna's Kitchen because it was Runi's birthday. That was a long time ago. We were sitting at a table right next to two young women, well, young compared to us, but definitely adults. They were howling and carrying on, giggling like a couple of teenagers. And they drank too much and got very drunk. I realised after a while that they were actually two streetwalkers. I'm no fool. Some of their conversation can't be repeated, it was so vile. And having them so close like that. Unable to get away! Runi makes all the arrangements if we're going to do something together. Sometimes I feel quite moved, when I hear her voice on the phone, when she asks me if I'd like to come along, and her anxiety that I might say no. She doesn't have anyone else. Life isn't easy for anybody.
If I'm ever brought before a court, they'll probably declare me guilty by reason of insanity. But I'm not. I remember everything, so I should be held accountable, shouldn't I? And you can see that my thoughts are coherent and orderly, can't you? That I'm a normal human being and not mentally deficient? I'm sure of that.
I've pulled a plastic tarpaulin over the body. I don't plan on moving him. How could I manage that? He weighs a ton, so the most I could have done would be to lug him into a corner. I've hung an old potato sack over the window. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. He's lying on his back with his arms at his side. He's no longer handsome. As I've said so often, physical beauty is a fragile gift. I myself have little to lose. I'm know that I'm ugly. No-one has ever said as much out loud, but I can see it in people's eyes when I meet their gaze: the dead look they give me. "Why can't you fix yourself up?" Runi asks me, annoyed. It scares her that I don't fight back. Let the young people be sleek in peace, is what I think now. Like Andreas, he's young and sleek. Well, not any more. My thoughts are with him. It's not that he's been forgotten or anything. He'll never be forgotten. But as for myself, I'm not so certain.
CHAPTER 4
Andreas smoked Craven A cigarettes. Not Prince or Marlboro, like other people. Every time he was out of cigs he'd go to a kiosk, lean forward and say: "Craven". And they would nod behind the counter and search the shelves. Not many people bought that brand. He sought attention wherever he went, but as soon as he got it, he rejected it. Zipp knew that he himself was not fussy, and had no specific preferences whatsoever. He couldn't really tell the difference, anyway, between a Prince and a Marlboro. Or between Coke and Pepsi. He had to look at the name on the label. He wondered if other people were lying, or whether they were actually more canny than he was. Maybe Andreas was lying. He wasn't altogether trustworthy. Something was lacking. He could never say: "One time last year" or "last Saturday" or "dammit, Zipp, guess what happened yesterday!" He never talked about anything in the past. Only about the present moment, or what was to come. And it wasn't because what had happened in the past was too awful to talk about; that wasn't it. And Zipp ought to know. They'd been hanging out together for eleven years. But had he ever heard Andreas say: "Do you remember that time?" No, that would never happen.
"In 2019," said Andreas, "we'll be 39 years old. Have you ever thought about that?"
Zipp shrugged. No, he hadn't, and he didn't feel like doing the arithmetic, but it was probably about right. Almost 40.
"What about it?"
Andreas studied the pavement ahead. "By then human beings will have colonised several of the planets. All the animals will be extinct. The air will be lethally polluted, and the first replicants will be living among us without our knowing."
"You've been watching too many videos," Zipp said. "We need money, man!"
Andreas read aloud what it said on a poster on a wall: "Saga Sun Trips. Clean air, crystal clear water. I know," he said. "Drive over to Furulund."
He issued the order in a gentle manner, as if Zipp were a long way his junior. It did not occur to him that he might be contradicted, at least not with any seriousness.
"Furulund? Why there?"
"It's quiet out there."
"But what about the money, Andreas!"
"Just so," he said calmly.
Zipp made a U-turn, and Andreas pulled a comb out of his pocket. He started combing his unruly hair.
"Out to get the ladies?" Zipp teased. "Someone younger for a change?"
Andreas struggled with his cur
ls. "Shut up and drive."
Zipp drove the Golf as fast as it would go, past Dynamite Industries and along the fjord. Andreas remained alert. After five minutes he told Zipp to slow down. A cyclist was coming in the other direction, a man on a racing bike. He had a touring rucksack on his back, he was wearing a helmet and cycling gloves, and he was moving at quite a speed. Andreas dismissed the man and stared through the windscreen. They were approaching a public park, which consisted of a decent swimming area, tables and benches and several large permanent barbeques which were always in use during the summer.
"Turn right," Andreas said.
"There's just a lousy kiosk down there, and it's closed for the autumn," Zipp objected.
"There are people here," Andreas said. "It's a tourist area. If we're lucky, we'll find an old lady with a handbag."
Zipp manoeuvred the car cautiously down towards the sea.
"Slowly. We're strangers here, we're looking for something."
"Looking for what?"
Andreas shook his head in disbelief.
"We're going to stop someone and ask for directions."
"Who?"
"Whoever turns up," he said with a groan. His friend's simple-mindedness was unbearable.
"What a shitload of trouble it is to live in a society that charges 40 kroner for a pint. If it's going to be any fun tonight, we're going to need at least a thousand," Zipp said.
The ocean poured in over the shore. Greyish-green, foaming, and ice-cold. They came to an old dilapidated clubhouse. Outside it, pieces of broken patio furniture had been piled into a heap, a midsummer bonfire that would never be lit. The summer had been very dry. They turned into the car park and surveyed the area. In the distance they saw a figure plodding along the shoreline. Andreas opened the glove compartment and took out a cap. He pulled it down over his forehead and tucked his curls underneath. Zipp grinned when he read the words on the blue fabric.
"'Holy Riders. On the Road for Jesus.' Shit, you're bad, Andreas!"
A strong wind was blowing. Andreas stuck one foot outside the car.
"A woman," he said. "With a pram. Excellent."
"Why?"
"Women get so helpless when they're pushing a pram."
He turned to look at Zipp. "Just think what's inside."
"What exactly are you planning to do?"
Zipp was nervous. He couldn't very well object; they were friends, did everything together. But he often thought that one day they would cross a boundary too far. Andreas had his knife in his belt, under his shirt.
"First we have to see if she's got a handbag with her. If she lives nearby, she probably left it at home. Otherwise women always carry a handbag."
They waited as the figure came closer slowly. She was pushing the pram along the beach, and the wheels were sinking into the soft sand. She was very tall, with a scarf round her head and a light-coloured coat which flapped in the wind.
"She must be two metres tall!" said Zipp, who was 1.70 himself.
"Doesn't matter. Girls don't have much in the way of muscles."
The woman caught sight of the car. She leaned down to pat what lay inside the pram. They could see part of a blue quilt. Andreas strained his eyes.
"I see her handbag," he whispered. "It's on top of the blanket. That's great!"
"Why?"
"It's more difficult when they carry their handbags over their shoulders." He sat for a moment, squinting under the peak of his cap, going over his plan of attack. It wasn't a time for threats or violence, but for pure cunning.
"You stay here. Keep the engine running. Find something in the glove compartment. Pretend that you're sitting here looking at a map or something. I'll get out and ask for directions – to somewhere. The football field. I'll snatch the handbag and hightail it back."
"She'll get our registration number!"
"They usually don't. They get too damned scared."
Andreas got out and approached the woman. She took stock of him and slowed her pace, casting an uneasy glance at the car.
Women are strange, thought Andreas. It's as if they can smell that something is up. Or maybe they just look at things in a different way from men. Because they have more enemies, maybe that's it. To be a woman and have to be on guard all the time, what a fucking strain that must be! She had actually started in the direction of the car park, but then she would have to pass the car. Suddenly she turned the pram around and set off in the opposite direction. The manoeuvre was pitifully obvious. He wondered where the idea came from. Whether on account of the foaming sea, because her path was blocked on one side, or maybe because of the child, the responsibility for someone other than herself. And because they were male. A sudden fear. In addition, the wind was fierce and the waves were slamming hard against the shore. No-one would hear her if she yelled. Andreas stopped, shook his head and stared after her. She turned around, wary. He reacted fast and made a helpless gesture with his hands. The light was white and harsh, making his face shine. She started up a path that rose steeply along a ridge above the sea. Possibly a way out. Zipp sat in the car and waited. He followed Andreas with his eyes, Andreas followed the woman. She quickened her pace, but then she heard his voice behind her and again she turned around. In spite of everything, most people found it difficult to ignore someone who was calling out in a friendly manner. And surely he couldn't be dangerous or anything like that! What a ridiculous idea! She had merely taken precautions, withdrawn from a potential danger. The baby in the pram had shown her so clearly how dangerous the world was. She hardly slept at night; when she fell asleep the child was erased from her consciousness, and she couldn't allow that to happen.
"Excuse me!"
Andreas called out in a paper-thin voice. The yellow shirt flapped around his slender midriff. His right hand held the shirt over his knife. He looked like a very tall kid of confirmation age. Zipp, still in the car, saw the woman stop at last. It didn't seem right to choose her, not a woman with a little baby. There was something about the way that she was clutching the handle of the pram that frightened him. A sense of desperation in those white hands tight around the handle. It wasn't because of the handbag, but because of the little bundle under the blue blanket. He realised that something might happen, that she was unpredictable because of the baby. He put the brake on and got out. He did this even though Andreas had told him to stay in the car.
Andreas was almost level with her. He stopped a short distance away so as not to seem threatening. And he had an air about him that was hard to resist. Zipp could see in her eyes that she had read what it said on his cap, that she had noticed the little white cross and the words underneath. Her shoulders relaxed. She even ran her hand over her scarf, almost coquettishly, and looked at him with a smile. Andreas opened his mouth and said something. The woman replied and started pointing, past the car park and up towards the road. Zipp stared at the pram and caught sight of the handbag. A nylon bag, black and red. Andreas moved a few steps nearer as he looked the other way. He was backing up towards the handbag. Zipp kept walking.
Then Andreas noticed him, and for a moment he looked confused. They were high up on the path now. There was no beach below, just a bare slope descending to the water that ended in piles of sharp rocks. Andreas made his move. He leaned and grabbed the handbag, then ran hell for leather back towards the car. The woman screamed. In desperation she tried to make sense of the new situation, the fact that they had duped her, after all, just when she had decided that they were decent boys with good intentions. Something took hold of her, a violent rage, or maybe it was a sense of impotence. She kicked on the brake of the pram out of pure reflex, and started running.
"Get in the car!" Andreas shouted.
But Zipp stood stock still. They came running towards him, but he didn't move because he could see the pram starting to roll down the slope towards the water. She hadn't set the brake properly! Paralysed, he watched the little blue plush pram tip over the edge. He screamed as he ran like crazy and almos
t collided with Andreas. But the woman stopped in her tracks. She finally realised what was happening. She whirled around and saw Zipp leap over the edge and vanish. And then she gave a piercing shriek and started to run. Andreas stopped where he was and stared in astonishment. The handbag slipped out of his hands. In the distance he heard the roar of the waves, the sound of heavy swells that almost knocked him over. He heard several faint screams before Zipp's blond head appeared over the edge. His face was red with agitation.
