by Karin Fossum
‘I’ve come to listen to what you’ve got to say,’ she explained. ‘To what’s on your mind. To what’s weighing on your conscience, if you’ve done something wrong. And if not, I’ll listen to your concerns. But not a word, not a syllable of any of this can I pass on. I have a duty of confidentiality. Like a Catholic priest.’
She smiled good-naturedly.
‘I’d like to think they’re treating you well. But there isn’t much compassion in a place like this. And a life without compassion is a lonely life. I often think about that.’
Her eyes took in the wretched visiting room. Worn furniture, a few pictures on the walls, a water sprite rising up from a tarn with green, gleaming eyes, a squirrel in mid-air, sailing from one branch to another, dirty windows. Then something came to her mind and suddenly she grew eager. She leant forward in her chair, her eyes shining with a special intensity.
‘I bet you can’t guess who walked to the park yesterday? I mean, under her own steam. That young girl, you know, the one who always sat in a wheelchair. Do you remember her, and her mother?’
‘Miranda,’ I said with surprise. ‘Are you seriously telling me she can walk? She can’t walk, she’s disabled.’
Ebba nodded. ‘She’s got braces on her legs. She can’t bend her knees, of course, but she is walking. One little step at a time. I nearly fell off my bench, it was like a miracle. I’ve never seen a child so proud.’
‘How wonderful,’ I said half-heartedly.
And I tried to imagine the scene. The thin girl strutting along on stiff legs. And that walking nail display, Lill Anita, following behind with supporting hands. And I didn’t like it a bit; I didn’t like the way the image I’d formed long ago of the two of them, the mother and the child with all her spasms, suddenly had to be modified now, it was as though I’d lost control of life. Leg braces. Well, really.
‘But surely she can’t run?’ I put in.
‘Oh, no, I doubt she’ll ever do that. But just imagine the feeling of standing on your own legs at last, and being able to walk with your mother to the park. Just imagine it!’
For a while I sat immersed in my own thoughts. I believed I could glimpse the outline of a pattern which until now had been hidden. And I was a tiny part of this complicated weft, perhaps an insignificant part, like one thread in a net. And Ebba and Miranda were too, and the big black man from the Reception Centre, Lill Anita, and Arnfinn, whom I’d clubbed to death. We were simply minute pawns, and we were being moved about. The notion that some other being had an overarching plan for me and my affairs sent a shiver down my spine, a being I could neither glimpse nor control.
‘Can you see the sanatorium from your window?’ Ebba wanted to know. ‘My husband spent a month there as a patient many years ago. Lots of people say it’s haunted.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve heard that. How stupid can you get. As if the dead could be bothered to moon about, once they’ve finally got free of this world.’
‘It’s supposed to be haunted by a former nursing sister,’ Ebba explained. ‘At night you can hear creakings from doors and stairways. Witnesses have seen a bluish light in the corridor, something icy cold that stands there flickering, it’s quite inexplicable. But, you know, there’s lots of wood in that old building, so it’s not surprising that there are noises, the timbers are affected by the weather, and a house is a living organism. And then there’s static electricity. Nature is full of forces. Who’s looking after your house?’ she enquired suddenly.
‘No one,’ I replied. ‘And I worry about it.’
She reached down to find a handkerchief in her bag, and sat there with it in her hand.
‘Yes, my husband’s dead,’ she announced. ‘It’s fifteen years ago now. He suffered another major embolism only a year after his first one, and we didn’t get to the hospital in time. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about my own affairs. I can help you as regards your house,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a volunteer service, and they take on jobs like that.’
I thought of Arnfinn’s grave.
‘No,’ I said, ‘it’ll be all right. It won’t be long before they give me some leave, and there’s not much that needs doing. The lawn’s wild anyway, and the house is in good order.’
She took another lozenge.
‘How do you pass the time? Do the days hang heavy? I imagine the nights must be worst. I mean, the loneliness. And the dark. The worry, all those thoughts. And perhaps an uncertain future.’
‘I’ve certainly got quite a lot to think about,’ I said. ‘And the ones who’ve brought this charge will have plenty to think about, too, when they realise they’ve arrested the wrong man. But I’m certain the truth will out. I mean, I believe in justice. I have to believe in it, or I wouldn’t be able to keep going.’
I looked into Ebba’s earnest face. She had some lines and wrinkles, slightly pendulous jowls, and her hair was grey, all signs that she’d been around a long time and that the years had set their mark upon her. She sucked eagerly at her lozenge, sat on the edge of her chair, all attention; someone had taught her the art of listening, or perhaps she had a natural gift for it.
‘How often can you come?’ I asked, needy as a small child.
‘Ah,’ she said, prevaricating. ‘I have several people to visit. But possibly every other week, if I can manage it. How does that strike you? Every fortnight, Riktor? You needn’t feel we have to meet. I’ll only come when you want me to, not if you don’t. Then we’ll see how things go on from there, I’m sure it’ll work out.’
She crossed one leg over the other, their length showing to advantage.
‘Guess what happened yesterday,’ she blurted out suddenly.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Some divers found a body at the bottom of Lake Mester. They were amateurs, and it must have given them quite a shock. At first they thought it was a rotten tree trunk. But it turned out to be a man, and he’d been there some time. He’d gone missing at the beginning of April, isn’t that terrible? Presumably he’d gone skiing and went through the ice. Then he must have thrashed about in the water, quite alone and helpless. But at least the poor soul will have a grave now, that must be a comfort to the family, don’t you think? But he must have been an awful sight. After so many months in the water.’
She clasped her hands in her lap. Her two gold rings glowed. Sunlight fell obliquely into the room and found us as we sat, each on our own chair, and slowly we were warmed through and through.
‘When does your case come up?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that could take some time. People often spend several months on remand. Some as much as a year, so it’ll be a bit of a wait.’
Something else came to her, and she became enthusiastic again.
‘D’you recall that elderly chap with the hip flask?’ she queried. ‘Who always sat on the bench drinking.’
‘Yes, I remember him well,’ I answered, in a somewhat subdued tone.
‘He’s completely disappeared,’ she said. ‘And the police have put him on the missing persons’ register.’
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Missing? Disappeared?’
‘It seems he had a daughter who lives and works in Bangkok. She’s never had much contact with him, but there’s obviously been a few words now and again. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t answering the phone. Over a long period. Now she’s gone to the police, and they’ve started looking for him. There was a piece in the paper recently, with a picture, too. “Have you seen this man?” And I had, so many times. He’s been staggering around the park all these years, poor man. So I got in touch with the police.’
‘Did you phone?’ I asked inanely.
‘Yes, I phoned. You know, with what information I had. That he hung around the park and that sort of thing, just in case they didn’t know. You two had a certain amount of contact, didn’t you? Wasn’t he an acquaintance of yours?’
I almost shot up from my chair.
‘No, no!’ I countered rapidly. ‘Most certainly no
t. We weren’t acquainted at all!’
‘But I thought I saw the pair of you together a couple of times, over at your house. Did I make a mistake?’
‘Yes, that’s totally wrong. We never exchanged a word. I mean, I know who he is, but we never had anything to do with one another, I don’t know where you got that from! Did you really tell the police that we were acquainted?’
‘Oh, do forgive me,’ she said quickly, assuming a worried expression. She placed a hand in front of her mouth, and hung back a good while. ‘But I’m afraid I also told the police that I saw you together. You live in that red house at Jordahl, don’t you? The small house with the covered veranda?’
I nodded dumbly.
‘Yes, I’ve seen you there several times, you sometimes cut the grass in front of your house with a scythe. And I saw Mr Jagge up there at your house a few times, can I really have been so wrong?’
‘Mr Jagge?’ I queried uncomprehendingly.
‘Arnfinn Jagge,’ she replied. ‘That’s his name. I only mentioned it in passing to the police, that he was occasionally at your house at Jordahl. Of course, I didn’t know your name, but they knew the house. So it’s possible they may make contact with you in case you can tell them anything. I’m dreadfully sorry if this causes any difficulties for you. You see, I was so certain.’
She tried to settle herself again. But a deep furrow had appeared in her brow.
‘Maybe they’ve been to your house to ask about him,’ she reasoned, ‘not realising you’re in here; and the one hand doesn’t know what the other’s doing. That’s what it’s like in all government departments. It’s so strange when someone suddenly vanishes like that, don’t you think? But they’ll find him all right. One fine day. Even the man at the bottom of the lake was found eventually. Right tends to triumph in the end,’ she concluded.
I had no answer to that.
Ebba’s news had made me feel faint. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already, what with the case pending, the wrongful case. My finger found a hole in the chair seat, bored its way in and pulled out a thread which I twiddled with almost frenetic fervour. While I tried to come to terms with the situation. While I did my best to regain control.
‘What about your case?’ Ebba asked. ‘Are you very worried about it?’
I assured her that I wasn’t. I pulled myself together and sat up, my voice was strong and steady.
‘I’m innocent, you know,’ I explained. ‘And there’s something about the truth. It gives one strength.’
Chapter 30
I TOLD MARGARETH about the hidden pattern I believed I’d found in my life, and she listened attentively. She nodded occasionally, and agreed. She also felt part of some larger plan, that her life was inching towards a particular end, an end that had been ordained for her alone.
‘I simply drift along,’ she said, ‘there’s no point in questioning everything. There are so many answers you never get. No, it’s just a case of girding yourself up and doing your duty. All this how and why, and what’s the real meaning behind everything, I’ve given up caring about that.’
Margareth and I were standing in the gleaming prison kitchen, frying enough meatballs to feed twenty. Margareth made the mixture and I moulded the small round balls in my hand and placed them in the browning butter. Immediately there was an angry hissing, and a delightful smell.
‘But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to get away,’ I heard Margareth say. ‘We can leave the things that are familiar to us and find a new purpose. When we really have to. Start a new life in a different place. Don’t you think so, Riktor?’
She had spoken my name again, and my heart leapt. I stood with a meatball in my hand, the raw mixture was cold and sticky to the touch, and I had to struggle against a sudden urge to throw it across the room, watch it splatter on the opposite wall. And slide slowly down the white tiles towards the floor. These were the kind of whims that would flash through my head. But I kept calm. I was in the process of developing a degree of self-discipline I’d never mastered before. It was because of the routine and the narrow cell, there wasn’t any room to let fly, it was like being firmly contained inside a cylinder.
‘You’re probably right,’ I said, ‘it’s quite possible. But today I was talking to a young man who’s in jail for the eleventh time. He certainly hasn’t managed to get out of the rut. The eleventh time. That only means one thing. He’s lost.’
‘That’s a bit cruel,’ Margareth cut in.
‘No, I’m just being a realist,’ I said.
She wanted to know if I’d met the Russian. She described him as huge and awe-inspiring, completely bald and with a large tattoo on his forehead, which had originally depicted a scorpion, but over the years had stretched a bit at the edges, and now looked more like a great cockroach crawling across his brow. He was in for armed robbery, and he bullied the other prisoners to such an extent that the management was considering putting him in solitary.
‘I’ve met him in the exercise yard,’ I replied. ‘He asked me what I’d done to my teeth. Whether I’d filed them down on purpose, or if they’d just gone like that. So I told him they were the teeth I was born with. That’s the only contact I’ve had with the Russian.’
‘He’s been here before as well,’ said Margareth, ‘a couple of years ago. He’d robbed a jeweller’s shop with three others. Grind a bit more pepper over the meatballs, please. Well, go on man! The boys like them nice and hot.’
I went on and on grinding pepper over the meatballs. By now I’d become very used to these hours spent in Margareth’s company; every day I looked forward to them with pleasure. Margareth, dear Margareth. Those unassuming conversations, the calm and reserve of her personality, her ever downcast eyes. She was certainly no beauty, no Anna Otterlei, but I’d accustomed myself to the mascaraed eyes and the dry, red hair, which she often concealed beneath a frayed scarf. But all the time I was plagued by one great anxiety. I feared the day her assistant might be passed fit to work again. Then, presumably, I’d be banished from the kitchen and left to my own devices, alone in my cell. The mere thought of losing the treasure that I’d at long last discovered was enough to trouble me. And the fear suffused and disturbed me, especially at night. I would sleep fitfully and have nightmares about all that had happened, and that might happen in the future. I’d dream that Arnfinn had risen from his grave, toppled the rhododendron bush, and walked all the way to the prison to denounce me. He’d stand by my bed with a swarm of flies round his head and fat, yellow maggots crawling out of his mouth. I’d never seen such fat maggots. These anxiety attacks could also affect me during the day when I was working in the kitchen. They came from nowhere like bolts of lightning. I’d have to lean on the work surface and breathe calmly for a couple of minutes before continuing work. Margareth said nothing. She worked steadily on, as the smell of meatballs with onions and nutmeg filled the kitchen.
Chapter 31
SOMEONE, I DON’T know who, had slipped into Nelly Friis’ room. Had stood there staring at her for a few moments. Maybe sat on the chair by the bed, murderous hands in lap, thinking evil thoughts. Then this person had risen, pushed back the chair, pulled the pillow from under her head, grasped it firmly, bent over her and forced it against the thin face with all their strength. Presumably Nelly’s body had gone through some spasms, but she’d probably lost consciousness fairly quickly, debilitated as she was by age and ill health. Then there was silence in Nelly’s room. Only one person was left breathing hard after the crime. They’d replaced the pillow beneath her head and crept out. Perhaps this person was on the staff at Løkka. Or a relation, possibly; relatives came and went as they pleased, and we couldn’t always keep tabs on them. Of all the people who worked at that large institution, the police had singled me out. And I didn’t know why. I always made my moves with the greatest caution, and checked left and right before I entered a room. I pulled hair and pinched and scratched, but no one ever saw me do it. Even so, I’d noticed the atmosphere, t
he long, resentful looks, as if they knew something anyway. I couldn’t understand it.
My case was scheduled at last.
It was fixed for 10 November. And Margareth’s assistant had been diagnosed with bone cancer. Slowly but surely the cells of the disease were eating away at his bones, and in the end he would collapse like a house of cards. What happy news! I revelled in it like a small child. It secured my place in Margareth’s kitchen. I employed the four remaining weeks in preparing myself thoroughly, and I admitted to Margareth that I’d find it hard to leave her. That soon I’d be alone again in my own little kitchen, with no one to talk to.
‘Well, only if they find you not guilty,’ she said tersely.
I smiled self-confidently. I didn’t believe I would be sentenced for a crime I hadn’t committed, after all, we live in a country under the rule of law.
De Reuter organised some decent clothes for me. Nice grey trousers and a navy-blue blazer, a shirt and tie. I was respectability itself in this costume, although it was actually a size too large. Now I experienced the ticking passage of time in a new way, all those hours and minutes, for at last I had an objective. I was on the way to release. I practised many long speeches I intended to make to the court, delivering them in a firm and steady voice. But de Reuter told me in no uncertain terms that I must obey all the judge’s instructions. I promised to do as he said.
‘I promise,’ I would say, my right hand raised, ‘to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’
The night before the case was due to be heard, I couldn’t sleep. Arnfinn was pressing in so close again, I could smell him. I rose from my bed several times and went to the window and peered out at the sanatorium, and saw that there were lights in several of the windows. I thought of the grave behind my house, and if, by now, wind and weather had levelled it. I imagined it had. I lay down again. I listened to the muffled sounds from outside, I thought of the Russian also lying on his bed, his great body and high forehead with its black cockroach. Perhaps the cockroach came alive at night. Perhaps it crawled around his head until dawn, and then returned to its usual place on his brow. Then my mind turned to Arnfinn’s daughter in Bangkok, the one who’d discovered he was missing. Then to my house at Jordahl, which stood empty. I tossed restlessly in bed. For a long time I lay against the wall with my knees drawn up, then turned on my back, before rolling on to my side once again. I drew the covers over me and huddled down, all the time mumbling to myself: the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
