by Håkan Nesser
I’m sure they do. You notice it as soon as you come into close contact with him.
VV:
Really? Can you give me an idea of the form the teaching takes?
MU:
Yellinek talks to the girls. We pray together. We try to cast out evil thoughts and purify ourselves.
VV:
How?
MU:
In various ways. By means of certain exercises. By prayer. By letting ourselves go…
VV:
What do you do when you let yourselves go?
[Silence for a few seconds.]
MU:
I don’t want to talk about this with outsiders. It’s easy to misunderstand. You have to be initiated in order to see it in the right way, it needs training…
VV:
Do you make love to Oscar Yellinek?
MU:
We live in intense harmony and intimacy.
VV:
Even sexually?
MU:
We are biological beings, Chief Inspector. We don’t impose the same limits as you do, that’s the difference between the Pure Life and the Other World.
VV:
The Other World?
MU:
The world you live in.
VV:
What have you to say about Yellinek being in prison for indecency and other crimes?
MU:
Jesus Christ was crucified to redeem our sins.
VV:
Do you compare Oscar Yellinek with Jesus Christ?
MU:
Of course.
[Another, quite long silence, apart from a noise that sounded like a heavy stone being pushed over the floor. It was some time before Van Veeteren realized that it wasn’t a stone, but a groan. Coming from him.]
VV:
Do your confirmands also live in intense harmony and intimacy with Oscar Yellinek?
MU:
Of course not. Not in the same way.
VV:
But the girls are sometimes naked in his presence.
MU:
It’s not the way you think it is, Chief Inspector. We are surrounded by ill will and slander, just like…
VV:
Like what?
MU:
Just like the first Christians.
VV:
So you compare yourselves to the first Christians?
MU:
There are a lot of similarities.
[Silence. Then the scraping sound of a chair. A match being lit and then blown out.]
VV:
Thank you, Miss Ubrecht. I don’t think I have any more questions to ask you.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ muttered the chief inspector, hopping over the conversation with Madeleine Zander, the woman he had spoken to the first time he visited Waldingen. I can’t face the same drivel all over again! he thought. The only things about her that were different from the others were that she had been a member since the very start, and that she had been married. Madeleine Zander was the eldest of the three – forty-six years old – and she had a grown-up daughter from a marriage that presumably lasted just long enough to conceive her and bring her into the world, the chief inspector thought.
Well, not really thought: hoped, rather.
Later – in the car on the way back to Sorbinowo – he had tried to recapitulate and home in on any signs of disharmony between the three women – envy, jealousy or something of that sort – but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall any such indications in his interviews.
But then again, he had hardly set out to trap them. On the contrary. He had behaved in a friendly and gentlemanly manner all the time. Just as he always did. So perhaps it was best not to pass judgement.
That could apply to the whole of this damned business, he thought. If it were just a crime novel, it would probably be best for it to remain unwritten – it contained so little of substance.
Mind you, the same could be said of rather a lot of things.
However, here he was, no matter what. Two hundred kilometres from Maardam and eleven days from Crete.
There are waiting rooms and there are waiting rooms, he had just read in Klimke’s meditations. But trains no longer run from most stations.
He decided to investigate that situation as far as Sorbinowo was concerned. He had only seen the station from a distance, but it hadn’t seemed especially lively.
Just as an indication, that is.
He had spoken to two of the girls, and after some thought had chosen to take them together rather than separately. Perhaps that was a symptom of weariness, and perhaps it indicated that he was on the way to giving up – but after Yellinek and his three pale slaves, what could one expect?
He located the right place on the tape, and started it running.
VV:
Would you like to tell me your names – speak loudly so that you can be heard on the tape.
BM:
Belle Moulder.
CH:
Clarissa Heerenmacht.
VV:
Do you know why I want to speak to you?
[Silence. Van Veeteren remembered that the girls had exchanged glances before they both shook their heads in unison.]
VV:
I’m from the police. It’s about that girl who’s disappeared from the camp. Can you tell me what happened?
BM:
Nobody’s disappeared.
CH:
Everybody’s been here all the time.
VV:
How many of you are there?
CH:
Twelve.
VV:
But there were thirteen to start with, weren’t there?
[Short pause.]
BM:
There’s been twelve of us all the time. Stop trying to trick us.
VV:
All right, if you say so. Can you tell me a bit about what you do here during the day?
CH:
We do all sorts of things.
VV:
Such as?
BM:
We go swimming, play games. We have discussion classes and group work and so on.
VV:
You like being here?
BM:
Yes.
CH:
It’s a really fab camp.
BM:
Lots of people think we do lots of strange things here at Waldingen, but we don’t in fact.
VV:
What do people think you do?
BM:
I’ve no idea. But we have a great time anyway. We learn lots of terrific things.
VV:
Really. Can you give me a few examples?
BM:
Well, we learn what’s important in life, how to live together with others, and things like that.
CH:
How to be a good person, and have a pure soul.
VV:
And how do you get a pure soul?
CH:
You get rid of all wicked thoughts.
VV:
How do you do that?
CH:
There are lots of ways. You have to be really, really careful – there’s evil everywhere.
BM:
We’re not supposed to talk about things like this.
CH:
No…
VV:
But I’m interested in learning.
BM:
Then you should talk to Yellinek.
VV:
Why?
BM:
It’s not good for us to talk about these things. We are learning important things, and you come from the Other World.
VV:
The Other World?
BM:
Yes.
VV:
What’s that?
BM:
The Other World is everything that isn’t the Pure Life.
VV:
You don’t say. And how long have you been members of this church?
CH:
How long? Er, fore
ver.
BM:
Since we were very little, at least.
VV:
So your parents are also members, are they?
BM:
Of course. Our brothers and sisters as well. We’re sort of chosen.
VV:
I see. How old are you?
BM:
Fourteen.
CH:
Twelve… Nearly thirteen.
VV:
Do you go to the Pure Life school as well?
BM:
Did do. I’ve been going to an ordinary school for a year now.
CH:
I’ll be starting an ordinary school in the autumn.
BM:
You think there’s something odd about us, don’t you? It’s always the same. What is it you’re trying to find out?
CH:
We’re having a fab time here at Waldingen.
VV:
So I’ve gathered. I suppose it must be hard, going to school in the Other World?
CH:
We have to learn what to do in the Other World as well. How to behave.
BM:
But I don’t think we should talk about that with you either.
VV:
Have you been told what you may and may not talk to me about?
[Silence. A warning look from the elder girl at the younger, if he remembered correctly.]
CH:
No…
VV:
You don’t sound sure.
BM:
Nobody’s told us anything. But we know anyway.
VV:
I see. But there must be some girls who aren’t enjoying the camp as much as you seem to be doing?
BM:
Everybody’s having a great time.
VV:
Everybody?
BM:
Why are you asking? Obviously somebody might get a bit sad now and again. Is that so odd?
CH:
I know everybody thinks it’s great here. What we are doing and learning is important.
VV:
Can you tell me a bit about the three basic principles, prayer, purity and self-denial?
CH:
Those are the basic principles, sort of. That’s what everything is based on.
VV:
What is meant by purity?
CH:
You have to be pure when you meet your God, but I think BM:
You don’t understand all this. If you’re not a member of the church, you shouldn’t start asking lots of questions.
VV:
Do you have to be naked in order to be pure?
CH:
Yes… No.
BM:
No, you don’t have to be, and anyway it’s nothing to do with you.
VV:
Do you have visitors?
BM:
No, it’s not good to have visitors when we’re busy learning.
VV:
But you phone home now and then, I suppose?
CH:
We don’t phone, because BM:
We write letters. That’s just as good.
VV:
So you’re not allowed to use the telephone?
CH:
I suppose we might be, but we don’t.
VV:
What’s the name of the girl who was only here at the beginning?
CH:
Eh? What do you mean by that?
BM:
I think you should stop being so rude. You are accusing us of lots of things you have no idea about. It’s cowardly of you to attack us like this.
VV:
Why don’t you have any boys in your church?
BM:
Of course we have boys in the Pure Life, but not at this camp. They have one of their own. I don’t think we want to talk to you any more now.
[Five seconds of silence. The sound of chairs scraping.]
VV:
All right. Let’s leave it at that. Run away and wash your souls, and tell that Yellinek to look up Isaiah 55:8.
BM:
Eh?
VV:
There’s a book called the Bible. I thought you were familiar with it.
CH:
Isaiah?
VV:
Yes, 55:8. So, off with you now, and wash yourselves clean!
He stopped the tape and slumped back onto the pillows. Lay there motionless for several minutes, searching for a way of putting into words the emotions careering around inside him.
Or a metaphor at least.
But there was nothing. Nothing occurred to him, and no thoughts crystallized in his brain. Only the word ‘impotence’, which was beginning to feel like an old acquaintance by this time. A disconsolate, ancient relative determined not to die, but who refused to be cast out – perhaps because of the very relationship.
He sighed. Noted that the bottles of beer were unfortunately empty and stood up. Went over to the window and looked out over the lake, where the last canoeists of the day were mooring at the jetties. It was a few minutes after half past nine, and shades of blue were busy transforming the evening light into mellow summer darkness.
A July night, Van Veeteren thought. ‘A summer night’s no time for sleep’, or something along those lines – who had written that?
No matter, the thought had merit. A little evening stroll and a glass of white wine seemed to be in order. To help him shake off the thought of that old acquaintance, if nothing else.
And to help him make up his mind to leave here. There was no longer any substantial reason for him to continue this putative investigation. The debt he owed Malijsen could surely be considered paid – no matter how you calculated it – and it was hard to see any rational reason for launching more attacks on the Waldingen camp. No matter how hard one might try to find one.
Mind you, perhaps old Borkmann had a point when he used to claim that: Reason has an elder sister, never forget that. She’s called Intuition.
12
She finally found the body long after the sun had set. Darkness had begun to spread through the pine trees, and for one confused moment she wondered if it wasn’t just an illusion after all. A bizarre mirage, this sudden sight of a girl’s white skin gleaming at her through the brushwood – perhaps it would disappear the moment it occurred to her to close her eyes.
But she didn’t close her eyes. The inner voice that had led her here would not allow her to close her eyes. She would have to act, to undertake the incomprehensible task it had given her.
There was no arguing, she must do it.
Where did it come from, this voice that drove her? She didn’t know, but presumably it was the only source of strength available to her in the nightmare she was experiencing. The only thing that kept her going, and made her take these measures and steps – it must be something based inside herself nevertheless; a side of her that she had never in her life needed to make use of, but it had now kicked in and made sure that whatever had to be done really was in fact done. A sort of reserve, she thought, an unknown well from which she could scoop out water, but over which – at some point in the distant future, may God please ensure that she soon got there! – she must place a heavy lid of forgetfulness. Plant the grass of time upon it: I am the grass; I cover all, as the poet said – why on earth should she think of poetry now? – so that neither she herself nor any other person could suspect what she had used its water for. Or even that it had been there.
In the distant future.
The well. Her strength. The inner voice.
It was very dark now. She must have been standing there, staring at the incomprehensible, for an incredibly long time, even if she hadn’t been aware of it. She switched on her torch for a moment, but realized that light would do her no favours in these circumstances, and switched it off again. Pushed some twigs aside and pulled out the whole of the thin, naked body. Bowed down on one knee and took hold of it under its back and under its knees; was briefly surprised by the stiffness in the mu
scles and joints, and was reminded fleetingly of the body of a little foal when she had been present at a failed birth many years ago.
The body was not heavy, below forty kilograms for sure, and she was able to carry it with little difficulty. She hesitated for a moment, wondering about various alternatives, but eventually came to a place where she could hear that inner voice once more. Carefully – as if displaying some kind of perverted respect no matter what the circumstances – she placed the body in a half-sitting position against the trunk of an aspen tree: an enormous aspen with a whole sky of whispering leaves – and began to cover it over with what she could find in the way of branches and twigs and last year’s husks.
Not to hide it, of course. Merely to shield it a little in the name of dignity and propriety.
When she had finished it was so dark that she couldn’t see the result of her work, but for the sake of respect and reverence, she stood there for a while, head bowed and hands clasped.
Perhaps she said a prayer. Perhaps it was merely a jumble of words passing through her mind.
Then she suddenly felt a white-hot flash of terror. She retraced her steps rapidly and collected the spade from where she had left it. Continued on to the road, and hurried away as fast as her legs would carry her.
13
‘Intuition?’ said Przebuda, and smiled over the rim of his wine glass. ‘Surely you’re not telling me that you are troubled by doubts as far as intuition is concerned? Myself, I rely upon it without question, I simply think it’s a talent that has skipped a few stages – in the chain of cause and effect, that is. Or gives the impression of having skipped them. It’s a bit more advanced, but there’s no essential difference. We have it, but we don’t understand how we are in a position to have it. I mean, we absorb enormous amounts of information every second… Everything is stored away, but only a tiny portion of that gets as far as our active consciousness. The rest stays there, sending out its signals – usually in vain, simply because we are so unreceptive. Let’s face it, we’re only human after all.’
Van Veeteren nodded, and stretched out his legs under the table. It was Monday evening, and he was slumped back in an old leather chair in Andrej Przebuda’s large living room-cum-study. He’d been sitting there for quite a while, sipping an outstanding Chateau Margeaux ’81 and nibbling slices of pear with Camembert. Smoked. Dinner had been eaten in the company of Eisenstein, de Sica, Bergman and Tarkovskij, and only when they had left the table and sauntered over to the armchairs did the conversation turn to the matter that was the chief inspector’s motive for his stay in Sorbinowo.
