Death By Water

by Damhaug, Torkil

  In the car on the way out to Schiphol she said:

  I worry that you’re still doing the same thing as when you sat down in the middle of the road and waited for the police to come charging at you. You find someone who is sufficiently brutal and ruthless, so you can fight and get beaten up.

  You’ve never met him, Liss protested.

  She’d managed to keep Zako away, but her sister had had a long talk with Rikke. And Mailin didn’t need much to form a picture.

  Rikke’ll say just about anything at all, Liss insisted. She’ll do anything for the chance to go to bed with him.

  Mailin didn’t say any more. Every week through the autumn they spoke on the phone, but she never asked about Zako or the life Liss was leading in Amsterdam. Probably waiting for Liss to bring it up. Mailin had always waited for her.

  What’s to become of you, Liss?

  It was quarter past four by the time Liss was finished in the bathroom. She went out without eating. Not that she had any food there anyway. Unlocked the bicycle in a corner behind the basement steps, carried it up and out on to the street. There was a smell of fresh bread from the bakery on the corner. The window was full of cheesecakes, doughnuts and pretzels. For a moment she stopped to inhale the smell, pleased that she didn’t feel tempted to buy something, give in to the need to fill her mouth with something soft and crumbly.

  She followed Haarlemmerdijk, turned into Prinsengraacht. After days of rain whipping in from the sea in the north, the December afternoon was still raw, but colder, with light piercing through rifts in the clouds, making the fissures glow with a piercing blueness. The sky changed the whole time, still clearing, and smoke rose from the chimneys of the houseboats along the canal. Suddenly she was filled with a strange exhilaration. She pedalled harder. Could have stopped here, stopped time, frozen this picture of the withered flowers in their pots along the banks of the canal, the bright clouds overhead and the silhouette of Westerkerk forcing its way up into them. One day she might look back on this bike ride, this glimpse of something she was in the middle of yet which was also out of reach for her. But it was hard to see herself ever getting old enough to look back. She had long ago decided that she was made for a short life. Liked to joke about it. Rikke would say she was a melancholic, but that wasn’t true: she never remained in a mood long enough to warrant any particular description. All the same, she had a clear image of her own death. She goes out to the cabin. The only place in Norway she misses. Out in the forest, close to Morr Water. It’s winter. The snow is quite dry; it crackles under her boots. She passes the rock where they used to dive in the summer. Carries on round the bank of the frozen winter water. Turns away, heading down towards the moor. Finds the place where she is to lie down. The sky between the treetops is clear and dark like coloured glass as she lets go and drifts slowly down into the embracing cold … The thought comforted her when she needed it. She had made arrangements with herself about how the end would be. Felt a faint pang of grief at the thought of it. That was where her strength came from.

  At Saloon, she dismounted, leaned the bike up against the wall and sat at the table closest to the canal. Several of the letters in the café sign had gone out since the last time she had been there.

  Tobi appeared, carrying an empty tray. He bent and allowed himself to be kissed once on each cheek.

  – Time for a coffee, he announced.

  She could have used a drink, something to bring her down, but she ordered a double espresso and took out her mobile and a packet of Marlboros.

  – Saw you on a poster at Nieuwe Zijde, he winked. – Gorgeous.

  Rikke arrived in a taxi.

  – Can’t sit out here, she shivered. – I’m no fairy snow queen like you.

  They found a table inside.

  – He doesn’t want me to see you, Rikke confided.

  Liss raised her eyebrows. – And what are you going to do about that?

  Rikke pulled a menu over. – No way I’m letting myself be controlled like that. There are limits.

  – Have you been doing his escort stuff?

  Rikke’s mobile gave off a long-drawn-out sigh, downloaded from a site offering tropical animal noises. She read the message and punched in an answer.

  – Tried it at the weekend, she said once she was finished. – Arranged a party for these fantastically wealthy businessmen. Quite okay if it hadn’t been for the Russians.

  Liss lit up a cigarette and clouded the space between them with smoke.

  – Do they expect you to have sex with them?

  Rikke thought about it. – No one makes you.

  Liss leaned across to her. – I’ve known Zako over a year, she said. – First off he tried to persuade me it was about love and relationships and all that. Nothing was too much trouble for him. It took a while for me to realise what his real game is.

  – You’re exaggerating, said Rikke. – He lets you have the choice.

  Liss laughed mirthlessly. – As long as it’s the same as his.

  – You’re saying that because you’re angry with him.

  – Get a grip, Rikke. He’s got you where he wants you. Soon you won’t be able to break out any more. Do you owe him money?

  – Not a lot.

  – More than a thousand?

  Rikke looked round. – Less than ten. I think.

  – Christ, you’re so naïve, Liss sighed.

  Rikke twisted the remains of her cigarette in the bottom of the ashtray. The sound was like footsteps through wet snow.

  – He still talks about you, she said. – Wants you back. Seems completely obsessed.

  Two things were obvious to Liss. One was that Rikke was there on behalf of Zako. The other was that every bloody word would be reported back to him. That was why she replied: – I’m sure you’re right about that. Types like Zako get like rabid dogs when someone denies them something they think is rightfully theirs. I had to tell him that I don’t give a shit about his whole act.

  Without hesitation she added: – That’s the only language he understands.

  3

  Friday 12 December

  IT WAS COLD in the studio. She’d mentioned it as soon as she arrived, but Wim said it was supposed to be like that. So that her nipples would be stiff under the soft material of the bra. He was well wrapped up in a padded combat jacket.

  Liss crossed her legs and leant in towards the camera.

  – Not like that, Wim groaned. – It looks like you need a piss.

  – That’s exactly what I need, she answered without changing her expression.

  – Hold that. Right there, the hip out to the side. Let the bra strap slip down your shoulder … shit, that’s it … nearly.

  Her trousers were tossed away over by the wall, but for the third time since arriving she heard the phone vibrating in her pocket. Wim had insisted she turn off the ringtone before they started. A real artist, she thought meanly.

  – Hello, Wim yelled. – Planet earth calling Miss Liss. You look totally vacant. Get that hip out to the side, let’s see the elastic of your knickers. Yes, that’s exactly what I told you, not your hip bone, the edge of your knickers, that’s what I want, come over here, yes, arms by your sides, follow me, imagine you’re going to stamp on me, like that, yes. Piss, you said; imagine you’re trampling on me and pissing on me, yes, there’s the look I’ve been waiting for all day. Follow me now, hate me, imagine you’ve got me on the ground, do what you want with me.

  She shuddered at the thought of having Wim lying on the floor beneath her. Of him wriggling out of his leather trousers and lying there with his dick in the air. And she was supposed to try to look as if this was an image that would make her feel horny. The only thing she felt was how badly she needed a piss.

  – I really just have to have one minute on the toilet, she said, and straightened up.

  – Can’t you hold on? You must have a bladder the size of a mouse’s.

  He sniggered; he liked to talk about her body, mostly what was in
side it. But he was the best she’d worked with. And he wouldn’t start groping her. Even if she never met Zako again, Wim knew he’d get his liver punched up into his throat if he ever tried it on.

  She grabbed her jeans, slipped into the toilet and groaned with relief when she was able to open up and let it flow freely. At least three litres.

  Afterwards she took the phone out of her pocket. She was startled when it vibrated again, like a little animal that woke at her touch. For the third time that day the unknown number showed up in her display. It started with the Norwegian prefix: 0047. She gave in and answered.

  – Liss? This is Viljam.

  – Viljam? she said, almost dismissively, even though she knew who he was.

  – I’ve never met you, he explained. – But I’m sure Mailin has talked about us.

  Of course Mailin had talked about him. They’d been a couple for more than two years. Liss had heard his name mentioned many times but had never taken the trouble to remember it. For some reason or other she didn’t like the thought of her sister living with someone.

  – Are you in Amsterdam?

  He was well spoken. Liss knew he’d studied law and was about the same age as her.

  – Why do you ask? She didn’t want to continue the conversation, but understood there had to be a reason why the guy was calling. Why he’d called three times. The first time at six in the morning. Suddenly she felt a damp chill across her whole body. She looked in the mirror; her pupils were distended. You are not afraid, she thought. You are never afraid, Liss Bjerke.

  – Did you call early this morning? Is it about Mailin?

  Viljam didn’t answer at first, and that cold chill fastened itself tighter around her. She slumped down on to the toilet seat. She’d had a message from her sister the previous afternoon, one she didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand. She had deliberately not called back.

  – I don’t know, he said finally. – She talked about getting in touch with you yesterday. There was something she wanted to ask about.

  – What do you mean?

  Liss could hear the anger in her voice. She started to shiver. She didn’t want to hear what was about to be said. Anything else she could stand. Just not this.

  – She hasn’t come home, he said. He was still hesitant. – She’s been gone since yesterday evening.

  So she’s probably broken up with you, Liss might have said, but Mailin wasn’t like that. Liss could do it, suddenly do a runner if she got fed up with someone, and say nothing. But not Mailin.

  – We didn’t quarrel, Viljam said, perhaps guessing the direction of her thoughts. She could hear that he was struggling to keep his voice calm. – We’ve been getting on better than ever.

  Liss clicked to the message from her sister the day before. On my way from the cabin. Always think of you when I’m out there. And then, rather cryptically: Keep Midsummer’s Day free next year. Call you tomorrow.

  – She was out at the cabin, she said. – She may well have gone back out there.

  Liss could see her sister sitting on the cabin steps and looking down towards Morr Water. It was their place, they owned it jointly. Their father had wanted the two of them to have it, and no one else. It was all they had to remind them of him.

  – We went out there and looked for her, Viljam answered. – She wasn’t there. She was supposed to be on a TV programme yesterday but never showed up, and no one’s seen her …

  Zako is a shit; it flashed through Liss. He can’t have done something like this. I’ll kill him.

  – What can I do? she managed to say. – I’m over a thousand miles away.

  She fumbled at the keys to cut off the call; she had to find somewhere she could be on her own.

  At the other end, her sister’s partner was breathing heavily. – We called the police last night. They asked me to come in and make a statement. I wanted to talk to you first. Find out if she called you. She said she was going to.

  The light in the tiny space around Liss changed, began to force its way into things, the mirror, the basin, pulling away from her. – If Mailin disappears, then I disappear too, she murmured.

  Wim was using his mobile when she returned. He pointed to a spot below the skylight where he obviously wanted her to pose. She remained standing outside the toilet door, fiddling with her own phone. No calls from Mailin. Just three from her mother she hadn’t answered. She slid down the wall, the rough surface scraping her naked back. Sat there chewing on a cigarette. There were two messages from her mother. She called voicemail. The first: Hi, Liss, it’s Mum. It’s Thursday evening, twenty-three forty-three. Can you ring me as soon as you get this message. It’s important. To the point, as always. But the voice sounded frail. Liss could hardly face listening to the next message, but she had to. It was from this morning. Liss, it’s Mum again. You must call me. It’s about Mailin.

  She had bitten straight through the filter. Wim was standing over her, talking. Something about time passing, something about a meter; he wasn’t cheap, and here she sat helping herself to his time as though he was a nigger eunuch. She got dressed and muttered something about an accident. Obviously he believed her, because suddenly he stopped talking and contented himself with a shake of the head.

  – Tomorrow you be here clean and focused, he called after her as she disappeared out the door.

  The December day was filled to the brim with a cold damp that gusted along Lijnbaansgracht and froze around her, layer upon layer of floating ice. The roads were slippery, but she cycled alongside the canal as fast as she could. A woman wearing a coat and a broad-brimmed hat who stood smoking by the railing of one of the houseboats turned and waved as she rode by. She pedalled harder. Two old men were fishing from a canal bridge. One was wearing a flat hat; he spat in the water. Suddenly she stopped. Leaned the cycle up against the railings and pulled out her phone.

  – It’s me. Liss.

  A sound at the other end. At first she didn’t understand what it was.

  Her mother was crying. Liss had never heard her crying before. She could disconnect now. Knew all she needed to know. That something had happened to Mailin. That something had changed, that things would never be the same again. And deep down, inside all the haziness she didn’t dare to touch, something like relief.

  – How long has she been missing? she heard herself ask.

  From the disjointed answer she gathered that it was almost twenty-four hours. That fitted with what Mailin’s partner had said.

  – What are we going to do, Liss?

  Her mother never asked questions like that. At least she never asked her. She was the one who answered them. Told people what was to be done. Always clear headed. Always a step ahead, prepared down to the last detail. Now here she was not even able to speak properly, just repeating the same words over and over again, what are we going to do? what are we going to do?

  – I’ll call you later, Liss said, and ended the conversation. It hadn’t been a conversation, but a hole opening up in broad daylight.

  She came back to her senses at the sound of a car horn tooting. She cycled along Marnixstraat, the traffic denser now. It was colder; her breath billowed out in a frosty cloud in front of her. She dived into it, out again.

  Passing a Jamin shop, she stopped and went in. Avoid speaking to anyone, just get what she needed. No thoughts, following a pattern she had worked out but not used for a while. Bought ice cream. A litre and a half. Pure vanilla. No bits of nut or chocolate. Grabbed a Pepsi Max and a plastic spoon. It was getting dark. She’d been riding round. Been to Vondelpark. Didn’t know what had become of the day. Knew only that it was the end of something. And the start of something else. She bowled along Marnixkade with the Pepsi and the ice cream in a bag. Suddenly she found herself by the flat she had shared with Rikke. An obscure notion to go up and see her, get her to find Zako and trick him into saying what had happened. Find out if he knew anything about Mailin going missing. But Rikke wouldn’t be able to manage a job like
that.

  She passed the asphalt playground where some boys were playing basketball in the dark. They shouted out to her. How about a ride, then? She carried on out to the point, to the little park with the bench, sank down beneath the pale light of the lamp. She’d sat there many times before. The bench was coated with a layer of ice. The cold seeped up from the ground and into her back. It helped, to be freezing. The frost slowed down her thoughts. She could focus on the metallic jangling that reached her ears every time a car rattled across the joint on the bridge on the far side of the canal. She could let her gaze follow the distant trains that passed on their way to and from Centraal Station.

  The picture came again. Mailin in the pale blue pyjamas. She turns and locks the door. Creeping into bed, putting her arms around her. There’s a sound too, it’s part of the picture. Footsteps stopping outside. The latch on the door moving. Knocking that gets louder and louder, becomes beating, and Mailin holding her close and tight. Nothing bad will ever, ever happen to you, Liss.