by Karin Fossum
To show how serious he was, he hammered his clenched fist on the table.
‘That doesn’t work,’ Lily said. ‘We don’t live in that kind of ideal society. We’re not dogs either,’ she added with a sideways glance at her husband. She lifted Margrete and put her on her lap. ‘Criminals must have a certain mental capacity, and it’s clear they see a connection. The most important thing is the consequence of their action. Besides, they’ll carry it with them the rest of their lives. It will go on their record. They’ll basically go through life tarnished,’ she said dramatically.
‘Mental capacity?’ Karsten snorted. ‘Do you think the idiot who was in our garden has any mental capacity?’
‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘I do. Perhaps he’s very intelligent. And that’s the reason I’m so afraid. Precisely because he is so cunning.’
‘But you shouldn’t be afraid,’ Karsten cried out. ‘You should be livid!’
Again he pounded his fist on the table.
Lily closed her eyes. Never in her life had she been livid at anything. She couldn’t summon the feeling. Something could fester inside her, but the minute it rose to the surface it was converted into helpless tears. There was something hopeless about it all, something that attached itself to her whole being; she couldn’t scream and fight, couldn’t get angry as others grew angry when they’d been violated. She just curled into a ball in the corner and licked her wounds. I’m a victim, she thought. I’d go to the slaughterhouse of my own volition, if anyone asked me to.
‘Yes, well,’ she said aloud, ‘everyone is entitled to their opinion. The most important thing is that we’re better people than he is. That we demonstrate the fact by letting the authorities handle it.’
‘But they only go so far.’ He looked at her with narrow eyes. ‘What should we do if they don’t catch him?’
Lily cradled Margrete in her arms. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it,’ she said.
Chapter 14
Hannes and Wilma Bosch had lived in Norway for fifteen years, and they had built a large log cabin on the road to Saga. At the front of the house was a porch, and on the porch was a hammock with floral cushions. Little Theo rocked in the hammock. Theodor Bosch had just turned eight. One of his biggest heroes was the Transformer Optimus Prime, a robot which, through some quick hand movements, turned into a truck. The other hero in his life was the explorer Lars Monsen. Theo had Lars Monsen on DVD, on a poster above his bed, on his bookshelf and on the brain. In his room he even had a thick, life-sized cardboard cut-out of Lars Monsen. At the bookshop in Kirkeby he had begged for it, and he had carried it all by himself down the long escalator to the car. That figure of the well-known explorer was the first thing Theo saw when he opened his eyes in the morning. Lars Monsen with the crazy hair and the narrow eyes. At night he dreamed he had the same fishing rod as Lars Monsen, the same tent and same canoe. He dreamed he paddled across the waters and down the stream with a rifle over his shoulder and a knife on his belt. Dreamed he trekked across icy lakes, warmed his hands by a fire and cooked trout over the flames. Tore the fish from the bones with sharp, savage teeth.
But Theo was a thin eight-year-old, and it would be many years before he’d be an adult and could take up the life of the wilderness. Daydreaming, though, he was good at daydreaming. His imagination knew no boundaries, and sometimes it took him to remote and strange places while the rest of him was safe among the hammock’s pillows. He swung and swung. He wore khaki shorts; his knees were round and white, like freshly scrubbed potatoes. His mother, Wilma, prepared a meal in the kitchen. Her body was strong and hefty and seemed infinitely safe. She was as solid as the big oak cabinet in the living room, the wooden bench in the kitchen, the nails in the wall.
So her husband, Hannes Bosch, thought.
He stood in the doorway and looked at her now, and when he turned he saw his tow-headed son in the hammock. The afternoon sun baked the cabin walls. He liked the rustling in the big woods, the broad, blonde woman at the stove, and his thin-legged son. He relished this fresh, pure ground on which they lived, the evergreens. Here is where Theo will grow up. He’ll wander in the big woods, swim in the cold waters and breathe the clean air into his lungs. The lumberjacks felled big logs and built this house for them at some distance from other people. They felt as though they had their own small country. Behind the house the stumps were lined up in a row, like soldiers at their posts.
Theo sat twisting a lock of hair between his fingers. The sun was low, the hammock swung gently. In the kitchen, Wilma Bosch opened the oven and lifted out a dish containing fish gratin. The entire house smelled of nutmeg.
‘Call Theo,’ she commanded. ‘And set the table.’
Hannes went to the cabinet. He removed three blue plates from the top shelf and cutlery from the drawer. Then he stuck his head out on to the porch.
‘Are you sleeping? It’s time for dinner. We’ll go to the woods afterwards, you and me.’
Theo wheeled round. ‘You and me,’ he repeated, ‘and Optimus Prime.’
Because the radio was playing ‘Kristina from Wilhelmina’, Hannes began to sing while setting the table. ‘Will you be mine?’ he bellowed, ‘my heart is burning.’ Wilma turned her back to him. Glass clinked in the kitchen, meaning that she’d opened two beers and a Fanta for Theo. Then they sat down.
A golden crust of breadcrumbs covered the gratin.
‘To Snellevann?’ Theo asked hopefully.
‘If you can walk that far,’ Hannes said.
They ate dinner in uninterrupted quiet. Afterwards, they helped Wilma clear the table.
‘We boys are going for a walk,’ Hannes said. They wore hiking outfits. Theo danced on the spot in anticipation. On his back Hannes carried a rucksack with a patch from Kvikklunsj chocolate bars.
‘Watch out for adders,’ Wilma called out.
First they had to walk along the main road. There was lots of logging traffic on this stretch, and the road was narrow and winding, so Hannes made sure Theo was closest to the shoulder. After fifteen minutes they came to a trail called Glenna. Shortly after that they reached the metal barrier. Three cars were parked in an uneven row in the little car park.
‘Now we’ll take it easy,’ Hannes said, ‘because our stomachs are full. Look around, you heard what your mother said. There might be adders nearby. What do you have on your feet? Sandals, I see. Well, sandals aren’t the smartest thing to wear. Lars Monsen wouldn’t approve. Do you think Lars Monsen walks across Canada in sandals? But let’s go. The sun will set soon, and if we’re lucky the moose will come out.’
With his clear blue eyes Theo looked up at his father. ‘The moose,’ he repeated. ‘I bet he runs when he sees us.’ He laughed loudly and looked at his father for reassurance.
‘Of course he’ll run,’ Hannes said confidently. ‘He’s probably hiding behind the trees watching us right now. After all, we’re in his territory. That’s how he views it anyway, wouldn’t you say? So we should be on our best behaviour, not scream and yell. We must respect nature. Everyone who walks on Glenna should be humble and tread lightly.’
Suddenly he veered off the trail and took a few steps into the woods. Theo followed cautiously, glancing around before each step. He thought he heard a rattling sound. Sitting on a fallen tree, he watched as his father pulled the knife from his belt.
‘Anyone who enters the woods needs a walking stick,’ he said. ‘A big one for me and a little one for you. To support us. And so we have something to fence with should we run into any mad cows. You shouldn’t underestimate cows. They’re very stupid, but they weigh a ton.’
He snapped a branch from a tree and began tearing off leaves and twigs. When he was done, the stick had a chalk-white tip.
‘You can spear perch with this when we reach the water,’ he said. He thrust the stick at Theo.
Theo sniffed it and found that it smelled good.
‘Everything we need is in the woods,’ Hannes said. ‘Do you realise that? Food and water. Sun
and warmth. We could live and work here, hunt, fell trees. Build a house. That’s what people did in the olden days. What a great life it must have been, Theo. Wake at dawn, sleep at nightfall. All the bird calls and animal sounds.’
Theo nodded. His father’s words transported him to a magical place.
Then Hannes made a walking stick for himself, one that was longer and thicker. They returned to the trail, like two goatherds at work. Theo couldn’t restrain himself; he hopped and danced, his blue eyes fastened on his father’s broad back. After fifteen minutes they came to a crossroads where there was a sign with several maps and a request from the county. The forest is a pasture for animals.It is a workplace for loggers,hunters and fishermen.The forest is for recreation and pleasure.Please be considerate of others.
Theo read the request with a clear and cheerful voice. Father and son nodded at each other, then walked on. In a short while they passed St Olav’s Spring, and both drank gulps of the fresh water. From there it took forty minutes to get to Snellevann. They sat on a rock near the water and looked across.
Hannes put an arm on Theo’s shoulder and pulled him close. ‘We’re lucky, you and me.’
Theo was in complete agreement. He could feel the strength in his father’s body, could hear the whisper from the big woods and the life all around them.
‘I brought us drinks,’ Hannes said. ‘Let’s see.’ He dug around in his small rucksack. ‘You can choose between Solo and Sprite.’
Theo chose Solo. He put the bottle to his mouth and drank. The fizz made his eyes water.
Hannes rummaged in his rucksack once more, searching for binoculars. He put them up to his eyes, moving the binoculars slowly back and forth across the water, then to the ridges beyond.
‘Do you see anything?’ Theo asked.
‘Sheep,’ Hannes reported. ‘Up in the fields. Do you want to see?’
He handed the binoculars to Theo, and Theo tried to find the sheep, but it took a while. The image swayed before his eyes, and almost made him dizzy. At first he just saw some bushes and a stone dyke; because he couldn’t hold the binoculars steady, the dyke floated up and down. Suddenly, it was as if the sheep tumbled into his field of vision.
‘Is the image sharp?’ Hannes asked. ‘Can you see them clearly?’
Theo nodded. ‘They’re grazing.’
‘Like cows, they eat all day. What a life. Some live like kings.’
Theo’s arms grew tired from holding the binoculars, but he didn’t want to let them go. He didn’t want to head home again, either; he wanted to sit here with his father for ever, on the warm rock near Snellevann, with the binoculars at his eyes.
‘Mama must be done with the dishes by now,’ Hannes said.
‘And she’s in the hammock,’ Theo said.
‘And she’s snoring so the birds are flying off in fright.’
For a moment they chuckled at Wilma whom they loved so much. Theo raised the binoculars again. The sheep lay like white specks on the green hillside. He caught sight of a ramshackle old barn, and far to the right, a few red cows.
‘There’s something’s odd about one of the sheep,’ he reported.
Hannes waited for further explanation.
‘It’s different.’
‘Is it black?’
Theo shook his head. ‘No. It’s more orange.’
‘C’mon. Orange. You watch too many films.’
Hannes grabbed the binoculars. Through the lens he saw an orange-coloured sheep among the white ones. It moved around comfortably, apparently without knowing of its glaring peculiarity. The sight was so unusual that Hannes stayed put, staring.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘What on earth have they done with that sheep? He looks like an orange on four legs.’
Hannes’s laughter rang out over Snellevann. For quite some time they scrutinised the orange-coloured sheep. The binoculars passed between them, and each time it was Theo’s turn, he was transfixed by the unusual sight. Then he leapt from the rock and ran around, waving his arms enthusiastically. Hannes worried about the binoculars. They were from Zeiss, the most expensive kind you could buy, and he didn’t want to see them smashed on the rocks.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered. ‘Careful with the equipment.’
Theo sat obediently and handed the binoculars back to his father.
‘Someone’s attacked the poor thing with spray paint,’ Hannes confirmed. ‘Maybe a sheep tagger?’
He looked once more at the sheep, couldn’t get enough of it. Lifted the binoculars, lowered them again. Shook his heavy, Dutch head. ‘Isn’t that the colour they use in the Highway Department?’ he said. ‘When they measure and mark the road? The kind of colour that glows in the dark. I’m just wondering.’
‘The other sheep don’t seem to care,’ Theo commented. ‘They just keep eating as if it was nothing.’
‘That’s because sheep are pretty stupid. They have brains the size of coffee beans.’
To get a better look, Hannes scrambled to his feet, and Theo stood up too. They observed the unusual sheep. Then Hannes searched in his pocket for his mobile. He wanted to call the local newspaper and tell them about the strange discovery. While his father made the call, Theo put the bottle of Solo to his lips and drank. He was happy.
‘My name is Bosch,’ said the father. ‘Hannes Bosch. We’re in the woods down by Snellevann, my son and I, and we’ve found something incredible. Send a reporter. Bring a photographer — with colour film. Otherwise you’ll miss the point.’
He listened a moment, nodded several times, and winked at Theo.
‘Really quite amusing,’ he said. ‘You won’t believe it until you see it.’
Theo drank more of the sweet carbonated liquid. He picked up his walking stick again, sat and waved it as his father talked with the newspaper reporter.
‘You should probably contact the sheep farmer and ask him to bring shears,’ Hannes said. ‘He’s going to have to trim right to the skin. But take a picture first, for goodness’ sake. Ha ha … No, I don’t know who owns the flock, but as I said, they’re out on the hillside above Snellevann … Fifty or so … It could be Sverre Skarning’s. You could start with him. One of the ewes has a yellow-and-blue tag. If it means anything to you. Or if he asks. Yellow and blue.’
Theo put the empty bottle of Solo in the rucksack.
‘We can meet where the paths cross,’ Hannes said. ‘At the sign there. We’ll be there in forty minutes. Can I tell my boy that he’ll get his picture in the newspaper? … Brilliant. He’ll be proud. Here’s a working title for you.’ He laughed. ‘Sheep shocker by Snellevann!’
Hannes put his mobile in his pocket.
They started back. Theo hopped about, waving his walking stick.
‘Mama won’t believe us,’ he said.
‘We might as well say we saw a Bengal tiger,’ Hannes said. He drove his stick into the hill, spraying sand.
Theo stared between the tree trunks, into the dark foliage. He thought he could hear shaking and stirring everywhere.
‘Are there bears in here, Papa?’
Hannes rumpled his son’s hair. ‘There aren’t any bears this far south, just orange-coloured sheep.’
They walked to the crossroads, and stood there waiting. Theo sat by a ditch, while Hannes paced back and forth, like a guard on patrol.
‘You’ll be in the paper, Theo. It’ll be great. Mama will be surprised.’
Theo nodded. He asked his father to get Optimus Prime out of the rucksack so he could play with it while they waited for the reporter. Hannes handed it to him. Then he stretched his arms like wings and started running back and forth along the trail.
‘What are you doing?’ Theo called out.
‘I’m the Flying Dutchman,’ Hannes shouted. ‘An outlaw without kin.’
Then he landed at his son’s side.
‘But who dyed the sheep?’ Theo wanted to know.
‘Some prankster,’ Hannes said, ‘who likes to have fun with people. May
be the madman who’s behind all that stuff in the newspaper.’
‘Is he in the woods now?’ Theo asked, looking around.
‘Oh no, you’re safe,’ he assured him. ‘Norway is a peaceful country. We don’t have much to worry about. No war, famine or deprivation. The safest place of all, Theo, is here, in the woods.’
The journalist appeared in the bend, and it was Theo who told the story. In the end he was asked to stand against the trunk of a spruce, the Zeiss binoculars around his neck, to be photographed in true newspaper fashion. Later, he sat with his mother on the sofa and told her about the day’s events.
Chapter 15
A short, stout man, Sverre Skarning wore big boots and had a plug of tobacco in his mouth. The fact that the police bothered to stop by because of some sheep was, to him, pretty funny. Like so many farmers, he seemed healthy and strong. He had apple-red cheeks and his trousers — held up by braces — appeared to be home-made.
They were in the vicinity, Sejer explained to him, and stopped by for their own amusement. Just in case there was any connection with other bizarre events that had occurred recently.
‘Well,’ Skarning laughed softly, ‘at least the meat isn’t spoiled — that’s always a comfort.’
‘How’s the sheep doing?’ Sejer asked with a smile.
Skarning shook his head in resignation. ‘It’s in the barn. They used some damn chemicals, some poisonous stuff from a spray can, so it’s got runny eyes. I suppose you’ll figure out what. I’ve saved the wool. Got it in a plastic bag. You can send it to the lab for analysis.’ He laughed again.
He started walking across the farm yard. Because he was quite a few pounds overweight, his gait was heavy and swaying, like a goose.
