Fireraiser

by Torkil Damhaug

  – Synne’s taking good care of me, said Adrian with a broad smile. There were biscuits on the table, and a bowl of fruit. – And I believe she’s an absolute whizz with the coffee machine.

  Synne headed off into the kitchen and returned with a steaming cup, which she placed in front of Adrian. He took a sip. – That’s just as good as you said it would be. Actually even better.

  She blushed and perched on the edge of her chair. Adrian gave Karsten a wink. – Have you any idea how bright your sister is? She knows everything there is to know about the French Revolution.

  – She reads all the time, Karsten conceded.

  – Adrian knows a lot more than I do, Synne said coquettishly.

  – I went to university, Adrian protested. – When I was thirteen, I didn’t know the half of what you know.

  Synne was bursting in her chair. – Shall we play some music?

  – Doubt if Adrian came here to listen to Michael Jackson, Karsten groaned.

  Adrian dismissed him with a wave. – Michael Jackson is cool. You got any videos?

  Synne had videos. She ran upstairs and came back down with three or four. Adrian looked them over and asked her to put ‘Thriller’ on. Karsten didn’t mind at all if Adrian had changed his mind and preferred to spend the evening with them. But once Michael Jackson had danced his way through the cemetery of the living dead and kissed his girl good night and left it open to doubt whether he himself was actually a monster, he stood up and drained his coffee cup.

  Synne followed them out into the hallway and shook the hand that Adrian offered her. Karsten had four, maybe five problems he couldn’t find a solution to, but when he saw how brightly her eyes shone, he suddenly felt a huge sense of relief. It lasted until they were seated inside the car. Then he had to let off some kind of steam.

  – I feel as though I’m swimming around in thick soup.

  Adrian grinned. – You can forget all about that business of the harassment and assault. That’s history now.

  – What do you mean? Have you talked to them?

  Now Adrian laughed. – That’s one way of putting it.

  – If someone’s vandalised their car, they’ll get their own back. You said yourself the only thing they care about is revenge.

  Adrian turned up in the direction of Skedsmokorset. – That won’t happen.

  Without stopping the car, he unfastened his safety belt and wriggled out of his leather jacket, tossed it into the back seat. A wall of chest muscles pushed out through his T-shirt. – For the time being, just accept what I say. Trust me.

  His phone rang; he took the call. – We’re on our way, he said. – Be there within forty.

  With the brief telephone conversation over, he turned on the CD player, pressed a few buttons, settled for some piano music. – You have to understand the way the Chadar clan thinks. Of course we don’t want to underestimate them, but to walk around in holy terror of them is even worse. How did you find out about their car?

  – I called Jasmeen.

  Adrian glanced at him. – So she’s got her mobile phone back?

  Karsten explained what he had done.

  – Not bad, Adrian smiled.

  – Had to tell her that that’s it now, no more.

  Adrian drummed with his fingers on the steering wheel. – So you’ve decided to let the powers of darkness triumph?

  Karsten tried to get things in some kind of order. – Why are you taking such an interest in all this?

  Adrian didn’t reply. He indicated and made a turn. Shortly afterwards, he left the main road and drove up through some woodland. – Try to see your life in a slightly larger perspective, he said at last. – For four centuries our civilisation has dominated the world. We’ve had our age of greatness and now we’re in decline.

  Karsten blinked a few times. He wasn’t ready to see the scratches on his father’s car and the accusations of sexual harassment in the context of the rise and fall of civilisations.

  – You, who are so preoccupied with evolution, you’ve got a much larger perspective on existence than I have, Adrian continued. – As you said yourself in one of the lessons, in the really big scheme of things the history of civilisations is just a passing moment.

  He turned down the piano music.

  – Of course, you have to decide yourself whether to meet Jasmeen Chadar again or not, but there’s no doubt in my mind what I would do in your place. She’s not having an easy time of it right now.

  – How do you know that?

  – I’m trying to help her, said Adrian. – And you can do the same thing.

  – But I can’t even get hold of her, Karsten said. – They’ve taken her phone away, and she’s not allowed to go to school. How am I supposed to help her?

  They drove over a hilltop and Adrian pulled into the side of the road. – Give me your phone.

  Karsten did as he said. Adrian punched in a number and handed it back. – I’m just going out to see a man about a dog. You call her.

  He switched off the ignition. The music was cut; silence came flooding in from every direction.

  Karsten peered at the number on the display. Before he could ask any more questions, Adrian had slammed the door shut behind him. He stood with his back turned right in front of the car. A powerful arc steamed out from him. Karsten could feel that he needed to go too, but knew that he wouldn’t manage a drop unless he was completely alone.

  Abruptly he punched the call button, hoped there would be no answer.

  – Rashida, said a female voice at the other end.

  Karsten cleared the phlegm from his throat. – Jasmeen? he managed to say.

  A few seconds, and then she was there.

  – We’ve only got a few seconds, she said quickly.

  – I understand, he said, though he understood nothing.

  – Will you be at home tomorrow? she asked.

  – I think so.

  – Your parents, will they be around?

  He hesitated. – They’re going to the cabin with my sister.

  Adrian was still standing there with his back turned. Karsten tried to stop staring at him, peered instead out of the side window, followed the fading evening light down through a gap in the trees. It looked as though there was a lake down there.

  – I’ll come to your place tomorrow.

  – My place?

  – In the evening. When my dad and Shahzad are at the mosque.

  Adrian was obviously finishing up with a final shake. Karsten couldn’t say a word.

  – You must be there when I come, Jasmeen went on. – I’ll show them you haven’t done me any wrong. Again he heard the anger in her voice. – This is none of their business.

  – No, you mustn’t, he finally managed to blurt out, but she’d already ended the call.

  – She says she’s coming round to my place, he groaned as Adrian slid back into the driver’s seat.

  Adrian turned. Looked at him without saying anything. Now something’s going to happen, thought Karsten. But Adrian started the engine and the piano music came on again. A theme repeated over and over. They drove on down the hill, the lake coming into view between the trees, like a dark eye, and then disappearing again.

  Twelve minutes later, they pulled up in front of a large house that looked as if it had stood there for centuries. There was a smaller house next to it, and behind that a barn. Two cars were parked in front, a Mazda, and an Audi with patches of rust on its doors. Dogs were barking hysterically somewhere. A tall and massively built figure approached across the lawn. Adrian wound down the window.

  – Sæter doesn’t want hundreds of cars parked right outside the house, the guy said. He had a dark coxcomb of long hair running across the centre of his scalp, with the sides of his head shaven. It made Karsten think of some great Indian chieftain he had read about once. – Spread them out across this area here.

  Adrian reversed out again. – Noah is in charge of security at these meetings, he explained.

 
; – Is his name really Noah?

  – Any reason why it shouldn’t be?

  Karsten couldn’t resist. – Named after the person who saved mankind from drowning? He looks more like an Iroquois.

  – You don’t mess with a guy like Noah, Adrian told him. – If he gets angry with you, he never forgets it. And nor do you.

  They continued another two hundred metres or so up the woodland track, parked at the edge of a field, walked back to the farm. The dogs were kept in a pen next to the barn, four or five enormous mongrels biting at the wire and still barking as furiously as when they had arrived in the car.

  Adrian pulled on a bell rope hanging to the left of the door to the main house, and the sound of a horn was heard from inside, like reveille at an army camp. The door was opened. The giant Noah with his Iroquois hairstyle stood there; he looked to be about the same age as Adrian.

  – Trouble?

  Adrian shook his head. – Karsten here had something he had to do first.

  Noah turned to him. – So you’re the maths genius. The small eyes carried an expression of irritation. – Let me have your jacket.

  Karsten looked at Adrian.

  – Do as he says.

  Reluctantly he took off his jacket. The enormous man laid it flat on a table and then patted it with both hands, as though searching for something, before hanging it on a peg.

  – Standard procedure, said Adrian as he handed over his own combat jacket. This received the same treatment.

  – Don’t touch that gun, he joked, nudging Noah’s shoulder.

  – The old fella’s getting more and more cautious about stuff like that, the giant growled as he led them along a corridor. At the end of it, he opened a door that led into a large sitting room. There were twenty or thirty people inside. They sat facing a wall in which an open fire burned. An elderly man, tall and bony and wearing a knitted jacket, was standing next to it. His hair was grey but the eyebrows looked black. He interrupted what was evidently a lecture to nod briefly to the new arrivals. All those present turned. What am I doing here? Karsten thought as he slipped into one of the vacant cane chairs at the back of the room. Adrian remained standing at the door beside Noah.

  The man in the knitted jacket carried on speaking. Karsten gathered that he was talking about the Second World War. He looked around. The furniture in the room was made of wood, with a floral pattern on the coverings. A diploma hung on one wall, some kind of military honour. Most of those sitting there looked to be about his own age. A few pale skinheads in camouflage pants, their faces studded with various piercings, the others more normal in appearance. There was a good-looking woman in a denim jacket; she had to be over thirty and resembled an actress whose name he couldn’t immediately recall.

  – On the other hand, continued the man in the knitted jacket, – the murder of hundreds of thousands of innocents in Dresden has been turned into an act of heroism. And that brings us to the subject of the Five Great Lies.

  He bent and picked up a log. The broad brows made it look as though he had a black moustache over each eye.

  – The first is that we are living in a democracy, he continued once he had worked the log into place among the glowing ashes in the fireplace. – Democracy means, as we know, the rule of the people, but today’s Norway is ruled by money and by the political manipulators.

  He held up two long fingers.

  – The second is that Christianity made Norway into a more civilised society.

  He took a drink from a glass, put it down again and remained silent. It appeared as though he was trying to raise the level of anticipation among his listeners, but judging by the weary faces in front of him, the intended effect failed. The log gave off a sharp crackle as it caught fire. Apart from that, there was silence in the room. Karsten made an effort to concentrate on what the man was saying. His voice was reedy and hoarse, but certain words, like lie and Christianity, were thrown out into the room.

  When he had finished his talk, some people started clapping, and the others joined in. The man in the knitted jacket sat down in a deep armchair by the fire, pulled a pipe from his trouser pocket. Just then a door on the right opened and a woman came in, drawn and bow backed, with hair the colour of straw. She was carrying a tray with three large thermos flasks, which she placed on a table. A chubby girl of eleven or twelve came in after her carrying another tray with piles of cups.

  The man in the knitted jacket released a cloud of smoke from his pipe that hid his outline for a moment.

  – After the break, we’ll talk about what’s going to happen this weekend, he said. – Those who are participating, please remain. The rest of you are welcome at our next meeting. You will be informed of the details.

  Some left the room. Karsten went over to Adrian, who was standing talking to Noah.

  – We’re staying, Adrian announced before Karsten could say anything. He turned his back, effectively preventing any protests.

  Thick banks of smoke drifted about the room, most of it coming from the leader’s pipe. He was standing by the window talking to the woman in the denim jacket. Beyond him Karsten could just make out the edge of the forest and the grey clouds impaled on the tops of the spruce trees. As though noticing Karsten’s scrutiny, the elderly man turned. Then he crossed the room and held out a large, wrinkled hand.

  – I’m Sæter, he said. – And you, I presume, must be Karsten. Without waiting for confirmation, he went on: – Excellent. We need people who are bright. Very much so.

  He turned and said a few quiet words to the people standing by the door. Adrian nodded briefly. Then he and Noah accompanied Sæter as he left the room. Suddenly a short guy was standing there. He seemed as broad as he was tall, with bleached hair and skin a solarium brown.

  – Come with me, he said.

  Karsten followed him out into the kitchen. The woman with the bent back and the chubby girl were told to leave the room.

  – Sit down.

  Karsten did as he was told.

  – No need to look as though you’re about to be hanged.

  – Have I been reprieved? Karsten said, and the short man laughed.

  – I’m just going to ask you a few questions, that’s all. Everyone who comes to these meetings has to go through the same thing. I’m Kai, by the way.

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. It looked like a form. He asked for full name, date of birth, address. Karsten asked what they needed all this for.

  – Sæter sets certain conditions for anyone who wants to join.

  Karsten raised both hands in protest. – I’ve no intention of joining anything!

  The man called Kai looked very surprised.

  – In that case, why are you here?

  – Dunno. Just tagged along.

  Kai looked at him for a few moments, then showed his unnaturally white teeth in a big grin.

  – Okay, Karsten. It’s up to you. But I need a couple of answers anyway. Nothing secret, only stuff that’s already available from public records.

  Karsten was soothed by his friendly tone. He gave concise answers to the questions that followed. No, he was not a member of any political party. Yes, he lived with both his parents. His father worked at the Institute for Energy Research, mother a lawyer, with a seat on the council as a Conservative. No, he was neither Christian, Jew, Muslim or other. What am I doing here? he asked himself again. What the hell am I doing here? It helped him to repeat the question over and over again, because that way he could keep all the other thoughts out of his head.

  17

  He parked by the vehicle licensing centre. Stuck his hand down behind the lining of the car door, pulled out the bag with the fuses, put three of them in his pocket. As he was opening the boot to take out the two bottles of lighter fuel, he changed his mind and left them. Not more than a few hundred metres’ walk up to the house on Erleveien. It would take a couple of minutes. A bit too near, he calculated. The car would have to be moved before he could set things in operation.<
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  He took a walk around the property. The frozen wheelbarrow was still standing there outside the tool shed. He had to smile. That told you all you needed to know about the man of the house who found it no easy matter to shove a wheelbarrow under cover for the winter. Let the snow cover it and then melt and it would reappear covered in rust.

  The lock on the front door was an ordinary Yale. No safety catch. No warning signs about alarms and security firms. He made another round of the property. At the back of the house he glided up the icy veranda steps, peered in through a gap in the curtains. A golden-brown cone of light slipped from the hallway on to the living-room floor. He had a sudden impulse, tried the latch. To his surprise, the veranda door slid open.

  He stood just inside, taking in the smells. Food leftovers, a hint of fish, dust, wet clothing. Clearly this Pentecostal journalist and his wife had a different attitude towards cleanliness to the people who had called themselves his parents. In those days it was always clean in here, always the sharp, tangy smell of soap with a touch of lemon in it. For a few days the stench of paint thinner filled the rooms before the smell of lemon took over again.

  He crossed the living-room floor, out into the hallway, trying to filter out the things associated with the new occupants, trying to get to the house’s real smell. There was a pram there, and the smell of wet clothes grew stronger, of sweaty shoes, and something rotten. A bulging plastic bag full of rubbish stood by the front door. Even taking the rubbish out before he went to bed was too much trouble for this guy.

  Two bunches of keys hung on hooks next to the fuse box. Only two of the keys were Yale. They were identical, and he twisted one off and shoved it into his pocket before continuing on into the kitchen. There too the smell of rubbish and naturally of the fish supper. He turned on his flashlight and glanced around. Piles of dirty dishes stood in the sink. He noticed how the sight made him shake his head. But the plugs for the coffee machine and the toaster had been pulled out. The kettle too. The sort of stuff the fire brigade recommended, to avoid tragedies at night, when people lay sleeping. At once he saw the site and the burnt-out remains of a house. Burnt-out ruins, he thought, and separated the words: burnt, out.