Dan-Levi was curious. They had lived in this house for over eleven years; he thought he knew every nook and cranny of it.
– If I show it you, you must promise never to tell anyone else.
He thought this over. – Okay, he finally decided. – This will be our secret.
She pulled out the desk drawer, handed him a torch. He opened the cupboard door wide. Besides Rakel’s clothes, it was full of shoes, shirts and jackets, most of it his that had been hanging there for years, clothes he hadn’t thrown out but that he never wore either. He lifted them aside and crept in. At the back was a board swivelled at an angle, and behind it a small opening in the wall. He stretched his arm inside and switched on the torch. The space was just large enough for a child to creep into.
– The perfect hiding place when you’re playing hide-and-seek, he called out to her.
She groaned. – Then everyone would know about it. How secret is that?
– Not secret at all, he conceded as he backed out again. – It’s good to have your own little place in the world, he added as he handed the torch back to her.
It struck him that this was hardly in line with what he and Sara had agreed to teach the children, but it felt good to say it.
With a glass of red wine in his hand, he flopped down on to the sofa. He came from a home in which alcohol had been forbidden, but after consulting the scriptures, he had come to the conclusion that a glass now and then wasn’t against the will of the Master. He had tried for a while to persuade Sara to join him. Had she considered how Jesus would have reacted if she were a guest at the wedding in Canaan and said no to the wine he offered her? She was never particularly impressed by these theological explications of his.
There was some crime series on NRK, just boring enough to switch off. He put his arm around Sara, his hand drifting down towards her neckline. There was a ring on the doorbell, Pepsi began barking loudly and Sara gave a start and jumped to her feet. She had a sister who was ill now and then. Last time she had turned up at their house, naked and frozen after walking miles through the middle of the night to ask for help in getting hold of fifteen litres of milk. That was several years ago, but Dan-Levi knew from Sara’s reaction what the ring on the doorbell reminded her of.
– I’ll go, she volunteered, already on her way out into the hall.
He heard her talking sharply to Pepsi. The dog calmed down; Sara was best at controlling her. Dan-Levi listened, couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone of voice he realised it was someone she knew; his impression was that it was a man. And then, of all thoughts, this was what came to him: the Lovers upside down. He stood up, head shaking at his own whimsicality.
– Dan, it’s for you, she called.
Something to do with work, he thought, exasperated and also a touch relieved. Sometimes people turned up on his doorstep with a tip, or even worse, tried to use him as a way of announcing something they wanted to have put in the paper.
– For you, she repeated, coming back inside and leaving the front door ajar. She did something with her mouth that was difficult to understand. – She insisted on waiting outside. One of the bulbs in the outside lamp was gone. It had happened weeks ago, but replacing it was way down on his list of things to do. At first, in the half-light, he had trouble recognising her.
– I’m sorry to bother you.
– Not at all, he said, certain that he would soon be able to place her.
– It’s been quite a while, she said.
He nodded. – Time flies.
She was below average height, wearing a short black coat with a shawl around her head against the drizzle. He decided to move changing the light bulb further up his list of priorities.
– Do you have a couple of minutes?
He didn’t answer. – Would you like to come inside? he said instead, just as he recognised who it was. Synne Clausen had grown up just a couple of hundred metres up the road, but since she’d moved out, he’d hardly seen her. The year before, when she’d published her first book of poems, the paper had done a portrait interview with her. Dan-Levi had borrowed the book from the journalist who had done the interview, and still not handed it back, he now recalled.
– Are you visiting your father?
She nodded. Relieved at having finally realised who she was, he stepped to one side and repeated his invitation.
– I know it’s probably not convenient, she said, declining his offer. – But I must ask you something.
He had a feeling he knew what this was going to be about. – I’ll just put a jacket on.
Pepsi stood whining above her empty drinking bowl.
– All right then, he decided as he pulled on his boots, – I guess you can come along too.
– Sorry for bothering you, Synne Clausen said again as they set off down the road.
– Don’t worry about it at all. The dog needs her walk anyway.
Dan-Levi had to jerk Pepsi back as she jumped up at the young woman. He apologised for the dog’s bad manners, and Synne laughed slightly. She had to be in her early twenties, he worked out. Her father was still working at the Institute for Energy Research, but the mother had moved away. She’d been active in local politics and he had interviewed her several times. That was before it happened.
– How are your parents keeping? he asked.
She thought it over.
– Mother lives in Stockholm. We don’t see much of each other. Dad carries on as usual. Or that’s the way it seems from the outside at least. No one’s got over it.
– I can understand that, said Dan-Levi. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night, tormented by the thought of losing Sara or one of the children. Usually it was prompted by a dream, and it would leave him lying there, stricken and uncertain whether he would be able to go on if it really happened. Even with the help of the Lord.
– It’s been eight years, she said.
– Is it really that long?
It brought it back to him, all the thoughts he had had back then. He ought to have known what Karsten was going through. He had pressured him to go to the police on the vague suspicion that the boy might know something about the fires. The thought that it might have been him who tipped Karsten over the edge bothered him for a long time afterwards.
– I found his mobile phone at home, said Synne. – Read some of the text messages.
Pepsi had caught the scent of something or other and dragged Dan-Levi over towards the ditch; he dragged her back with sharp tugs.
– Didn’t he have his phone with him?
She shook her head. – Apparently he left it at a school friend’s house. He was there earlier in the evening.
Maybe that was why Karsten hadn’t answered when he rang.
– One of the messages on that Maundy Thursday was from you, Synne told him.
– That could be.
– But you never heard from him?
– No.
Dan-Levi was on the point of saying what he was thinking: I should have understood something was about to happen. Gone to his house. Tried to find him.
– Why did you want to talk to Karsten?
He pulled Pepsi away from a pile of dog shit she was sniffing; now and then she could quite unexpectedly take a bite at what other dogs had left. Should he tell Synne that thanks to him, Karsten had come to the attention of the police? Would it not be the same as lying if he avoided answering her question?
– Well I knew him from the chess club, he said vaguely. – We often played against each other. He was a real talent, even though he never put much effort into it.
He stopped to allow Pepsi to sniff away in the sodden grass. He knew the police had made a thorough job of their investigation. They had of course checked Karsten’s phone, and they had interviewed a number of people, but without getting anywhere. They had also tried to find out whether Karsten had had anything to do with the fires, but had no luck there either.
– On the day he disappeared, he was asked to go to the
police station to be interviewed.
Synne stopped. – Interviewed?
He explained. Wished he could leave out his own part in it all, but having mentioned it, he had to let her know how guilty he felt.
– I’ll never believe Karsten was capable of something like that, she said when he had finished. – Do you think so?
– I don’t have any other answers but what the investigation turned up, he responded carefully. – Karsten was obviously in distress. Perhaps he blamed himself for something or other. That’s all I know. If he’d been found, then perhaps we’d know more.
The dog tried to sniff under Synne’s coat and she pushed it away.
– Well it might have been an accident.
He admitted she could be right and said nothing about the police’s conclusion: that people very rarely disappeared without trace as the result of an accident. If they were walking in the mountains maybe, and fell down a crevasse in a glacier. But not round here. The third possibility had of course been included in the investigation, but no sign of anything criminal was ever found.
Suddenly she said: – I’ve had this strange feeling of guilt too, ever since it happened.
He turned towards her, relieved that she wasn’t blaming him.
– Why should you feel guilty?
She looked to be thinking it over before answering.
– Something happened that evening. Something to do with me. Did you hear about it? I had an attack.
He knew nothing about that.
– I had them now and then when I was a child. They never found out what it was. For a time they thought it might be epilepsy. If so, I grew out of it. But that evening, the Maundy Thursday …
Suddenly Pepsi began tugging like a wild beast at the leash, obviously catching the scent of some other animal, probably a cat. Dan-Levi tied her to a lamp post, turned again to Synne.
– I don’t remember much about it, she said. – I was found in a ditch down by Lillestrøm secondary school. My bike was lying next to me. Mum and Dad came to the hospital with me. I spent the night there. If that hadn’t happened, they would have noticed that Karsten hadn’t come home. Maybe he would have been found if they’d reported it straight away.
– I think that’s unlikely.
– Maybe. But that was how I thought. Probably still do.
– Who found you?
She looked away. – Some bloke. My parent said he rang the bell. They were so shocked, they forgot to ask about anything, and then he was gone. Just told them where I’d been found, because my bike was still there.
Dan-Levi examined her more closely in the light of the street lamp. She didn’t look like Karsten. Her face was rounder, and there was a different expression in the eyes. It made him think of her poems. Many of them were impenetrable to him, but here and there something did get through, something mysterious that opened up a world of unexpected connections. One of them began something like this: If trees can’t tell me who I am, then I talk to God in vain. He didn’t know if he liked it, but he had read it several times.
– What’s made you think of all this now?
She shrugged. – It happens every year, whenever Easter’s approaching.
He untied Pepsi from the lamp post. Only when they had started walking back did she add: – There’s another reason too. Something I’ve started writing. That’s why I had to talk to you.
4
Light slipped into the room through a gap beneath the curtains. He pulled the duvet over himself. Lay like that for a long time in the semi-darkness, tried to hold on to sleep, but it receded further and further from him. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. The joints between the planks didn’t match, each one half a length too long. A couple of them looked as though they hadn’t even been cut to size. Previously this had irritated him, but now his gaze followed them idly from the door to the window, rested there a moment and then back to the door. For about half an hour he lay like that, maybe longer, until he heard Elsa’s car turning into the yard. She had left at nine; it must be past one by now. He sat up on the side of the bed. He’d give her ten minutes to get inside. He had worked out a reason to go in and see her. An offer to go shopping. She would ask how he intended to spend the day, and he would give his usual response, something about going down to the gym, about going online and looking for a job, or getting in touch with social security and finding a new doctor. He had no intention of doing any of this. He had no desire to be surrounded by people at all hours of the day. Had no need of money either.
If Elsa didn’t want him to go shopping for her, then he could ask if her computer was still behaving itself after he had installed the new operating system. Even if he had already asked the same question every day for the past week. He would keep the message from Adrian as a last resort. If he told her about that, then he would be sure to have her full attention, for however long.
He heard her footsteps passing below the window. He thought he’d locked the door, but she let herself in.
– Kai, are you home?
He jumped and pulled on his training pants, dragged his fingers through his hair, went out on to the landing. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing her red coat. Newspapers in one hand, mail in the other.
– You delivering the mail? he couldn’t help saying, and then added quickly: – Just on my way out. Anything you need?
She shook her head, and maybe that was a trace of a smile he saw on her face. He went down, stopped on the last step, where he was still taller than her.
– Were you asleep up there?
– No, he lied, knowing she could see through him. – Just looking at a few bills.
She said nothing.
– I’ll transfer some money for this month’s rent, he told her, not wanting her to think that last month’s delay was because he didn’t want to pay. In one of his last calls from Basra the previous autumn she had hinted she might be selling that part of the house. And when he came back, he wasn’t sure he would still be allowed to go on living there. It was only a few days later that she told him he could stay for the time being, and he had offered to pay and asked her what she thought a fair rent would be. She shrugged, said it was up to him. He had checked the market to see what people were paying for similar rentals in other flats around Lillestrøm, and ended up paying five thousand into her account on the first of each month. She didn’t say anything, not a single word about whether that was too much or not enough or just right.
– Want a cup of tea? he asked, and was surprised when she said yes. He slipped by her, out into the kitchen, put the kettle on, not certain that she might not change her mind.
– Heard from Adrian, he said as he fetched the cups.
– Have you? she exclaimed, the change in her voice at once apparent, as though he was standing there holding a present for her.
– He rang. It was close enough to the truth.
– Where is he?
– Basra.
– What did he say?
– Not a lot. Wondered if I was interested in going back to work for the firm.
That was some considerable way from the truth, but he wanted to see her reaction.
– Well don’t you think that’s a good idea?
Sure, he thought. Doing shit jobs for his little brother, taking care of everything that smelled of danger while Adrian himself sat on his arse behind a desk, raking it in.
– I’ll think about it, he said evenly. – But if I say yes, it means I’ll be away a long time.
She didn’t look as if she minded that much.
– Can be pretty dangerous too.
She didn’t say she would refuse to let him take that risk.
– You’ll earn good money again, she said, as if that was all it was about. He grabbed the kettle and put it down in the middle of the table, dropped a box of her favourite brews next to it, slumped down into a chair opposite her. She chose camomile, he noted, and he did the same himself. He might have asked her
to take off her coat, but that would seem stupid and might have the opposite of the intended effect and make her leave immediately.
– No mail for you today, she told him, placing the pile of newspapers on the table, slipping the letters into her coat pocket.
– Great. It’s only the taxman and a couple of others who know I’m back.
For that whole winter he had hardly seen anyone else but her. Before Christmas he had been down to Studio Q a few times, made a half-hearted effort to get back in shape again, but since New Year he had spent most of his time in the flat.
– Maybe you should do something about it, she said.
He glanced at her, a quick, sweeping look to see what she was talking about. Years ago, the last time she read the cards for him, she’d told him he would have no trouble attracting women. Maybe she was referring to something in that direction.
– Actually I read something in the paper. She opened Romerikes Blad. – There’s something here that might interest you.
He listened for signs in what she was saying, mostly for the tone of voice. Quite often when she came in to him it was because she needed help, usually in making her way through the mysteries of the digital world in which she felt lost, or else a problem with the house, or the car. But now and then because there was something she wanted to share with him.
He leaned his body as far over as he could towards her, peering as she flipped the pages. It was the culture section she was looking for. How interested was he in amateur dramatics in Sørumsand? Or what some local peasant thought of the Hellbillies’ new record? But she was pointing to the page opposite, turned the paper round and pushed it towards him. An interview, he noted, and studied the photo of the young woman. Then he read the headline. Writing about a brother who disappeared. He skimmed the three columns. Realised at once what it was about, knew it even before he came to the name of the missing brother. Disappeared eight years ago, never found. Kai didn’t keep count of the years, it might have been seven, or nine, but apparently it was eight. But he could recall every detail of that evening. Most days passed by unremarkably, but that particular Maundy Thursday had left traces that cropped up constantly.
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