by Pia Juul
‘What’s the time?’ he asked.
‘Half-past three. Why are we awake?’
But he was already asleep again. A night like any other, with a waking moment.
‘It’s raining outside!’ Penille announced when she finally came tripping into the kitchen, looking for breakfast.
‘Where else would it be raining?’ I slammed the bread basket down on the table. She was about to laugh but caught herself when she saw my expression.
‘There’s crispbread and toast, and no milk for your coffee,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done any shopping. There’s been a death in the family.’
Turning back to the cooker, I listened for sniffling sounds. There they were. Good.
‘I’ll run you to the station,’ I said, sitting down at the table. ‘I can’t have you here. You’re taking my grief away.’ I actually said that.
‘You don’t seem very sad.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean! I won’t have you sitting here wailing – I’m the one who’s lost him, not you!’
‘I have too!’ How hurt she looked.
I crunched furiously on some crispbread until I realized that something was wrong. I spat the whole lot out in my hand, crispbread and spit and half a molar. ‘Oh no,’ I cried. ‘Who do you think you are anyway, coming here?’
‘I’ll get my things,’ she said quietly, and disappeared.
I stared at the fragment of tooth. My tongue probed the empty space. My eyes filled with tears.
I was on my way out to the car when I saw Funder coming towards me. He held a folded newspaper over his head as though that would prevent him from getting wet.
‘I was just going out,’ I said, trying to draw his attention away from Pernille.
‘I need to look through Halland’s belongings. His desk, his computer.’
I darted back to the house and inserted my key in the lock, picturing Halland’s empty desk. Where was his laptop?
‘I’ve got a spare house key in the car. Halland’s office is upstairs. Please don’t disturb my papers. I know it looks a mess, but there’s a system…’
Funder nodded, scrutinizing me closely. I talked too fast. I wanted to avoid getting wet but that didn’t explain my odd behaviour. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my hand around Halland’s mysterious keys.
‘Just pop the house key through the letter box when you’re finished,’ I said.
‘Don’t you want an update on our progress?’
‘Must I?’ Was I actually flirting? Couldn’t I give the policeman a straight answer? Why did Funder have such a deep tan in the middle of May? He smiled. The rain dripped slowly from his hair. Did I look like someone in mourning? Was I mourning? I didn’t really care what he thought. No, actually, I did.
I only returned to the car after he had gone inside and shut the door behind him. Pernille, holding an umbrella, stood impatiently next to the car.
‘If you miss the train, there’ll be another one in an hour,’ I told her. Reversing the car, I added, ‘So, tell me about this room.’ Another car approached. I waited then backed out and turned.
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘Know what?’ The engine stalled. Inhaling deeply, I turned the key in the ignition. Wipers on. Concentrate.
‘Why have you stopped?’ Pernille asked.
‘I haven’t stopped.’ I swerved to avoid a cyclist. Concentrate. Leave the gears alone. Down the hill to the main road.
‘You’ve got a licence, haven’t you?’ she asked.
The rain pelted down now.
‘Do you have a key to Halland’s room?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘But it’s locked?’
‘Yes. Sometimes he leaves his laptop there and, well – he locks the door after him.’
‘How often is he there?’
‘Don’t you know?’
I didn’t reply.
‘He stopped by a fortnight ago and was supposed to come yesterday. I didn’t always know in advance. He’d let himself in.’
‘I’ll come and clear it out as soon as I can.’
‘It’s more the rent, really…’
‘I’ll keep up the payments as long as his things are there. It’ll be a while before I can get into town. I’ll need the address…’
Pernille took a scrap of paper from her bag, wrote something and then propped the paper up on the dashboard, saying, ‘My number’s there, too.’ Turning away, she gazed out of the side window. My tongue examined the crater that my molar had left.
‘What about the birth?’ she asked.
‘That’s enough! What is it with you? Can’t women give birth any more without the whole family looking on?’
She didn’t reply. We had left the town behind us and picked up speed. The road was empty.
‘Do you seriously think I’d want to be there in Halland’s place and watch you give birth?’
‘No.’
‘When’s it due?’
‘Two months.’
‘Isn’t there someone else you can ask? A girlfriend, perhaps?’ Surely a doe-eyed beauty would have lots of friends. Pernille didn’t reply. Perhaps she was crying; I couldn’t tell. I wondered where to drop her off. Not in front of the station, not with all those buses and taxis. Normally, I listened to the radio while I was driving, but I didn’t dare let go of the wheel. Pernille remained silent. She turned away from me. I pulled up at the bottom of the car park where there were no other cars.
‘Goodbye,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m ready to clear out the room.’
Again, Pernille said nothing. Nothing audible, anyway. The rain bucketed down. I watched her in the rear-view mirror as she ran towards the station building. Adorable, I thought to myself. Had I ever been like that? Beyond perfect. Pluperfect. Now she was crossing the road. Maybe she’d be hit by a car! But no car hit her.
11
Ubi pus, ibi evacua
(Where there is pus, evacuate it)
MEDICAL APHORISM
‘I took the liberty of putting some coffee on!’ said Funder. He stood in the kitchen as if he belonged there.
‘Let me do it properly,’ I said, turning off the kettle. The lighter didn’t work when I tried to turn on the gas.
‘Perhaps you need a new flint,’ Funder said.
‘Have you got a match?’ He hadn’t, but then the lighter sparked. ‘We’re out of gas, dammit!’
‘You’re not allowed to use bottled gas in the kitchen any more.’ The detective opened the cupboard. ‘Have you got a refill?’
I nodded and gestured in the direction of the garden shed. I had changed the canister myself before and felt I needed to show him my competence. I went out through the utility room and opened the back door. The rain came down in sheets. On my way to the shed, I realized that I had forgotten the empty canister. But I was too embarrassed to turn back. The refill was heavy. I struggled to tip it over and roll it along on its rim. By the time I returned Funder had detached the empty canister. I shook the rain off me like a dog, just for fun and because I felt awkward. I wanted him to connect the refill for me, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him. Suddenly my wet shoes slipped on the floor. I grabbed Funder’s elbow and he reached for my shoulders but was unable to get a proper hold. I just stopped myself from falling. Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. I began to cry. ‘And I’ve broken a tooth!’ I wailed. Funder helped me to a chair. I didn’t look at him. I wasn’t really crying; I merely shed some tears. The detective busied himself with the gas.
‘Making any headway with the investigation?’ I finally asked.
Not much news. They knew where the killer had stood - at the far end of the churchyard on the other side of the bank, under cover of some trees. No one had actually seen him. Halland’s mobile had gone missing. And what about his computer?
‘He had a laptop,’ I said, ‘but it’s not here. I haven’t seen his grey shoulder bag either.’
‘And the keys we found in his pocket?’
&n
bsp; ‘No idea,’ I said.
‘Halland was a lot older than you, no?’
He was. Halland would have been sixty in a few months. We had talked, rather painfully, about celebrating. We rarely invited guests after his illness. And now I didn’t feel like talking to anyone about his death. Thirty-seven emails - and not one that deserved a reply.
‘Was he married before?’
Halland was never married. He had a number of relationships, but I didn’t want to know about them.
‘Did he never mention particular women?’
‘No. Well, yes. But no one I knew. Do you think some old flame could have shot him?’
Finishing his coffee, Funder stood up. ‘Do you mind if I look around in the loft? I won’t disturb anything.’
‘I thought you’d already looked there.’
‘I did. But I’d like to look again.’ On his way up the stairs, he called back down to me, ‘I’ve reconnected your landline. Both your plugs had been pulled out of the sockets.’
I sat in the kitchen and tried to follow the detective in my mind. What would he find? What could he find? There was very little in the desk, I knew. Was that normal? Did I even know? Of course I did, I just couldn’t remember. Did I remember anything? I hadn’t even realized that the computer was missing. I only admired Halland’s sense of order. Was the desk usually that empty, or had he recently cleared out the papers?
I had twisted my back when I slipped in the kitchen. Hobbling out onto the doorstep after Funder had gone, I inhaled the clear air. The rain had stopped. The man from the jetty crossed the square. As he approached my neighbour’s door, he smiled wryly and put the key into the lock. He was starting to annoy me.
‘Are you staying with Brandt?’ I asked. The question was stupid. He clearly had a key.
The man said nothing.
12
Dreaming softens you and makes you unfit for daily work.
Henriette Heise (quoting Louise Bourgeois),
INSTALLATION
I stood on the tree-lined promenade that runs along the fjord. The limes were coming into leaf. Evening light played on the gently rippling water. A tongue probed inside my sleeve, licking my wrist. Startled, I cried out.
‘He’s just being friendly.’ A man’s voice. Brandt, the doctor, my neighbour.
‘Now that’s news! I didn’t know you owned a dog.’ I only spoke after he had pulled his pet to heel.
‘I’m looking after him for my sister,’ Brandt said from beneath the trees.
‘So you’ve had guests too.’ I turned back to the fjord, disgusted by the wetness on my wrist. I didn’t want him to see me wipe it off.
‘Bess, I’m so sorry about Halland. Dreadful!’
‘Yes.’
‘I saw him.’
‘You were there? On the square?’
‘I saw you as well.’
My feet felt cold. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’
‘Have the police found anything?’
‘No.’
‘An old friend’s staying with me. He’s researching photographs in the museum archives. Perhaps you’ve seen him?’
‘We’ve said hello. He takes a lot of strolls for someone who’s meant to be busy.’
‘I’ve been thinking of having you round… How are you?’
The fjord had become a blend of blues and greens.
‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Funeral?’ The concept seemed beyond me.
‘Won’t there be one?’
I felt like saying, ‘How should I know?’ Stupid but true. I supposed there would be a funeral. But what was I meant to do? How did one go about getting people buried?
‘The detective’s been round, then?’ Brandt said.
‘Yes, he’s been round. If that’s what you want to call it. Do you know him?’
‘We’ve met.’
‘Who’s your friend, when he’s not spying on people?’
‘Sorry about that. He told me he’d seen Funder, that’s all. Surely you must agree that the whole thing’s most alarming.’ His eyes shone very blue.
‘You should get yourself a straw hat,’ I said, ‘being so chic and all.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t you remember when we had that argument?’ I asked.
‘We’ve never had an argument!’ he protested.
‘You shouted at me and said I should write books about something!’
‘We were drunk!’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I was.’
‘We disagreed about which battles are worth fighting.’
‘We did?’
‘You and Halland.’
‘We walk in the gloaming as we sleep,’ Brandt quoted.
He now stood close to me. He was real. He smelled sweet and sour.
‘I don’t sleep any longer,’ I said.
‘I think you can.’
The dog whimpered. Brandt unhooked its lead so it could run down to the water’s edge. The fjord glowed a dull green.
13
This is a stone for Hartvig Mathisen,
Born in eighteen ninety-eight.
Died the fifth of November, nineteen hundred and twelve.
And the words say he’s gone, but not forgotten.
Fourteen, he was, this little Hartvig
Until he was gone, but not forgotten.
Like as not, he’d plans for life.
None can know the dreams he’d begotten…
Song by Niels Hausgaard
Ten days had passed. I had spoken to Funder about Halland’s body as though discussing a stack of books, and to the pastor as though Halland were still alive. I had also spoken to an undertaker. I couldn’t avoid the undertaker. Halland was to be buried on the Friday at two o’clock. Inger and Brandt would act as pall-bearers; the pastor would find a couple of others. I avoided involving Pernille. I just left a message on her mobile giving the time and place. I had done my duty, if that’s what it was. I was exhausted, so I went to bed early. Unable to sleep, I got up and went through Halland’s drawers again but found nothing new. Had his desk always been this empty? And where was his laptop? I went back downstairs and read through my own files. What a lot to throw away. Sorting and binning, I became immersed in matters of no consequence: scribbled notes, receipts, letters, newspaper cuttings – my life.
When I looked up, a red stripe hung across the morning sky. Rising to my feet, I realized that I was holding Halland’s coffee mug. I had never used it before.
‘The night had passed!’ I said the words out loud, then cleared my throat and repeated them to myself. That was the hymn I had proposed to the pastor.
Pluperfect. Gazing out of the window, I rolled the words softly round my tongue.
I had studied elementary Latin at school. How much had stuck? Italia terra est, sumus estis sunt – the grammar trickled back – sum es est. Pluperfect, gerund. Such lovely words. Why did I ever enter that world of Latin words? What benefit had I derived? The answer was obvious. The world of Latin words had benefited me greatly back then, and sometimes still did. And yet, the futility of everything had become my new hobby horse. Why the fuss when all would soon be over anyway? Did anything really matter? Work, eating, sleeping? Love? Procreation?
Through the window I could just see the corner of the jetty where I had recently sat. As I pictured myself out there, a chill ran through me. An easy target for someone with a rifle in the gardens above the fjord. Who had shot Halland? Would that person also shoot me? Why wasn’t I totally preoccupied with this thought? Why wasn’t I frightened? The moment passed. No one would shoot me. No one would shoot Halland, come to that. But someone had.
Halland’s coffee mug was blue. I put it into the kitchen sink and took his antique aquavit glass down from the shelf. I remembered buying it in Sweden. This lovely small piece had cost me twenty-five kroner. The sides slanted gently, and there was an air bubble in the base. Halland always liked an aquavit in the morning, though he never drank otherwise. I filled the glass to the br
im with water and downed the lot in one. Then I went to bed and slept for most of the day. I felt safer waiting until evening to leave the house.
‘Where’s the dog?’ I recognized Brandt’s figure in the dim light on the path.
‘Rushing about down by the fjord. He’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, turning to walk with me. We strolled along, keeping our distance.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I’ve been wondering where Halland’s letters are.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The thought just occurred to me so I wanted to express it.’
‘Are Halland’s letters missing?’
‘I don’t know. I always thought he had lots of documents and letters, but his desk is empty. It’s as though he cleared the place out.’
‘Perhaps he knew he was going to die?’
‘No. I was just thinking out loud, that’s all. How can anyone know they’re going to be shot?’
Silence.
‘Do you know something about Halland that I don’t?’
‘How am I supposed to answer that?’
‘Do you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
The fjord lay still. A half-moon shone through the treetops, and dark clouds drifted across the sky. I could hear Brandt’s gentle breathing, sensed his presence without looking at him.
‘I love the fjord,’ I said, and held my breath.
‘Yes,’ he said, putting his hand on my neck. We had almost reached the churchyard gates. It was dark. His hand felt so good.
‘Did you shoot him?’ I whispered. Brandt kept his hand in place. I thought I heard him whisper my name. When he bent his head towards mine, his breath felt warm against my face. I couldn’t see him properly. My mouth touched his, he gave a start. Then the dog barked.