by Karin Fossum
More shaking of his head.
"All right then," Sejer said.
"Tanks."
Halvor's eye filled with tears. He began sniffling.
"Don't fret!" Sejer said. "The stitches will come out. And your nose is running. I'll find some tissues."
He stood up and found some tissues by the sink. Tried to wipe away the snot and blood running from the boy's nose.
"I expect you found Annie difficult once in a while. But now you probably understand that she had her reasons. As a rule, we all do. "And this was a huge burden for her to carry all alone. I know this may be a stupid thing to say," he said, trying to comfort the boy because he felt such pity for him as he lay in bed, his face pulverised. "But you're still young. Right now you've lost so much. Right now you feel as if Annie is the only one you would like to have near. But time will pass, and things change. Someday you'll think differently."
Jesus, what a speech, he thought.
Halvor didn't reply. He stared at Sejer's hands lying on the covers, at the broad gold wedding band on his right hand. His expression seemed to be accusatory.
"I know what you're thinking," Sejer said. "That it's easy for me to talk, sitting here wearing a big wedding band. A real gaudy, ten-millimetre ring. But you see," he said with a sad smile, "it's actually two five-millimetre rings welded together."
He twisted the ring around.
"She's dead," he said. "Do you understand?"
Halvor closed his eye and a little more blood and tears ran down his face. He opened his mouth, and Sejer could see the broken remains of his teeth.
"Mm solly."
Finally the sun was shining full force and Sejer and Skarre strolled down the street with the dog between them. Kollberg plodded along happily, with his tail held high like a banner.
Sejer had a bouquet of flowers hanging from a string around his wrist, red and blue anemones wrapped in tissue paper. His jacket was slung over his shoulders, and his eczema was better than it had been in a long time. He strode along with his easy, supple gait while Skarre hopped and leaped beside him. The dog walked at a surprisingly brisk pace. Not too fast; they were wearing newly pressed shirts and didn't want to sweat too much before they reached their destination.
Matteus was scurrying around, full of anticipation, a killer whale in his arms, made of black and white felt. His name was Free Willy, and he was almost as big as he was. Sejer's first impulse was to rush forward and lift him up, roaring out his great joy in a jubilant voice. That's the way all children ought to be greeted, with genuine, exuberant joy. But Sejer wasn't made that way. He took the boy carefully on his lap and looked at Ingrid, who was wearing a new dress, a butter-yellow summer dress with red raspberries. He wished her happy birthday and squeezed her hand. Before long they would be leaving for the other side of the globe, to heat and war, and they would be gone an eternity. He shook hands with his son-in-law while he held Matteus tight. They sat quietly and waited for the food.
Matteus never nagged. He was a well-mannered boy, blessedly free of defiant or contrary behaviour. The only thing Sejer didn't recognise from his own family was a tiny tendency for mischief. Matteus's daily life was all smiles and love, and his origins, about which they knew very little, seemed not to have given him genes that would manifest themselves in abnormal behaviour, drive family members out of their wits, or make them cross disastrous boundaries. Sejer's thoughts wandered. Back to Gamle Möllevej outside Roskilde when he himself was a child. For a long time he sat lost in memory. Finally he was listening. "What did you say, Ingrid?"
He looked in surprise at his daughter and saw that she was brushing a lock of blonde hair away from her forehead as she smiled in that special way she had, reserved just for him.
"Coke, Papa? Do you want a Coke?"
At the same time, somewhere else, an ugly van bumped along the road in low gear, and a big man, his hair sticking up, was hunched over the steering wheel. At the bottom of the hill he stopped to let a little girl, who had just taken two steps forward, cross the road. She stopped abruptly.
"Hi, Ragnhild!" he cried out.
She was holding a skipping rope in one hand, so she waved with the other.
"Are you out taking a walk?"
"I'm on my way home," she said firmly.
"Listen to this!" Raymond said in a loud, shrill voice to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Caesar is dead. But Påsan had babies!"
"But he's a boy," she said.
"It's not easy to tell whether a rabbit is a boy or a girl. They have so much fur. But at any rate he had babies. Five of them. You can come and see them if you want."
"They won't let me," she said, disappointed, staring down the road and hoping vaguely that someone would appear to rescue her from such a spellbinding temptation. Baby bunnies.
"Do they have fur?"
"They have fur and their eyes are open. I'll drive you back home afterwards, Ragnhild. Come on, they're growing up so fast!"
She glanced down the road one more time, shut her eyes tight and opened them again. Then she dashed across and climbed in. Ragnhild was wearing a white blouse with a lace collar and tiny little red shorts. No-one saw her get in. Everyone was in their backyards, preoccupied with planting and weeding, tying up their roses and the clematis. Raymond felt so fine in Sejer's old windbreaker. He put the van in gear. The little girl was sitting excitedly on the seat beside him. He whistled happily and looked around. Nobody had noticed them.
Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
About the Author
By the Same Author
Title Page
Disclaimer
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16