by Tore Renberg
But the girls came into the picture and Dubai went out the window.
Minutes from now, maybe a few hours, and he’ll be sitting in the police station.
Daniel brings his finger to the button and presses it.
She knows her way around here. Veronika has been in and out of hospital since she was a little girl. She’s been back and forth together with Inger, check-up after check-up at the audiology clinic. Seventh floor, said the woman at reception, and nodded to Veronika the way you nod to somebody you’re used to seeing, but she struggled to maintain a natural expression when she saw the mesh of cuts on her face.
‘Sandra Vikadal? Seventh floor.’
The lift is slow and heavy. Veronika seeks out his hand, finds his fingers.
‘My finger friend.’
What is she on about? Daniel shoots her a puzzled look.
She laughs. ‘Just popped into my head.’
‘You come out with some weird stuff.’
‘What did you say?’ She looks at him with that expression she always gets in her eyes when she doesn’t catch what’s been said. Vigilant, the tiniest bit offended.
‘Nothing,’ Daniel says, ‘nothing.’
The lift ascends, passing floor after floor. A sterile smell pervades, even in here, the odour of hospital and of unease. People go quiet when they use lifts, doubly so in hospitals.
The doors slide open.
‘Hey?’ She squeezes his hand.
‘Mhm?’
‘It’s okay, you know. I’m with you, all right?’
Daniel nods. He can’t bring himself to speak.
‘We’ll go in, you get to see her, and after that you’re mine. Yeah? We’ll just ride. You and me. Far from here. We still have time.’
He nods, but he doesn’t believe what she’s saying. They exit the lift and set their feet on the linoleum of the seventh floor. It’s almost as though the ground is swaying beneath them. There are double doors to either side of them and Veronika points to the ones to the right. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just nods and lets her lead the way.
She wants to hold him by the hand, reaches for his, but he avoids her attempt. He speeds up, noses a few inches ahead of her as they walk down the corridor. A doctor and a nurse are walking towards them. Daniel looks down. They pass empty chairs, doors and rooms, people inside with pain in their bodies. Veronika draws level with him, tries to take hold of his hand once more. Daniel brings his fingers to his eye, pretends to have something in it.
Then they halt. A man and a woman are standing outside a room about fifty feet in front of them. Daniel takes an audible intake of breath and makes as if to turn back.
‘Who’s that?’
He gives her a quick glance and she understands who it is.
The man is tall and slim, wears a suit and shirt and has polished shoes. The woman is petite, slender, dressed in a blue jacket, with a neckerchief and her hair neatly styled.
‘Relax,’ Veronika says, ‘do they know who you are?’
Daniel tugs her with him, back towards the lift, but she resists.
‘Wait, stand still. Don’t look at them. Look at me. Have you met them?’
‘No, I haven’t met them,’ he says, angrily.
‘Take it easy, Daniel,’ she says. ‘They’re talking to a doctor. Look. He’s quite calm. The father has his arm round the mother. She’s crying.’
Daniel brings his hands to his head. Massages his forehead with his fingertips.
Then they see them. Two uniformed police. A man and a woman. They come out of the same room. The woman tilts her head to the side, says something into the radio mounted almost at her shoulder. The other speaks to the doctor and Sandra’s parents.
Daniel and Veronika turn and walk quickly away. They don’t stop until they make it around the corner by the lift.
‘What are we going to do?’ Daniel’s eyes flash fiercely.
Veronika takes a step to the side, looks down the corridor.
‘They’re talking,’ she says.
Daniel swallows.
‘Wait,’ she says, ‘wait, they’re leaving.’
‘What?’
‘They’re going the other way.’
‘The other way?’
Daniel sticks his head round the corner to take a look. She’s right. The doctor and the police are accompanying Sandra’s parents further down the corridor. The doctor opens a door and shows them in.
‘Come on,’ Veronika says, giving him a tug, ‘now.’ She begins to walk towards the room Sandra is in.
Daniel hesitates, but she’s stronger. Veronika won’t hear him. She doesn’t want to hear him. That’s how this girl is. She says weird things and has no trouble crossing boundaries others wouldn’t dare contemplate. She lacks something other people have. She possesses something they do not.
Daniel is on the verge of letting her go into Sandra’s room on her own, on the brink of turning around and leaving. But he’s unable to resist her. She’s too much. That copper-red hair. That pursuable body. She’s like pure metal.
They reach the mint-green door and Veronika reaches for the handle, pressing it down gently.
Daniel wavers as she enters, but follows her in.
It’s a single room. A narrow entrance with a bathroom to the side, a window ahead with the curtains opened. The late September light shines into the room. A poster of a flower arrangement hangs on the wall to the right. To the left, a bed with curtains drawn around it. A low hum from the air conditioner. A chair facing the bed.
‘I can’t do this.’ Daniel closes his eyes.
‘You can,’ Veronika whispers, reaching her hand towards the curtain.
102. SING SONGS OF PRAISE (Sandra)
The sound of the curtain rings sliding along the pole. A soft swish. The material is drawn aside. It’s her. The burnt hair, the slashed face. It’s him. The bright mouth, the deep-set eyes.
They approach the bed.
Sandra is lying under a duvet with the hospital emblem on it. Her head is turned to the right and she can’t move it. Her hair is lying neatly across the pillow the way her mother arranged it. Her lips are dry and cracked, even though her father has applied lip balm to them. She has bruises on her face, a cut under her cheekbone, because the people standing in front of her knocked her down. There’s a glass of water on the table beside the bed, as well as a vase with three red roses; one for hope, her mother said, one for faith, she said, and one for the future.
Sandra can’t feel a thing. Not anywhere. Her senses, with the exception of sight and hearing, are gone. She doesn’t know if they can see that she sees them. She doesn’t know if her eyes are moving.
‘Jesus.’
Daniel brings his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. He sinks down into the chair.
‘She’s in a coma,’ Veronika says, leaning down so her face is closer to Sandra. Studying her.
‘What have we done?’
‘Don’t you want to talk to her?’ Veronika brings her eyes up close to Sandra’s, scrutinises them, as though she suspects Sandra of pretending to lie so still.
‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Veronika doesn’t take her eyes off Sandra. ‘Get on with it, so.’
‘What will I say?’ Daniel’s voice is meek.
‘I don’t know. Say what you need to say.’
Veronika gives a short nod to herself, as though confirming her belief in what she sees: Sandra is in a coma. She can’t move. This is not an act.
Daniel clears his throat, ‘Sorry, Sandra,’ he says in a stilted voice, ‘you should never have met me.’
The bright boy isn’t able to look at her. He isn’t able to talk naturally. He closes his eyes when he speaks, hardly opens his mouth. He backs away from the bed.
The corners of Veronika’s mouth begin to turn up into a smile as she sees Daniel move away. He walks over to the wall by the door and hides his face in his hands.
The girl who’s ruined Sandra’s life comes closer to th
e bed again.
What is she doing?
Sandra sees her lift her hands, bring them towards her neck. Her fingers curl, as though she were feline, her nails are long and painted; what is she doing?
The cuts on Veronika’s face glisten, a triumphant smile appears and her eyes are aglow. Her fingers touch Sandra’s throat. The crucifix. She takes it between her fingers, inspects it. Sandra can feel the disgusting breath on her face, and she wants to spit on her, wants to open her mouth and bite off her head, but she can’t do anything. Veronika loosens the clasp of the necklace, takes the crucifix and leans forward so her mouth is up to Sandra’s ear. Veronika lifts away a lock of hair, disturbing her summer blonde fringe, and whispers: ‘Hi, Sandra. Are you in pain?’
Sandra pictures kneeing her in the cunt.
‘It’s Veronika,’ she says, her lips millimetres from Sandra’s ear. ‘You’re nothing now. Nothing. Your tits are too small, those Met jeans suck, your thighs are too fat and your mouth makes you look like a weasel.’
Sandra pictures tearing her apart with her bare hands.
‘You can’t move,’ Veronika whispers. ‘You’re nothing now.’
Sandra imagines carrying her dismembered limbs. She walks across a dry stony landscape and after a while she reaches a fire-scorched rock-face. She crouches down and lets the body parts roll from her arms, as if they were logs of firewood. Then she lights it, sees Veronika’s skin start to melt, watches the flesh begin to drip, smells the rising fetor of marred meat and makes out the bones beginning to appear.
Veronika straightens up. She breathes calmly. A summer of sorts has taken hold of her. A barrage of sunbeams shine through her very being.
Veronika turns to Daniel.
But he is not there. He is no longer by the door. He is out in the corridor. There is a doctor standing beside him. Not the same one as a little while ago. A different doctor. Now Veronika is nervous. Sandra tries to see what’s happening, but it’s beyond her field of vision. She can only hear voices and see Veronika’s form moving towards the door, nearer to the doctor and Daniel.
‘And who are you?’
‘I’m just a friend of hers.’
His voice.
‘A friend?’
‘Yes. I know her.’
That bright mouth of his.
‘Okay—’ the doctor looks slightly puzzled.
‘How is she?’
My Daniel.
‘Well, it’s too early to say,’ the doctor looks even more uncertain now, looks from Daniel to Veronika and says: ‘And who is she?’
Sandra sees Veronika draw closer to Daniel and the doctor.
‘No, she’s nobody,’ Daniel says.
‘Just a moment,’ the doctor says, ‘wait here for a second, I need to check something.’
Daniel turns his head to look at Sandra. So deep, those eyes of his, she feels she could fall into them.
He puts two fingers to his bright mouth, and leaves.
Love, Sandra thinks, as she notices her vision begin to fail, love bears all things, believes all things and hopes all things. And love, she thinks, and sees that she no longer sees, love endures all things. Sing songs of praise for my bright boy.
103. SOIL WITH LEAVES ON (Veronika)
Veronika places the necklace around her neck. Fastens it. Lets it rest in the hollow of her throat.
She watches Daniel go down the corridor, walk away with a heavy footfall. She sees the lift doors open and him disappear inside. She moves to the window on the seventh floor and waits. A minute goes by, maybe two, and then she catches sight of him below. He emerges from the main entrance. He walks towards the Suzuki.
She knows how to do this.
Don’t look, don’t listen.
It’s been like this a thousand times before and it can be like this again.
My wolf man, you called me one unusual girl, but you didn’t exist and here’s the rule I made when I was small, when I lay under the duvet and thought about how I was always alone, how there would never be anyone for me:
Trees with bark on
bark with soil on
soil with leaves on
leaves with water on
water with boats in
boats with people in
people with clothes on
clothes with me in
me with bark on
me with soil on
me with leaves on
me with water on
water with people in
people with soil in
soil with leaves in
leaves with trees in.
104. SILLY DADDY (Pål)
‘There you are, girls. Could you give me a hand here? Yeah, I know. Some people were here, I just came home to put out the candle – silly Daddy, leaving it burning, eh – so I sent Mummy on ahead. Wasn’t that a nice surprise, Tiril, Mummy turning up, you weren’t expecting that, eh? You might have seen a van driving off, yeah, that was them, they just broke in, I think they must have been a motorbike gang or something, they were masked, they tied me up, beat me and took a load of our stuff, but never mind, fortunately we’re insured, and I’m here, Daddy’s here, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’ve only a broken nose, as well as some fingers and ribs, along with a few cuts and bruises, it’s fine, unbelievable what a body can take, don’t cry, Malene, hi Tiril, it’s fine, Daddy’s sorted everything out now, things will be good now, we’re a nice little family so we are, we’ll be all right, we’ll get a new dog, it’ll all be okay.’
He hears the front door open.
The sound of Malene’s steps. Then Tiril’s. And Christine’s stomping.
Like she lived here.
‘Dad?’
Pål sits with his back to the oven. Aching pain all through his body. He’s lost feeling in parts of his back and he’s not certain, but it’s like something in his mouth is smashed. His hands are still tied behind his back, but he lifts a finger, an unbroken one, as though they could see him.
‘In here!’
Sounds in the hall. Crunching, crackling.
‘Jesus, Dad! What happened here!’
‘Oh, it—’
‘Shit! There’s glass everywhere!’
‘Hi, Tiril, how did it go? I’m in here!’
The footsteps near the kitchen.
‘Dad?’
They’ve entered the room. The footsteps have stopped. Breathing. A gasp. Someone says, ‘Jesus.’
It’ll be good to see light again, good to get the blindfold off.
The worst is over now.
‘Hi, are you there?’
Pål hears Malene begin to sob, the same sound as the night she lay with her face buried in a pillow after injuring her ankle. He hears Tiril scream, Zitha, Zitha, Zitha, and he hears what he thinks are her knees hitting the floor with a thud as she sinks down in front of the dead dog. He hears Christine’s silence, which only occurs when something has gone completely awry.
Well, she might move back home now? Who knows, never say never.
He clears his throat. ‘There you are, girls,’ he says, feeling a stinging pain in his mouth as he speaks. ‘Could you give me a hand here? Yeah, I know, there were some people here, I was just coming home to put out the candle, silly Daddy, eh?’
105. LURA TURISTHEIM? DOLLY’S PIZZA? HINNA BISTRO? (Rudi)
Cecilie is lying with her head in his lap and it feels pretty damn good. Rudi becomes aware of a growing erection developing against her cheek and that feels pretty damn good too. They left in a hurry, managing to hump some of Pål’s possessions from the house, a couple of computers, a TV and some other odds and ends, not exactly the haul of a lifetime, but like Jan Inge said: ‘It’ll do given the day that’s in it.’ Tong is lying in the back of the van under an old dog blanket they grabbed on the way out, faceless and bloody, and Jan Inge is sitting behind the wheel of the Transporter, as they drive uphill in the darkness towards Ullandhaug.
A strange mix of emotions.
Rudi can’t feel
it inside. He doesn’t feel as though he’s been cheated on. He has no emotional reaction to his woman having been unfaithful to him for months. Nothing. Almost the opposite, and that’s what’s so weird, he feels only happiness. As if he had won it all, and maybe he has!
What did Gran say that time?
‘Rune, dear,’ she said, ‘you’ll soon be a man.’ He was sixteen or seventeen, sitting in Gran’s, drinking decaf, outside it was raining cats and dogs, she’d served him Swiss roll and she had that crafty expression round her eyes that made her look like an owl, and she said: ‘And you know what it means to be a man?’
‘No, I mean, yes, well…’
‘It means you have to be big-hearted, Rune,’ she said. ‘Kind and big-hearted. That’s what the girls like, you know.’
Chessi’s eyes are shining. She is so bloody gorgeous.
The Transporter slows down as it reaches the top of Limahaugen, Jani puts on the indicator, pulls up to the kerb and turns around to them, and Rudi can’t help but feel everything is just perfect as their conversation unfolds: ‘So. What’ll it be? Lura Turistheim?
‘Brother? You mean?’
‘Well, just figured, before we get home and take care of this—’
‘Reindeer stew with Waldorf salad and lingonberry jam. That was good. You can’t go wrong with meatballs and mushy peas. Salt cod with bacon and onion, you liked that, brother.’
‘I think they close at six.’
‘Ah shit.’
‘Dolly’s Pizza?’
‘We’re always ordering from Dolly’s.’
‘Thai Summer number two, baby, Thai Summer number two, you know how much you love that. Lime and coriander.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘No no. Hinna Bistro, then.’
‘They only do pizza too.’
‘Yeah yeah. But we do like pizza. Number fifteen – Gringo?’
‘Is that the one with chicken, chilli and salsa?’
‘Mhm.’
‘I can’t help but feel we’ve made idiots of ourselves.’