Niels went over to the bed and lay down on his back. He closed his eyes and hoarsely hummed a verse before he floated off to dreamland.
9
Niels opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Someone had left behind some mosquito spray and a bottle of sunblock, SPF 25. Niels spread some of the lotion on his hand and sniffed at the mosquito spray. The scent of summer. Don’t be silly, he thought. It was probably manufactured in some factory in Poland five winters ago. And yet the memories came flooding over him. Sunshine and mosquitoes, water and ice cream and elder flowers.
He sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He felt a powerful sensation in his chest. He wanted to live. He didn’t want to die. There was so much he still hadn’t done.
Sunday, December 20
Of course he could do it, thought Niels as he turned on the shower. He had a plan. The morphine pills were in his bag, and there were plenty of them. He would board a boat, take enough to knock himself out, and stay far away for a very long time.
“Niels?”
Hannah. She was in his room.
“Niels?”
“Just a minute.” He turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and then stuck his head out the bathroom door.
“Do you want to have breakfast? They stop serving at nine.”
Only now did he notice that she was holding his gun in her hand. “Hannah! It’s loaded!”
“Sorry. It was on the chair, and . . . here.” She handed him the pistol.
He took out the magazine and handed the gun back to her. “Okay. Now it can’t hurt anyone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s safe at the moment. But if you do this. . .” He handed her the magazine and showed her how to shove it into the gun. “Then you can fire it.”
“I like it better the other way. Have you ever shot anyone?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Have you forgotten that I’m supposed to be good?”
“Is that why you’ve been reading that?” She pointed at the Bible, which lay on his unmade bed.
“Maybe.”
She smiled. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
After she left, Niels got dressed and meticulously made the bed. Then he put the Bible back in the drawer. He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, lifting up his shirt. The mark stretched from one shoulder to the other and ran almost halfway down his back. Fine lines that were pushing up under his skin. He leaned closer to the mirror. Could he see any numbers? Maybe it would go away if he stopped thinking about it.
Later, they took a walk along the beach. The wind never let up out here, but at least the storm clouds were taking a break.
“I remember going inside a German bunker on the coast somewhere,” said Hannah.
“When you were a kid?”
“Do you think we can find one?”
Niels looked ahead at the shoreline. Sea fog. Cars driving across the sand. He turned to look at Hannah. The way her hair was fluttering in the wind, blowing into her face, blocking her vision.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “What do you mean?”
“You’re giving me a weird look.” She poked him in the side. “Come on, old man. I’ll race you up to the dunes.”
Hannah set off running. Niels followed. Sand got into his shoes, his hair, his eyes. He stumbled on the way up the slope and heard Hannah laugh. “Are you laughing at me?”
“You’re so clumsy.”
He put more effort into climbing the dunes, struggling to be the first to the top, but they reached it at the same time. Out of breath and practically covered in sand, they dropped onto the heather and frozen grass. Here they were protected from the wind.
For a moment they lay still without speaking.
“You said you were reading the Bible,” she said.
“A little.”
“What were you reading?”
“The story about Abraham. And Isaac.”
“God tells Abraham to take his only son, Isaac, up on the mountain to sacrifice him there,” she summed up the story.
“I once heard a pastor talk about it on the radio. He said the story should be banned from the Danish Lutheran Church.”
“But it has something important to tell us,” she said. “Something we’ve forgotten.”
“And you’re going to tell me what that is, right?”
She laughed. “It’s the teacher in me. Sorry.” She sat up. “I think the story about Abraham is telling us that we need to listen. At least once in a while.”
Niels didn’t reply.
“But you’re right. It’s a troubling story. Wasn’t there any other way God could have said the same thing?”
“Do you believe in it?” Niels asked.
“In what?”
“You know.”
“You can’t even say the word.”
“In God.”
Hannah lay back on the sand, staring up at the sky. “I believe in what we don’t yet know. And that’s so much—much more than we realize.”
“You’re talking about the four percent you mentioned?” said Niels.
“Exactly. Four percent. We know what makes up four percent of the universe. But try telling that to a politician when you’re asking for money for research. It’s much better to shout that you’re absolutely positive that the oceans are going to rise eight feet over the next—” She stopped abruptly. She sat up and gave Niels a solemn look. “Polycrates. Do you remember the story about him?”
“I don’t think I know it.”
“A Greek king. Whatever he tried his hand at turned out to be a success. He was rolling in success: He had women, wealth, military victories. Polycrates had a friend—I think he was an Egyptian ruler—who wrote to say that Polycrates needed to sacrifice something. And it had to be the most precious thing he owned. Otherwise the gods would be jealous. Polycrates thought about this long and hard. Finally, he rowed out to sea and threw his most beloved and valuable ring into the water. A couple of days later, a fisherman brought a fish he had caught, wanting to give it to his king. When they cut the fish open to eat it, what do you think they found?”
“The ring.”
“Exactly. The ring. Polycrates wrote at once to his friend in Egypt, who replied that he was putting an end to their friendship. He didn’t dare be anywhere near Polycrates when the gods one day decided to unleash their wrath on him.”
Hannah knelt in the sand, and the wind began playing with her hair. “It’s the same theme as the Abraham and Isaac story. The theme of sacrificing something.”
“What exactly should we sacrifice, Hannah?”
She thought about that. “Our reckless self-belief. Is that a real word?” She smiled. “I mean, it’s one thing to believe in yourself. It’s a whole different thing to worship ourselves as if we’re little gods.”
A deprecating smile. As if she’d said something silly. She looked at him. Then she leaned over him as quickly as she’d done before and gave him a kiss.
They were very much aware of that kiss a little while later as they walked back along the beach, which they had all to themselves. Niels savored the cold wind against his face, the fresh air that tasted of salt. Later in the day he would go down to the harbor and find a fisherman who was planning to go to sea before Christmas. That shouldn’t be so hard, he told himself. Thousands of codfish had to be caught before New Year’s Eve. He’d offer the fisherman a few thousand kroner for a berth on his boat and then take enough pills to make himself black out.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Hannah.
“Nothing.”
“Let’s have a drink,” she exclaimed. “We’re on vacation, after all. I keep forgetting what that’s like.”
“Gin and tonic?”
“And then an afternoon nap. Or is it the other way around?”
“I don’t think there are any formulas for that sort of thing.”
“Don’t say that.” She sm
iled. “Let’s go into town.”
Niels stopped next to an old-fashioned phone booth. There was a convenience store right across from it. “I’ll just make a quick call.”
“Have you got any coins?”
He nodded. She went inside the store while he stepped into the phone booth, inserted coins in the slot, and began punching in the mile-long number in South Africa. He stopped before he reached the last digit. He could see Hannah inside the store. She waved to him. He waved back and then turned away. Winter light was bathing the sea in a cautious white. The earth under his feet shook slightly. Or was that just something he imagined? The tremor continued, making its way up through his body. A weak electrical shock or a tiny earthquake. He shook his head, ascribing it to stress. He tapped in the number again. To Kathrine. Or so he thought. But it was Rosenberg who answered. Niels was surprised. Had he memorized the pastor’s phone number?
“Who’s calling?” The pastor’s voice was deeper than Niels remembered.
Niels hesitated. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words.
“Is anyone there?”
Hannah waved again. She was standing at the counter, about to pay for her cigarettes. His eye was caught by something else. A car was driving along, farther up the road. Niels looked at the gate at the railroad crossing. It was trying to come down, like last time. Or was it the wind that was making it move?
“I don’t know who this is, but I think you’re calling me because you’re ready to listen,” said the pastor.
Niels could see the train. Had the driver seen it?
The pastor again, his voice almost intoning: “Perhaps you’ve experienced something that has made you doubt. Something that has made you ready to listen.”
Silence. The pastor wanted to give him a chance to say something, but Niels didn’t speak.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Two little girls came out of the store. Laughing, each carried a bag of candy. Their cheeks were red with cold, and they were wearing knitted caps. They walked over to their bicycles.
Rosenberg cleared his throat and said, “It’s enough that you’re ready to listen. It’s enough that you show that you’re listening.”
Niels could hear the pastor breathing. He sounded a bit short of breath.
“Are you still there?”
Niels hung up the phone and stepped out of the booth. The car was getting closer. He could see it was a Volvo, one of the old boxy models. It hadn’t slowed down. The girls were standing next to their bicycles in front of the store. One of them was fumbling with her scarf. Niels took a few steps forward and waved at the car.
“Hey!” He put his hand up to signal to the driver. But the car kept on coming. “Stop!” The sea and the icy wind drowned out all other sounds. The driver couldn’t hear him, but Niels yelled again: “Stop!”
One of the girls was startled by Niels’s shouts and turned around. At that instant, she slipped on the snow and lost her grip on the bike, which fell against the door of the convenience store. Niels looked at Hannah. She hadn’t noticed anything. He looked back: the train, the Volvo, the gate that wasn’t working, the little girls, the bicycles, Hannah inside the store, the blocked door. Niels began running toward the car, waving to make it stop.
“Stop!” Niels thought the driver had heard his shouts. The car slowed down. Niels stopped. He was standing midway between the store and the train tracks. For a second he had the same feeling as when he was sitting in the backseat of the patrol car on his way back to Copenhagen. As if something were tugging at him.
By the time the driver caught sight of the train and stomped on the brakes, it was too late. The brakes locked and the car slid with a screech over the tracks. The snow acted as a lubricant, causing the vehicle to accelerate even more. The train struck the rear of the Volvo with an awful thud unlike any sound Niels had ever heard. He glanced back at the store. Hannah was pushing on the door to get out. The girls. The Volvo was going to hit the girls. “Get out of there! Run!” The girls did just the opposite. They froze where they were, staring dumbfounded at Niels, who came running toward them. Somewhere behind him he could hear the car, out of control.
“Run! Get out of here!”
One of the girls realized what was about to happen. If only he could reach them in time. He yelled at the girls, flailing his arms. “Get out of here! Run!” Niels glanced over his shoulder to see where the car was now. He managed to see the horrified expression of the driver before disaster . . . Before the car rammed into Hannah, the store, and himself.
10
Darkness
The sound of something dripping far away. Or very close. It didn’t mean anything. A magnificent calm. The darkness protected him. Like a blanket he could remove if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He was lying so comfortably in the dark.
Voices. Someone shouting. Crying. Screaming. Something struck his nose. The smell of gasoline. The smell of alcohol, gin. The taste of blood in his mouth. He wanted to shut it all out. Wished that everything would disappear again. Someone was pulling the blanket off him. The eyes of a stranger were peering down.
“Are you okay?” The voice shook. Niels could hardly hear it.
“The gate didn’t come down, and . . . I’ve called for an ambulance.”
Niels moved his lips. Or did he?
“I don’t know,” said the man. He was crying. “What? The girls? Is that what you’re asking me?”
Darkness.
This time it lasted an eternity. Or was it only a few seconds? Niels was underwater. Going away. Diving down into the darkness. Wanting to disappear. Allowing himself to be swallowed up. Vanish. No. He had to leave. Find a boat. He was thinking about eating cod at New Year’s.
Voices again. This time a deeper voice. Why couldn’t they leave him in peace?
“Lie still. Don’t try to say anything.”
Was the voice talking to him?
“Just think about breathing calmly. Nice and calm. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Another voice. This one loud and clear. “Are they sending a chopper?”
A reply that he didn’t hear.
He did hear his own voice. “No . . . I don’t want to. I don’t want to . . .”
“Lie still now. We’re going to help you.”
No pain yet. Niels couldn’t feel his body. What happened? He pictured Hannah in his mind. And the sea. And the wide, frozen shore. And two little girls with bags of candy and knitted caps. Two little . . .
“The girls?” That was his own voice again. It had a life of its own.
“Yes?”
The sound of rotating blades. Was that something he was dreaming?
“There were two little girls.”
The second man’s voice intervened. “We need to get him out.”
“The girls.”
Someone lifted him up. Like in a dream from his earliest childhood. His mother lifting him up, holding him close. Kathrine. Now he pictured her. She stepped out of the darkness and leaned over him, whispering, “Niels. Aren’t you supposed to be out at the airport?”
“One, two, three.”
Was he the one screaming?
“Morphine. Now,” said a voice from far away. Yes, morphine. And then out to the boat. A berth, sailing far away from Copenhagen. The Dogger Bank, he thought. Or even farther.
“We’re going to put an oxygen mask on you.” The voice went right through him. It was almost unbearably loud. “Your lungs . . .”
He heard someone say, “His lungs have collapsed.” A feeling of heat. He turned his head.
“We need to cut his shirt off.”
The sound of fabric being torn.
“Hannah?” She was lying next to him. Her eyes closed, an IV, an oxygen mask. She looked almost comical. He was about to laugh. He wanted to ask, “Why are you lying there like that?” Instead, he heard a sound inside his head that could only mean the world around him had come crashing in, followed by an omino
us silence.
“Can you hear me?”
A new voice.
“I’m a doctor.”
“Hannah . . .”
“Your wife is unconscious. We’re flying you to Skejby. There you’ll be given the best of care, and—”
He was interrupted. Someone was talking to the man. A brief discussion. Burns on his back. The doctor was speaking to him again. “We’re taking you to the National Hospital instead. It will just take a few minutes longer. They have the only burn unit in Denmark.”
“The National Hospital . . .”
“In Copenhagen. Do you understand what I’m saying? Can you hear me? It looks as though you have a bad burn on your back.”
“The National Hospital . . .”
The doctor was carrying on a whispered conversation with someone else. The voices came and went. “Was the car on fire?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t understand.”
A face came close to him. A pair of eyes, gray, serious-looking.
“He’s completely out of it.”
Another voice. “Are we losing him?”
“He’s back.”
“Not the National . . . Hospi . . . not . . .”
It occurred to Niels that he was incapable of moving his lips. He was talking, but no sound came out.
Someone put the blanket over him again.
Part III
BOOK OF ABRAHAM
And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?
And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering, so they went both of them together.
—Genesis 22:7–8
1
The National Hospital—Copenhagen
Niels was out. If he had been conscious, he would have seen the helicopter land on the roof of the National Hospital, seen the doctors and orderlies waiting to receive him, felt himself being lifted onto a gurney and transported along a narrow passageway that led to an elevator.
The Last Good Man Page 37