The Hanging Girl

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  There was just the problem of Atu finding out about it if things weren’t handled properly.

  Pirjo told herself to get her pulse down, crawling up the ladder to the highest loft in the stable.

  “Horus, born of a virgin,” she chanted on the way up. “Guide for the twelve disciples, raised from the dead on the third day, free me from my despondency.” And when that didn’t help, she repeated it a few times, still without effect, which shocked Pirjo because it hadn’t been like this the other times. How could she move on if the demons took over, and if the spirit wasn’t with her? Hadn’t she, as always, taken action for a righteous cause? Hadn’t this Wanda arrived to overthrow what she and Atu had built up? So why were her fingers still trembling?

  She closed her eyes, put her palms together in front of her face, and breathed slowly and deeply. Now she’d unequivocally spared everyone at the academy from Wanda Phinn’s evil energy. She knew it. So it couldn’t be wrong.

  She chanted one more time and noted to her relief that her pulse had fallen.

  She nodded in thanks toward the bundle of rays coming in through the skylight windows, thanked Providence, and went over the course of events with renewed energy and power.

  The last few hours had been incredibly intense, and so mistakes were easily made. Something could be forgotten or overlooked, and if that was the case, then the only thing to do was to rectify it and quickly.

  Pirjo closed her eyes and rewound the film in her head to the scene of the crime. As far as she knew, she hadn’t made any mistakes or overlooked anything.

  The body of the naked woman wouldn’t be found anytime soon, if ever. She was sure of that. It had been left in a remote place. That was one thing ticked off her list.

  The ground under the deepest of the puddles out in Alvaret had been soft, so it had been easy to dig deep enough that the grave wouldn’t be exposed in the event of a downpour. That was sorted, too. Check!

  She’d meticulously erased any tracks that might lead a stray botanist or tourist off the beaten path and over toward the grave. Check!

  And, finally, she’d ensured that nobody had seen her out there, or when she drove out of the area. Check!

  Pirjo nodded with satisfaction and pushed a couple of cardboard boxes to the side over the loft planks. She needed to get going. The communal assembly at the academy would begin soon, now that the disciples’ meditation and self-examination in their rooms was over. Just now the courtyard was empty. So only the treacherous security cameras, which she’d convinced Atu to install both inside and outside the area, could document that she’d been gone and what she’d done since she’d arrived back.

  She would make sure to delete the video recordings when she got to the office, so that wouldn’t be a problem either.

  Now all that was left was the woman’s belongings.

  She looked over at the pile of clothes that she’d taken from the body: skirt, blouse, underwear, a two-tone belt, scarf, stilettos, coat, and stockings. Everything needed to be destroyed and burned, of course. But until a better opportunity presented itself, it would have to stay here in one of the removal boxes in the storage loft among the clothing left by individual members of the academy, rejected in their future aesthetical lives.

  The rest, consisting of the woman’s handbag and its contents, a pack of condoms, various items of makeup, cell phone, keys—including the key to the luggage box at the station—a few hundred euros in notes, travel documents, and passport, would have to be dealt with immediately.

  What else did she need to think about?

  Wanda Phinn had written in her application that she alone in her family had emigrated from Jamaica some years ago and that she’d quit her job. She rented a room in the outskirts of London, a life that she wanted to leave behind her. There was nothing for her to stay for in London; it was a finished chapter in her life. She’d cancelled all her subscriptions, including the Internet. She’d sold all her worldly goods: computer, radio, TV, furniture, and a few clothes. And after that, and hopefully a successfully completed introductory course at the academy, her only wish was to be inducted as a permanent resident.

  There was nothing else, so the situation seemed safe. The woman had left no noticeable trace of this, her final journey in life. And even if she had, when the occasion arose, Pirjo would just deny any knowledge of her existence and proposed plans. How in the world would anyone ever be able to prove anything different? Wanda Phinn’s computer had been sold. She had no next of kin in England. She had nothing to stay for in London and as such probably hadn’t had any friends or colleagues she confided in.

  On top of this, that morning Pirjo had already deleted her hard drive of any information that could connect her to the woman, so what else was there? Could there be someone who’d seen them on their journey from Kalmar out to Alvaret? Yes, there was sure to be, but nobody Pirjo knew. And even if she had accidentally been seen together with the woman, would strangers really remember something so insignificant in a couple of weeks?

  Impossible, she thought, reasoning that there had been a lot of new faces on the west side of the island today.

  Right enough, the last big wave of tourists had been, but at least a hundred visitors had been trawling the roads on the west coast all day in connection with the collaborative event organized by the art association.

  It was definitely not a day where a single event or a few people on the road would be remembered more than any other. No, she needn’t think about that anymore. Wanda Phinn would, with all probability, not be reported missing for a very long time, and who would remember a day like today by then?

  Pirjo shook her head and placed a couple of large pieces of sandstone in the woman’s bag. After she’d thrown it as far as she could out into the Baltic Sea, she just needed to make it back to the assembly hall before the communal assembly got under way.

  Thank God things were still such that if Pirjo wasn’t there to do everything, nothing worked.

  * * *

  She dressed in white and calmly entered the hall. She’d show all the disciples their rightful places according to rank and association before Atu came in. Since it was October, the light from the skylights in the hall was still crystal clear, and the glass-tiled section in the floor, on which Atu would shortly stand, seemed almost as golden warm and captivating as if looking at the master himself.

  When he entered, the assembled disciples were sitting silently on the floor as usual, faces full of expectation. Everyone lived and breathed for these sessions because Atu’s words were the high point of the day, regardless of whether it took place here or on the beach at dawn. In the presence of Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi, you found the answer to all quests and questions, and disciples flooded here.

  It still felt so profound to be a part of, thought Pirjo.

  When Atu stepped forward in his yellow robe with the beautiful detailing on the arms, it was as if a light in the darkness—an aura of energy—was suddenly lit. It was like beholding the truth of life itself when he opened his embrace toward the assembly and took them into his world.

  Some of the people said that they considered these assemblies the end of a pilgrimage, wherein they achieved the ultimate cleansing of both body and soul, and where unexpected and definitive new life paths were stretched out before them. Others were less concrete and objective, letting themselves go without reservation, allowing what they called the wonder in the soul to occur.

  But regardless of how they were affected, they all had two things in common. They’d paid a fortune to be sitting there on the floor with crossed legs, and it was Pirjo who was in charge of who was invited in and where they should sit. And while Pirjo, like everyone else at the academy, idolized Atu, it was at least in a different and more complete way than it was for the others.

  For Pirjo, Atu symbolized man and provider, incarnate sexuality, spearhead, security, and, finally, spiritualit
y, all in one and the same person. That’s how she’d felt ever since she first met him. Maybe she’d become a little thick-skinned over the years in terms of the status Atu had fought his way up to as prophet and spiritual guide. But it definitely hadn’t always been this way.

  It had, after all, been a long road.

  * * *

  The town of Kangasala, apart from being well-to-do and situated at a suitable distance from Tampere, Finland’s second biggest city, was also very close to the small rural town where Pirjo’s parents settled down and decided to raise their children. Here, in close proximity to that fabled and poetically famed place where affluent tourists and stunningly picturesque nature melted together, her parents had placed their enormous aspirations for the future. It should have been so good, but it wasn’t, as neither Pirjo’s father nor her mother possessed the qualities necessary to realize these aspirations.

  A small and abysmally stocked kiosk was all that came of their dreams. A kiosk with a poor customer base and out-of-the-way location, just a simple shed built during the First World War from timber and other material that couldn’t be used elsewhere. Ice-cold winters and lukewarm summers where mosquitoes from the small lakes nearby plagued them to death. That was about the sum of it.

  Their entire lives emanated from this wretched starting point. Here, the parents and their three children were supposed to secure both their livelihood and status, and get their hands on the raw materials that in times of hardship could serve as both a cultural upbringing and general education.

  So it was only through the glitzy magazines in the kiosk that the spectacular events and attractive perspectives to be found in the world could creep into Pirjo’s uneventful life. Through them, future possibilities were opened, but only with the understanding that you had to leave. And Pirjo dreamt of having possibilities in her life, which little by little became limited to absolutely nothing when her dad pulled her out of school so she could serve in the shop when he couldn’t be bothered himself.

  But that’s not how things shaped up for Pirjo’s two younger sisters, who were both loved more by their parents. Nothing was too good for them. They could go to dance classes in town, and they had to learn how to play musical instruments and look respectable. All of which cost money, which Pirjo had to scrape together. A reality that both rankled and frustrated her every single day, or to put it bluntly, pissed her off, made her green with envy, and gave her a real thirst for revenge.

  It was only when her younger sister came home with a kitten and was allowed to keep it that it really hit her.

  “Whenever I’ve asked for a pet you’ve always said no,” she shouted. “I hate all of you. You can all go to hell.”

  The price of her honesty was being boxed around the ears. The kitten stayed where it was.

  When she turned sixteen the following week, the expected shower of gifts never materialized. It was that day that she finally realized that everything was completely meaningless, because no matter what she dreamt of or aspired to, it was her lot that life’s great experiences would be few and far between.

  As a result of boredom and a hatred for her sisters and her own life in equal measure, that same evening she began hanging out with some troublemakers from Kangasala, and the result was probably a little more exciting than was good.

  When her dad found her sitting behind the kiosk with these scum smoking hash, the beating he gave her was so brutal that she couldn’t lie down to sleep for several days.

  And while her bodily wounds and soul healed, she overheard her mother warn her sisters never ever to end up like their big sister.

  “But that won’t happen. There’s only one rotten apple in the cart. Your big sister is a vile girl, not like you, my angels,” she ended with a final twist of the knife.

  “So maybe we should just throw the apple out?” said the youngest, laughing.

  “Throw the apple out?” That was her they were talking about.

  If Pirjo could have cried, she would have, but she’d realized long ago that her vulnerable side couldn’t be used for anything. But there had to be some sort of reaction; otherwise she’d go mad.

  In an act of defiance, she crept out of bed that night and killed her sister’s kitten and then placed it right in the middle of the shop counter.

  She then took everything from the cash register that she thought she’d been cheated out of, and left the rest of the contents out for whoever might walk by. With her bag over her shoulder and the door left open behind her, she ran away from home with the intention of never coming back.

  She hooked up for a while with some Brits and a group of crazy bohemians from Helsinki in a rented cabin on the other side of town. And as these friends, who were older than her, lived somewhat more unconventionally than the local residents could deal with, they became the talk of the town, and the young Pirjo along with them.

  From these very alternative characters in the commune, she learned for the first time to appreciate the surreal blaze with which the northern lights lit up the sky. The stillness of the lakes. The ecstasy of home-brewed schnapps mixed with casual sex. And even though, in its own way, it seemed like a happy time, she noticed with sadness how the last few innocent moments of youth were slipping away.

  In the end, child welfare had received so many venomous complaints from neighbors about the commune and from the parents themselves that they felt compelled to intervene.

  By the time they arrived at the commune it was already too late because Pirjo had split, having emptied the piggy bank of every last coin.

  With this small fortune in her pocket and with the belief that happiness was just around the corner, she reached Denmark and Scandinavia’s least prejudiced city, Copenhagen.

  She passed her life here in a youth house in Nørrebro, where all kinds of people imaginable—and especially unimaginable—hung out, and before long she’d tried every form of stimulant that could be smoked or drunk.

  Following a few heated disagreements with a couple of the leading girls about which of the guys you could have sex with, she was thrown out and saw no other alternative than to live on the streets. After having knocked about destitute for a month, doing nothing other than begging for small change for the next high or buzz, she met a slightly older guy who had his own apartment. He was nice, with a gentle smile, and was called Frank. He told her that the strongest driving force in life was neither sex nor alcohol but the cultivation of the soul and its journey from one level on to another. It sounded strange but maybe it was a way out of the crappy situation she was in, so she listened.

  What he said sounded simple enough. As long as you made an effort to understand that the body and flesh could be freed of their needs only if you worked with spirituality and meditation, you’d be free and happy.

  So why not? She didn’t get beaten and she didn’t wake up with her head full of bugs and self-loathing.

  Pirjo became stronger and slowly felt better about herself, while the experiments researching the soul and its energy grew in number and range. During the day, they both worked in the Burger King at Rådhuspladsen in little fancy hats and uniforms perfumed with cooking fat and the aroma of fast food and sweet drinks. They had to live off something. The rest of the time was given to the expansion of consciousness: from clairvoyance, yoga courses, and meetings with clairvoyants, to horoscopes and tarot cards. There weren’t very many branches of the world of mysticism that they didn’t try in that period.

  In spite of Pirjo’s lust for him, they lived in celibacy for the first few years to allow the soul unhindered space to feed into all available energy. And yet the time came when Frank felt that the planets, psychological forces, and future pointed toward other goals, and he abandoned that path.

  “I’m ready to feel my body against others,” he said. A transformation that was reserved only for him and which she reluctantly accepted. But then why should she have sex with ot
her people when it was only Frank she wanted?

  It was with that change of realization that Frank laid the roots of his alter ego Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi and the vestal Pirjo Abanshamash Dumuzi.

  From that moment, Pirjo’s role in their relationship was primarily to be both knight and servant to Frank’s alias Atu. And while it was a desirable position in relation to that of so many others, in reality it was also very restrictive.

  A disparity she would do everything possible to change.

  Because Pirjo had ambitions.

  19

  Saturday, May 3rd; Sunday, May 4th; and Monday, May 5th, 2014

  Waking up in the morning was abrupt and disagreeable, made worse by a pounding head and an all-too-clear conviction that minibars should only be frequented with a certain reservation.

  When they drove onto the car deck of the ferry, Rose’s cargo of goods had already arrived. And it was clear that the axle load definitely wasn’t to the benefit of the undersize removal van. Damn it, all this rubbish had to go down in their basement area. Carl could hardly believe it, not to mention that Rose had reserved seats for them in the cafeteria at a table between her two well-built removal men.

  Carl nodded to them extremely cautiously. Better to keep his thumping head as still and calm as possible.

  “Weather’s getting up,” said one of the drivers by way of introduction to what could easily become an endless round of nonsense and mindless chatter.

  Carl tried to smile.

  “He’s got an overhang,” said Assad.

  Carl couldn’t be bothered to react.

  “Ha! An overhang,” burst out the removal men, shoveling fast food into their mouths, consisting in equal measure of fat and white flour. “I think you mean hangover, mate,” one of them said, laughing, and gave Assad a friendly thump on the back that could have split a boulder in half.