Medusa

by Torkil Damhaug

  – Can you help me? she asked.

  He hurried on without answering, the grey ponytail swaying from side to side on his neck.

  She stopped at the pedestrian crossing, held on to the railings. It had started again, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. If a car hit her, the driver would feel bad. But not if it was a bus. It was a bus driver’s job to drive around all over town; anything could happen to them. They were protected. The Lord was with bus drivers. They were the instruments of the Lord. Though they wandered upon dark ways. Next time a red bus comes by, you let go, Solveig. She looked up at the sky above Majorstuehuset. The clouds were in sudden motion, pulled apart from each other as though by some mighty hand; the light was unbearably bright. She lowered her gaze. And there, on the steps to the Underground station, enveloped in a blinding white light, stood a man. He had a beard, and his hair was unkempt, his jacket was ragged. The face was turned towards her, and she saw that it was Axel Glenne. And He shall return, though they shall not know Him. – But I know him, she murmured. It’s not going to happen, not yet. Again the calm surged through her chest, swelling inside her until she trembled in pure joy.

  She let go of the railings, turned her back to the bristling stream of cars and started walking back down Bogstadveien.

  8

  AT 12.15, AXEL GLENNE finished with his last patient before lunch. He made a few notes in the journal, closed it and clicked his computer into hibernation mode.

  – Time we had something to eat, he said to Miriam without looking at her. There hadn’t been a moment’s let-up all morning, and he had barely managed to pass on the odd bit of advice to her in among all the consultations. After what had happened the day before, he felt a bit embarrassed about seeing her today. But she seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to have sat in her car talking for more than half an hour.

  He let her into the break room before him. It was a tight squeeze, though only Rita and Inger Beate were already sitting there. They squashed themselves in around the circular table. Rita’s niece had been to see her and Rita had brought along home-made waffles. Inger Beate wanted to discuss a patient with him and brought out a pile of reports from lab tests. She gave him a rundown of the details as she devoured an egg salad, washing it down with coffee. The patient complained of itching, and had lost weight, but otherwise felt fine.

  – Before I have a go, let’s hear what the student has to say, said Axel, chewing.

  Inger Beate Garberg had a strong, bony face with grey hair that hung in waves around her shoulders. She looked at the clock, annoyed, only five minutes of the lunch break left.

  Miriam said, – Did you ask if he experiences any discomfort when he drinks alcohol?

  Inger Beate glanced over at Axel. He helped himself from the plate of waffles and gave a cautious smile in return. A loaded question there from the student, Inger Beate.

  – Of course I asked him that.

  – And what was the patient’s reply?

  – He was vague, she grunted as she closed up the plastic carton containing the rest of her salad. – I’d better ask him again.

  It hadn’t occurred to her, Axel noted, but he didn’t confront her with it. Inger Beate had only recently returned after working for two years among Aids victims in Botswana. She was still struggling to return to everyday life back at home, the parade of patients most of whom were perfectly well and yet still complained over the slightest thing. But she was a good colleague, and it would have been no pleasure to catch her out, still less to let a student do so. He knew that she would now take a closer look at the patient to see if there were any other signs of lymphatic cancer. That was what he suspected, after having looked at the lab reports.

  – More waffles? Rita said, offering the plate around.

  Axel patted his stomach, indicating that he’d had enough.

  – I’ll take the student with me on my rounds, he said, – in the certain knowledge that you’ll hold the fort back here, Rita.

  – Don’t you worry about that. Actually there’s a guy who tried to make an appointment for today. He said he’s applied to have you as his family doctor but the papers haven’t arrived yet.

  – You did tell me we were fully booked today?

  – He wondered about tomorrow afternoon instead, and I just mentioned that you always went out on your bike on Thursday afternoons. Was that stupid of me?

  Axel furrowed his brow.

  – It’s none of the patients’ business what I get up to in my spare time. Is it so urgent?

  – He thought so, but he wouldn’t say why.

  Back in his office, Axel went over the contents of his doctor’s bag with Miriam. Just as he was closing it, Rita called from the front desk.

  – Solveig Lundwall is here.

  – She doesn’t have an appointment today.

  – I don’t know about that. But she won’t go until she’s talked to you.

  – Tell her I’ll call her this afternoon.

  He heard Rita saying something at the other end of the phone. Then loud shouting.

  – Can you hear that? She’s screaming and carrying on.

  – All right, send her in.

  Moments later the door was flung wide open.

  – Sit down, Solveig.

  She remained standing and scowled at Miriam.

  – We’ve got a student working in the practice with us. Is it all right if she stays here while we talk?

  Solveig Lundwall shook her head vigorously, and Axel motioned to Miriam to leave the room. The moment they were alone Solveig exclaimed:

  – It won’t do, Axel.

  He was taken aback to hear her use his first name.

  – What won’t do?

  She was sitting on the edge of her chair, ready to flare up again.

  – She shouldn’t be here, she snorted, scowling towards the door.

  – You mean the student?

  Solveig didn’t respond. Axel leant towards her.

  – Tell me why you came here, Solveig.

  – The whore, she muttered. – The whore of Babylon. She shouldn’t be here. I have this against you that you tolerate that woman Jezebel.

  Axel had known Solveig for many years; he knew all about her. When she started using biblical turns of phrase, it meant she was about to have another episode.

  – I’ll help you, Solveig.

  – I don’t have enough milk, she complained. – They drink and drink and it’s never enough. I fill up all the time, it just runs away.

  He didn’t respond to this. Suddenly her face changed. The despair seeped away and she gave him an agitated look.

  – I saw you just now.

  He couldn’t hide his surprise.

  – Majorstuehuset. You were standing at the top of the steps, against the light. Glenne in the forest. You were dressed as a beggar and had a beard, but it was your face and eyes. You were Jesus. Yes, it was you, you were Jesus, Axel Glenne, and you saved me. Had you not shown yourself, I would not have come back.

  For a moment he sat there staring at her, unable to say a word.

  – In Majorstua? he finally managed to blurt out.

  – I saw the picture of that girl in the papers. She can’t have been more than sixteen years old. She’s watching over me. Something terrible is going to happen, Axel. They have as king over them the angel of the abyss. People are going to die. Pastor Brandberg turns his back and will not see. You are the only one who can prevent it.

  He regained his self-possession. She trusted him. She’d come to see him on previous occasions when she was about to collapse. When she talked about death in this way, she was in danger. Twice before she had tried to take her own life.

  – I’ll call the hospital, he said.

  An hour later, he walked Miriam down to the yard, where he had his own parking place.

  – What will happen to that last patient of yours? she wanted to know.

  He swung out into Bogstadveien, up i
n the direction of Majorstua.

  – Solveig Lundwall? She won’t spend too long in hospital. It’s usually just a matter of a few weeks.

  He stopped for a red light, glanced over towards Majorstuehuset. People were moving up and down the steps, in and out of the Underground station. The person Solveig Lundwall had seen there might have been the creation of her own confused mind. But the description fitted the man he’d chased after himself the day before. The thought of parking the car, going in there and looking …

  – Solveig is a very capable nursery-school teacher, he said. – She has three children of her own, and I’ve never had any doubt that she’s a good mother to them. Now and then she has psychotic episodes, or goes completely nuts, as she calls it. It’s probably three or four years since the last time.

  – She evidently trusts you.

  – Fortunately. Things nearly went very wrong last time.

  – She didn’t take all that kindly to me. I think she wanted you all to herself.

  He changed lanes and speeded up.

  – She’s created this ideal image of me. She thought she saw me today by Majorstuehuset. I looked like Jesus.

  Miriam didn’t laugh, and he was about to go on. About to tell her that he had a twin brother. He glanced over at her. She was in her mid-twenties. At least fifteen years younger than him. But there was this calm about her. And something in her look that made it possible to tell her things. Suddenly he felt an urge to reach out a hand, touch her hair. He turned away and concentrated on his driving.

  The students usually liked the home visits. They reminded them of the old idea of the family doctor. Visiting people in their own homes. Sitting at the bedside of an old lady with breathing difficulties. Don’t be in a hurry to admit her, first try an increased dose of diuretic. Or a five year old with fever and a rash on the chest; the mother wailing into the receiver that she daren’t take him to the surgery, the doctor had to come and see him immediately. The boy started bawling as soon as he saw the doctor’s bag, and Axel had to blow into his plastic glove and make a balloon out of it, draw a mouth, nose and ears on it with a ballpoint pen. In a little while the tears stopped and Axel was able to peer into the child’s ears and throat and shine a light in his eyes without protest; he even let Miriam look into his eyes as well. He assured the mother that the rash and the fever were the fourth disease of childhood, and that half of the other children at the nursery school were undoubtedly suffering from the same thing. But he let her have his mobile number and said she could call him if she was still worried. When they left, the boy was sitting up playing with the glove balloon and wanting to show Axel a fire engine that he’d hidden under the sofa.

  It was approaching 4.30 by the time the round was finished. Axel pulled into a bus bay in Majorstua.

  – I’ll see you on Monday then, Miriam said, but she carried on sitting in the car.

  – Not tomorrow?

  – I’m taking the day off tomorrow. And on Fridays we have lectures.

  He indicated and pulled back out into Kirkeveien.

  – You said you live in Rodeløkka, isn’t that right? I might as well drop you off there.

  As they waited for the lights to change by Ullevål hospital, he thought about Solveig Lundwall. She was lying in a bare room somewhere in there, almost certainly sleeping, because to help her in the battle against the angel of the abyss that was raging inside her they had probably given her a massive dose of sedative. Something terrible is going to happen, Axel. People are going to die.

  – I have a brother, he said abruptly as he swung into Helgesens gate. – A twin brother. I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years.

  Miriam said nothing, but he could feel how she was looking at him.

  – I think I probably thought he was dead. Because in a way he has been … It might have been him Solveig saw in the street today.

  – You can stop here, said Miriam. – I live up there. She pointed to one of the old brick buildings. – Third floor. The attic.

  He put the car in neutral, pulled on the handbrake.

  – Maybe … she began. There was a hint of greenish yellow in her brown eyes. – Would you like a cup of coffee?

  He wanted to go with her up into the attic apartment. Sit down in her living room. Feel the calmness that surrounded here. Tell her something or other, he didn’t know what. Some people listen, he thought, others wait for the chance to speak. She’s a listener.

  – If only I could, he said.

  Her eyes opened wider.

  – Sorry, I didn’t mean to …

  He laid his hand on her arm. Let the explanations remain unvoiced. Not a word about Marlen’s riding lesson, or that he’d promised to put the rice on to boil.

  – Nothing to apologise for, Miriam. He noted that this was the first time he had used her name. – I’ll be happy to drink coffee with you another day. Unless you withdraw the invitation.

  Outside the car, she turned and smiled quickly.

  – I won’t do that, she said, and pushed the door shut.

  9

  Thursday 27 September

  AXEL NEVER MADE appointments at the clinic after lunch on Thursdays. With the last one out the door at 12.45, he changed into his cycling gear in the cloakroom and fetched his bike from a storeroom in the cellar. It had been washed and the chain cleaned and oiled after the last ride. Usually he cycled up to Sognsvann and rode on into the surrounding forest, but today he took the bike on the Underground with him up to Frognerseter.

  By the time he reached the forest chapel at Nordmarka, it had clouded over. An elderly couple were sitting on a bench by the wall with a flask and a packed lunch. Both were wearing worn anoraks, the man in a peaked blue skiing cap. Axel said hello, unleashing in response a cascade of observations about the weather, the silence in the forest, how to keep your health. He said no thanks to an offer of coffee and a chocolate biscuit, but stood around chatting for a while. The old couple gave him a feeling of having as much time as he could want. The man put down the thermos and laid his hand over his wife’s. She had clear grey eyes and laughed with a chuckling sound, like a little stream. Him and Bie sitting like that thirty years from now, he tried to think, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  He jumped back on to his bike and peered northwards. The clouds were massing. He’d intended to go all the way to Kikut, but he wasn’t dressed for rain. Another cyclist came riding up the hill. He was wearing sunglasses and nodded in greeting as he sped by. He was at least ten years younger than Axel, in shiny cycling shorts and a skin-tight top, and for an instant Axel was tempted to get after him and make a race of it, but he dismissed the thought.

  On a whim, near Blankvann, he wheeled the bike off the track, locked it and began jogging along a narrow path. Not so fast that he couldn’t savour the forest around him. Listen to Skamndros, he’s singing, Marlen used to exclaim every time they passed a brook in the forest. He was the one who had told her about the Greek river god, and Marlen remembered everything that was said to her. He stopped by a small tarn. One summer, many years ago, he’d brought Bie up here. It was before Marlen was born. They’d bathed. Later, he had lain her down in the heather. She’d complained about the twigs sticking into her, but he’d made her forget about that. Afterwards she called him Pan, and said how dangerous it was to go out into the forest with him. It was less than a year before Marlen’s birth, because Bie always claimed that she had been conceived that time in the heather.

  He pulled off his cycling vest and plunged into the tarn. Convinced himself that the water was warm for the time of year. He dived under and swam as far as he could. He and Brede had always competed to see who could stay underwater the longest. He’d held out once for almost three minutes. It was on the beach at Oksval. Brede stayed down longer. Four minutes. That was when Axel got scared. He started shouting, waving his arms. Someone ran to fetch the grown-ups. They found Brede over by the jetty, managed to drag him ashore, pumped the water out of him, blew life back in
to him. Afterwards he could remember nothing; everything just vanished, he said. Several times that summer the brightness in Brede’s eyes would suddenly be gone, and for a few seconds at a time he couldn’t answer, couldn’t hear. Afterwards he would shake his head in confusion, a look of fear on his face. Someone should have realised what was the matter with him, but no one asked. That was the same summer as the thing with Balder, when Brede was sent away.

  Axel dried himself off with his cycling jacket, threw his clothes on and carried on running to get his body warmth back. He came across a little trail that led off the path and in behind a thicket. Boot prints in the wet ground heading into the trees. Disappearing by a mossy hillock. He climbed up, hopped down on the other side. Almost fell into a pile of branches. He caught a glimpse of black plastic underneath. A boulder had been placed in front of what looked like an opening. He rolled it to one side, pulled away the plastic and peered inside. Light seeped down through the spruce branches that formed the roof of a small shelter, perhaps two metres in length. On a cardboard box that had once held bananas were a paraffin lamp and two candles waxed on to flat stones. Beside the box he glimpsed a bag and some empty bottles. He couldn’t resist and crept further in. The bag contained bread, stale but not mouldy. The bottles smelt of cheap alcohol. In one corner were a rolled-up sleeping bag and two woollen blankets. A book had been tucked beneath them. As he was wriggling out backwards, he pulled it out and looked at it in the grey light of day. It was no more than a pamphlet: Dhammapada was the title. A Buddhist text, according to the back cover. The pages were yellowed and stained. Here and there a sentence had been underlined, at one point in red: He who in his youth has not lived in harmony with himself, and who has not gathered life’s real treasures, in later years is like the long-legged old herons that stand sadly by a marshy swamp without fish.