His lisp seemed more pronounced than when she had arrived, and she suspected it might be an affectation.
– Espresso, she answered. – Preferably double.
Again the little bow before he disappeared. It seemed even more ridiculous this time, and Liss began wondering what sort of performance she was witness to.
– He introduced himself as your butler, she said as she reluctantly took a seat.
– That is precisely what he is, Berger replied. – As a matter of fact, a graduate of the best training school for butlers in London. I don’t know how I would manage without the man.
– Must be good for your image, Liss remarked.
Berger limped across to a chair on the other side of his desk. – Of course. That is what I live off. A butler’s salary is not so large and the returns are very quick.
He fished out a packet of cigarettes, French Gauloises, offered her one and a light from a gold lighter with the initials EB engraved on it.
– A present from my sponsors, he smiled as he noticed her studying it. – The closest I come to grace in this life is the way my sponsors treat me. I live on grace. By grace.
The door opened soundlessly and Odd appeared again, carrying a tray on which stood a silver pot, cups, saucers, sugar and a small jug of milk. He had pulled on a pair of thin white gloves, and this time Liss couldn’t contain her slight outburst of laughter. No one asked what she was laughing at, and after pouring their coffees Odd withdrew once more, as silently as he had entered.
– I have, as you know, met your sister, said Berger. – But not on the evening when she was due to have come to the studio.
Liss had the feeling he said this to pre-empt her question.
He sat there, still observing her. – And now you want to know what has happened to Mailin. That is very natural. I gather you’ve just returned home from Amsterdam.
He exposed what looked like tiny and very white milk teeth. It gave his smile a childlike mischief that was in contrast to the worn face and large body.
– And I gather you defend child abuse, she responded as she dragged on the strong tobacco.
– Do I? he yawned. – My job is to provoke people, talk out loud about everything that outrages and fascinates them. I’m sure you’ve seen the sales figures for my show. No? The last show had a viewing audience of over nine hundred thousand. We’re full speed ahead for the magic one million. We have to close down our phone lines after every show, can’t handle the volume of calls. The Oslo papers alone had more than twenty-five pages on the last Taboo. But do we really need to talk about this? I so seldom receive visitors, and especially not strange women.
– What else is there to talk about?
– You, Liss Bjerke. That is much more interesting. A young woman travels to Amsterdam to study design but ends up spending much more of her time on assignments as a fashion model. Of a rather dubious nature, some of them, no doubt, at least by ordinary petit bourgeois standards. Let us speak of your party habits and your choice of lover boys.
She put the cup down so hard that the coffee splashed over into the saucer. Who the hell told you that? she wanted to ask, but managed to contain herself. Drove off the thought that even at that very moment someone was wandering around Oslo asking people how to find her. Wouters, the name flashed through her.
– Tell me about yourself, Liss, Berger encouraged her. – I love a good story.
She blinked several times, regained her self-possession. Had Mailin spoken to this guy about her? Mailin wasn’t like that. She looked over at him. The dyed black fringe hanging over his forehead emphasised rather than disguised how ravaged his face really was. But in the middle of what looked like a battlefield, the eyes behind the small square spectacles were mild and bright. She’d seen a few extracts from Taboo on the internet. Berger talked about children, about how, in a market-driven society like ours, it was inevitable that child sexuality would become a commodity too, like everything else. He talked about performance-enhancing drugs, how they were necessary if sport were to go on meeting our need to cultivate the superhuman. About the legalisation of heroin, a more interesting and cleaner stimulant than alcohol. Remarkably few people were killed by heroin. What killed people was its criminalisation and everything that led to it. Dirty needles. Dangerous sex. Murders as a result of unpaid debts.
– I love a good story, he repeated. – And I love them especially when they’re told by someone like you, even if my interest in young women is becoming increasingly academic. He sketched a gesture of frustration from his groin up towards his head. – More and more of it disappears up here, he sighed. – But that’s enough about that; tell me about yourself. In return, I give you my word you will get answers to all the questions you came here to ask.
This was not what she had come prepared for. For a moment she was so confused that she might even have sat in his lap like a little girl if he’d suggested it. Stay sharp, she warned herself, and spoke briefly about wanting to be a designer. This made him smile behind his cloud of Gauloises smoke, which in turn caused her to reel off something about trying out the modelling business: it meant nothing to her, but some people, she had no idea why, urged her to make a career out of it.
– Don’t pretend you don’t understand why, Berger admonished her. – You’ve known for a long time how your presence affects people. You’ve probably always known it.
– Not always, she blurted out. – I’m the typical ugly duckling that ended up in the wrong nest. At primary school no one wanted to have anything to do with me. Not at secondary school either.
– Yes, I can imagine that, he nodded.
She wanted to stop there, but ended up telling him more. About life in Amsterdam. The photo shoots. The parties. Was even about to mention Zako. At the last moment she managed to turn the conversation back.
– You were going to tell me about Mailin. How you met her.
Again the corners of the mouth lifted and the little white mouse’s teeth showed. He had noticed how obviously she changed the subject.
– I like Mailin, he said. – I like you both, as different as you are from each other.
– Why did you want to have her on Taboo?
He sat upright with a little grimace, as though he suffered from back pain.
– What I do, Liss, is something completely different from those endless reality shows, which people got sick to death of long ago. Something happens when I show up on the screen. My shows contain something uncontrollable, something that’s definitely not ‘nice’ and is even potentially dangerous. First and foremost I use myself, my life. My own history of abuse. Violence, sex, breakdowns. Then I invite a bunch of clowns along, people who will do anything at all to be seen on TV. In the beginning I was an untouchable; now it’s becoming acceptable for politicians and media parasites to be seen with me. It gives them cred. I can make fools of these guests, dress them down, say what I like. Doesn’t matter what I come up with, they’ll keep on smiling, happy to be cool, longing to be cool.
He gave a hollow laugh and started coughing.
– Other guests are invited because I want opposition, he continued once he had got his breath back. – I had read some of Mailin’s articles in the papers and got in touch with her. She’s every bit as intelligent as I thought she was. But different. No feminist preaching. It’s the world that concerns her, not ideologies.
– You’ve met her several times?
– Three times. She was here at my house a few weeks ago. We sat and talked about the show.
– I don’t believe you. Mailin would never allow herself to be used in support of the sort of things that you get up to.
Again he laughed.
– Well we never got the chance to find out. She wanted to turn the show into something other than I had planned. That’s fine. There would have been an edge. I like people to speak their minds. But then she never turned up.
– She got in touch with you.
– She called me the day before,
he confirmed. – Said there was something she wanted to talk to me about. Practical things she wanted to get sorted out before the broadcast. She is irritatingly thorough. We arranged for me to call in at her office on the way to the studio. And I did.
– So you did meet her that evening?
– I got a text message that she’d been delayed. She sent me the code to the street door, asked me to wait in the waiting room. But as I say, she never arrived.
– And you just sat there?
– Hey, Liss, I’ve already explained all this to the police. If you ask me any more, I’ll begin to suspect that you’re working for them.
Beneath the teasing tone she sensed another that was sharper, like a warning. She stubbed out her cigarette, decided on a different approach.
– Do you believe we can manage without taboos?
He took a deep drag, held the smoke for a few moments before letting it drift out between his teeth with a whistling sound.
– We get rid of some, but then new ones appear. I try to destroy them a little quicker than they crop up again.
– Why?
– Because I am a revolutionary, a visionary, someone who wants to uncover something that is truer and purer than this culture of bullshit that is gradually choking us to death …
He looked at her seriously. Then he beamed.
– Don’t let me fool you. Naturally this has bugger-all to do with politics. I do what I’ve always enjoyed doing, provoking people. Do you see why I could no longer be a priest? When you give toys to children, most of them start playing with them. But some immediately want to take them apart, to see what’s inside. Afterwards they throw them away. That is the kind of child I am. I’ll never be any different. Luckily for me, I earn a helluva lot of money from this kind of stuff.
He laughed his hollow laugh.
– But now I’m thinking about quitting.
– Quitting TV?
– Everything, actually … The New Year broadcast will be the final show. Know what it’s going to be about?
She didn’t know.
– Death! Death is the ultimate taboo. It defies everything. It won’t even let you scratch it.
– A talk show about death? You wouldn’t be the first to come up with something like that.
– My approach will be different. He didn’t expand.
– Now you’re making me curious, said Liss.
– It will not be without a certain irony, he smiled and looked proud. – And yet it will be deadly serious. That’s all I’m going to say. You’ve already got me to say too much as it is.
13
SHE JUMPED ON board a tram on Frogner Way. Sat in the rear carriage without paying. Sent a text message to Viljam. He was still at his seminar, but she got an answer: Per På Hjørnet at one okay?
She was there at quarter to. Had an espresso. Went outside in the cold for a smoke, bought a newspaper and went back into the bar again. It was twenty past by the time he arrived, it irritated her.
– Don’t you get tired of sitting there swotting up on points of law? she contented herself with saying.
– Don’t even talk about it.
He ordered a latte. She had another espresso. Suddenly felt the urge for something that would pep her up more than coffee.
– It’s so dark in this town. The light just keeps disappearing.
– It must be almost as dark in Amsterdam in the winter, Viljam protested.
Liss didn’t want to talk about Amsterdam. – I was at Berger’s today.
– Berger, he exclaimed. – What were you doing there?
She didn’t answer. An elderly woman scurried past on the pavement outside. Walked along holding on to her tiny hat.
– There’s no wind at all out there.
Viljam sipped his coffee. – Did you go there because there’s no wind?
She looked at him. He had dark rings under his eyes.
– What you said about Mailin having found something out about Berger. That she was going to put pressure on him before the show.
– Did you ask him about that?
– I called on him because I wanted to form some impression of him. Maybe next time I’ll ask him straight out.
Viljam shook his head. – And what do you think that will achieve? That he’ll fall on his knees and confess to something or other? He seemed exasperated. – Leave that kind of thing to the police, Liss. If you keep on like that, you might be making it more difficult for them to find out what’s happened.
He brushed his long fringe back. – I’m not too happy either about the way they’re working, he said quietly. – They don’t seem to understand that with each passing day our chances are less. If something doesn’t happen soon …
Liss waited. The implication of what he almost said hung somewhere in the air between them. She took two big gulps, shivered and put the cup down.
– I feel sure you know what it was Mailin found out about Berger.
– You’re right, he answered.
He said no more; she grew impatient.
– I want you to tell me what it was.
She could see the muscles of his jaw working. Then he breathed out heavily.
– Mailin spoke to someone about him, he said. – Someone who was initiated into the world of grown-up secrets by Berger a long time ago. That was what she was going to reveal during the broadcast. Look directly into the camera and come out with it.
Liss opened her eyes wide. – Expose Berger live and on air as a fucking paedo?
Viljam began picking at his serviette. – She wanted to force him to cancel the broadcast, as a way of demonstrating that there are in fact certain limits. I asked if she knew what sort of reaction she would get. She claimed she did. I’m afraid she was wrong about that.
Liss thought about this for a few moments and then said: – According to Berger, she never showed up for their meeting.
The serviette was in pieces. Viljam dropped it on the floor. – Could be he’s telling the truth.
To Liss it seemed as if things had gone very quiet around them. As though people sitting at the other tables had stopped talking. He’s suffering, she thought. You’re suffering, Liss.
She laid a hand on his arm. – Let’s go for a walk. Have you got time?
They crossed the square in front of the Town Hall, continued along the quays. Nativity stars glowed in all the windows.
– You were supposed to be getting married in the summer, she said out of nowhere.
Viljam glanced at her. – How did you know that?
– Mailin sent me a text. Asked me to keep next Midsummer’s Day free.
– And there we were planning to keep it to ourselves for the time being, not say anything until Christmas Eve. He stared straight ahead. – She admires you, he said suddenly.
Liss looked startled. – Who?
– Mailin says you’ve always been braver than her. Not scared of anything. Climbing steep hillsides. Always the first one in. Diving from the top of big rocks.
Liss scoffed.
– You broke away and went to Amsterdam, he continued. – Mailin feels such a strong sense of being tied up in everything here at home.
What’s to become of you, Liss?
– What about you? she asked, to change the subject. – Are you brave?
– When necessary.
They were standing by the torch of peace, at the end of the quays. A few boats bobbed up and down in their berths. The wind had got up. Thin flakes of snow wafted around, unable to land.
– When are you going out to the cabin?
– This afternoon.
He dug out a bunch of keys, opened it and slipped a car key out.
– Think you’ll find out anything else about Mailin there?
She shook her head. – You and Tage have already been there. And the police.
She turned to the flame burning in its leaf-shaped container, reached out her hand. Found out how close she could hold it without getting burned.
/> 14
LISS PARKED MAILIN’S car at Bysetermosan. Continued on foot up the forest track, into the silence. Not silence, but all the sounds of the forest: the winter birds, the wind in the treetops, her own footsteps.
She reached the place where she had to turn off the track. The snow had melted and frozen again. She could walk on it without using snowshoes. First a fairly steep upward incline. Almost four years since she’d been there, but she remembered every tree and every rocky outcrop. Wherever she went, this landscape always went with her.
She climbed over a rise and could just make out the roof of the cabin ahead through the trees. Stood a moment looking out across Morr Water and the ridge on the far side. Not until it had begun to turn dark did she carry on down.
There was a strong smell of brown creosote. She remembered that back in the autumn, Mailin had mentioned that she and Viljam were going out there to do some painting. She’d asked if Liss would come home and help them. Liss ran her hand over the rough planks of the outer wall. The sensation conjured up images of Mailin. It felt as though she were there, and for a moment Liss wondered whether she would be able to go in.
She lit the paraffin lamp in the kitchen, took it into the living room. Noticed the burnt-out logs at the back of the fireplace. Mailin must have been in a hurry. Neither of them ever left the cabin without tidying it up. The place should be clean, the ash removed and fresh logs brought in, so that all the next one to visit had to do was put a match to them. Now Liss had to sweep out the fireplace and then go out to the wood shed for more logs. Viljam and Tage had taken a quick look in there, as had someone from the police. Had they perhaps made a fire? It wasn’t like Mailin to ignore the strict rules they had made themselves.
Later she turned on the radio, tuned in to some piano music. Even that was too much and she switched off again, needed to empty the room of sound. She stood by the window and looked down towards Morr Water through the dim evening. Many years since she had stood there like this, Mailin by her side; that had been a winter day too, the sun about to disappear behind the hills, the trees full of twinkling needles. We’ll never give up this place, Liss. It’s ours, yours and mine.
Death By Water Page 15