When The Devil Holds The Candle Part 23

336.

"Andreas Winther. Runi's son. You know him. What do you think happened?"

I searched for a good answer. That thing under the plastic that must be what he meant. They all talked about that young man with such reverent voices, as if society had mislaid something irreplaceable, and I had a strong desire to snort with contempt, but I restrained myself.

"Boys are always getting into trouble," I said.

"And I don't suppose he was any different."

"He most certainly wasn't. Do you know his friend?"

"Do you mean Zipp?"

I searched a bit, through the pounding in my head. "Runi mentioned him. But I don't know him."

"I suspect, as you say, that they'd got into one thing or another." He looked me in the eye with eerie directness. "I'm sure I'll work it all out." Yes. But by then I'll be long gone, where he won't find me. I was already on my way, I could feel the floor rocking beneath my feet, and then he stood up, and his face was very close. "I'll just take a quick look in the cellar."

I only came up to his chest. And I felt ridiculous, but I wanted that man out of my house at all costs, and they can't, for G.o.d's sake, use threats to get into somebody's house like that, so I said no, no, let's just 337 drop the whole thing! I don't want to deal with this. And I a.s.sume that it's my decision. I haven't called anyone or filed a report, and if I needed help, I would have asked for it!

He just smiled and looked at me. "I think you might need help. Not everyone asks for it." He bowed a little bow and went to the door.

There he turned one last time, but he wasn't smiling any more, he looked serious and very determined when he said: "I'll send someone over. Goodbye, Mrs Funder."

But it was too late for that. I'm going now. You mustn't judge me, you weren't there! All my life I've measured people by what they ought to be, not by what they actually are. And now it's too late. I came into this world and I made nothing but mistakes. I'll soon be 60. I don't have the strength to start over again, it's too hard. When you know everything, what is there to live for? Something strange has seized hold of me right now, as I stand here, about to leave this house. Something that has kept me hidden for all these years. I shove the rug aside with my foot and open the trap door. Shout down the stairs: "I'm leaving now, Andreas. I'll leave the door unlocked!" I walk through town wearing my brown coat. I feel a sort of peace as I walk. Not the way I usually feel, afraid that I forgot something important, a window 338 left open, a candle burning. The wind starts blowing, a light drizzle billows towards my face. There's something dreary about everything. The crowns of the trees look weighted down. The rubbish in the streets, white paper smeared with ketchup. Stray dogs. I don't like dogs, especially scrawny ones. They look so cowardly and are always begging. Be brave, Irma! I don't feel despairing. I've been to the theatre and I feel the same emptiness you feel when it's a bad play. It was wasted time. Now you know everything. But I don't care whether you read this or not. But think about what I've said when you leaf through the newspapers: You shouldn't believe everything you read. You shouldn't trust anyone.

I think about Mother and Father. They're still standing in front of the yellow house. They're not waving now either. No, that would have been a confession. And then, finally, I think about Zipp. About whether he might wake up and make something of his life. Find something decent to do. I look at the pale September sun as it s.h.i.+nes low through the treetops, the dry leaves that are slowly changing to pure gold. Well, not right now, because it's starting to rain, but maybe tomorrow. But no-one taught him, and no-one taught me. The house stands there, s.h.i.+ning behind me. Henry said it was built on clay soil, and it was just a matter of time, and enough rain, before it would pull loose and slide down. 339

CHAPTER 22.

The collision with his dog sent him reeling against the wall with a bang. He rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head. Listened for any sound in his flat. Was she still dressed? Was she smoking hash?

It was comforting to hear that she was talking to someone on the phone. To a female friend, no doubt. She was giggling like a girl. He tried to restrain the dancing dog and hung up his jacket. Went to the kitchen and washed his hands. Opened the refrigerator and looked inside. Kollberg came into the room and stood to attention. I'm standing perfectly still, said his dark canine eyes, I'm not whining or begging, I'm just s...o...b..ring like crazy. Sejer took out some food and set it on the counter. Two cold sausages covered with plastic. Hardboiled eggs. A roll filled with something, maybe stewed fruit. He whispered "sit" to the dog and waved a sausage. I need to contact the district nurse, he thought. Irma Funder needs attention. Possibly she should even be hospitalised.

"No, are you mad?" he heard from the living 340 room. "Tell me more. All the details." And then she giggled again. He took the paw the dog offered him and handed over the sausage. Sliced some bread and cut up the eggs. Sprinkled them with salt.

"That's exactly what I don't like. I like to play," he heard.

He p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. Who was she talking to?

"With the light on. Of course. Do you think I'm ashamed? No, I'm not 20 years old, I'm old enough to be your mother."

Sejer stood there with a jar of mayonnaise in his hand, as if frozen, and now he was listening in earnest. She must not have heard him come in. But of course she had, Kollberg always made such a racket that you could hear it several floors below.

"But greed is exciting, I agree with you about that. But not always. Oh yes. Absolutely."

Sejer picked up the other sausage. His confusion prompted a trace of sadism. He started swinging the sausage out of Kollberg's reach. The dog tried to work out what the game was. Tried to stand up on his hind legs, but his body was too heavy. Seventy kilos and a low centre of gravity. So he fell back down, sc.r.a.ping his claws down his master's trouser legs. Sejer gave him the sausage. He spread mayonnaise over the eggs.

"Sometimes I need to be little. A little girl. It's the best thing I know."

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He poured milk into a gla.s.s. A little girl? Wasn't she going to be finished soon? Was there a faint smell of hash? He suddenly felt so tired. But then it changed to something else. He thought: I need to go into the living room. I want to watch the news. She was sitting at the table with the phone clamped under her chin. She heard him, and turned to give him a sly wink. He was caught completely off guard. His sandwich slid across the plate and threatened to go over the edge. Kollberg lay down next to him, his nostrils quivering. Sejer concentrated on his egg sandwich.

"I have to go to bed," said Sara suddenly. "I'll call back when I need you, okay?"

Then she smiled at the wall above the table, where he had hung up a calendar and an old certificate from the shooting range. He was an excellent marksman.

"What am I wearing?"

She looked down at herself, at the green corduroy trousers and the checked flannel s.h.i.+rt that she was wearing.

"A beautiful red, strapless dress made of pure silk. And I'm very tanned. I've just been to Israel. You're talking to a Jewish woman. Haven't you ever had a Jewish woman?"

Sejer had just taken a bite of his sandwich, and now he just about choked on it. He looked at his 342 dog, grateful for the fact that he couldn't understand. Instead, he switched on the television and stared at the screen, at the face reading the news, which he couldn't hear, because he had turned down the sound. Out of sheer politeness he had turned down the sound. But now he decided to turn it up loud and make her hang up the phone. There was a war on the screen. Fighter planes taking off from a s.h.i.+p and flying like bolts of metallic lightning through the sky. He could feel the G-force as he sat in his chair.

"Good night, dear."

Sara hung up the phone. She walked across the room and perched on the arm of his chair.

"Didn't you see the roast beef in the fridge?" she asked.

Roast beef? No, he hadn't seen any delicacies like that, he had been listening to her, bewildered. Besides, eggs were fine. A little too much cholesterol, of course, but rich in protein, and that's what he needed to keep his muscles strong.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"Phone s.e.x," she said with a laugh as she brushed back her long fringe. Not the least embarra.s.sed. He didn't say anything. He didn't feel hungry any more.

"I was bored, and you weren't here."

"Do you know how much it costs?" The words 343 flew out of his mouth, and then she laughed even more. She had a spontaneous, hearty laugh. He didn't understand why she was laughing. Actually, he would have preferred to be alone.

"So how do you know, my good man, that phone s.e.x is so expensive?"

He didn't reply, just sat there feeling foolish. She kissed his rough, grey hair. "I've called them a lot, but I can afford it. I make more than you do." And then she laughed some more.

"But why?" he stammered.

"It's fun. There sits a real live man on the other end of the line." She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "You should try it sometime!" He was still looking at his egg sandwich. It was only a matter of time before Kollberg s.n.a.t.c.hed it away.

"Where did you get the number?" he asked, embarra.s.sed.

"It was in the newspaper. There are lots to choose from. All depending on what your preference is. Aren't you curious?"

"No."

"They give you everything you want. Everything that's possible to send over a phone line, that is. And it's more than you might think!"

He picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and chewed carefully.

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"You're freezing," Sara said. She put her hand on his cheek. She was hot as coals.

"Sometimes we just have to have a little fun in our lives, don't you think?"

Have fun? Was that important? The Devil rose up inside Konrad Sejer. He got up from his chair and towered over her with all of his 196 centimetres, and she sat there in surprise, like a little girl, looking up at him with concern. He thought: I'm stronger than she is. I could lift her up and carry her away. She could wriggle and squirm, but she wouldn't have a chance. He slipped his arm around her waist and held on tight, lifting her from the arm of the chair. She squealed with glee, but he noted with satisfaction the tiny hint of panic as he carried her across the room. He stopped in front of the old chest of drawers that had stood on Gamle Mllevej for all those years and weighed a ton. He bent his knees and with a groan set her firmly on the top of it. There was plenty of room. She shrieked with laughter.

"Sit still," he commanded, taking a few steps back. "If you move you'll fall off."

"I want to get down," she cried.

"You can't," he said. "Or the whole thing will topple over!"

"You can't leave me here," she said, laughing as she began to try to find a foothold to climb down, 345 but stopped when she felt the chest start to topple under her weight.

"Don't move," he said gruffly. "I want to eat in peace. After that we'll go for a long walk." He sat down again and started eating. Kollberg jumped around, barking and carrying on. He didn't recognise his master. Sara laughed so hard he had to tell her to hush, for fear the chest of drawers would pitch forward and crash to the floor. It was full of crystal. She ran a finger along the top. It was black with dust.

"I like dust," she teased him. "Dust contains a little of everything. A little of you and a little of me."

"Be quiet and let me eat!" he shouted. Down by the river stood an elderly woman. She was standing to the right of the barge, which functioned as a cafe, but was closed now. She stood there a while, looking across at the railway station on the opposite bank. She stood erect, with an air of having finished something important. Then she took a few steps and stopped again, next to a stairway that led down to the water. She started down the steps. On the third step she stopped and raised her head to look at the bridge span, that long, slender line of concrete that connected the two parts of the town. People were walking back and 346 forth across the bridge. The lights, thousands of them, glittered like broken reflections in the water. She went down another step. And then she did something odd that would have surprised anyone who might have noticed. She lifted up her coat, an old brown coat. Then she went down another step, and the water came up to her ankles. Now she was paralysed by the cold of the water. There were a lot of people in the square, but she was so un.o.btrusive, didn't make a sound when she finally fell forward into the water, with her arms spread out. She looked like a large child falling into a snowdrift.

"It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who does?" does?"

It was spitting rain. Sara and Sejer were walking close together. Kollberg was on a short lead; the drizzle glittered in his rough coat. The few solitary souls still abroad started walking faster as they felt the rain come down harder. Sarah and Sejer cut across the square and headed over the bridge. Sejer wanted to go over to the other side and walk through the old neighbourhoods with the small shops. They walked at a brisk pace to stay warm. At the highest part of the bridge, they paused and leaned over the side. That's what people do at the top of a bridge. Enjoying the fact that they're still 347 alive. Sara looked at him. His distinctive face, strong and handsome. Especially his eyes and his thick hair. She buried her forehead in his coat sleeve and stared down at the eddies in the water.

"Are you tired, Konrad?"

"Yes," he said. "Sometimes I am."

"Too much going on at work?"

"Just the usual. But after all, I have been wandering around here on this earth for 440,000 hours."

"Good heavens! That's a lot!"

"Hm. You know Jacob. He's so playful. Whenever he's bored, he sits around with his pocket calculator." Sara thought for a moment about that dizzying number. "You know," she said, "in a way it must be good to die in the water."

"Why's that?" he wanted to know. He didn't turn around, just kept looking down, and then over to the left towards the barge near the sh.o.r.e.

"To lie still and just float, to be licked clean by the water."

Licked clean. Perhaps. But the actual process of drowning wasn't like that. To hold your breath, feel your eyes bursting, and then your lungs, until you started to rise, swell up, and everything exploded inside your head. And finally, the fog. That's what he had heard. Red and warm.

"Just think of all the people who are dead under 348 that water," Sara said. "People we don't know about."

This is a dreary town, he thought, especially in the rain. So forsaken on the sh.o.r.e of this roaring river. But the bridges enchanted him whenever he saw them, all beautiful arched spans surrounded by glittering lights. Sejer looked back towards the square. Suddenly he let go of Sara's hand. She followed his gaze down towards the barge.

"A woman," he said, "she's standing on the steps. With water up to her knees!"

He let go of the dog's lead. Set off on his long legs, with Sara close behind. Sejer's shoes pounded the pavement and people started turning around to look at him. Kollberg raced along, his heavy body rippling as he ran. People who were coming towards them stepped aside at the sight of the big animal. Sejer reached the end of the bridge, hurtled round the edge, and raced for the stairs. For a moment he stopped to catch his breath. Something was floating in the water, something dark and compact. He ran down the steps, keeping his eyes on the heavy body rocking on the water. Slowly it sank. The ice-cold water spilled into his shoes, but he didn't feel it; he was trying to calculate the direction of his dive so that he could grab her.

"Don't do it," shouted Sara. "The current will take you!"

349.

He turned part-way around, thinking: She's right. He wouldn't be able to do it, they would both go under. But he couldn't stand there without trying. Just stand there and watch her die. Sara ran down the steps, grabbed his arm, and shouted at his pounding head.

"Don't do it!"

She's afraid, he realised in surprise. Then the body disappeared. He followed a fleck of foam with his eyes. Saw the roaring speed of the river and thought: I was just about to drown, the way she drowned. He raised his hands and blew on them.

"It was a woman," he murmured.

He patted his hip and found his mobile phone. Kollberg was on the sh.o.r.e, barking. People came running from all directions. To stand here like this, he thought, just stand here and watch someone go under. It hardly seems possible.

The fire started in the kitchen. The coffee maker had been on for hours and was piping hot. The flames grew fast, and swiftly licked along the curtains. Soon they reached the red chair and the rug on the floor. The heat was now s.h.i.+mmering in the room; plastic melted, things fell apart and the blaze kept spreading, to the next room and the next. Outside, a great roaring sound came from the windows. A bicyclist noticed the flames.

350.

The fire brigade arrived seven minutes later, and after them, the crime technicians. They fought their way inside, searching the rooms. The trap door to the cellar stood wide open. They looked down inside. Wiped the sweat and soot from their faces.

It was pitch dark. A policeman switched on his pocket torch, swung the beam of light around. Something greyish-white lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. More people arrived. They moved cautiously down the first steps and looked down as they shone their lights. They fell silent. They stared at the tarpaulin. At the bottom they had to step over it and stand on either side. The plastic had grown soft from the heat; it no longer rustled. They pulled it away. Stared in horror at what lay beneath. A tangled ma.s.s of plastic and hair and skin. It was, in a word, indescribable.

351.

CHAPTER 23.

September 10.

What Sejer remembered most clearly from his mother's funeral was the sound of dry sand striking the lid of the coffin. He couldn't get it out of his head. He opened the window to air the room, sat down and started again. More and more pieces of the great tragedy were piling up on his desk. A picture, however vague, was slowly taking shape. But he couldn't believe his eyes. How could this have happened? And why? Irma's body was fished out of the river the evening after she drowned. She was found floating against an old, rotting bridge foundation under the overpa.s.s. There she lay, rocking on the water, in the glittering lights. The bag had been rinsed clean in the river, but it was still in place under the tight vest. And then the fire. The discovery in the cellar. The circ.u.mstances in that dark room. What did it mean? To think that he had stood in her kitchen, only metres away from the boy. He remembered the feeling he had as he stood in front of her. The 352 conclusion he drew at once, that she was not quite right in the head.

So what? That didn't give him the right to search her house.

He glanced up as Jacob Skarre came in, waving some papers.

"This is unbelievable," he muttered. It was the report from forensics. Skarre dropped into a chair. Sejer read aloud.