Hell Fire (6 page)

Eddie reached out for the last cinnamon roll; it was fresh and soft. He was glued to the screen, where Tore had boarded a plane for Lahore with a dark-skinned teenager named Susann. They were going to look for the girl's mother.

Every time Eddie saw someone, either on the road or at the store—or simply on television—his imagination ran wild. He could see that they had their own smell and taste, and he could feel their resonance, like an instrument. Or he would match them to an animal or a fruit or vegetable. He had always loved to play this game. He made a snap decision and never changed his mind. Their neighbor Ansgar, for example, was a sneaky hyena. Knut Nærum, whom he saw on television every Friday, was a chirpy little meerkat. And the old lady in the house next door, Irene, who had Parkinson's, reminded him of jelly-like
lutefisk
because of the way she wobbled. His mom sounded like an alto saxophone, and he himself was a beautiful, sonorous bassoon. Almost no one could master the bassoon. But Mass, who was also a woodwind, always managed to get him to make a sound.

But now, Tracker Tore.
Tore was a turnip. Or a half-baked baguette.

“Do you think they'll find Susann's mother?” he asked, bright with anticipation.

“Of course,” Mass replied, “otherwise they wouldn't have made the program. But what's the point, really? She's got such lovely parents in Norway. I'm sure she's much better off here than she would have been in Pakistan.”

Eddie didn't agree at all. “But she's not the same color as us. Of course she wants to see where she comes from; that kind of thing is important.”

“But things will just get more complicated with two sets of parents,” Mass continued. “I mean, who should she listen to? Maybe they won't even want to see her; after all, there must be a reason she was adopted.”

“Maybe they didn't want to give her away,” Eddie said. “Maybe she was taken from them.”

“In that case, her mother isn't a good mother,” Mass retorted. “If she let them take away her child. And there's no reason to get in touch with a bad mother.”

The plane landed in Lahore, and Tore and Susann and a television crew found a taxi to take them through the hot streets. The sheer volume of traffic and noise and people and heat took their breath away. It seemed inconceivable to Eddie and Mass that they would be able to find Susann's mother at all in the chaos. But Tracker Tore knew what he was doing; he'd done his research. Susann's parents in Norway had given him the address of the children's home where she had been left sixteen years ago. When she was but a baby with no name.

They were met at the children's home by a friendly woman with a scarf over her head. She showed them into an office, where she opened a large book and started to read in good English.

“ ‘Seventeenth of August, 1989,' ” she read. “ ‘A woman came in with a baby wrapped in a blanket. The baby had more or less just been born, and she didn't even have a name, so we christened her Adelina. The woman had had four children and given them all up for adoption. We know nothing about the father.' ”

“But why?” they asked. “Why did she give them away?”

The principal of the children's home closed the big book and put her hands down on it, as though she wanted the secret to be kept there. Now that it was out in the open, she hoped that it would lead to some good, but she doubted it. Adelina, who had been given the name Susann in Norway, was a thin and beautiful girl in expensive clothes. She had been fortunate; she had everything a child could wish for. The principal looked into her nearly black eyes, wide open with anticipation, and felt a weight on her heart.

“Your mother was as poor as a church mouse,” she said. “She had nothing. It simply wasn't possible for her to keep any of her children.”

“But where does she live?” they inquired.

“In a village, some way from the city. You'll have to find a boat. I'll write down all the information you need, name and everything. Find a helmsman who can speak English; you'll need an interpreter.”

“God,” Mass exclaimed from her chair. “How's it all going to end?”

Eddie sat leaning forward on the sofa. He was so excited that he was sitting with his mouth open because now they were so close, so close. Back out on the street, Adelina-Susann bought a beautiful, colorful shawl that she wanted to give to her mother. It took some time to find a man who was willing to take them up the Ravi in a big flat-bottomed boat. He pushed his way upriver, while Tore and Susann explained in English why they were there. He didn't seem to be particularly interested; he was more concerned about the money he was going to get for the trip. They passed several small villages as they traveled, where lots of children sat on the bank and watched them pass. Some of them shouted and waved, jumping up and down in sheer delight.

“Imagine living like that,” Eddie said, chewing his cinnamon roll. “They're cut off from the rest of the world. No TV, no phone, no computer. How's it possible?”

“It's perfectly possible to live a good life without all those things,” Mass pointed out. “But they don't have enough food or medicine, and that's far worse.”

They followed the boat's progress. Mass poured some more coffee and Eddie clutched the now empty Cherry Coke can in his hand. Finally the boat moored at a small jetty, and some children immediately came running to meet them. Susann had the shawl on her lap, wrapped in brown paper. They clambered out of the boat and walked up a gentle slope full of lush green plants and beautiful trees. They were asked to wait. The helmsman disappeared over the top of the slope, leaving Tore and Susann sitting on the grass, with the half-naked children standing in a ring around them. Susann clutched the shawl in one hand, Tore held the other. After what felt like an eternity, the helmsman eventually came back. He had with him a very thin woman, barefoot and dressed in rags. Her face was dried out and wrinkled, and her eyes downcast. Susann got to her feet immediately and stared at her mother. She tentatively held out her hand and the woman took it. This beautiful young girl in expensive clothes was the baby she had once given away, the last of the four children she had not been able to support. Susann gave her the present. But her mother made no move to open it; she was simply bewildered and desperate. She did try to smile, and Susann saw to her dismay that she had no teeth. All she could see was pale, bare gums in the middle of her wrinkly face. Poverty and destitution had made her old before her time.

“Oh, that's terrible!” Mass cried. “Imagine finding your mother in that state. I'm sure the poor girl won't be able to sleep for years now. And it's just opening an old wound for the mother. Then pouring salt on it. Mark my words, Eddie.”

Eddie hung his head. He had hoped for a joyful reunion—touching scenes on the riverbank, with the children clapping their hands in delight. He was deeply upset by what he had seen. But he still believed it had to happen. Everyone had the right to know their origins. He got up and went over to the window and looked out. The snow lantern was still flickering silently in the dark. It would probably blow out in the course of the night. He just hoped it wouldn't be ruined by a new snowfall.

THE NEXT DAY
at daycare, Simon told Kaja about the five perfume bottles. He sat on the bench under his snail, with a bag full of spare clothes—in case he got wet in the snow—on his lap. Simon seemed happy and that was unusual. Kaja tried to pry the bag from him and hang it up on his peg, but he protested and wanted to keep it with him. Kaja liked Simon Hayden. He was quiet and shy, and she knew that he was often difficult in the mornings. He found the daily separation from his mother hard to accept.

“You're looking very secretive,” she said and patted him on the head. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the noise of all the children. Simon opened his bag and took out a small parcel wrapped in pink paper. There was a blue ribbon around it, which his mother had curled.

“Is that for me?” Kaja was surprised. Even though the walls in her kitchen were full of the children's drawings, she wasn't used to getting presents.

“You have to open it now,” Simon said.

His eyes were wide with anticipation. Kaja had to find some scissors to cut the ribbon. Some of the other children had gathered around to see, including Märta. Kaja tried to remove the ribbon and tape without spoiling the paper, but in the end she had to give up and tear it. Inside was a bottle of perfume.

“Oh, Simon,” she exclaimed in delight, “you've given me one of the bottles? That's so kind of you, because the one I've got is almost empty.”

“I wanted to give it to you,” he said proudly. “Mom's got so many. She's got enough perfume to last years.”

Märta leaned forward and grabbed the bottle. “I want some perfume too,” she said enviously.

“Maybe you could put it on your Christmas list,” Kaja suggested. “You can ask your mom.”

“We're going to the toy store today,” Simon said. “I'm going to get a present too. So long as it doesn't cost more than two hundred kroner.”

Bonnie had parked the old Opel outside Ingemar's house. She thought it was a good day, even though the snow was falling heavily. But it was always a challenge because Ingemar was not easy to help. They give me all the difficult ones, she thought. It's not fair. They could have divvied it up better. She steeled herself and opened the door. Ingemar never bothered to lock it; it was left open overnight. He had worked in the police department all his life and didn't worry about burglars. People could just come and go as they pleased. Bonnie stopped in the small living room for a moment, even though she knew he was sitting in the kitchen because he always did. The smell of old man and old food hit her as soon as she went into the kitchen.

“Hello, it's just me.”

He grunted something incomprehensible in reply. He was looking out of the window, busy watching two horses wandering around in the white snow. All his food was out on the countertop and table—he never put it back in the fridge—and it had all gone bad. The jam was moldy and the liver pâté was changing color. He lifted a bottle of cod liver oil and took a few slugs. Ingemar was eighty-six and had been a widower since he was forty. He had children who couldn't bear coming to see him. In a way, she could understand them because he was cantankerous and downright unfriendly. He lived his life in filthy chaos. Bonnie sat down on a stool. It was a good day, but she still felt unmotivated. It was always hard to get started, and no matter what she tried to do, Ingemar always protested: Surely that's not necessary. The vacuum is too noisy; I don't like it.

But she carried on regardless. The rug under the furniture in the living room was heavy. It was impossible to carry it out onto the snow, even though she should probably have done that. She straightened up and started to move the furniture out of the way. It weighed a ton, just like Erna's furniture. She got the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard. It was an old Volta and wasn't much good. Still she had to do something to fill the hours. She was soon finished and started to wash the floor. Ingemar didn't budge from his chair in the kitchen, so she had to mop around his feet. Suddenly he looked away from the window.

“You have to change the bed,” he said abruptly.

Bonnie looked at him in surprise. He never asked her to do anything, so in a way it was an improvement. She finished what she was doing, put the bucket back in the cupboard, and went over the furniture with some polish. She liked the smell of it, and it made everything shiny and bright. Then she went to the bedroom and pulled up sharp in the doorway. A nauseating stench hit her. The bed had been stripped and there were big brown stains on the light-colored mattress. It took a while before she realized what had happened. He had soiled himself in bed. And then he had stripped the bed himself.

Bonnie put a hand over her mouth. This can't be true, she thought. She stood there, surrounded by the awful smell, wondering where to begin. On an impulse, she went into the bathroom and found the bedclothes in the bathtub, just as she had thought. He had left the comforter, sheet, and pillowcases to soak in cold water. The water was brown and she could see lumps of shit floating around. She sat down on the toilet seat and pulled at her hair. She didn't know how long she sat there. All she could think about was old Ingemar in the kitchen drinking cod liver oil. Pretending that nothing had happened. Then she made a decision. She called Ragnhild at the office.

“The whole bathtub is full of shit,” she explained. “And his mattress is soaking wet. He can't sleep in that bed. Everything has to go!”

Ragnhild heard the desperation in Bonnie's voice.

“I'll talk to his daughter; we have to get him into a home. Things can't go on like this.”

“I know,” Bonnie said. “But it takes time, and right now I have to help him.”

Ragnhild thought for a moment. She was a nurse and had experienced most things.

“Tell Ingemar that you have to go out. Go to the Bed Store and get a new comforter and pillow. Have you got enough money to pay for it? I'll make sure you're reimbursed by social services.”

Bonnie said that was fine. “But what should I do with the mattress?”

“He'll just have to continue using it for the moment,” Ragnhild said. “But you might want to wash it with bleach and turn it.”

Bonnie thanked her for her help. She went back into the kitchen and explained to Ingemar that she had to go out but would be back soon to sort everything out. He was obviously bothered by what had happened during the night and was still staring defiantly at the horses outside the window.

She drove into the center of town. She used her card to pay for parking and then walked the two blocks to the Bed Store. When she got there and started to look around, she discovered that a feather comforter cost a lot of money, and she didn't have much in her account. So she had to buy a thin synthetic comforter that only cost two hundred kroner. She found a pillow to match, paid for everything, and put the receipt in her wallet. Then she hurried back to the car. She had to get a move on; her other clients would be waiting.