Midnight Sun (11 page)

I looked up at the gravel track. He could come back any time. ‘Can we take a detour through the churchyard, so that no one sees us?'

‘Why don't you want anyone to see us?'

‘Just thinking about . . . er, your reputation.'

‘My reputation?' She snorted. ‘Everyone knows that Anita likes men.'

‘Okay, mine, then.'

She shrugged. ‘Okay, if you're so bloody precious.'

The house had curtains.

And a pair of man's shoes in the passage.

‘Whose . . .?'

‘My father's,' Anita said. ‘And you don't have to whisper, he's asleep.'

‘Isn't that when people normally whisper?'

‘Still scared?'

I looked at the shoes. They were smaller than mine. ‘No.'

‘Good. Come on.'

We went into her bedroom. It was cramped, and the bed was only meant for one person. One thin person. She pulled her dress over her head, unbuttoned my trousers, then pulled them and my underpants down with one tug. Then she unhooked her bra and slipped her pants off. Her skin was pale, almost white, with red marks and scratches here and there. But no needle tracks. She was nice. It wasn't that.

She sat down on the bed and looked up at me. ‘You might as well take your jacket off.'

While I was taking off my jacket, and hanging it and my shirt on the only chair in there, I heard snoring from the next room. Harsh, grating breaths in, spluttering breaths out, like a broken silencer. She opened the bedside cabinet.

‘No condoms left,' she said. ‘You'll have to be careful, because I don't want a kid.'

‘I'm no good at being careful,' I said quickly. ‘Never have been. Maybe we could just . . . er, play around a bit?'

‘Play around?' She uttered the words as though they disgusted her. ‘Dad's got condoms.'

She left the room naked and I heard the door to the next room open; the snoring stuttered a bit before carrying on as before. A few seconds later she was back with a worn brown wallet which she was searching through.

‘Here,' she said, tossing a little square of plastic at me.

The plastic was frayed at the edges. I looked for an expiry date, but couldn't find one.

‘I can't do it with a condom,' I said. ‘It just doesn't work.'

‘Yes, it will,' she said, grabbing hold of my terrified cock.

‘Sorry. So what do you do here in Kåsund, Anita?'

‘Shut up.'

‘Hmm. Maybe it needs a bit of . . . er, iodine?'

‘I said shut up.'

I looked down at the little hand which evidently believed it could work miracles. I wondered where Johnny could be. In such a small village it wouldn't be difficult to find someone able to tell him that the recently arrived southerner was staying in the hunting cabin. He would look there and at the wedding party. Kornelius had promised to keep quiet. As long as I stayed where I was, I was safe.

‘There, see!' Anita chirruped happily.

I looked down at the miracle, astonished. It had to be some sort of stress reaction – I've read that hanged men sometimes get erections. Without letting go or stopping, she picked up the condom packet with her left hand, tore it open with her teeth, sucked out the condom and formed a circle around it with her lips. Then she dived down, and when she lifted her head again I was equipped and ready for battle. She leaned back on the bed and spread her legs.

‘I just want to say that—'

‘Haven't you finished talking yet, Ulf?'

‘I don't like being thrown out immediately afterwards. It's all to do with self-respect, if you—'

‘Just shut up and get going while you still can.'

‘You promise?'

She sighed. ‘Just fuck me.'

I crawled up onto the bed. She helped me into place. I closed my eyes and started to thrust, not too fast, not too slow. She groaned, cursed and swore, but in a way I found encouraging. In the absence of any other metronome, I fell into the same rhythm as the snoring in the next room. I could feel it building. I tried not to think about the state of the condom, or what a combination of Anita and me would look like.

Suddenly she stiffened and stopped making any noise at all.

I stopped thrusting. I thought she'd heard something, some irregularity in her father's snoring, or someone approaching the house. I held my breath and listened. To my ears the jagged snoring sounded just the same as before.

Then the body beneath me suddenly went completely limp. I looked down at her anxiously. Her eyes were closed and she looked lifeless. Carefully I put my thumb and forefinger to her throat, feeling for a pulse. I couldn't find it. Fuck, where was the pulse, was she . . .?

Then a low sound emerged from her mouth. First a dull growl, which got louder. And turned into something very familiar. Grating breaths in, breaths out like a broken silencer.

Yep, she was her father's daughter.

I squeezed in between the slim female form and the wall, and felt the cold wallpaper behind my back and the bed frame against my hip. But I was safe. For the time being.

I closed my eyes. Two thoughts struck me. That the thought of Valium
hadn't
struck me. And
you're going to shoot the reflection
.

Then I drifted off into dreamland.

WHEN I SAW
Anita's father at the breakfast table, he was a pretty good match for what I'd imagined based on the sound of his snoring. Hairy, rather fat, and gruff. I even imagined that I'd somehow heard his string vest in his snoring.

‘All right?' he said. Gruffly. And stubbed out his cigarette on the half-eaten slice of bread in front of him. ‘You look like you need coffee.'

‘Thanks,' I said, relieved, and sat down opposite him at the folding table.

He looked at me. Then he turned back to his newspaper, licked the end of his pencil, and nodded towards the stove and kettle. ‘Get it yourself. You don't get to fuck my daughter and have coffee served to you.'

I nodded and found a cup in the cupboard. I filled it with pitch-black coffee as I peered out through the window. Still overcast.

Anita's father stared down at the newspaper. In the silence I could hear her snoring.

My watch said quarter past nine. Was Johnny still in the village, or had he moved on to look somewhere else?

I took a sip of the coffee. I almost felt I ought to chew it before swallowing.

‘Give me –' the man looked up at me – ‘another word for “castration”.'

I looked back at him. ‘Sterilisation.'

He looked down at the paper. Counted. ‘With one “r”?'

‘Yes.'

‘Okay, maybe.' He licked the pencil and filled in the word.

While I was putting my shoes on in the passageway and was about to leave, Anita came storming out of her bedroom. Pale and naked, hair all over the place, wild-eyed. She wrapped her arms round me, holding me tight.

‘I didn't want to wake you,' I said, and tried in vain to reach the door.

‘Will you come back?'

I leaned back and looked at her. She knew that I knew. That they didn't usually come back. But still she wanted to know. Or not.

‘I'll try,' I said.

‘Try?'

‘Yes.'

‘Look at me.
Look
at me! You promise?'

‘Of course.'

‘There, you said it, Ulf. You
promised
. And no one makes a promise to Anita without keeping it. I've got a stake in your soul now.'

I gulped. Nodded. To be strictly accurate, I hadn't promised to do anything but try. Try to want to, try to find time, for instance. I pulled one arm free and reached for the door handle.

I walked back to the cabin the long way. I went round the hills to the north-east so I could approach through the clump of woodland. I crept closer through the trees.

The buck was marking its territory by rubbing one horn against the corner of the cabin. It wouldn't dare do that if there was anyone inside. Even so, I slipped down into the furrow carved out by the stream and followed it at a crouch to the place where I had hidden the rifle. I removed the stones, unrolled the rifle from the roofing felt, checked it was loaded, and walked quickly towards the cabin.

The buck remained where it was, looking at me with interest. God knows what it could smell. I went inside.

Someone had been there.

Johnny had been there.

I glanced round the room. Not much had changed. The cupboard door was ajar, and I always made sure I closed it properly because of the mice. The empty leather case was sticking out slightly from beneath the bunk bed, and there was ash on the inside door handle. I removed the plank next to the cupboard and stuck my arm in. I let out a sigh of relief as I felt the pistol and money belt. Then I sat down on one of the chairs and tried to work out what he might have been thinking.

The case told him I had been there. But the fact that there was no money, dope or any other personal possessions in sight might suggest to him that I had left, having got hold of a more practical rucksack or something. Then he had stuck his hand into the ash in the wood-burning stove to see if it was still warm, to get an idea of what sort of head start I might have.

That was as far as I could follow his reasoning. What next? Would he have moved on somewhere else if he had no idea of where I might have gone, or why I had left Kåsund? Or was he hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for me to come back? But if that was the case, wouldn't he have taken more care to cover his tracks, so that I wouldn't suspect anything? Or – hang on – here I was, thinking that the obvious signs of his visit meant he had moved on – and what if that was exactly what he wanted me to think!

Fuck.

I grabbed the binoculars and scanned the horizon, which I now knew down to the smallest detail. Looking for someone, or something, that hadn't been there before. Staring. Concentrating.

I did it again.

After an hour or so I started to feel tired. But I didn't want to make coffee and have the smoke signal that I was back to anyone within several kilometres.

If only it would start to rain, if only those clouds would drop their load, if only something would
happen
.This damn waiting was driving me mad.

I put the binoculars down. Closed my eyes for a moment.

I walked out to the reindeer.

It looked at me warily, but didn't move.

I stroked its antlers.

Then I climbed up onto its back.

‘Giddy up,' I said.

It took a few steps. Hesitantly at first.

‘Yes!'

Then more firmly. Then faster. Towards the village. Its knees clicked, faster and faster, like a Geiger counter approaching an atom bomb.

The church was burned out. Obviously the Germans had been there. Hunting for members of the resistance. But the ruins were still standing, warm and smouldering. Stone and ash. And around the black stones they were dancing, some of them naked. They were dancing incredibly fast, even if the priest's singing was slow and laboured. His white cassock was black with soot, and in front of him stood the bridal couple, her dressed in black, him in white, from his white cap to his white wooden shoes. The singing died away, and I rode closer.

‘In the name of the Norwegian state, I pronounce you man and wife,' he said, then spat brown saliva on the crucifix hanging next to him, raised a judge's gavel and struck the charred black altar rail. Once. Twice. Three times.

I woke up with a start. I was sitting with my head against the wall. Damn, these dreams were wearing me out.

But the banging was still audible.

My heart stopped beating, and I stared at the door.

The rifle was leaning against the wall.

I grabbed it without getting up from the chair. I put the butt against my shoulder and rested my cheek against the side of it. My finger on the trigger. I let out the breath I realised I had been holding.

Two more bangs.

Then the door opened.

The sky had cleared. And it was evening. Because the door faced west, the figure in the doorway had the sun behind it, so all I could see was a dark silhouette with a halo of orange light, against the low hills.

‘Are you going to shoot me?'

‘Sorry,' I said, lowering the rifle. ‘I thought it was a grouse.'

Her laughter was deep and genuine, but her face was in shadow, so I could only imagine the shimmering light in her eyes.

JOHNNY HAD GONE.

‘He caught the bus back south today,' Lea said.

She had sent Knut out of the cabin to get wood and water. She wanted coffee. And an explanation as to why she had received a visit from a southerner who wanted to know where I was.

I shrugged. ‘There are lots of southerners. So what did he want?'

‘He said he'd really like to talk to you. About business.'

‘Oh, right,' I said. ‘Was it Johnny? Looks like a wading bird?'

She didn't answer, just sat there on the other side of the table and tried to catch my eye.

‘He'd found out that you were staying in the hunting cabin, and got someone to show him the way. But you weren't here, and then when someone else told him you'd been at mine after the funeral, I suppose he thought I might know something.'

‘And what did you say?'

I let her catch my eye. Let her study my expression. I had plenty to hide, yet also nothing.

She sighed: ‘I said you'd gone back south.'

‘Why did you say that?'

‘Because I'm not stupid. I don't know what sort of trouble you're in, and I don't want to know, but I don't want to be responsible for things getting even worse.'

‘
Even
worse?'

She shook her head. That could mean that she'd expressed herself badly, that I had misunderstood, or that she didn't want to talk about it. She glanced out through one of the window slits. We could hear Knut chopping wood energetically outside.