The Drowned Boy (11 page)

“Is Carmen ready?” Zita asked and walked down the hallway.

“Yes, she is,” he said with a wan smile, wondering whether his parents-in-law would react to her daring dress. Just then, Carmen came out of the bathroom, tottering on high heels. The black dress was so tight that any movement was restricted to tiny steps across the floor. She gave her father a long hug, swallowed by his generous embrace and weeping bitter tears.

“Put a jacket on,” her father said firmly. “Your dress is beautiful, but it’s too low and not appropriate for church.”

Carmen made a disappointed face and protested vociferously. It was far too warm to wear a jacket, and she didn’t like her father’s objections. “What kind of jacket do you mean?” Carmen whined. “The dress won’t be visible otherwise.”

“A cardigan,” her father said. “Surely you’ve got a cardigan?”

“She does,” said Nicolai, who had sat down on the sofa. “Your dress—it’s not a party we’re going to.”

“I dressed up for Tommy,” Carmen said, smarting. “And all you do is complain.” She pouted like she always did when she didn’t get her own way.

Nicolai closed his eyes and groaned. He couldn’t believe that they were in this situation. They were about to go to church to bury Tommy, and this was the end. He wanted so much to be strong, to be dignified in his grief. But more than anything, he just wanted to let go and cry like a baby. Carmen turned on her heel and disappeared into the bedroom. They could hear her slamming doors and drawers. After a while she came out again with a cardigan over her arm.

“Put it on,” her father said sternly. “It’s a church and you need to be covered. People will react if you sit there with bare shoulders.”

“If it gets too hot, I’m going to take it off,” Carmen retorted. “I don’t care what you say. I’m the one who’s lost my baby, so I decide.”

“OK. The dress is lovely,” her father conceded, “but it is better suited to other occasions. Do you have anything simpler, a little more respectable?”

“No,” Carmen said petulantly. “This dress fits all the rules. It’s black. All my other dresses are bright and colorful. Pink and blue and yellow. And I don’t want to wear pants on a day like today.”

“Then you must be prepared for people to comment,” he said. “You look lovely, Carmen. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just trying to give you some advice. Remember that I’m older than you. There are some things I know more about.”

“You’re just old-fashioned; that’s all it is,” she said. “And what’s more, you’re a Catholic, and I’m not. So there.”

Her father wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Carmen’s iron will overwhelmed him and made him weak.

“I don’t want to drink coffee and eat cake. I don’t want to exchange clichés. I don’t want to dig up old memories about what has been, the good old days,” Carmen had said. She had also told the people from Sentrum and the female priest who was performing the funeral service that she couldn’t face watching Tommy’s coffin being lowered into the grave. The three spades of earth on the lid. So the ceremony was going to finish in the church. Nicolai had protested in his hesitant way. He felt that it would be betraying Tommy in some way not to follow him to the grave; in fact, he thought it was cowardly. But she didn’t listen. It was always Carmen who won. Carmen with all the tears. Carmen whom he, in brief moments of desperation, did not believe.

Finally they were on their way in the black car, progressing slowly through the late summer streets. People were caught up with their everyday lives. Going outside to call in the kids, he thought. Shouting and taking it for granted that they would appear. Healthy and happy and full of energy. Alive and without injury. Imagine if it was all a bad dream, he thought. Was that possible? Maybe if he dozed off in the back seat, he would wake up afterward in his old, happy life. He tried to relax his body and breathed as slowly and steadily as he could. But it didn’t help. He couldn’t sleep and couldn’t forget all the awfulness. The nights were insufferable and he couldn’t bear them.

“I don’t like female priests,” he said. “I wish we’d gotten someone else. Sorry, but I just had to say it. You can call me what you like. But the way I feel at the moment, I don’t care what you think.”

Carmen turned around in the passenger seat and gave him an angry look. “Do me a favor,” she said, exasperated. “She’s who we’re having. And she knows what she has to say. So why bring it up?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He felt ashamed. “I just don’t like them. It should be a man, because they have more authority. I don’t like female doctors either. And I don’t like policewomen. You’ll just have to accept the fact that I think differently from you.”

Elsa made no comment. It was warm, so she had taken off her suit jacket. She was wearing a white blouse with a bow at the neck underneath. Elsa had always been a bit uptight, but Nicolai had nothing against her. She was a kindly soul. When she said something, she meant it, and he liked that.

“I’m sure it will be a good funeral, all the same,” Zita assured him, trying to smooth things over. They stopped for a red light. There was some roadwork and one side of the road had been closed. A convoy of eight cars drove toward them and edged past. A group of three men in safety vests filled in the holes in the road with soft, hot asphalt. An intense smell of tar lingered as they drove past.

In the church, the sun streamed in through the stained-glass windows and illuminated the images of intense red, green, and blue. A woman sowing corn; an apple tree bearing red fruit; a flock of birds departing from a branch; and a sky lit up by a bright, blazing sun. But that was not what Nicolai saw. His attention was fixed on the small coffin by the altar, drowned in a sea of blue and pink flowers. A heart, a wreath, a bouquet. He managed to walk, but his legs felt like they wanted to buckle. The church bells hurt his ears. Soon the church organ would pump out its mournful music, as though death was something beautiful. As though this would soothe the pain. Carmen walked beside him up the aisle in her short, tight dress.

She had taken her cardigan off in the car and no one could face nagging her anymore about her unsuitable outfit. Her strong will drained them all. Silent and tense, Nicolai went to the front pew on the left-hand side. He let Carmen sit down first and then took his place. Marian and Elsa followed behind. While they sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, he was assailed by a sudden panic attack. His panic made him gasp for air. Who was actually in the white coffin? Was it really Tommy, or had they made a mistake? A fateful mix-up at the last moment. Was it a baby they didn’t know? He had heard about things like that, and now he broke into a cold sweat. Had everything been done correctly? Or had they been sloppy and too quick at some point? People made mistakes, just as they had with Tommy. They hadn’t kept an eye on him, hadn’t built a fence. The thoughts roared in his head and he could not sit still. He jumped up from the pew and went over to the coffin, looking at the two undertakers with pleading eyes.

“I want to see him,” he said, determined. “I want to see my son.”

Carmen was horrified. She sat there, pulling down her short dress and feeling embarrassed in front of all the people who had come. Mortified at the outburst that she could not control.

“We haven’t got time for this now,” she whispered from where she was sitting. “Come and sit down. People are starting to arrive, so we have to sit still.” But the two people from Sentrum nodded. Finally someone was on his side. It would take quite a lot to throw them for a loop. They had been in the business for a long time, and the father had every right to see his dead child for the last time. So they stepped forward and lifted off the lid. Nicolai stood beside the coffin and held his breath. Yes, it was his Tommy, but a more pale and aged version of his son who was so full of life. Dry. Cold. Sunken. His lips were without color; the thin blond tufts of hair had been combed to one side. And he knew that under the clothes there was a seam from his neck down, because they had opened him up. Maybe his liver and kidneys were missing. Maybe he was lying there without a heart. He thought that the blue onesie was very baggy. But the sight of his son’s teddy bear calmed him, lying there in the crook of his arm.

“Carmen,” he called quietly. “You have to come and see.”

She hesitated before standing up, as if something was holding her back. Then she reluctantly walked the few steps needed and stared down at her dead child with a pained expression.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s lovely. Like I always said.”

Nicolai stood for a while in silence.

“Did you?” he asked in a bitter voice. “I’ve never heard that.”

He touched the white cheek.

“He’s freezing,” he said to Carmen. “Feel.”

THERE’S SOMETHING GOOD
about funerals, Sejer thought to himself afterward. Something healing, final, a sense of closure. Even if the deceased was a child. Even if the deceased has been killed—yes, even if the death was a catastrophe. Even Elise’s funeral had felt good. Heart-rending but good. The swell of the organ and the candles, the priest’s consoling voice, the liturgy. All the flowers, the most beautiful wreaths in the world. The pews full of mourning people, elegantly dressed, silent and pious. Friendly hands stroking a cheek and good, warm embraces, observant eyes. Psalms, the most sublime thing he knew.
I know a castle in heaven above.
The sun streaming in through the stained-glass windows instilled a special peace in one’s soul. But then there was God and heaven, and that was more problematic. He glanced at his colleague Skarre, who was sitting beside him in the Volvo.

“Good,” was all he said.

“Mm,” was Skarre’s response. “Can you stop here by the kiosk? My blood sugar is low. I need candy.”

Sejer swung to the side and parked the car but left the engine running. Then he sat and waited for his younger colleague. He hadn’t felt dizzy for a long time; that was a good sign. Maybe it’s passed, he thought hopefully. After all, some things do just pass. Small everyday miracles, false alarms. A little girl on a yellow bicycle rolled into the square in front of the kiosk, and he sat and watched her. She leaned her bike up against the wall and disappeared through the door, probably to buy candy. Children were insatiable when it came to candy. He wondered why. Then Skarre came out and got into the car, and they drove back onto the road. Skarre opened the bag and mumbled to himself.

“Oh damn,” he said. “I meant to get jelly beans.”

Sejer glanced over and saw some colorful jelly figures through the plastic.

“And is that not what you’ve got there?”

Skarre shook his head. “No, these are sour monsters. And that’s not what I wanted. I took the wrong bag.”

“But they’re jelly as well?” Sejer suggested. “They certainly look like they’re jelly. Is it a problem? Should I turn around?”

“No, heavens. I’ll just have to live with it this once.”

They drove on for a while in silence, and Skarre popped a sour jelly-bean substitute in his mouth. He smacked his lips and made a face. “Well, they’re certainly sour. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”

“Have you always believed in God?” Sejer asked, changing gears.

Skarre held the bag out to him, but Sejer shook his head. “Oh yes,” Skarre replied. “Remember, my father was a priest. It’s in my blood. What about you? Have you always been godless?”

“You make it sound like a swear word,” Sejer commented. “But yes, no one in my house believed in anything at all. Sorry to be nosy, but I’m just curious. When little toddlers drown in a pond, it’s hard to believe there’s a meaning. That’s all really. And according to your faith, everything has a meaning; isn’t that right? That’s what I’ve always struggled to understand.”

He rummaged in the center console for his sunglasses. He found them and put them on, and turned on his right blinker.

Skarre took another sour monster and chewed it slowly.

“Yes, it’s not easy, I have to admit. And to be honest, I sometimes falter too. But doubt is an important part of faith; that’s all there is to it. And unlike you, I at least have somewhere to go with my complaints. Others flail around without focus, but I couldn’t take that. I need a wailing wall.”

“Fair enough,” Sejer said. “You’ve got a point.”

He stopped at a red light and they waited.

“So, you’ve complained to God about the loss of Tommy? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I have,” Skarre said. “I’ve had my say.”

The light changed to green and Sejer drove through the intersection, the Volvo engine purring.

“And do you believe in eternal life?”

Skarre looked over at the detective inspector, and a grin spread across his face. “So, is this an interrogation?”

“Sorry,” Sejer said as he turned on his left blinker. “I’m just curious. When I think of all the catastrophes, it’s difficult not to ask questions. Drought, war, and lack of food. Natural disasters and disease, pain and desperation. Mothers who kill their children,” he said and gave Skarre a stern look.

“Yes,” Skarre replied, “they’re the usual arguments. I struggle with those things too, if you want to know.”

Then there was silence in the car again. After a while Skarre spoke.

“That was quite an outfit she was wearing. Carmen, I mean. I’ve never seen such a short dress in my life. And she could barely walk on those heels. But she’s good at crying; I’ll give her that. Your phone’s ringing,” he added. “Is your hearing getting bad?”

Sejer pulled to the side and answered, recognizing Snorrason’s Icelandic accent on the other end.

“We’re just on our way back from the funeral,” he explained. “On our way to the station. Sorry? You’ve got the results?”

“Yes, I’ve got the results,” Snorrason said. “And you’re probably dealing with a murder case. The mother will have difficulties explaining this away. Is she good at explaining things?”

“Not bad,” Sejer said. “We’ll have to wait and see. What have you found?”

Snorrason told him, trying hard to minimize the terminology. And when he had finished, Sejer gave a quiet whistle and looked over at Skarre.