The Drowned Boy (14 page)

“
CARMEN’S NOT EASY
,” Nicolai said. “She’s so stubborn and willful and obstinate. She decides everything and she does it with such energy. Maybe it’s just that I’m weak; I don’t dare assert myself. I just do everything she says, and it’s been like that for years. It’s like she’s an expert in every field, and I just don’t make the mark.”

“She has epilepsy,” Sejer said. “How do you feel about that?”

“I feel sorry for her, because it’s not particularly nice,” he said. “It’s horrible and it leaves her confused. To be honest, that’s true for me too. Normally she wants to keep quiet about it, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. But that’s not true. She’s always had it, but she doesn’t have fits that often. She takes Rivotril. I’d guess she has a seizure about once a month. But they’re pretty major, the fits. She’s out cold for quite a while, and it’s pretty dramatic to see it as well. The cramps are powerful and last for a long time. I haven’t told Carmen, but I’ve never gotten used to it. It really freaks me out. She’s so confused and outside herself afterward. Whereas I’m worn out with fright and worry.”

“What do you mean by outside herself?” Sejer asked. “Do you mean that she behaves irrationally?”

“Yes, totally, she just wanders all over the place. I have to shepherd her like a sheep dog until it’s passed. And you know, it’s quite some time. It’s like a blackout.”

“So after a fit she can be a bit muddled? As she explained to me when she was interviewed?”

“Yes, that’s right; she gets muddled. It’s like she has to start all over again. She doesn’t know what day it is, that sort of thing. She does stupid things that she forgets about afterward. It’s quite frightening really.”

“Do you have any thoughts about her new statement?”

“Of course I do. When I heard, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, really. She could have called for me; I wasn’t far away. But I guess she panicked, and I’m trying very hard to understand.”

“Let me ask you something about her epilepsy,” Sejer said gravely. “Can she tell beforehand if she’s about to have a fit?”

“Yes, she can. Not always, but mostly, yes.”

“And what does she do then?”

“She lies down flat on the sofa or the floor. That is, she does what she can before it starts and she’s pretty careful. I feel really ashamed, but I don’t care as much about Carmen anymore as I should,” he added, with a new frankness.

Sejer gave him a paternal look. “I see,” he said. “And how much do you think you should care about her? Life is not easy and you’re not duty-bound to love anyone this much or that much. So be kind to yourself.”

“What about you?” Nicolai inquired. “Do you love your wife as much as you did before?”

“My wife?” he said. “What can I say? She died many years ago. She was only forty, so I live alone now. Well, with Frank, that is, the dog you met the last time. I don’t have a bad word to say about Frank, but it’s not the same as having a partner.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Sejer’s smile was melancholy. “No, how could you know? But perhaps it’s true to say I never had the time to get bored. My feelings are just as strong now; I guess they will never fade. Though sometimes I wish they would. So I could move on. I might have found myself a new wife. But whenever I meet someone new, I get cold feet and it feels like being unfaithful. We got married in church, as if that explains anything. So there you go. Now we’ve both confessed,” he said, smiling. “Tell me how Tommy came between you.”

“Well, we didn’t really agree on how to bring him up. Carmen said I spoiled him; she was much stricter than I was. She wouldn’t pick him up when he was lying in bed crying, that sort of thing. And I’ve asked myself what it would have been like had he been normal. You know, if everything would have been better then. But Tommy was the best and I was really proud of him. I had a son and I was going to teach him to repair bikes. And to play football, for that matter. If he was physically fit enough to run after a ball, that is. But Carmen was disappointed. She never said it straight out, but I saw it in so many little ways, that she resented it.”

“Give me an example,” Sejer said.

“Well,” Nicolai started, “one time she was at work in the café. She’d taken a couple of extra shifts because of illness. And I turned up unannounced with Tommy in the carriage. I just dropped in to say hello, because I thought she’d be happy to see us. But I was wrong. I walked all the way from Granfoss, and it was a lovely walk. But she wasn’t happy to see us at all when we came through the door. The other two, Siri and Elisabeth, cooed around the carriage. She didn’t normally like showing him off to others but she made an effort and played all happy and proud. But I know Carmen; I could tell she was just pretending.”

He fell silent and looked at Sejer with troubled eyes.

“And that’s how she is all the time,” he concluded. “She’s just pretending.”

AFTERWARD NICOLAI DROVE
back home to Granfoss in the blue Golf. He found Carmen in the kitchen. She was cutting up some meat; her movements were fast and efficient and the knife was sharp. She was wearing a denim miniskirt and a pink T-shirt with writing across the front:
I HAVE THE PUSSY, SO I’M IN CHARGE.

She turned and looked at him, standing expectantly with the knife in her hand.

“Well, what did you talk about?” she asked. “What did he ask you? My God, they don’t quit.”

“Whatever,” Nicolai said and shrugged. “I can’t be bothered to tell you everything. We talked about a few things and I actually quite like him. He’s decent and fair.”

“But what did he ask you? Come on, tell me. We’re both part of this; the least I can expect is for you to be open.”

“Open? You’re telling me to be open?”

That would give her something to think about, he mused. He didn’t need to tell her anything. So she gave up and started talking manically about something else.

“I had a thought,” she said. “Shall we plant some ivy on Tommy’s grave? It looks after itself and it doesn’t wither like other plants, so it’s always lush and green.”

She turned back to the meat and put the first pieces in the pan. It started to sizzle and seconds later he could smell it.

Nicolai thought about her suggestion. He tried to imagine the gravestone covered in leaves. He kicked off his shoes and sat down in a chair. Looking up at her expectant face, he suddenly had an irrepressible urge to be difficult. Because he was hurting. And because he didn’t understand how she could behave as if nothing had happened. She was standing there cutting up meat like before, with quick, efficient, and determined movements.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not ivy. It takes over everything. The name and everything will disappear,” he objected. “It grows like a weed. Ivy is better for old people.”

She sighed and looked slightly irritated. “You never agree with anything, do you?” she snapped. “You’re just a grump. Ivy is beautiful, with red and green leaves. It’s like a fairy tale. Did you know it’s got loads of tiny suckers? That’s why it climbs everything, over glass and stone and trees. I really can’t see why you’d say no, because ivy is beautiful.”

He swallowed his exasperation, stood up again, and went over to the kitchen cupboard. He took out plates and glasses and put them on the table. Then he got out the cutlery and napkins and filled a jug of water. He stole secret glances at her slim back over by the stove.

“What do you reckon the police are thinking after your new statement?” he asked. “What if they don’t believe you?”

She turned around again and looked straight at him. “They haven’t decided whether to prosecute yet or not,” she said. “That’s what he said, the inspector, and he knows about things like that. And I wasn’t remanded in custody. It was an accident and you know how muddled I can be after a major fit. So don’t go on about it. I don’t want to hear any more, OK?”

She brushed her hair back from her eyes, put some more meat in the pan, and started to chop the onion. Her eyes immediately started to sting and smart.

“No matter what you think, I loved Tommy just as much as you,” she said after a pause. “Don’t go thinking you had something special; I was his mother. And I can’t help the fact that I’m stronger than you. You know that I get it from Dad, so you just have to deal with it. You can wallow as much as you like, but I want to move on. We have to. I know that you need me to carry the load, and that’s fine. But I get tired too sometimes, so there.”

He started to feel guilty. Yes, she did have to carry the load, because he was barely capable of a clear thought. And the guilt engulfed him with great force. That he hadn’t taken more responsibility. That he had fled the heat of the kitchen and escaped to the cool cellar. Away from the heat and Carmen and the child, down to the peace and quiet. Was that really what he wanted, to get away? From the responsibility and obligations? He took the salt and pepper from the spice rack and put them on the table. Her words cut him to the quick. Because he did have something special with Tommy. A devotion that was now lost forever. It wouldn’t have been like that with any other kid, he was sure of it. He couldn’t even imagine another situation like that.

“Before,” he started, and had to clear his throat. “Before Tommy was born and it was just the two of us, we used to have lots of parties. The house was full of people and music and laughter. Then suddenly you didn’t want people to come here anymore. You didn’t want people to see him. You might as well tell the truth, because I know anyway.”

Carmen dropped the knife and looked at him. “Stop talking like that! You have no idea what it’s like when people stare; I couldn’t stand it! Having to explain the whole time and answer questions. Can he do this and can he do that and what about the future—so just stop it! Things are bad enough as they are, and you’re making them worse.”

She collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table and hid her face in her hands. He couldn’t bring himself to comfort her, so he went over to the stove and took the pan off the burner.

“You didn’t like it either,” she said and dried her tears. “You didn’t really like the fact he was the way he was. You just didn’t want to admit it. Whatever you think, you’re no better than me.”

She got up again and added the chopped onion to the pan.

She turned around and looked him straight in the eye one last time. “You’ve been behaving like you’re the only victim the whole time,” she snapped. “So may I remind you that there are two of us. I’ve lost my little boy as well and I’ll never get over it. You can sit down now,” she added. “Supper is almost ready. That’s if you’re going to allow yourself to have food at all.”

AFTER QUESTIONING NICOLAI
, Sejer walked along the promenade by the river in the low afternoon sun. His dog was busy looking for some sort of trophy as usual, something he could present to his master. Often it was a stick, but sometimes it was an empty cigarette pack or a banana skin—the sort of thing that people drop as they wander nonchalantly through the town. He would carry the small treasure in his mouth for the rest of the walk, trotting through the streets with his head held high, so very proud. He would carry his precious find all the way back to the apartment, where he would immediately set about to ripping it to shreds.

The river flowed heavy and silently. Sejer stared at the swirling currents and felt soothed by the running water. He always did because water put out the fire that burned in his heart. A couple of swans watched him from the bank with their black beady eyes but soon lost interest and swam out onto the water. Frank had already found his trophy for the day. It was a yellow pacifier, and he looked pretty comical with it in his mouth. It would come home with them, where he would break it up into its separate components: the rubber, the plastic ring, the cover. Sejer felt dizzy. Not alarmingly so. Just a hint, a reminder of the situation. I’m a slowpoke, he thought. Must be my age. As he walked, he admired the boats moored in a row along the river, from modest wooden boats to more luxurious cruisers. When he got to Skutebrygga, he spotted an empty table and sat down by the water. He decided to treat himself to a beer in the sun, to enjoy the last remnants of summer. The fountain in the river that normally spouted out water in high elegant arcs had been dismantled, and he realized he missed it. He felt lightheaded again and forced himself to sit still in the chair. The dizziness came and went but was getting stronger now. The thought of falling to the floor in a café in the middle of town did not appeal to him. He picked up his beer and drank in careful sips. He thought about Carmen and her latest statement. It was so remarkable that it could well be true, because, after all, reality was complex and anything was possible. He also worried about Tommy as he sat there with his ice-cold beer—that he might never find out the truth.

DEAR DIARY
,

What people don’t know won’t hurt them. I live by that simple rule, because I think it’s true and pretty well said, don’t you think? And right now up at Granfoss it’s still warm. What a long, hot summer! All the flowers around the house have died. I haven’t had the energy to keep them alive. There’s no tap outside and it’s so heavy carrying the water out. There are dry yellow patches on the lawn and it doesn’t look particularly nice. We need rain by the cloud-load for things to grow. And no, I don’t feel I’m to blame. But Nicolai is so full of accusations, and to tell the truth, he’s losing it. Every day when I come into the living room in the morning, I see his whiskey glass on the table. And it doesn’t bother him that I see. He’s not ashamed. If this is a war, then I’ll win. Because unlike Nicolai, I’m a survivor, and I’m proud of that.

PAPPA ZITA WAS
a kind and generous man and he really loved the two youngsters. He felt that they were under his wing and that he was responsible for them. And now he wanted to give them a vacation. It was of course well meant, but a trip to the Mediterranean to help them forget was not something Nicolai believed would work. He couldn’t run away from his grief; the idea was impossible.