The Man in the Window (2 page)

Chapter 2

Silk Paper

    Today Reidar did not drive to the quiet warehouse in Bertrand Narvesens vei in Ensjø as he usually did on other days. Instead of turning left into the garage to get his 1987 Opel Omega as normal, he walked in the opposite direction. He went into Bygd0y allé and wandered in the freezing winter temperatures down to the Narvesen kiosk at the crossroads by Thomas Heftyes gate. Here, in the taxi rank behind the kiosk, stood three taxis, all in a line with their roof lights lit. Reidar first went to the kiosk and bought
Dagbladet, Verdens Gang, Dagsavisen
and
Dagens Næringsliv.
There was a lengthy pause while he read the front page of
Aftenposten.
His mind was drawn to his wife, who would soon be reading this newspaper. Nevertheless, he passed on
Aftenposten
and paid for the four newspapers, which he put on the back seat of the first taxi - a Citroën Xantia estate. The driver belonged to the tribe of taxi drivers to whom politicians have learned to listen. But even though he was on top form, full of gold nuggets about international politics plus gossip about the royals, and even though Reidar was strangely partial to street politics and the truths championed by drunks and hairdressers, he remained impassive to all the driver's attempts to get him into conversation. He asked to be driven to an address in Jacob Aalls gate. Here he went into a little café with a sleepy early-morning atmosphere - several unoccupied tables and just two other guests: two young women drinking café latte out of large glasses at the only table by the window.

    A young man dressed in white with inflamed acne on his cheeks and cropped hair in the shape of a ski jump over his forehead, nodded to the new customer whom he recalled from previous visits. He came out from his position behind the counter and asked Reidar whether he wanted to sit at a table. The new customer shook his head. On seeing the bewilderment in the young boy's face, he explained that he wanted to sit by the window and for that reason would wait until the two women were finished. The boy gave an exaggerated nod, thus making it clear that he considered the new customer to be not quite all there, then went back behind the counter where he continued to chop up cucumbers and lettuce. Reidar stood at the counter, staring at the two women who soon sensed his attentions and clearly found them unpleasant. A few minutes later the conversation between them had dried up. Before very long both had finished their coffee and asked for the bill. They let in a cold blast of winter as they battled with the door on their way out. Reidar sat down on a chair which was still warm, took off his gloves with a great deal of fuss, placed his leather document case on the other chair, opened it and took out today's editions of
Dagbladet,
VG,
Dagsavisen
and
Dagens Næringsliv,
putting all four newspapers in a pile in front of him. He signalled to the young man, who brought him a huge cup of steaming- hot, black coffee. Folke Jespersen lit a cigarette - Tiedemann's Teddy without filters - and looked at his watch. It showed ten minutes past nine. He inhaled, rested the cigarette on the ashtray and sat staring out of the window. His gaze fell on the front door which Ingrid, his wife, would open in a little over two hours, intending to spend the afternoon in bed with her lover. His mind drifted back to her, who at this moment, he assumed, would be elegantly huddled up on the sofa in her white frotté dressing gown as she finished reading
Aftenposten.
He sat idly smoking while he tried to imagine how she behaved with her lover.

    He thought of the various stages he and Ingrid had been through in their life together. He thought about the fragile, vulnerable creature she had been when he first met her. He tried to compare the memory of the person with the quite robust, now very self-assured woman who slept quietly beside him in bed every night. She had packed part of herself away and hidden it. A little packet wrapped in silk paper which he imagined she took out when she was with the man living on the opposite side of the street. Deep down, he wondered whether that part of her soul - to which he had once tried to come close - was in the packet or whether that side of her had disappeared, had vanished into nothingness, along with her former vulnerability and insecurity. He wondered whether the woman he shared flat and bed with every night was the same woman he had once hoped he would succeed in loving. Somewhere in his mind his thoughts revolved around the enigma of human nature, the maturing and developing of a personality. In his mind's eye he saw a sculptor and thought: if you're a sculptor, perhaps you can claim that the final result has always resided in the stone. But, a human being, thought Reidar; human beings are moulded not only by their genes but also by their surroundings, history, by their life experiences and interaction with others. A personality does not reside in a person from birth. In complete seriousness, he considered that his curiosity regarding Ingrid's lover was restricted to the little packet wrapped in silk paper containing Ingrid's soul, and whether she opened it in the man's company. Acknowledging this to himself, Reidar felt something akin to being jealous, but this kind of jealousy was not directed towards the lover as a person - it was a different kind of jealousy - a sort of malaise which had nothing to do with the envy he would feel towards any man to whom Ingrid would reveal her desires. It was more like a raw form of sorrow, something vague and fleeting, the way he imagined people who had had an arm or a leg amputated would feel pain in the absent limb. It was a kind of jealousy he believed he was too old to explore further. With a certain melancholy, he pursued these thoughts, and also with a certain melancholy, he conceded that he cut a sorry figure sitting there as he did now. He tried to find an explanation for his behaviour - why it had become such an obsession to observe with his own eyes how Ingrid routinely cheated on him every Friday with Eyolf Strømsted. However, he allowed this self-examination to wreak havoc in his mind for no more than a few seconds before dismissing it and returning to active enjoyment of his morning cigarette. When it was finished, he stubbed it out in the ashtray and started on the topmost paper.

    When, more than two hours later, a shivering Ingrid Folke Jespersen scuttled along the pavement on the opposite side of the street from the café, wrapped in a long, grey, fur-lined coat and went through the front door without even so much as a cursory glance at the café or any other aspect of her surroundings, Reidar had finished reading the papers. He had smoked a few too many cigarettes. He had drunk two cups of coffee and a bottle of mineral water. As the brown door closed behind his spouse, he regarded it with a pained look and almost jumped when the young waiter asked him if he wanted anything else. He checked his watch. And the moment his eyes fell on the round watch face, he caught himself wondering why on earth he always looked at his watch when people asked him questions. With that, he smiled at himself, gave a brief shake of his head and requested the bill. After paying, he left two 10-kroner coins on the table as a tip, which he felt ought to compensate for his rudeness two hours earlier. Then, with an old man's failing agility, he tottered out into the cold and, stiff-legged, walked down towards Uranienborg for a meeting with his brothers.

Chapter 3

Tired Men

    The first thing Reidar noticed on entering his brother's flat was a white screen standing in the corner of the room - in front of Arvid's old Radionette TV with the roll-up door. He saw that all the others were present: the youthful businessman and his wife as well as Reidar's other brother, Emmanuel. The stranger's partner had got up from an armchair by the window and stood ill at ease, nervously wringing her hands. She was in that indefinable age between thirty and forty, with long, dark, curly hair, wearing a navy blue outfit, which created a sense of formality, although her skirt emphasized her legs. Reidar raised his arm and greeted everyone politely. She stuck out a slender hand, which she swiftly retracted, and flicked back her long, dark hair, releasing an aroma of perfume around her. Reidar turned to the three men and shook hands with her middle-aged husband. The latter did not introduce himself; instead he nodded towards his wife and introduced her: 'Iselin Varås,' he said. Reidar turned and looked at the woman as she sat back in the armchair.

    'My marital and business partner,' the man added.

    He must have been around fifty with short, curly hair, greying at both temples. His looks were the kind that stockbrokers and sports commentators used to have: a brash enthusiasm underpinned by two-day stubble, a small inappropriate earring, jeans and a red suit-jacket. His upper lip was narrow and bared a little of his top teeth, although it was not possible to say whether it was due to a nervous tic or a stiff smile.

    'Watch out for her, Reidar,' Arvid mumbled in jest, nodding towards the woman. 'She's tough in the clinches.' Arvid was like August Strindberg in one of the dramatist's less choleric moments: an elderly but dignified man with a goatee, pockmarked skin, lots of grey hair and a watch chain in his waistcoat.

    Reidar sat beside his other brother, Emmanuel, who was the only person present who had not stood up. Emmanuel was the sort who liked to sit. He had always been overweight, and a long life as a smoker had given him gurgling emphysema, which meant he had almost no lung capacity. Standing upright for him was a terrible exertion.

    'Hermann Kirkenær is in good shape,' Emmanuel wheezed to his brother, nodding towards the man in the red jacket.

    Reidar did not answer.

    'Do you know Kirkenær?' Arvid asked nervously.

    Reidar ignored the question. 'Don't drag this out longer than necessary,' he interjected sourly.

    Arvid and Emmanuel exchanged glances in response to this bad-tempered retort. Arvid made an impatient sign to get the meeting started. Emmanuel spoke up in such a loud voice that it sounded formal: 'Now that we are all gathered here, perhaps we had better get on with the matter in hand.' The ensuing silence seemed to catch Emmanuel off guard. In his confusion, he craned his neck round, sending everyone a good-natured look, and stammered: 'The floor is yours, Kirkenær.'

    Kirkenazr took a step forwards and folded his hands. 'Thank you, gentlemen,' he responded, moving behind his own chair and grasping the backrest with both hands. Then he nodded to his wife. 'Iselin.'

    The woman rose to her feet and passed him a brown folder. Then, with an elegant sway of her hips, she sashayed to the opposite corner and stooped over an overhead projector on the floor. Arvid Folke Jespersen gave an eloquent cough as she bent down and her skirt tightened over her haunches.

    She winked at Arvid and smiled in a maternal, indulgent way as she straightened up and put the overhead projector on the table in front of them.

    Arvid and Emmanuel scraped their chairs to see better when she switched it on.

    'It's always a little special to talk to such a small audience,' Kirkenær began. 'So, let me first emphasize how happy I am to be here.'

    Reidar glared at Emmanuel, who had expected this reaction and therefore ignored it, concentrating on Kirkenær instead.

    'I would also like to take this opportunity to thank you, Arvid, for our enjoyable and instructive collaboration and also for allowing us to use your flat.'

    Arvid gave a gentle, amiable nod.

    It had now become obvious to all that Reidar Folke Jespersen was not on the same wavelength as his two brothers. He seemed grumpy and displeased, and he himself was aware of his role in this game. There was a great deal he disliked about the situation. And this displeasure was given greater nourishment as Kirkenær consistently addressed him by his Christian name.

    Kirkenær stared straight at Reidar with a broad smile. 'I have, as you know, already informed Arvid and Emmanuel about what I want to say, but let me first present my goals for this little gathering here today: I represent freedom, gentlemen. I represent freedom and security because I have a huge amount of money behind me. But I do not wish money to be at the centre of our conversations. Above all, I am keen to ensure that you trust me. I want everyone to be clear that the fruit of your lives' work is in safe hands.'

    He closed his eyes as though devising the formulation of his next nugget:

    'Experience is our shared capital. I have cast my eyes over what you have built up with humility and respect. When I, and Iselin…' he sent an inclusive glance to the remote, queen-like woman who was smiling at the three aged gentlemen '… have got that far, all that will be left to do is to oversee the investment with prudence. Gentlemen, we have explored the charts and sounded out the terrain, we have consulted the financial titans, and we are in total agreement that we should pay
you
in generous measure in order to manage
your
shop in
our
name.'

    The man with the red jacket closed his eyes once again - as though tasting what it was like to have let the cat out of the bag. Then he stood in silence watching the three brothers, almost as if he were checking to see how the land lay - until he spun on his heel and placed the first transparency showing his calculations.

    Reidar smelt a conspiracy. He and the two brothers followed closely as Kirkenær warmed to his task. None of the three commented on the exact offer when it was revealed at the end of Kirkenær's pitch. The young woman scurried around with refreshments. Arvid had port and Emmanuel took beer while Reidar politely refused a drink. The young lady would not take no for an answer. She delved into a trunk and came up with miniature bottles of Hennessy and Chivas Regal, but Reidar caught Arvid winking to her and gesticulating that she should not press him. This familiarity between the four of them - his two brothers and the two buyers - brought home to Reidar that Kirkenær had already sold the idea to both Arvid and Emmanuel. But that was not what made him cold with fury. There was something else - though this was not a matter about which he could talk to his brothers. Something which was causing him to feel trapped, impatient and a little aggressive. But he refrained from making any further comment to either his brothers or the buyers. He remained impassive. He did not say a word until Kirkenær and Iselin Varås had left.

    Arvid let them out. The three of them were making a commotion in the hall; heavy outdoor coats were taken off hangers and remarks exchanged. But Reidar didn't say anything to Emmanuel while Arvid was bundling the two guests out of the flat. The silence between the brothers was palpable; they each stared at their own section of the wall, absent-mindedly listening to Arvid flirting with

    Iselin the way old men do, until at last he closed the door.

    Reidar realized that the real cause for Kirkenær's prompt, fuss-free departure was that the businessman considered the battle already won. While Reidar sat thinking about the situation, he could feel the anger growing inside him. At the same time he could feel how, yet again, resignation was trying to dampen his rage. It was a feeling he hated more than any other - how apathy had sneaked into his consciousness, with the passing of the years, in the same way that mist seeps into the forest to make it impenetrable and colourless. It was the kind of apathy that tried to deceive the body into thinking that it had neither the inclination nor the energy to take up cudgels. This duality of the senses - aggression mixed with resignation - gave him the fleeting feeling of suffocation. Yet he understood that this meeting was one of the most crucial moments he had experienced for many years. These thoughts churned through his brain as Arvid's whinnying laughter carried through the hall door and Emmanuel glowered darkly at the wall, presumably on account of Reidar's negative body language. At this moment Reidar was planning a strategy with two short-term goals. The first was to torpedo the attempt to sell the shop which the brothers owned in joint partnership. The second was to buy himself time to ponder the situation which had arisen.

    The first strike was seconds away. When the hall door opened and Arvid leaned against the doorframe with a studied expression on his face, the old soldier twisted around in his chair, ready for battle.

    'And where is the animal?' asked Reidar in measured tones.

    As if on cue, the sound of a low, grunting activity came from the hall. A small, black nose appeared in the doorway. It flicked open the door the necessary few centimetres, and a small, fat, panting butterfly dog waddled in. It wagged its tail with half its body and tripped along on thin legs, sniffing like a piglet with a cold. Reidar bent down and pointed a long finger at the creature's snout, causing it to shrink back, retract its head and emit a series of sharp yelps, which in turn made Arvid go down on his knees to protect it. 'There, there, Silvie, there, there.' He picked up the animal and made baby sounds as he rubbed his face against the dog's drooling head. 'She knows you don't like her,' he said in a reproachful, annoyed voice. Reidar grimaced at him, almost as though he had seen his brother handling tainted meat or a grotesque insect.

    'This is not going to happen,' Reidar said, to the point.

    The other two exchanged glances.

    'So there is no more to talk about,' Reidar decided, and stood up.

    'We've been preparing this sale for months,' Emmanuel said in a low hiss. 'You can't just torpedo it.'

    'I can,' Reidar stated.

    'What makes you think that?' Arvid asked pugnaciously.

    Reidar did not grace him with a look. He was already on his way towards his coat. 'Now that I've done what you requested,' he said, dismissing them. 'I've listened to the man. I stood it for half an hour. You wanted me to be persuaded. I was not persuaded. Not in the slightest. The man is a nothing.'

    'Karsten agrees with us.'

    Reidar flinched and glowered at Arvid, who repeated, 'Karsten agrees with us.' Bringing Reidar's son, Karsten, into the conversation made Reidar even angrier because it suggested that the conspiracy he scented was more widespread than he first assumed. It suggested that Arvid and Emmanuel, as well as plotting against him, had also got Karsten on board - his own son.

    'Karsten's interests in the matter are of no relevance,' Reidar said, as unmoved as before. 'This is not going to happen,' he repeated.

    Arvid's shoulders quivered with annoyance. He sent Emmanuel another look - to gain support - before continuing: 'The long and short of this is that Emmanuel and I are serious. And because he and I know you, and because he and I predicted what would happen if we trusted you to give your opinion, I'm afraid it is your turn to lose.'

    Reidar Folke Jespersen regarded his brother with the same unmoved expression.

    'You'll have to give in, Reidar. There are three owners. Two against one is an absolute majority.'

    Reidar was still silent.

    Arvid shot a glance to his brother for support: 'The majority decides - whatever you think.'

    'Majority?' Reidar was working his way around the table towards Arvid, who in fear retreated two paces. Both stopped at a signal from Emmanuel, who was in the process of getting to his feet. That is to say, he was panting and manoeuvring his fat body into a semi- upright position, with his stomach resting on the edge of the table. It was a very rare act. Everyone who knew Emmanuel knew what exertions lay behind such a physical movement; both the brothers were aware of the emotional energy that had triggered these contortions. Emmanuel was thus instantly furnished with his special badge of authority which had helped him on several occasions to overcome the younger brother complex he always ran into with Reidar. Now, with assured hand gestures, he tried to exploit the advantage by calming down his two brothers who stood facing each other like boxers in a ring. 'Take it easy, no damage has been done. Kirkenær will stand by his offer and we must stay united…'

    Reidar twitched at the sound of Kirkenær's name. 'Whether this man stands by his offer or not is immaterial. It will not happen!' Reidar's retort was like the rattle of a machine-gun, and he added weight to the salvo by smacking the table hard with the palm of his right hand.

    Arvid put the dog down on a chair and said: 'We'll never get a chance like this again!'

    'Exactly!' Reidar thundered. 'Exactly,' he repeated, approaching his brother. 'And has it not occurred to you, in fact, that it's a little odd?'

    'Odd?' Arvid looked to Emmanuel for help. He had slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily and wheezing after his efforts. Tiny beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead, but the look he sent his eldest brother showed he was not done for yet. 'That's the problem, Reidar,' he said in a low voice. 'You're getting too old. You've lost your bite. We're not giving in this
^!
time. You're going to lose.'