Part 19 (1/2)

His hatred was hopeless. Once she had said, 'Your father had a strong character.' He had been dead for fifteen years then. But she remembered the rapes, of course. Sometimes Birger had heard them through the wall in his bedroom. Still she bothered with the euphemism so as not to humiliate herself. Father's silly National Socialism had also been a euphemism, perhaps for a hatred the strength of which he never understood.

Rinsing the dishes. Putting them in the dishwasher. Putting away the gla.s.ses and never taking them out again.

Having people to dinner.

Finis.h.i.+ng off with a small whisky. Two.

Never again talking with his lips to an ear, a warm ear.

When he had finished the dishes, he went out, cutting across the hay meadows. It was almost dark, but he could see the linseed field in all its degradation, rotting heaps of tough stalks soaked from the rain.

He realised that Karl-ke and he now had a reason for their mutual enmity. It was one of those absurd, far-fetched reasons that lay behind every village hostility, manufactured according to a pattern as complicated as crochet work. Yes, absurd to the point of childishness, almost imaginary. But the hatred was real.

Gudrun Brandberg drove her son in the Audi up towards Steinkjer. She was looking angry. He glanced sideways at her, but he didn't get the sense that she was angry because he had run away. He himself was pretty angry, but as usual she scarcely noticed that.

She hadn't driven up to the guesthouse, but had phoned from the Statoil petrol station on the outskirts and said he should come and meet her there. When he explained that he could hardly walk and had nothing to put on his feet, she'd told him to take a taxi.

Taxi!

He had paid the landlady with Ylja's money and got a lift to the petrol station. He hadn't really wanted to touch the money. Gudrun didn't ask him how he had been able to pay, and not until after driving quite a while did she ask him what he had done to his foot.

The Audi was going much too fast along the hot strip of asphalt. Gudrun's profile remained the same and it occurred to him that it wasn't anger. It was absence, an absence so total, he was grateful they were not heading for Grong. She might have driven off the road on a bend and aquaplaned straight out into the Namsen.

She hadn't come the previous evening. At about eleven, she had phoned to say there was a lot to do. He had gone to bed and tried to sleep despite the pain. She'll regret it when she sees my foot, he thought.

'Don't phone anyone,' she had said in a small, sharp voice. 'Do you hear? Don't talk to anyone.'

At the Statoil station the Audi was there, the back seat full of stuff bags, cardboard boxes and loose objects. He saw to his astonishment that his ice-hockey skates were there, and his club. She was drinking apple juice from a carton, and he noticed that her lips were dry and she was very thirsty.

'Do you want some?' she said, handing him a fiver to go and buy some juice. He didn't take it. She had on the same floral dress she had been wearing on Midsummer Eve, and the same white cardigan was folded up on top of one of the bags in the back. It looked as if she hadn't been out of her clothes since, or as if time had stopped over there in Blackwater.

'I saw in the paper . . . there was a murder. By the Lobber.'

'Get in,' she said.

Once they were out of Namsos, he asked who had been murdered. At first she was silent for a long time, as if she didn't want to answer, but then she said they were tourists. Foreigners.

'Has it been cleared up?'

'It never will be.'

He couldn't understand how she could say that. He said he didn't think it was right.

'What do you mean, right?'

Proper, he had thought of saying, but he didn't. She must have noticed how peculiar it sounded, because she tried to explain.

'I only meant that it's almost hopeless. An evening when there were so many tourists around. And foreigners.'

'Aren't people scared?'

'I don't want to talk about it. We've had enough of that back home these last few days.'

She sounded as if she were reproaching him for having gone off when things were at their worst.

'I went off because I was furious,' he said. 'Per-Ola and Pekka were s.h.i.+tty, and so were Vaine and Bjorne. They went too far. They followed me up to Alda's.'

'I don't want to know anything about that. And you're not to knock Bjorne. If it wasn't for him, you'd really be in trouble now.'

She was angry with him after all. And she didn't ask where he had been. Only whether he'd talked to anyone. What did she think that he'd hidden in the forest?

'Why have you brought all my things?'

He could hear how whiny he sounded as he said it, but it was too late to make his voice any deeper. Her voice was at least kinder when she answered.

'We've got to arrange something else for you. The atmosphere at home isn't good.'

'Was Torsten furious?'

She didn't answer directly and he felt sick inside at how unfair it all was. He wasn't allowed to tell her, either. She simply didn't want to know.

'It'll go to court,' she said. 'Vidart's been raving about a rake handle. But that'll all get straightened out. Anyhow, we'd better arrange something else for you. I thought of Langva.s.slien.'

The name caused a soft jolt inside him. A wave of blood, throbbing all the way out into his ears, into his lips. And he waited. He even imagined what tone of voice she would use when she at long last told him. Low and confidential, a little embarra.s.sed. Or half angry and defiant, as if to emphasise it was her business what she had done, not his.

Should he say he had had some idea all the time? Guessed that he was really Oula Laras's son. Not Torsten's. Or should he pretend not to know, to make it easier for her?

She didn't go on. Not just now, he thought. It'll come later. She's ashamed. It's as hard for her as it would be for me to tell her about Ylja. Impossible. But she must. Before we get to Langva.s.slien. Probably before Steinkjer, and that couldn't be more than ten kilometres now.

When they drove into Steinkjer, she said they were to stop and get something to eat.

'I've got to go to the hospital,' Johan said, realising she was never going to suggest it. She didn't seem to be interested in his foot.

'Is it that bad?' was all she said.

When they got to Emergency, he took off his sock as they sat waiting, and she gasped.

She probably hadn't reckoned it would take half the day. They had agreed to meet at the cafeteria when he was ready and there she was, looking exhausted. As usual, he felt guilty. Then he was angry. He couldn't help it that she had had to wait for so long. She could have asked the doctors. He told her that his s.h.i.+n bone was broken and the ligaments in his ankle torn. He was in plaster. He had been given some crutches so he could move, but they had to pay for them because they weren't Norwegian citizens. She went off to reception and told them that he was to start senior high in Steinkjer in the autumn and that he lived in Langva.s.slien and could bring the crutches back when he came for a check-up.

Saying he already lived in Langva.s.slien was a bit much, but the woman behind the counter accepted it without comment and asked for the address.

'He's living with Per and Sakka Dorj,' said Gudrun. 'Post Box 12, Langva.s.slien.'

Sakka. His aunt. Gudrun's older sister. He didn't ask if what she had said was true until they got in the car.

'Am I going to stay with Sakka?'

'Yes, of course. What did you think? Who else lives in Langva.s.slien?'

That evening the rain came. To begin with, the wind brought clouds of thin, chilly vapour, which settled like a membrane on the gra.s.s and across their faces. It turned dark and the wind got up. By the time they were all inside with Petrus and Brita, it was raining hard.