I Can See in the Dark (17 page)

Now she was standing there, in the open doorway.

With red lips and a stiff perm. Ebba from the park near Lake Mester.
She
was my prison visitor. Her eyes opened in amazement as she saw me, and then she controlled herself as much as she could to smooth over her own huge surprise at finding me, Riktor, waiting for her. Riktor the prisoner. Charged with murder.

But I soon recovered and, as we’d suddenly been thrown together like two dice in a box, made the best of a bad situation. We shook hands. She had a firm grip. She wasn’t embarrassed for an instant, instead I noticed a humorous smile spread over the red mouth. She regained her composure and unbuttoned her jacket, her movements were assured, calm and well rehearsed, there was a secureness, deep within her person, that had a comforting effect. I sat down.

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m the type that gets over surprises quickly.’ She pulled out the other chair, straightened her clothes and patted her hair, taking her time. ‘We’ve met before, of course. And I did sometimes wonder what had become of you, because you used to come to the park so frequently. But now I know why.’

She settled herself on the chair. Knees pressed together, a hand up to her hair.

‘Life isn’t kind to everyone, that’s for sure,’ said Ebba Neumann. Despite the shock, her voice was firm and steady, she was doubtless a woman who was used to speaking at meetings, a woman who’d rise, when the situation demanded it, and say a few wise and unifying words.

She put her handbag on the floor. A brown handbag of imitation crocodile skin, with a large, gold-coloured clasp. She sat with her body and head erect, the neat undulations of her grey hair receding in waves from her brow.

‘What have they told you?’ I wanted to know. ‘About why I’m here; have they said anything?’

Her hands rested serenely in her lap, like thin, curled insects. One of her fingers had two plain gold rings on it, her own and her husband’s, I thought; presumably he was dead. Her nails were varnished and looked like mother-of-pearl.

‘Not a thing,’ said Ebba. ‘And it’s none of my business. You haven’t been found guilty of anything. As I understand it, you’re on remand. And to put your mind at rest, I know how to keep my mouth shut. Please forgive my presumption, but in spite of everything, you’re looking well.’

She took off her jacket, and hung it over the back of the chair. She had long, shapely legs and gossamer-thin stockings and I could make out finely branching veins through the delicate mesh.

‘If you knew what I was accused of, you’d be shocked,’ I said.

Suddenly I was overcome with bitterness over all that had happened. That I was being held in this institution for an indefinite period, totally without grounds, totally without guilt. So friendless and alone that the Red Cross had to send an old woman to keep me company. I’d been insulted and humiliated, but I was glad she was sitting there, she was a link to the park, to the time before all this happened, to the good and disciplined life that I’d had control over.

‘Possibly so,’ she conceded, ‘but we don’t have to talk about that. Just for the record though, I do read the newspapers. And there’s been a lot of comment about what happened.’

Naturally, the press had revelled in it. The nurse from Løkka, and all the things he’d been up to. The lunatic care worker. These lies. This conspiracy, this whole rotten thing.

‘Then you know everything there is to know,’ I said. ‘That’s the way of the world now, we’re informed about almost everything that happens. And you become my prison visitor. I don’t know how you dare.’

‘Shouldn’t I dare?’

I gave her a long, hard appraisal. Her hair, her hands with their rings, her feet in their brown court shoes with small bows. This eminently elegant woman I’d seen so many times before. Who might even be on my side, in spite of everything.

‘There comes a day when we get out of prison,’ I said to Ebba. ‘And then we might come after you. Follow you, beg. Ring up, and be a nuisance, and annoy you. People turn into stray dogs when they’re released, that’s what the prison officers say. Haven’t you ever considered that?’

Ebba gave a long and hearty laugh. It was the first time I’d heard her laughter: it was deep, infectious and redeeming. Automatically, I thought of
Woman Laughing
, it was the same warm sound that came to my inner ear when I passed that evocative sculpture at the park entrance.

‘No,’ she said smiling. ‘I’m not frightened that you’ll come after me. Or follow me. Or beg for anything. I’m not scared of dogs, either.’

‘You’ve probably been warned to keep quiet about yourself. About where you live, what you do, and suchlike. You’re sitting here hamstrung by instructions about what’s allowed and what’s not allowed. Guidance from the Red Cross. Am I right?’

She was searching her handbag for lozenges. She held the packet out to me, but I refused; it mentioned something about eucalyptus on the blue-and-white wrapper. Perhaps she was actually nervous after all, and her mouth was dry.

‘I’ve come to listen to what you’ve got to say,’ she explained. ‘To what’s on your mind. To what’s weighing on your conscience, if you’ve done something wrong. And if not, I’ll listen to your concerns. But not a word, not a syllable of any of this can I pass on. I have a duty of confidentiality. Like a Catholic priest.’

She smiled good-naturedly.

‘I’d like to think they’re treating you well. But there isn’t much compassion in a place like this. And a life without compassion is a lonely life. I often think about that.’

Her eyes took in the wretched visiting room. Worn furniture, a few pictures on the walls, a water sprite rising up from a tarn with green, gleaming eyes, a squirrel in mid-air, sailing from one branch to another, dirty windows. Then something came to her mind and suddenly she grew eager. She leant forward in her chair, her eyes shining with a special intensity.

‘I bet you can’t guess who walked to the park yesterday? I mean, under her own steam. That young girl, you know, the one who always sat in a wheelchair. Do you remember her, and her mother?’

‘Miranda,’ I said with surprise. ‘Are you seriously telling me she can walk? She can’t walk, she’s disabled.’

Ebba nodded. ‘She’s got braces on her legs. She can’t bend her knees, of course, but she is walking. One little step at a time. I nearly fell off my bench, it was like a miracle. I’ve never seen a child so proud.’

‘How wonderful,’ I said half-heartedly.

And I tried to imagine the scene. The thin girl strutting along on stiff legs. And that walking nail display, Lill Anita, following behind with supporting hands. And I didn’t like it a bit; I didn’t like the way the image I’d formed long ago of the two of them, the mother and the child with all her spasms, suddenly had to be modified now, it was as though I’d lost control of life. Leg braces. Well, really.

‘But surely she can’t run?’ I put in.

‘Oh, no, I doubt she’ll ever do that. But just imagine the feeling of standing on your own legs at last, and being able to walk with your mother to the park. Just imagine it!’

For a while I sat immersed in my own thoughts. I believed I could glimpse the outline of a pattern which until now had been hidden. And I was a tiny part of this complicated weft, perhaps an insignificant part, like one thread in a net. And Ebba and Miranda were too, and the big black man from the Reception Centre, Lill Anita, and Arnfinn, whom I’d clubbed to death. We were simply minute pawns, and we were being moved about. The notion that some other being had an overarching plan for me and my affairs sent a shiver down my spine, a being I could neither glimpse nor control.

‘Can you see the sanatorium from your window?’ Ebba wanted to know. ‘My husband spent a month there as a patient many years ago. Lots of people say it’s haunted.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve heard that. How stupid can you get. As if the dead could be bothered to moon about, once they’ve finally got free of this world.’

‘It’s supposed to be haunted by a former nursing sister,’ Ebba explained. ‘At night you can hear creakings from doors and stairways. Witnesses have seen a bluish light in the corridor, something icy cold that stands there flickering, it’s quite inexplicable. But, you know, there’s lots of wood in that old building, so it’s not surprising that there are noises, the timbers are affected by the weather, and a house is a living organism. And then there’s static electricity. Nature is full of forces. Who’s looking after your house?’ she enquired suddenly.

‘No one,’ I replied. ‘And I worry about it.’

She reached down to find a handkerchief in her bag, and sat there with it in her hand.

‘Yes, my husband’s dead,’ she announced. ‘It’s fifteen years ago now. He suffered another major embolism only a year after his first one, and we didn’t get to the hospital in time. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about my own affairs. I can help you as regards your house,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a volunteer service, and they take on jobs like that.’

I thought of Arnfinn’s grave.

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’ll be all right. It won’t be long before they give me some leave, and there’s not much that needs doing. The lawn’s wild anyway, and the house is in good order.’

She took another lozenge.

‘How do you pass the time? Do the days hang heavy? I imagine the nights must be worst. I mean, the loneliness. And the dark. The worry, all those thoughts. And perhaps an uncertain future.’

‘I’ve certainly got quite a lot to think about,’ I said. ‘And the ones who’ve brought this charge will have plenty to think about, too, when they realise they’ve arrested the wrong man. But I’m certain the truth will out. I mean, I believe in justice. I have to believe in it, or I wouldn’t be able to keep going.’

I looked into Ebba’s earnest face. She had some lines and wrinkles, slightly pendulous jowls, and her hair was grey, all signs that she’d been around a long time and that the years had set their mark upon her. She sucked eagerly at her lozenge, sat on the edge of her chair, all attention; someone had taught her the art of listening, or perhaps she had a natural gift for it.

‘How often can you come?’ I asked, needy as a small child.

‘Ah,’ she said, prevaricating. ‘I have several people to visit. But possibly every other week, if I can manage it. How does that strike you? Every fortnight, Riktor? You needn’t feel we have to meet. I’ll only come when you want me to, not if you don’t. Then we’ll see how things go on from there, I’m sure it’ll work out.’

She crossed one leg over the other, their length showing to advantage.

‘Guess what happened yesterday,’ she blurted out suddenly.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘Some divers found a body at the bottom of Lake Mester. They were amateurs, and it must have given them quite a shock. At first they thought it was a rotten tree trunk. But it turned out to be a man, and he’d been there some time. He’d gone missing at the beginning of April, isn’t that terrible? Presumably he’d gone skiing and went through the ice. Then he must have thrashed about in the water, quite alone and helpless. But at least the poor soul will have a grave now, that must be a comfort to the family, don’t you think? But he must have been an awful sight. After so many months in the water.’

She clasped her hands in her lap. Her two gold rings glowed. Sunlight fell obliquely into the room and found us as we sat, each on our own chair, and slowly we were warmed through and through.

‘When does your case come up?’ she asked.

‘Oh, that could take some time. People often spend several months on remand. Some as much as a year, so it’ll be a bit of a wait.’

Something else came to her, and she became enthusiastic again.

‘D’you recall that elderly chap with the hip flask?’ she queried. ‘Who always sat on the bench drinking.’

‘Yes, I remember him well,’ I answered, in a somewhat subdued tone.

‘He’s completely disappeared,’ she said. ‘And the police have put him on the missing persons’ register.’

‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Missing? Disappeared?’

‘It seems he had a daughter who lives and works in Bangkok. She’s never had much contact with him, but there’s obviously been a few words now and again. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t answering the phone. Over a long period. Now she’s gone to the police, and they’ve started looking for him. There was a piece in the paper recently, with a picture, too. “Have you seen this man?” And I had, so many times. He’s been staggering around the park all these years, poor man. So I got in touch with the police.’

‘Did you phone?’ I asked inanely.

‘Yes, I phoned. You know, with what information I had. That he hung around the park and that sort of thing, just in case they didn’t know. You two had a certain amount of contact, didn’t you? Wasn’t he an acquaintance of yours?’

I almost shot up from my chair.

‘No, no!’ I countered rapidly. ‘Most certainly not. We weren’t acquainted at all!’

‘But I thought I saw the pair of you together a couple of times, over at your house. Did I make a mistake?’

‘Yes, that’s totally wrong. We never exchanged a word. I mean, I know who he is, but we never had anything to do with one another, I don’t know where you got that from! Did you really tell the police that we were acquainted?’

‘Oh, do forgive me,’ she said quickly, assuming a worried expression. She placed a hand in front of her mouth, and hung back a good while. ‘But I’m afraid I also told the police that I saw you together. You live in that red house at Jordahl, don’t you? The small house with the covered veranda?’

I nodded dumbly.

‘Yes, I’ve seen you there several times, you sometimes cut the grass in front of your house with a scythe. And I saw Mr Jagge up there at your house a few times, can I really have been so wrong?’

‘Mr Jagge?’ I queried uncomprehendingly.

‘Arnfinn Jagge,’ she replied. ‘That’s his name. I only mentioned it in passing to the police, that he was occasionally at your house at Jordahl. Of course, I didn’t know your name, but they knew the house. So it’s possible they may make contact with you in case you can tell them anything. I’m dreadfully sorry if this causes any difficulties for you. You see, I was so certain.’