The Drowned Boy (16 page)

But I don’t want to think about sad things. We’ve come here to forget, even though Nicolai sees it as letting Tommy down. He thinks our tragedy should fill our hearts every waking moment, but then we would be swallowed up and I won’t let that happen. I’ve got a life to live and enjoy to the fullest. He’s calling from the balcony now, so I have to stop. Goodbye for now, dear diary, it’s so good to have you. I can think clearly on paper, which is such a relief. Nicolai’s life is in chaos, I can tell. He wouldn’t manage without me. I’m holding him up. He criticizes me for being happy, but he doesn’t understand that one of us has to carry the load. Of course I think a lot about Tommy, but not all the time. He’s out of my mind for long chunks, and then I feel peaceful and can see that life is worth living after all. Then I see Nicolai’s bitter face and the grief hits me again like a punch in the stomach. But I’m strong and I can keep things together, keep Nicolai together.

TWENTY-FOURTH OF SEPTEMBER
. Morning at Ågårds Plass.

“Yes,” Dr. Morris said, “that’s right. Carmen Cesilie Zita comes to me when she needs to. I’ve been her physician for more than four years now. Nicolai is also registered here, by the way, but he’s never really been in. He’s never ill. That’s to say, he’s thin and anemic, but there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s got a robust constitution. So yes, I know about Carmen’s epilepsy; that’s our main concern. It’s almost fully under control now, but she does still have seizures every now and then. There’s no denying it’s a problem, but not on a day-to-day basis. And yes, I heard about her little boy. What a tragedy. I comfort myself with the thought that they’re young and can start again, though I wouldn’t dream of saying that to Miss Zita. It’s a cold comfort. Things are no less painful when you’re young. The opposite perhaps. But they can have more children, and I believe they will, given time, once they have mourned enough. I would give them a couple of years. In my experience, that’s how long it takes.”

“What is epilepsy?” Sejer asked. “Can you explain it to me? In a way that I can understand?”

Morris folded his hands on his desk. “Well,” he started, “contrary to what most people think, epilepsy is not an illness, even though many experience it as such. Let me put it this way: epilepsy is in fact the symptom of various conditions, all of which involve neurological disorders, which result in seizures, convulsions, and blackouts.”

“A neurological disorder,” Sejer repeated to himself. He was thinking about his own dizziness. Perhaps that was some form of neurological disorder. Then he thought, stop. Get a grip. You’re here about something else.

“Yes, that’s what we call it,” Morris said. “And the causes of epilepsy can vary; it might be the result of a number of things. In around fifty percent of cases, the cause remains a mystery. But Carmen sustained brain injuries during birth and so has had epilepsy all her life, her young life, I should say. They were twins. One, Louisa, died at birth. She only lived an hour.”

“What about Tommy’s birth? Was the C-section planned, or was it an emergency?”

“It was planned,” Morris confirmed. “Her pelvis is extremely narrow. It’s almost a miracle that she could carry the baby to term. And despite having Down syndrome, he was a healthy baby.”

“Can you tell me a bit about her seizures?”

Morris took off his glasses and fiddled with the arms. “Yes, of course. Carmen has what we call GTC seizures, that’s to say generalized tonic–clonic seizures. These comprise two phases. In the tonic phase, the patient loses consciousness, which is dramatic enough in itself. The body then becomes rigid and the air is forced out of the lungs, which can sound like a scream and is very alarming for those present. Then the patient stops breathing and the face and lips turn blue. After a few seconds, the seizure then goes into the clonic phase, which causes the convulsions normally associated with epilepsy. The face turns red and the patient starts to breathe again.”

“And how long does a seizure last?” Sejer asked.

“Oh, it varies considerably. As a rule, it’s a matter of seconds and minutes. But sometimes the patient experiences a persistent series of seizures, one after the other, a condition that is called status epilepticus. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It is a very serious condition, and it is important to get the patient to the hospital as quickly as possible.”

“Has Carmen ever suffered from status epilepticus?”

“Yes, she has. But only once since I’ve been her doctor, and it was pretty serious. She was kept in the hospital under observation for a couple of days. It’s some time ago now, and I hope that she doesn’t have to go through that again, because it is very stressful.”

“And she is medicated now?”

“Yes, she’s got medicine. And we’re managing to keep seizures to a minimum. I would say she has a seizure about once a month, which is not so bad. She can live with that. But after a seizure, she can be rather out of it, confused and weak and tired.”

“And how do you feel she copes with it? Is she bothered by it?”

Morris shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that; she takes it in her stride. But then I’ve never really asked her directly. Even though she’s a slip of a thing, she’s tough as old boots. It’s just awful what happened to the little boy. I heard about it on the news and was horrified. It’s dangerous to live so close to water when you’ve got small children. How are they? I haven’t seen them for a couple of months. It’s a terrible tragedy to lose your child.”

“It’s actually Nicolai who’s taking it the worst,” Sejer told him. “As you said, Carmen is tough. She’s the one who is coping best; she’s forward-looking. She’s talking about having another baby, so she’s back in the driver’s seat.”

“And that’s of little comfort for Nicolai,” Morris said.

“Exactly, no comfort at all. He’s taken this very badly. To be honest, I’m worried about him. And he’s so alone, without any family.”

“Excuse me for asking, but I’m curious,” Morris started, leaning forward over his desk. “Why are you asking for information about Carmen’s epilepsy? I mean, does it have anything to do with the child’s death?”

“Yes, perhaps,” Sejer said and stood up. He pushed the chair back into place and got ready to leave. “But I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information; I’m sure you appreciate that. Let me just go back to something you said—that after a seizure, she is generally pretty out of sorts, tired and dizzy and weak.”

“Yes,” Morris replied. “In a language you no doubt understand, given your profession, after a major seizure she is in fact of unsound mind.”

EVEN THOUGH IT
was the end of the season, there were lots of people on Alcúdia’s white beaches. But there was still plenty of room for Carmen and Nicolai. Carmen spread out their towels by the water’s edge, pulled her sundress over her head, and stood there in her tiny red bikini. It made Nicolai think of a raspberry ripple lollipop. Carmen, his young wife, was so petite and pretty that the Majorcans all whistled enthusiastically wherever they went.

“Do you think I can go topless?” she asked.

Nicolai was shocked. “No, are you mad? Please. They’re all Catholics down here, so don’t do it. You might be reported. If you take off your top, I’m going back to the hotel.”

“OK, boss,” she said, giggling. “No need to panic. I was only asking. Haven’t got much to show anyway,” she said with a laugh. Even though Tommy was dead, she was in such a good mood. A little vacation in the sun and she’s left all her sorrows behind, Nicolai thought sorely.

After she’d had a look around, Carmen settled on the towel. It was a big, thick beach towel with a picture of Bugs Bunny on it. She had folded her sundress and was using it as a pillow. Nicolai sat looking at the sparkling Mediterranean. Some children were playing in the shallows, while their parents kept watch from the sand, not letting them out of sight. They should have kept an eye on Tommy like that.

“I’m going to the kiosk,” he said. “Do you want anything? Anything to eat or drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Carmen said. “You can get something for me later. But it’s nice that you want to play gallant. We could pretend that we’re on our honeymoon. We could pretend that we got married yesterday and are very happy. Please say yes, Nicolai,” she said with a big smile.

He didn’t answer. Honeymoon? They were mourning! How could she think like that? He got up and walked across the warm sand to the kiosk that stood in the shade between some trees. He placed his order and opened his wallet to pay. While he waited for the change, he turned around and looked at Carmen. It was strange to see her from a distance, in her red bikini. Everything became so clear: her beauty, her energy, the things he couldn’t deal with. She seemed so untouched, and he couldn’t understand it. Apparently unaffected by everything that had happened. Or, he thought, I’m merciless, mean, and without empathy. I think that I’m better than her and grieving more than her, that I was a better parent to Tommy. Shame on you, Nicolai. Shame on you!

He clenched his fist, exasperated with himself. Then he got his change and walked back and sat down on his towel. He opened the can of beer and took a swig. Carmen sat up and looked at him. Something caught her eye and she was taken aback.

“What are you doing? Why did you buy cigarettes?” She nodded at the pack of Marlboros lying on his towel, alongside an orange disposable lighter. “You don’t smoke; why have you got Marlboros? Get a grip.”

“I’ve just started,” Nicolai retorted. “I’m starting right now. The way things are, I don’t see any reason to stay healthy. I might as well enjoy what life’s got to offer. Like you’ve always done, haven’t you?”

His voice was harsh and desperate. He tore the plastic from the pack, fished out a cigarette, and lit it. He took a deep drag, pulled the smoke down into his lungs, and started to cough.

“Jesus Christ, how can you be so stupid?”

“It’s none of your business,” he said, irritated, and coughed again. “It’s my life. If I want to ruin my lungs, I have every right to do so without you interfering.”

“OK,” Carmen said petulantly. “But I’m not going to kiss you when you’ve been smoking. It’s disgusting.”

“Fair enough,” he said and took another drag on the cigarette. “We don’t kiss very much anyway.”

Carmen stood up and walked down to the water, paddled some way out, and then shouted back to him in excitement.

“It’s almost like bathwater! Put that stupid cigarette out and come in!”

Nicolai wanted to finish his cigarette. He remained stubbornly where he was on the towel and took another drag. That’s right, he thought. Let the smoke drown my lungs in tar. From now on, it’s whiskey and cigarettes all day long. He found comfort in the idea of destroying himself. I deserve to be punished, he thought melodramatically. This is for Tommy.

“Come in, come and feel the water,” Carmen encouraged him. “You can’t sit there smoking all day.”

He stubbed out the cigarette in the sand, got up, and waded out into the water. He dived in and then started to swim straight out.

“Don’t go too far!” Carmen cried. “Stay close to the shore. I don’t want to stand here shouting; please do as I say!”

He went a bit farther but then turned and swam back in toward her. He was an excellent swimmer and kept good pace. His swimming shorts stuck to his thighs and he had the taste of saltwater in his mouth. Everything was summer and sun and heat. Everything was never-ending sorrow. He was constantly switching between good and bad. For a while, he lay floating on his back. He enjoyed being cooled by the water, feeling fit and alive. After five minutes he got out again and went to sit on his towel.

“Can you put some sunscreen on my back?” Carmen asked. “It’s in the bag.”

He rummaged around and found the sunscreen. He sprayed it all over her back. Then he started to massage it into her skin. For a long time she lay there enjoying his touch in silence.

“Nicolai,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about something. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, since before Tommy died, just so you know. And we’ve talked about it before.”

“OK,” Nicolai said patiently. “What is it you want now?”

He massaged the lotion into the small of her back, right down to her bikini. But it gave him no pleasure—just flickering memories of better times, when they wanted each other.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we should get a dog.”

Nicolai stopped massaging. The idea left him speechless. Tommy was dead, and now she wanted a dog.

“But we have to go to work,” he objected. “Sooner or later. And then the puppy will be left on its own all day. Do you really have the heart to do that? And you know how they are. They chew cables and things like that and have to be looked after all the time. No, we can’t do it, Carmen. Drop it.”

She put her head down on the towel again, determined she would convince him. He could tell she was giving it her all.

“All dogs are on their own during the day,” she said. “Everyone has to go to work, don’t they? We could take it for a little walk in the morning, so it can pee, and then go for a proper, longer work when we get home in the evening. Together, just the two of us. It would be so nice; the house is so empty now. Don’t you think it’s empty too?” she appealed. Her voice was reedy and pleading, a voice that was hard to resist. And he felt the hold she had over him, which made him give in like a helpless child.

He started to massage in the lotion again, slowly over her shoulders in circular movements. Her skin was like silk, golden-brown and smooth, without a blemish. She had a single mole in the small of her back, about the size of a thumbtack.

“A puppy costs thousands of kroner,” he argued. “We can’t afford it. I don’t understand how you can even contemplate it when poor old Marian has to give us money all the time.”

He was finished with the sunscreen, so he put it back in the bag and wiped his hands on the towel.

Carmen sat up again and brushed the sand from her feet. “Of course I can ask Dad,” she said. “Dad will understand.”

“OK,” Nicolai said. “You get your way, as usual. What kind of dog were you thinking of? Please don’t say a poodle. If you buy a poodle, I refuse to take it for walks.”