Authors: Karin Fossum
She snuggled up to Sejer's chest. "Tell me a pretty fairy tale" she pleaded.
"I don't know any fairy tales. Just true stories."
"Then we'll have a true one."
He put the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. "Many years ago we had some trouble with a petty criminal called Martin. That wasn't his real name, but like you it's my duty to maintain confidentiality."
"Martin is fine," she said.
"Martin was a familiar face. Did all sorts of things: car theft, fraud, stole from people's garages. He had a rather weak character and served an endless series of sentences, usually three to four months at a time. He also drank. Apart from all that, he was a rather charming fellow, except he had awful teeth. He had only a few rotten stumps left. He would put his hand in front of his mouth when he laughed. But we liked him and were concerned about him. We were afraid that one day he'd be caught up in serious crime. We discussed what might be done to rehabilitate him, and we thought about his teeth, whether it was worth fixing them. We contacted social services and asked for funding to replace his teeth; he had no resources of his own. They asked us to submit an application, which we did. We wrote that it was an important part of his rehabilitation. Teeth
are
important, you
know. And believe it or not, we got the funding. Martin had to go through with it. He went to the prison dentist three times a week and when eventually he finished, he had a mouthful of flawless, bright white teeth. Like yours, Sara."
He inhaled her hair. "Martin was a new man," he recollected. "Held his head high. Cleaned himself up, got a haircut. Then there happened to be a woman working in the prison library. She lived on her own with her daughter and had taken this job to earn some extra money. She fell in love with Martin. He completed his sentence and moved in with her. He still lives with her and is a good father to her child. He has never been arrested from that day to this."
Sara smiled. "That was almost better than a fairy tale," she said.
"It happens to be true," he said. "But the man we're dealing with here has bigger problems than Martin."
"Yes," said Sara sadly. "He needs more than a dentist."
***
September 10th. Shiraz Bai had arrived in Norway. He was installed at the Park Hotel at Gunder's expense. Sejer rang Gunder.
"If you wish, we can arrange a meeting at the police station—that way you don't have to be alone with him. He'll probably have questions that might be difficult to answer. He speaks English but not too well."
Gunder stood by the telephone, mulling it over. Looked at the photograph of Poona. Wondered if he resembled his sister. He's my brother-in-law, he thought. Of course I need to go. But he didn't want to. He imagined an endless list of stinging accusations. How would he find the courage to face that?
It seemed important to look his best. He showered and put on a clean shirt. Tidied all the rooms. Perhaps Bai would like to see the house that was to have been Poona's home. The fine kitchen and the bathroom with the white swans. He drove slowly into town. Skarre was waiting for him in the reception area. That was really very considerate, Gunder thought. They understood so much. He hadn't expected it. He entered the inspector's office and saw him straightaway. A lean man, not particularly tall, and so like his sister that it startled him. Right down to the protruding teeth. His face was pockmarked and his skin was darker than Poona's. He was wearing a nice blue shirt and light pants. His hair was greasy and needed cutting. His gaze was evasive. Gunder approached cautiously when Sejer introduced them. He looked into his brother-in-law's solemn face. He saw no accusation; his expression was completely closed. Just a brief nod. The handshake was an unwilling touch. They were each offered a chair, but Bai declined. He remained standing by the desk as though he wanted this to be over and done with quickly. Gunder had already sat down. He was filled with melancholy. He was close to giving up on it all. Marie was still in a coma. His world was coming to an end.
Skarre, whose English was better than Sejer's, led the conversation.
"Mr. Bai," he said, "is there anything you'd like to say to Jomann?"
Bai looked askance at Gunder. "I want to take my sister home. She never arrived. Home is India," he said in a low voice.
Gunder stared at the floor. At his feet. He'd forgotten to polish his shoes; they were gray with dust. He was screaming inside, pleas he could not put into words. Bribes. Money, perhaps. Poona had said Bai was very poor. Then he felt ashamed.
"Perhaps we can talk about it," he said hesitantly.
"No discussion," Bai said abruptly, pressing his lips together.
He looked angry. Not sad about his sister, not weighed down by grief. Not horrified by what had happened, which the police had explained to him down to the last detail. He was angry. Silence followed while the four men in the room waited for each other. Gunder did not have the strength to talk about his rights as a husband or raise the subject of Norwegian and Indian law, or of his own broken heart. He felt powerless.
"I have a single request," he said eventually. His voice was close to cracking. "Just one request. That you come to my house and see Poona's home. What I wanted to give her!"
Bai made no reply. His face was hard. Gunder bowed his head. Skarre looked insistently at Shiraz Bai.
"Would you like to see Mr. Jomann's house? It's important to him to show it to you." The question was an appeal, bordering on being an order.
Bai shrugged. Gunder wished the floor would open up and let him fall down into an endless darkness, perhaps all the way down to Poona. Then he would find peace at last. Peace from this stubborn man with the bitter face. From everything that was difficult. Marie, who might wake up and dribble like an idiot. His head was full of noise. I'm going to faint, he thought. I have never fainted in my life. But he did not. He felt how his face, too, became hard and closed.
"Would you like to see Mr. Jomann's house?" Skarre repeated. He spoke in an exaggeratedly slow manner, as if he were speaking to a child.
At last Bai nodded, an uninterested nod.
"Let's go, then," Gunder said nervously and jumped up from the chair. He had an important task ahead of him and had to act while he still felt capable of it. Bai hesitated.
"We'll go in my car," Gunder said. "I will take you back to the hotel."
"Is that all right with you?" Skarre said, looking at Bai, who nodded in return. The two men walked side by side down the corridor. Gunder heavy and broad, with his bald crown, and Bai dark and lean, with his thick blue-black mane.
Skarre said a silent prayer that Bai would soften. Sometimes it happened that his prayers were answered.
He went back to Sejer's office and took a bag of jelly babies from his pocket. The plastic rustled as he opened the bag.
"Do you still believe in God?" Sejer said, studying him with a friendly gaze.
Skarre picked a jelly baby from the bag. "The green ones are my favorites," he said, avoiding the question.
"Perhaps your faith has started to fray?"
"When I was a boy," Skarre said, "I used to put a jelly baby in my mouth and keep it there until the sugar had dissolved. Then I'd take it out again and it would be clear as glass. They look better without the sugar," he said thoughtfully.
Skarre sucked his green one for a long time, then took it out.
"Look!"
It dangled from his fingers and was quite transparent.
"Coward," Sejer smiled.
"What about you?" Skarre said, confronting his boss. "How do you feel about the power?"
Sejer raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"
"You once said you believe in a power. Godless as you claim to be, you must have found something else. Strange, isn't it? We do need something."
"Yes. I believe in a power, but we exist as independent entities," Sejer said. "We don't talk to one another."
"Lonely, in other words. You can't ask for anything, you can't find fault with it and rage at it."
"So that's what you do when you say your prayers at night?"
"That, too." Skarre took a red jelly baby.
"Say a prayer for Gunder," Sejer said. He stuck his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and walked to the door. Switched off the ceiling light.
"May the force be with you," Skarre said.
***
Gunder opened the car door for Shiraz. He was now overcome with humility. Poona would have wanted him to receive her brother well. If she could see them now, see this childish defiance between them, she would have frowned. He with his clenched jaw. Shiraz with his eyes narrowed. It'll be over soon, Gunder thought; he didn't believe that fate would ever smile on him again. But he promised to try hard. They drove out of town. It was a beautiful fall day and the landscape appeared very exotic to Shiraz. Gunder started to talk. Short sentences in English that Shiraz understood. I grew up here. Lived here all my life. It's a quiet place. We all know one another. House built in 1920. Not big, but in good condition. Garden. Nice view. Very nice kitchen, he said. Shiraz kept looking out of his window.
"We have shops and a bank and a post office and a café. A school and a kindergarten. A pretty church. I want to show you the church."
Shiraz said nothing. Deep inside he must have known what Gunder was trying to do. They drove to Elvestad Church. A pretty wooden church with a gently sloping graveyard, still green and lush. There were even a few flowers here and there. The church was rather small, but it brightened up the landscape, blinding white against the dark green. Gunder stopped the car and got out. Shiraz stayed inside. But Gunder didn't give in. He was in action now, this was his last move, the last of his strength was mobilized for this one project. To keep his dead wife. He opened the door on the passenger side, stood there waiting, expectantly. Shiraz got out reluctantly. Peered out on the church and the graves.
"If Poona is allowed to stay, this is where she will lie. I will visit her grave every day. Plant and decorate with flowers. I have plenty of time. All the time I have left I will give to Poona."
Shiraz said nothing, but he was listening. He did not know if he thought the place was pretty. He looked rather surprised. Gunder started walking among the graves. Shiraz followed him at a fair distance. He saw Gunder stop by a grave and approached him cautiously.
"My mother," Gunder said. "Poona would not be alone."
Shiraz stared at the gravestone.
"Do you like it?" Gunder said, watching him. Shiraz shrugged. Gunder hated that he only shrugged. Poona never did that; she always answered clearly and precisely.
"Now we go to the house," Gunder said, and walked back to the car. He was still focused, but it sapped his strength. They pulled up in the yard. Bai looked at the garden and the view.
"Apples," Gunder said, pointing at the trees. "Very good apples."
Shiraz nodded. They went into the hall. He showed him the living room, wandered around, pointing, took him to the kitchen, the bathroom, and upstairs. There were two bedrooms. A large one, which was to have been his and Poona's, and a smaller one, which was a spare bedroom. Marie slept there when she came to visit. Used to sleep there.
"Your room. If you came to stay," Gunder said. "We wanted to invite you." Shiraz looked into the simple room. A bed was made up with a crocheted bedspread. Blue curtains and a lamp on the bedside table. If Shiraz was impressed he did not show it. They moved on to the rest of the house. Gunder wanted Shiraz to say something, but he said nothing at all. They had finished, they had been everywhere. Gunder made coffee and took some griddle cake out of the freezer. Marie had made it, using butter and sugar and cinnamon. Gunder knew they used a lot of cinnamon in India, perhaps Shiraz would like it. But he would not touch the cake. He did put a lot of sugar in his coffee and did not like that, either. Gunder felt despondent once more.
"I must take my sister home," Shiraz said. His voice was no longer hard, but it was still firm. Then Gunder gave up. He collapsed in his chair, sobbing. He did not care what this man might think. His eyes were filled with tears. He had no more words left; they were all used up. Shiraz was silent while Gunder sobbed. The wall clock ticked on relentlessly.
Gunder did not know how long he had been sitting like this. He was vaguely aware of movement on the sofa. Shiraz had gotten up. Perhaps he was going to leave the house in protest and walk the long way back into town. But that was not what he did. He walked around the house. Gunder did not mind. He could snoop all he wanted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Shiraz had found the photograph of Poona and him above the desk. Then he went out into the kitchen. Gunder remained in his armchair, tears still flowing. Shiraz was now out in the hall, then he disappeared upstairs. Gunder heard his footsteps, light, cautious steps. He came back downstairs and went out into the yard. Gunder could see him in the garden. He stood under the apple trees, taking in the view. Finally he returned. Both cups of coffee were now cold. Shiraz sat down on the edge of the sofa.
"My sister can stay," was all he said. Gunder could not believe his ears and stared at him in amazement.
"She can stay," Shiraz repeated. "And you must pay. For everything."
"Of course," Gunder stammered. "I will pay for everything. Only the best for Poona!"
He glowed with relief and leaped out of his chair. Clumsily Shiraz started to retrieve something from his shirt pocket and finally extracted an envelope. He handed it to Gunder.
"Letter from my sister. All about you," he said.
Gunder took the letter from the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper. Poona's writing, neat like embroidery with a black pen. However, he didn't understand a word of it.
"It's in Indian," he said, bewildered. "Do not understand."
"Is written in Marathi," Shiraz said. "Get someone to translate."
Then he got up and nodded to Gunder. "Back to Park Hotel" he said.
Gunder wanted to shake his hand. Shiraz hesitated, but he held out his hand, too; it was lean and bony. He squeezed slightly harder than the first time. "Very nice house," he said, bowing.