Authors: Karin Fossum
'Were there any episodes you found particularly difficult when you were growing up?' he asked. 'It's quite all right to talk about such things.'
Brein gave him a despondent look. 'Everything was difficult,' he said. 'It was when I entered my teens that the trouble really started. Isn't it about time you got yourself a girlfriend, young man? You know what aunts and uncles are like.'
'I do.'
'So, of course, I was isolated,' Brein went on. 'I didn't fit in. I spent a lot of time on my own. Besides, I felt deeply ashamed about it all. People can't be serious when they tell us we need to come forward with our feelings, they've no idea how bad it is.'
'Yes,' Sejer said. 'I have an idea how bad it is.'
'I can only dream about what the rest of you take for granted,' Brein said.
'No one can take love for granted,' Sejer corrected him.
'No?'
'The world is full of people who watch the happiness of others from the sidelines.'
Brein rolled his eyes. 'Look around you,' he snorted. 'There are couples everywhere, walking down the street wrapped around each other; I can hardly bear to look at them.'
'Many walk alone,' Sejer countered. 'You're not the only one who is single. But perhaps you harbour an illusion that everyone else is granted everything their heart desires. It's not like that. What was your childhood like?'
'It was bad,' Brein said bitterly. 'And I don't mean to make excuses for myself, but it's only right that someone should know how bad it was. Perhaps you think my parents used to beat me, but they never raised a hand to me, it was far worse. There was coldness and hostility. My mum was always angry, it poured out of her in one constant, nagging stream. And she made so much noise, she slammed doors, she stomped around the house, her backside was the size of a rhinoceros. And she had a bizarre notion that you should always tell the truth, because she didn't want to be two-faced. So she always spoke her mind. It was the truth at all costs, in every situation. The truth in the shop, the truth across the fence to the neighbour, to door-to-door salesmen and to me. That I wasn't much to look at, that I wasn't all that bright. She scolded me and my dad. He would jump at the smallest chance to get out of the house. He would invent errands because he couldn't cope with her ranting. And they looked odd, the pair of them. Mum's build was coarse, loud and masculine, while dad was delicate and effeminate. It was like something was always brewing in the house, if you get my drift. And sometimes she would lock me out. I mean if I came home late, if she had told me a time and I had missed it, then I had to sit on the doorstep until she deigned to let me in. She would look at me, feign surprise and say, what are you doing out here? One winter, I actually froze to the top step. Another time I gave up thinking she would let me in at all, so I went down to the cellar. I spent the night there on some old sacks.' He let his hands flop helplessly. 'That was tough for a small boy.'
'Is she still alive?' Sejer asked.
'She got cancer,' he said. 'Her body was riddled with it, tumours everywhere. One of them was in the corner of her eye, it was pressing on her eye, it was disgusting. It looked like it might explode at any time. I didn't know where to look. You might say she was being punished for her neglect and betrayal, because she lay there for over a year, in great pain. I don't know how many hours I spent by her bedside, waiting. Listening to her breathing and hoping with all my heart that she would die. But she always pulled through and there would be more moaning and pain. I remember her last moments vividly. I was dozing on a chair. Suddenly she opened her eyes and screamed 'That's enough!' She twitched one last time and then she was gone.'
'How did you relieve your desire?' Sejer asked. 'I presume you found a way?'
He folded his hands on the table. His fingers were long and thin with sharp knuckles.
'I used pictures which I found in magazines, pictures of young boys. In PJs or swimming trunks. I made do with that. But once I was an adult I took a decision. I was adamant that I would have a proper life, like everyone else. I wanted to be like everyone else, it was crucial to me. I have some relatives up north, in Kirkenes. On a trip to see them I met a Russian lady. A lot of Russians cross the border for all sorts of reasons, but Irina had come to sell embroideries. Russian women really know how to sew.'
He glanced quickly up at Sejer as though looking for signs of contempt, but all he found was gravity and patience.
'We got talking,' he said, 'and I offered to buy her a cup of tea, and we talked for hours. Three months later we were married, and we had two daughters.'
'Are you still in touch with them?'
'No.'
'Have you tried to stay in touch?'
'Yes, of course, I have no one else. But I think Irina must have painted me in a bad light because they don't seem to be very interested. I wonder what she has told them. I haven't dared ask.'
'What are they called? How old are they?'
'Rita and Nadia, they're nineteen and twenty-two.'
'Do you miss them?'
Brein sighed. 'You know how it is. They don't want to know someone like me. They're great girls, but it's best that I stay away.'
'Is that what you think? That you should hide away?'
'Yes,' he replied, 'that's what I think. And that's what you think, too. People would drive us into the sea, given the chance.'
Sejer looked at him calmly. 'There are clear reasons why you have developed this tendency,' he said, 'and it hasn't been established yet whether you need to be ashamed of it. A few things have been beyond your control; that applies to all of us. However, it could be argued, as far as the law is concerned, that you have a duty to take some precautions. And you didn't take them, did you?' Sejer looked at him closely. 'Jonas August is dead.'
Brein nodded. 'I just can't bear it,' he whispered.
'What happened to your marriage?' Sejer asked.
'It went down the drain, obviously,' he said. 'You know I had other needs. I felt I was playing a game, that I was false and miserable. And Irina felt neglected. So a distance was created between us and it grew over the years. I suppressed my real feelings until I was worn out. You don't know what it's like,' he groaned. 'It's exhausting.'
Sejer nodded.
'One morning she packed her suitcase and left,' he said, 'and I was all alone again. It was as if all ties were severed, I was cut adrift, I had nothing to hold on to. I was furious and angry and scared, I couldn't see straight. Other people don't have to worry,' he said. 'They're proud of how they feel, they think their feelings are good. That's what I think of mine. I would sit in my car and watch the kids from afar, while I daydreamed and fantasised.'
'You used to wait outside Solberg School, didn't you?'
'Yes. I liked the moment when the bell went and they poured out into the playground, like sweets out of a bag.'
'But you never touched them,' Sejer said. 'You only rolled down your window and talked to them?'
'I restrained myself,' Brein said. 'I'm forty-seven years old and I've always restrained myself. I just want you to know that.'
'You never invited them into your car?'
'I didn't dare,' he said. 'I couldn't trust myself completely. I would drive home and sit alone in my living room, alone with my longing. It's hard. It's like something inside is eating you up.'
'What was your job? Before you started receiving benefits?'
'I was a care assistant,' Brein said. 'I used to look after people. I really liked my job, I felt I mattered. But then the accident happened. I was knocked down on a crossing and injured. That was eight years ago. Since then I've spent a lot of time indoors. My only social life is the odd trip to the shops. And I watch telly all the time.'
'What was different about Jonas August?' Sejer asked. 'You finally made a choice; you invited him into your car. Tell me about it.'
Brein gripped the table.
'Yes,' he said. 'I'll tell you how it was. I'm fed up with all these rumours, that I'm a serial killer and worse, there are no limits to the stories in the papers. I drove around aimlessly. It wasn't the case that I had a plan, but I had a moment of weakness. I had passed Solberg Hill, I had just reached the forest and it was very quiet. No people, no cars, just green fields of kale. There is little traffic on that stretch of the road. I passed a few farms and houses, but apart from that I felt all alone. By that I mean all alone in the world. Anyone who is different is also lonely. For ever. I drove quite slowly, and I thought how lovely the scenery was. Perhaps you don't think people like me notice those kinds of things, that we only have one thing on our minds, but that's not the case.'
'Don't underestimate me,' Sejer said.
Brein looked up with a sudden smile. His smile made his eyes shine. It softened his features, and in a flash Sejer saw that there was another side to Brein. A side which would seem appealing to a child.
'I spotted a small boy in red shorts,' he said. 'He was walking on the right hand side of the road and he was holding a stick. I was struck by the thought that the boy belonged to me, that providence had sent him and that I would finally be granted what I had longed for my whole life. I noticed how skinny he was, almost fragile, like spun sugar. We were at the bottom of the hill. When he heard the car, he stopped and stepped on to the verge while staring at me with his huge blue eyes. You know how kids stare at you, they ignore all boundaries. Do you know that feeling?'
'I do,' Sejer said.
' "You got far to go?" I asked him. He shook his head. "I live just up there," he said, "at the top of the hill, in the white house with the veranda." "Would you do me a favour?" I asked him, and yes, he would be happy to. I told him that the engine was playing up, that I had to look under the bonnet. Please would he get in and press the accelerator? He nodded enthusiastically. He threw the stick aside and got into the driver's seat. He struggled to reach the accelerator, but he was so proud of the job he had been entrusted with, and when he had revved the engine for a while and I had checked that everything was working all right, I offered to drive him home. Saves you having to walk up that hill, I tempted him. He thought about it for a while, as if he was weighing up the pros and cons. I could see how his mother's warnings were going through his head, but I flashed him my most brilliant smile and it made him drop his guard. He shifted over to the passenger side. And I was where I had always wanted to be: alone with a small boy. And it was overwhelming.' Brein paused. His gaze had reached the camera in the ceiling and his eyes filled with indignation.
'I asked him what his name was. Jonas August Løwe. A handsome name for a handsome boy, I said. That made him laugh a little, he was proud of his name, that was clear to see. I made him feel at ease and you may not believe me, but that's what I wanted to do.'
'I believe you,' Sejer said.
'Why don't we go for a ride? I suggested. Let's see what this old banger is good for. I pretended to be in a good mood. He agreed. He had no other plans and I could feel that he liked me, kids do, I'm good at talking to them, I make them feel they matter. I never experienced that feeling myself when I was a boy. Shortly afterwards we passed his house and he pointed out of the window. That's our house, he said, that's where I live with my mum. I raced brazenly past the house. It was him and me, and nothing could stop me now. You should have seen him when we reached Granås, he was trailing me like a puppy.'
Brein looked up. He had talked himself warm and the nervous twitches had subsided.
'He spotted the wheelchair the moment we entered the living room. Yes, it used to be Mum's, you've probably guessed that by now, I haven't got round to returning it. He asked if he could have a go and I said yes. So he rolled up and down the living room while I watched him from the sofa. He had a great time with that chair. You can imagine how kids are fascinated by such things. I told him I could teach him to balance on two wheels, if he wanted me to. I was getting really excited, I don't mind admitting that, I had never been so close to a boy, but I was also getting desperate. I could tell where this was going and I was scared the people in the farmhouse might be able to see us, you know, the farmer who is my landlord, or his wife. Or his daughters, he's got four of them, or even the Poles in the barn. So I hardly dared breathe.'