' "Then I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated.
'"Yes," I replied. "You'll see me. Thank you for calling. Goodnight."'
Alvar smiles a feeble smile.
'So what did you do once you had hung up?' he asks.
'I stood there for a long time trying to get my breathing under control,' I say. 'And my fear, which had held me in its vice for so long, finally let me go. Because I had avoided death by answering the telephone. I had given myself a rain check, I had plans. So I went to the garage. I tore loose the tubes, fetched my bedlinen and carried it upstairs. I lay down in my bed under the floral duvet. Whisky and exhaustion made me fall asleep instantly. And when I woke up the next morning everything felt strange.'
'In what way strange?' Alvar wants to know.
'The sun was so yellow,' I say. 'The light was so bright. It was an extra day, a very special day. A day I was not meant to have, and it felt wondrous. I had come back into the light after such a long time in the dark. I went out and started the car. K. D. Lang sang "Hallelujah", and it was entirely appropriate. And I walked with my friend in the woods. We talked about all sorts of things. And when we said goodbye, he wanted to fix another time, of course. And so it continued until I had returned to life completely.'
I look at Alvar across the table. 'And now,' I say, 'I want a promise from you. We can't say goodbye like this.'
'I don't have a friend who'll call me in the evening,' he says and looks down.
'But you have me,' I say. 'And I want to see you again. Come back to me when it's all over. We need to end this properly, we've known each other more than a year, I think I deserve that. With friendship,' I add, 'with friendship comes obligation; you, too, have to give something up when I ask you.'
Again he hides his face in his hands. But then he removes them and manages a brave smile.
'Alvar,' I say earnestly, 'you're not going to let me down, are you?'
CHAPTER 26
All day Saturday he stumbled around in a distracted and distressed state of mind. The modest universe which was Alvar, a normally very steady and controlled human being, was experiencing a frantic, turbulent rebellion. It raged through him, it tore him to pieces, a frenzy which whipped him from room to room. He staggered from the kitchen into the living room, from the living room to the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror, pale with fear. He hunched over the sink, clinging to the porcelain basin. He prayed to God, whom he did not even believe in, he prayed for help, for relief and forgiveness, he prayed for a way out, he prayed for mercy. At the same time he felt deeply ashamed of this pathetic manoeuvre, but he had no one else to turn to. He did not even have a family he could bring shame on. A war was being waged inside his muddled head. He would have to go through everything that was about to happen on his own and people would read the newspapers and judge him. Because now he could see how absurd his actions had been.
Finally he collapsed onto his bed after several hours of manic pacing round the flat. He stayed there staring at the wall while he wrung his fingers till they nearly broke. Whimpering sounds came from his mouth, from time to time a hoarse sigh, noises he did not have the strength to suppress. So he lay, hour after hour. He only got up to use the loo or to fetch himself a glass of water, which he would gulp down with trembling hands. He waited, he listened. He tried to calm his frantic heart, but it beat unruly behind his ribs. It continued to rain, but it was easing off. A few faint noises from outside penetrated the bedroom, he was listening out for cars. So he lay, trapped, gripped by fear. He wanted to switch on the radio to find out if she had been found, but he did not have the courage. He was hyperventilating and he felt dizzy. He also felt hungry, but he couldn't manage to eat anything. The doorbell would ring, he didn't know when, but the doorbell would ring soon and there would be someone outside who would point the finger at him.
The hours ticked by so slowly. Now and then he would doze off for a few minutes only to wake with a gasp. He kept seeing her, her tiny body by the path. Like a parcel someone has discarded, alone and abandoned in the rain. He curled up in agony. Pulled up his knees, tucked his hands under them and locked them; he lay like a convulsing knot of bones and muscles. How cruel life could be. What a coward he was, he could not take this like a man. All he felt was guilt and shame, and a degree of self-hatred that made him want to throw up. An inferior human being, that was what he was. Something pathetic, something worthless. Here he was lying curled up and whimpering like a baby, when what he ought to do was make a telephone call and get it over with. I need to rest, he thought, tossing and turning in his bed, I need to rest. I must gather strength for everything that's to come. I mustn't explain it away, I need to tell it like it is. Even though the truth is odious. How will I be able to carry this burden? I'm already broken. Someone who never pays their way, a stowaway, you could say. The world is filled with suffering and I've never done anything to alleviate it. Other people act, others rush in when disaster strikes. I stand in the wings and shudder. And he lay beating himself up the whole day, it was as if he was flagellating himself till his blood started flowing, he wanted to atone. The light faded and evening approached. The room was filled with shadows and whispering voices. Look, there's Alvar Eide, he's an idiot. They pointed their fingers at him, they snickered, they whispered nasty comments to each other, a swarm of accusations whirled around him from all directions. He fell asleep in the early-morning hours only to wake up with a scream after a series of nightmares. It grew light again, but he could not get out of bed. Today's Sunday, he thought, a day of rest. The worst day of my life.
Then the shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the rooms. Even though he had been expecting it, even though he was prepared, a jolt of fear, so forceful he could not help but call out, shot through him. They were here already, perhaps there were many of them. But he hadn't heard a car, he didn't understand that. He got out of bed and stumbled out into the hall. His shirt was crumpled and hung loosely over his trousers. His throat felt tight and he did not know for certain if he would be able to say anything. It's starting now, he thought. The nightmare. Then he opened the door. Green was outside waving the Sunday paper.
'Have you seen this?'
Alvar stared at the paper, which his neighbour was holding up in front of his face, a picture of a young, smiling girl with thin, blonde hair. She seemed familiar. Of course she was familiar. But in the picture she was happy, with round cheeks he had never seen her like this.
'Katrine Kjelland,' Green said, tapping the picture with his finger. 'Found dead up at the viewpoint yesterday morning. Wrapped in a blanket. Would you believe it?'
The newspaper flapped in Green's hand. Alvar swallowed hard.
'Katrine?' he asked, perplexed.
'She must have been murdered,' his neighbour went on. 'You know her, don't you? She was always coming to see you. The last time I saw her here was Friday, she came to your door.'
Green stood rocking backwards and forwards on the doorstep, his blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
Alvar was unable to reply. His knees started to tremble; he instinctively planted a hand on the wall to steady himself.
'You must call them,' Green said, his voice sounding a little too enthusiastic, 'the police are asking the public to help them. Have you phoned them?'
Alvar shook his head. He wanted to reply, but he still couldn't locate his voice.
'For God's sake, you have to ring them! They need all the information they can get, and she has been coming to see you for months. What's wrong with you, are you ill? You're white as a sheet.'
Green lowered the newspaper and scrutinised him.