It took them two minutes to render him harmless, but they didn’t stop there. When the man dressed in paramilitary gear stumbled into the police station, pushed by a newly established group of neighborhood vigilantes, his right eye was already swollen and blue. His nose was bleeding and it looked as if his arm was broken.
He said nothing, not even when the police asked him if he needed a doctor.
TWENTY-THREE
Are you sure you don’t want to speak English?”
He shook his head. There were a couple of times when he didn’t seem to understand what she said. She repeated herself in different, simpler words. It was hard to say whether it helped. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t say much.
Aksel Seier had ordered a filet mignon and a beer. Johanne was happy with a Caesar salad and a glass of ice water. They were the only guests at The 400 Club, a rural mix between a restaurant and a diner, only seven minutes’ walk from Ocean Avenue. Aksel Seier had walked toward his pickup, then shrugged and gone on foot when Johanne insisted. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The kitchen was working on half steam. Before the food arrived on the table, Johanne had told him all about Alvhild Sofienberg, the old lady who was once so interested in Aksel Seier’s case, but then forced to drop it. And now, many years later, Alvhild wanted to find out why he had been sentenced and then released so suddenly nearly nine years later. Johanne described the futile search for the case documents. And finally, in a kind of casual postscript, she explained her own interest in the case.
The food arrived. Aksel Seier picked up his knife and fork. He ate slowly, taking time to chew. Again, he let his hair fall over his eyes. It must be an old trick; the coarse gray hair became a wall between him and her.
Uninterested, she thought. You seem completely uninterested. Why did you bother to come here with me? Why didn’t you just throw me out? I would have accepted that. Or you might listen to what I’ve got to say and then say thank you and good-bye. You could get up now. You could finish your food, accept a free meal from a past you had hidden and forgotten and then just go. It’s your right. You have used so many years trying to forget. And I’m ruining it all for you. I’m crushing you. Go.
“What do you want me to say?”
Half the meat was still on the plate. Aksel put his knife between the teeth of the fork and drank the rest of his beer. Then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
I was expecting some enthusiasm, she thought. This is absurd. Here I am thinking I’m an angel, a messenger bringing good tidings. I want… what do I want? Ever since I read your story-from the moment I realized that Alvhild was right-I’ve seen myself in the role of the fairy godmother who would right all wrongs. I would come here and tell you what you already know: that you’re innocent. You are innocent. I want to confirm that for you. I’ve come all the way from Norway and you should be… grateful. Damn it, I want some gratitude.
“I want absolutely nothing,” she said quietly. “If you want, I can go.”
Aksel smiled. His teeth were even and gray and didn’t suit his face. It was as if someone had cut out an old mouth and sewn it somewhere it didn’t belong. But he smiled and put his hands down on the table in front of him.
“I’ve dreamed about what it would be like to have…”
He searched for the right word. Johanne was unsure whether to help him or not. There was a long pause.
“Your name cleared,” she said.
“Exactly. To have my name cleared.”
He looked down at his empty glass. Johanne signalled to the waitress to bring another. She had a thousand questions, but couldn’t think of a single one.
“Why…” she started, without knowing where she was going. “Are you aware of the fact that the media was highly critical of your sentence? Did you know that several journalists mocked the prosecution and the witnesses they brought against you?”
“No.”
The smile had vanished and the lock of hair was about to fall again. But he didn’t seem aggressive nor curious. His voice was completely flat. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to the language anymore. Maybe he really had to summon up his strength to even take in what she was telling him.
“I didn’t get the papers.”
“But what about afterwards? You must have heard about it afterwards, from other people, from your fellow inmates, from…”
“I had no friends in prison. It wasn’t a very… friendly place.”
“Didn’t any journalists try to talk to you? I’ve got the clippings with me, so you can have a look. Surely some of them must have tried to contact you after you were sentenced? I’ve tried to trace the two journalists who were most critical, but unfortunately they’re both dead now. Can you remember if they tried to get an interview with you?”
The glass of beer was already half empty. He ran his finger around the rim.
“Maybe. It’s so long ago now. I thought everyone… I thought every…”
You thought that everyone was out to get you, thought Johanne. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. You walled yourself in, both physically and mentally, and didn’t trust anyone. You mustn’t trust me, either. Don’t think that I can do anything. Your case is too old. It won’t be taken up again. I’m just curious. I’ve got questions. I want to make notes. I’ve got a notebook and a tape recorder in my bag. If I get them out, there’s a risk you’ll leave. That you’ll say no. That you’ll finally realize that I’m only looking after my own interests.
“Like I said…”
She nodded at the beer glass. Did he want another? He shook his head.
“I do research. And the project I’m working on at the moment is trying to compare…”
“You’ve already told me.”
“Right. I wondered if… is it okay if I take notes?”
A large lady slapped the bill down on the table in front of Aksel. Johanne snatched it up a bit too fast. The waitress tossed her head and waddled back out to the kitchen without turning around. Aksel’s face darkened.
“I’ll pay,” he said. “Give me the bill.”
“No, no… let me. I’ll expense it… I mean, it was me who asked you out.”
“Give me that!”
She let go of the bill. It fell to the floor. He picked it up. Then he took out a worn wallet and started to count the bills.
“I might talk to you later,” he said, without looking up from the money. “I need to think about all this. How long are you here for?”
“A few days, at least.”
“A few days. Thirty-one, thirty-two…”
It was a big pile of worn bills.
“Where are you staying?”
“The Augustus Snow.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
He pushed back his chair and got up with heavy movements. Gone was the man who had climbed up a rickety ladder to switch a weathercock for a pig earlier in the day.
“Can I ask you something?” said Johanne quickly. “Just one question before you go?”
He didn’t answer, but made no effort to go.
“Did they say anything when you were released? I mean, did they give you any explanation as to what had happened? Did they tell you that you’d been pardoned or…”
“Nothing. They said nothing. I was given a suitcase to put my things in. An envelope with one hundred kroner. The address of a hostel. But they said nothing. Except, there was a man, a… he wasn’t wearing a uniform or anything like that. He just said I should keep my mouth shut and be happy. ‘Keep your mouth shut and be happy.’ I remember that sentence well. But explanation? Nope.”
Again he bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. It was horrible and made her look down. Aksel Seier walked toward the entrance and then disappeared, without waiting for her, without making any further arrangements. She twisted her water glass in her hand. She tried to formulate a thought but couldn’t.