It wasn’t what he had envisaged.
Five hours later, the family was split apart. Eva and his mother were in the hospital in Odense, and he was in a boys’ home. The congregation had taken care of matters, and this was his reward for a life spent in the shadow of the Lord.
Now all he had to do was to pay them back.
23
It was a gorgeous evening. So still and dark.
Out on the fjord, the lights of a couple of sailing boats winked, and in the meadow south of the house, the grass whispered of spring. Soon the cattle would be out to pasture and summer would be near.
This was Vibegården at its best.
He loved the place. In time, he would render the redbrick walls, demolish the boathouse to get a clear view of the fjord.
This delightful little cottage was his. He would grow old here.
He opened the door of the outbuilding, flicked on the battery lamp that hung from a post, and emptied most of a ten-liter jerrican into the tank of the generator.
He always had the feeling of a job well done by the time he reached this stage in the proceedings, when he stood and pulled on the starter cord.
He switched on the electric light and turned off the lamp. In front of him, an old monument of an oil tank told of days gone by. Now it was to be put to use again.
He stretched up to remove the metal lid that had been cut out of the top, noting that the tank seemed to be dry and had thus been properly emptied the time before. Everything was right.
Reaching up to the shelf above the door, he brought down a duffel bag. Its contents had cost him more than fifteen thousand kroner, but to him the value of what was inside was priceless. Gen HPT 54 Night Vision turned night into day. Military-grade night-vision goggles, as used in combat.
He pulled the straps over his head, adjusted the goggles, and turned them on.
Then he went outside, following the garden path through the wet undergrowth and pulling the rubber hose that protruded from a hole in the wall of the outbuilding with him to the water’s edge. With the goggles on, he could clearly see the boathouse there between the thicket and the reeds. In fact, he could see everything.
Gray-green buildings, and frogs leaping for their lives as he approached.
Apart from the gentle lapping of the fjord and the hum of the generator, all was quiet as he waded out into the water with the hose.
The generator was the weakest link. Previously, he had kept it running during the entire procedure, but after a couple of years, the axle had begun to screech after only a week in use, so now he was obliged to make this extra trip to the house in order to start it up. He was thinking of getting a new one altogether.
The water pump, on the other hand, was amazing. Before, he’d had to fill the oil tank with water by hand. He gave a nod of satisfaction as he listened to the efficient gulping of the hose above the undertone of the generator. Now it took only half an hour to fill the tank from the fjord, though still it was time spent waiting.
And then he heard the sounds from the boathouse.
Since he bought the Mercedes, those he held captive were easily surprised. It had been expensive, but comfort and a soundless engine cost. Now he could sneak up to the boathouse knowing that whoever was inside would be unaware of his presence.
And so it was now.
Samuel and Magdalena were special. Samuel, because he reminded him of himself at that age. Resilient, rebellious, and explosive. Magdalena was almost the opposite. The first time he watched her through the peephole in the boathouse wall he was astonished to discover how much she reminded him of a secret love he had once had, and of what it had led to. Events that changed his life forever. Looking at Magdalena, he remembered the girl only too well. The same eyes slanting down, the same pained expression, the same thin skin with its pattern of fine, blue veins.
Twice he had crept down to the wooden structure and peeled back the strip of tar that covered the hole.
And when he put his eye to the opening, he could see everything inside. The children a couple of meters apart. Samuel at the rear, Magdalena by the door.
Magdalena cried a lot, though quietly. When her frail shoulders began to tremble in the dim light, her brother tugged at his leather strap to catch her attention so that she might find comfort in the warmth of his gaze.
He was her big brother and would do everything in his power to release her from her chains, but he was powerless. And for that reason he too cried, though he wouldn’t show it. His sister wasn’t to see. He turned his head away for a moment, composed himself, and then looked at her again, clowning with his head and jerking his upper body.
Just like him and his sister when he imitated Chaplin.
He had heard the muffled sound of Magdalena laughing behind her tape. The smallest, briefest of laughs, after which reality and fear returned. This evening, as he came to quench their thirst one final time, he heard the girl humming ever so gently to herself even from a distance.
He put his ear to the planks of the boathouse wall. Even with the tape covering her mouth, her voice was clear and bright. He knew the words, for they had followed him throughout his own childhood, and he hated every one.
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!
E’en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer, my God, to thee!
Cautiously, he removed the tar and put his goggles to the peephole.
Her head was bent forward, her shoulders drooping, making her seem smaller than she was. Her body swayed gently from side to side in time to the hymn.
And when she had finished, she sat back, drawing in air through her nostrils. Short, sharp inhalations. As with small, frightened animals, one could almost see how fast her heart had to pump in order to keep up with her thoughts, her thirst, her hunger, and the fear of what was to come. He turned his green gaze to Samuel and realized immediately that the boy had not succumbed in the same way as his sister.
He sat wriggling his upper body against the sloping wall. And this time he wasn’t clowning around.
This was the sound he had heard, which at first he had taken to be simply more discord from the generator.
It was obvious what he was trying to do from the way he rubbed the strap against the planks of the wall behind him, struggling to wear down the leather.
Perhaps he had found some little projection in the wood, a knot rough enough to provide the necessary friction.
Now he saw the boy’s face more clearly. Was he smiling? Had he made enough progress to make him smile?
The girl coughed. The damp nights had worn her down.
How frail the body is, he thought to himself as she cleared her throat behind the tape and began once again to hum.
He felt a shock. The hymn was a fixture of the funeral services his father had conducted.
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.
He turned in disgust and went back to the outbuilding, where he pulled two heavy chains a meter and a half in length from a nail in the wall, then found two padlocks in the drawer underneath the workbench. The last time he had been here, he had noticed that the leather straps around the waists of the children had looked slightly worn, but then they had been used so often before. If Samuel carried on working as intensely as he was doing now, reinforcements would be needed.