She had taken her cardigan off in the car and no one could face nagging her anymore about her unsuitable outfit. Her strong will drained them all. Silent and tense, Nicolai went to the front pew on the left-hand side. He let Carmen sit down first and then took his place. Marian and Elsa followed behind. While they sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, he was assailed by a sudden panic attack. His panic made him gasp for air. Who was actually in the white coffin? Was it really Tommy, or had they made a mistake? A fateful mix-up at the last moment. Was it a baby they didn’t know? He had heard about things like that, and now he broke into a cold sweat. Had everything been done correctly? Or had they been sloppy and too quick at some point? People made mistakes, just as they had with Tommy. They hadn’t kept an eye on him, hadn’t built a fence. The thoughts roared in his head and he could not sit still. He jumped up from the pew and went over to the coffin, looking at the two undertakers with pleading eyes.
“I want to see him,” he said, determined. “I want to see my son.”
Carmen was horrified. She sat there, pulling down her short dress and feeling embarrassed in front of all the people who had come. Mortified at the outburst that she could not control.
“We haven’t got time for this now,” she whispered from where she was sitting. “Come and sit down. People are starting to arrive, so we have to sit still.” But the two people from Sentrum nodded. Finally someone was on his side. It would take quite a lot to throw them for a loop. They had been in the business for a long time, and the father had every right to see his dead child for the last time. So they stepped forward and lifted off the lid. Nicolai stood beside the coffin and held his breath. Yes, it was his Tommy, but a more pale and aged version of his son who was so full of life. Dry. Cold. Sunken. His lips were without color; the thin blond tufts of hair had been combed to one side. And he knew that under the clothes there was a seam from his neck down, because they had opened him up. Maybe his liver and kidneys were missing. Maybe he was lying there without a heart. He thought that the blue onesie was very baggy. But the sight of his son’s teddy bear calmed him, lying there in the crook of his arm.
“Carmen,” he called quietly. “You have to come and see.”
She hesitated before standing up, as if something was holding her back. Then she reluctantly walked the few steps needed and stared down at her dead child with a pained expression.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s lovely. Like I always said.”
Nicolai stood for a while in silence.
“Did you?” he asked in a bitter voice. “I’ve never heard that.”
He touched the white cheek.
“He’s freezing,” he said to Carmen. “Feel.”
18
There’s something good about funerals, Sejer thought to himself afterward. Something healing, final, a sense of closure. Even if the deceased was a child. Even if the deceased has been killed — yes, even if the death was a catastrophe. Even Elise’s funeral had felt good. Heart-rending but good. The swell of the organ and the candles, the priest’s consoling voice, the liturgy. All the flowers, the most beautiful wreaths in the world. The pews full of mourning people, elegantly dressed, silent and pious. Friendly hands stroking a cheek and good, warm embraces, observant eyes. Psalms, the most sublime thing he knew. I know a castle in heaven above. The sun streaming in through the stained-glass windows instilled a special peace in one’s soul. But then there was God and heaven, and that was more problematic. He glanced at his colleague Skarre, who was sitting beside him in the Volvo.
“Good,” was all he said.
“Mm,” was Skarre’s response. “Can you stop here by the kiosk? My blood sugar is low. I need candy.”
Sejer swung to the side and parked the car but left the engine running. Then he sat and waited for his younger colleague. He hadn’t felt dizzy for a long time; that was a good sign. Maybe it’s passed, he thought hopefully. After all, some things do just pass. Small everyday miracles, false alarms. A little girl on a yellow bicycle rolled into the square in front of the kiosk, and he sat and watched her. She leaned her bike up against the wall and disappeared through the door, probably to buy candy. Children were insatiable when it came to candy. He wondered why. Then Skarre came out and got into the car, and they drove back onto the road. Skarre opened the bag and mumbled to himself.
“Oh damn,” he said. “I meant to get jelly beans.”
Sejer glanced over and saw some colorful jelly figures through the plastic.
“And is that not what you’ve got there?”
Skarre shook his head. “No, these are sour monsters. And that’s not what I wanted. I took the wrong bag.”
“But they’re jelly as well?” Sejer suggested. “They certainly look like they’re jelly. Is it a problem? Should I turn around?”
“No, heavens. I’ll just have to live with it this once.”
They drove on for a while in silence, and Skarre popped a sour jelly-bean substitute in his mouth. He smacked his lips and made a face. “Well, they’re certainly sour. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”
“Have you always believed in God?” Sejer asked, changing gears.
Skarre held the bag out to him, but Sejer shook his head. “Oh yes,” Skarre replied. “Remember, my father was a priest. It’s in my blood. What about you? Have you always been godless?”
“You make it sound like a swear word,” Sejer commented. “But yes, no one in my house believed in anything at all. Sorry to be nosy, but I’m just curious. When little toddlers drown in a pond, it’s hard to believe there’s a meaning. That’s all really. And according to your faith, everything has a meaning; isn’t that right? That’s what I’ve always struggled to understand.”
He rummaged in the center console for his sunglasses. He found them and put them on, and turned on his right blinker.
Skarre took another sour monster and chewed it slowly.
“Yes, it’s not easy, I have to admit. And to be honest, I sometimes falter too. But doubt is an important part of faith; that’s all there is to it. And unlike you, I at least have somewhere to go with my complaints. Others flail around without focus, but I couldn’t take that. I need a wailing wall.”
“Fair enough,” Sejer said. “You’ve got a point.”
He stopped at a red light and they waited.
“So, you’ve complained to God about the loss of Tommy? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I have,” Skarre said. “I’ve had my say.”
The light changed to green and Sejer drove through the intersection, the Volvo engine purring.
“And do you believe in eternal life?”
Skarre looked over at the detective inspector, and a grin spread across his face. “So, is this an interrogation?”
“Sorry,” Sejer said as he turned on his left blinker. “I’m just curious. When I think of all the catastrophes, it’s difficult not to ask questions. Drought, war, and lack of food. Natural disasters and disease, pain and desperation. Mothers who kill their children,” he said and gave Skarre a stern look.
“Yes,” Skarre replied, “they’re the usual arguments. I struggle with those things too, if you want to know.”
Then there was silence in the car again. After a while Skarre spoke.
“That was quite an outfit she was wearing. Carmen, I mean. I’ve never seen such a short dress in my life. And she could barely walk on those heels. But she’s good at crying; I’ll give her that. Your phone’s ringing,” he added. “Is your hearing getting bad?”