“Before,” he started, and had to clear his throat. “Before Tommy was born and it was just the two of us, we used to have lots of parties. The house was full of people and music and laughter. Then suddenly you didn’t want people to come here anymore. You didn’t want people to see him. You might as well tell the truth, because I know anyway.”
Carmen dropped the knife and looked at him. “Stop talking like that! You have no idea what it’s like when people stare; I couldn’t stand it! Having to explain the whole time and answer questions. Can he do this and can he do that and what about the future — so just stop it! Things are bad enough as they are, and you’re making them worse.”
She collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table and hid her face in her hands. He couldn’t bring himself to comfort her, so he went over to the stove and took the pan off the burner.
“You didn’t like it either,” she said and dried her tears. “You didn’t really like the fact he was the way he was. You just didn’t want to admit it. Whatever you think, you’re no better than me.”
She got up again and added the chopped onion to the pan.
She turned around and looked him straight in the eye one last time. “You’ve been behaving like you’re the only victim the whole time,” she snapped. “So may I remind you that there are two of us. I’ve lost my little boy as well and I’ll never get over it. You can sit down now,” she added. “Supper is almost ready. That’s if you’re going to allow yourself to have food at all.”
24
After questioning Nicolai, Sejer walked along the promenade by the river in the low afternoon sun. His dog was busy looking for some sort of trophy as usual, something he could present to his master. Often it was a stick, but sometimes it was an empty cigarette pack or a banana skin — the sort of thing that people drop as they wander nonchalantly through the town. He would carry the small treasure in his mouth for the rest of the walk, trotting through the streets with his head held high, so very proud. He would carry his precious find all the way back to the apartment, where he would immediately set about to ripping it to shreds.
The river flowed heavy and silently. Sejer stared at the swirling currents and felt soothed by the running water. He always did because water put out the fire that burned in his heart. A couple of swans watched him from the bank with their black beady eyes but soon lost interest and swam out onto the water. Frank had already found his trophy for the day. It was a yellow pacifier, and he looked pretty comical with it in his mouth. It would come home with them, where he would break it up into its separate components: the rubber, the plastic ring, the cover. Sejer felt dizzy. Not alarmingly so. Just a hint, a reminder of the situation. I’m a slowpoke, he thought. Must be my age. As he walked, he admired the boats moored in a row along the river, from modest wooden boats to more luxurious cruisers. When he got to Skutebrygga, he spotted an empty table and sat down by the water. He decided to treat himself to a beer in the sun, to enjoy the last remnants of summer. The fountain in the river that normally spouted out water in high elegant arcs had been dismantled, and he realized he missed it. He felt lightheaded again and forced himself to sit still in the chair. The dizziness came and went but was getting stronger now. The thought of falling to the floor in a café in the middle of town did not appeal to him. He picked up his beer and drank in careful sips. He thought about Carmen and her latest statement. It was so remarkable that it could well be true, because, after all, reality was complex and anything was possible. He also worried about Tommy as he sat there with his ice-cold beer — that he might never find out the truth.
25
Dear diary,
What people don’t know won’t hurt them. I live by that simple rule, because I think it’s true and pretty well said, don’t you think? And right now up at Granfoss it’s still warm. What a long, hot summer! All the flowers around the house have died. I haven’t had the energy to keep them alive. There’s no tap outside and it’s so heavy carrying the water out. There are dry yellow patches on the lawn and it doesn’t look particularly nice. We need rain by the cloud-load for things to grow. And no, I don’t feel I’m to blame. But Nicolai is so full of accusations, and to tell the truth, he’s losing it. Every day when I come into the living room in the morning, I see his whiskey glass on the table. And it doesn’t bother him that I see. He’s not ashamed. If this is a war, then I’ll win. Because unlike Nicolai, I’m a survivor, and I’m proud of that.
26
Pappa Zita was a kind and generous man and he really loved the two youngsters. He felt that they were under his wing and that he was responsible for them. And now he wanted to give them a vacation. It was of course well meant, but a trip to the Mediterranean to help them forget was not something Nicolai believed would work. He couldn’t run away from his grief; the idea was impossible.
“Well, take your grief with you, then,” Carmen said, exasperated, “if you need to have it close by at all times. I don’t understand you. Surely forgetting is a good thing.”
He didn’t answer. Yes, the grief would follow them. The loss of Tommy was like a constant scream in his befuddled brain. He tried to be kind and cooperative — arguing just made things worse — and there had been enough tears and suffering now, surely. They had to get on with their lives, despite all that had happened. He was painfully aware of this, but deep in his heart, he didn’t want to go on. Only when his grief was at its most intense was he close to Tommy; if he opened his life to joy again, his boy would slip from his arms and disappear. The thought of living the rest of his life without Tommy left him weak and breathless. He spent a lot of time in the cellar. He liked being down there in the semi-dark with the broken bicycles. It was cool and pleasant, and he didn’t like the heat. It only made him tired and listless. He never had enough energy, whereas it was so much easier for Carmen. Everything was easier for her. And that was exactly what he had fallen for once upon a time — that she was always upbeat and always found a solution. She could cry like a baby one minute, and then suddenly be happy and forget her woes the next. He had fallen for her ability to survive. He had seen it as a great strength, something that impressed him both in body and soul. Now it bothered him that she was taking Tommy’s death so lightly. That she wanted to move so quickly, that she wanted to forget: the crib in the cellar, the clothes out of the drawers into garbage bags and all the way to the thrift shop. Other unknown children would play in Tommy’s clothes, laugh and cry in his onesies, sleep on his pillow, under his comforter. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. One day he noticed to his horror that the beautiful photograph of their boy had been taken down from its place above the sofa. He stopped in his tracks and put his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing; he was dismayed.
“There’s no need to get so wound up,” Carmen said. “I’ve just moved it. It’s hanging in the bedroom now, above our bed. Isn’t that better? Now we can look up at his smiling face before we go to sleep. Get over it; I meant well.”