“Must be a message from above,” Skarre commented when the ceremony was over and they hurried back to the Volvo to seek shelter from the rain. “It’s been the driest and warmest autumn in memory. But today there’s a downpour.”
“What did you think of the priest?” Sejer asked. “Did he pass?”
Skarre closed the car door and dried the rain from his face.
“The priest was excellent,” he said. “A pillar of strength. Nicolai would have liked him. No avoidance or vague explanations, just the truth, and that’s the way it should be. Not even the pouring rain put him off his stride. To be honest, the stormy weather seemed quite appropriate today. What about you?” he added. “Do you feel guilty?”
“Yes,” Sejer replied. “I should have heard the alarm bells; I should have heard them and done something.”
He put a Fisherman’s Friend in his mouth and ran his fingers through his wet, coarse hair.
“He said it outright, that he wouldn’t be present at the court hearing. Then he left the apartment and went straight to the ever-after. I’ll never forgive myself.”
He stared glumly at his younger colleague. His eyes pleaded with Skarre for understanding.
“Console yourself with the fact that you would only have managed to delay it for a while,” he said in a comforting tone. “It would only have happened later. I believe that suicide is like a ticking bomb in the genes. Sooner or later it will explode and nothing in the world can stop it.”
“Thank you for that. I’ll still always feel guilty, though. But I’ll just have to live with that.”
“Everyone lives with guilt,” Skarre stated. “Welcome to the club.”
“Well, you’ll have to file a complaint with God,” Sejer commented.
“Come on, God can’t be responsible for everything. We humans have to take some responsibility too.”
“But isn’t He the almighty? Isn’t that the point of it all?”
“Yes,” Skarre conceded. “But I could talk forever about His inscrutable ways. I’m pretty unflappable, and you will never make me lose hope. The explanation will come,” he claimed.
“On the Day of Judgment, you mean?”
“Yes, why not? And you know, there’s an explanation for everything we wonder about, for all the mysteries. There is an answer. Does God exist or doesn’t He? Is there life after death or not? Everything can be answered with a simple yes or no. Imagine.”
“Good of you to simplify things,” Sejer said, “but I just can’t bring myself to believe it. We’ll never get those answers. When did you become so sure of God’s existence?”
“Oh, I’ve never been certain,” Skarre quickly assured him.
“But you said you believed?”
“I believe, but I don’t know; that’s something different. It would be easier, of course, if I experienced a miracle. It wouldn’t need to be a big one. But I’ve never really been the type for absolute certainty. And anyway, doubt makes us human.”
Sejer didn’t sleep well that night.
He tossed and turned, pushing the comforter away because he was too hot and pulling it up again because he got too cold. He kept changing positions and could not settle. And finally with the first light he sank into the restless world of dreams. He dreamed that he was running for his life through dry sand. Behind him, his pursuer had a gun; he could make out a figure in black with a hood and flapping coattails. He could clearly hear him breathing, and every now and then the man gave a kind of low, terrifying growl that scared the living daylights out of him. When he turned around to see who it was, he discovered that the white face beneath the hood was not a human face but a clock face, and that the hands were pointing to twelve. He kicked up clouds of sand in panic. But instead of moving forward, he just dug himself deeper and deeper into the sand dunes. A bullet would hit him at any second, through the left-hand side of his back, shredding his heart. Blood would flow and death would be upon him. But despite the panic, somewhere deep inside there was a rumble that this was perhaps just a dream and nothing to worry about. Still he scrambled to get away. Fascinating, all the layers between being awake and deep sleep, he mused once awake. Feeling agitated and tired, he leaned over the edge of the bed and looked down at Frank.
“That was a bad dream,” he said and groaned. Frank opened his eyes, stood up, and trotted to the head of the bed. He got a rub behind the ear and then went and lay down again. Sejer fell back to sleep, only to dream the same dream again. The feeling of kicking helplessly in the dry sand without being able to move made him panic. Later, when he woke up for the second time, he wondered what the dream might mean. There was something fateful about it, he thought, because the clock hands showed twelve. That meant that time was out — could that be it? Was his subconscious trying to tell him there was no hope? That the dizziness was his final fate? He tossed the comforter to one side and put his feet on the floor. I guess I’m ill, he thought disconsolately, and felt a sharp pain in his chest. And yes, it was the left side. Could there be something wrong with his heart? he wondered. Was his life about to collapse? He went over to the window and looked out at the town blanketed in darkness. And he was struck by a melancholy thought. He would never know the answers to life’s great questions, and God would never reveal Himself to him. But we’re modest, aren’t we? he said to Frank. I would be happy with a burning bush.
39
When the day finally came that Dr. Chen called him with the MRI results, he was on his way back to the car after a short trip into the town center. His senses were so clear that day, as if everything was for the last time. November with its bare branches and soft drizzle, the smell of wet leaves, heavy leaden clouds, birds migrating south in great skeins across the gray sky. He noticed an Opel with dirty windows, an old man in an electric wheelchair whirring along the pavement, a teenager on a bike. He saw all these things with crystal clarity. He sprinted back to the car, let Frank into the back, and then settled in the driver’s seat. He put the phone to his ear, aware of his accelerating heartbeat.
“We’ve found something,” Dr. Chen said. “Are you sitting down?”
The words vibrated in the air. Her voice was remarkably neutral, which immediately made him nervous. That’s not what you were supposed to say, he thought. You were supposed to say everything is fine, that I’m perfectly healthy and that life will go on. You were supposed to say it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and that it is all over now. That I can breathe out again.
“What kind of something?” he asked in a thin voice. He, the detective inspector who normally spoke in a clear bass, was whispering like a girl.
“Acusticus neurinoma,” Chen replied. As if the diagnosis was the most natural thing in the world.
“I see,” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t speak Latin. What is that in everyday language?”
“I know,” she apologized. “I was just quoting from the letter from the hospital. An acoustic tumor is a benign tumor and is generally located in the inner ear. It presses against the vestibular, or balance nerve, which is why you get so dizzy. Have you noticed any hearing loss?”
He had to think for a moment. Yes, maybe, a little in the right ear, but his anxiety about the dizziness had overshadowed it.
“A tumor,” he hesitated. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, no, everything should be fine,” Chen reassured him. “It is in all likelihood benign. But it won’t be smooth sailing. You see, it’s not going to be easy to remove it as it’s in the inner ear, which is very delicate. In other words, it’s hard to get to it.”
“Do I have to have an operation?” he asked in alarm.
The electric wheelchair was approaching his car. The old man didn’t even bother to look at him; he was obviously on an urgent mission.