Takingit as the most natural thing in the world, the two of them repeated therendezvous the very next week. Now, three years later, they no longer needed tomake any written arrangements; they just met in his flat at the same time,every Friday morning at half past eleven. They had no other contact apart fromthis visit, triggered and maintained by the same rather painful longing for theother's body and caresses. She looked forward to these weekly assignations withEyolf in the same way that she would have looked forward to a session with achiropodist or a psychologist. Meeting him was something she did for herwell-being and her mental health. And it never occurred to her that the youngerman would see it in any other way. As the weeks and months passed, asrendezvous succeeded rendezvous, they adapted to each other physically andpsychologically – from which she derived immense, unalloyed pleasure. Sheassumed at the same time that he would also find pleasure in this, all the daysand nights when he was anywhere else but in the same bed as her.
Thismorning, after taking a shower, washing her hair, shaving her legs, rubbingcream into her body, varnishing her toe-nails and applying make-up to hercheeks, lips, eyelashes and not least the rather swollen, wrinkled part underher eyes, Ingrid Jespersen once again tightened the dressing gown belt aroundher waist and went for a stroll through the flat. She stood studying the deepbowl on the kitchen table for a few seconds, the one with the rural patternfrom Porsgrund porcelain factory. The remains of porridge, thinned withsemi-skimmed milk, covered the bottom of the bowl. She automatically picked itup and rinsed it in the sink. Reidar had put the spoon in the dishwasher. Hehad put the carton of milk back in the door of the refrigerator. On top of thefridge, neatly folded, lay the morning edition of Aftenposten. Reidarhad not touched it. The coffee machine on the worktop was full. She poured thecontents into a coffee jug. It was half past nine, and she was not due to meetEyolf for two hours. In half an hour's time, Reidar's son from his firstmarriage would open his father's antiques shop on the ground floor. It was herintention to take the coffee and go downstairs to the shop, chat to herhusband's son and invite him with the rest of his family to dinner thatevening. To kill time waiting, she switched on the radio and sat down on thesofa in the living room with the newspaper in front of her.
Chapter 2
TodayReidar did not drive to the quiet warehouse in Bertrand Narvesens vei in Ensjøas he usually did on other days. Instead of turning left into the garage to gethis 1987 Opel Omega as normal, he walked in the opposite direction. He wentinto Bygd0y allé and wandered in the freezing winter temperatures down to theNarvesen kiosk at the crossroads by Thomas Heftyes gate. Here, in the taxi rankbehind the kiosk, stood three taxis, all in a line with their roof lights lit.Reidar first went to the kiosk and bought Dagbladet, Verdens Gang,Dagsavisen and Dagens Næringsliv. There was a lengthy pause while heread the front page of Aftenposten. His mind was drawn to his wife, whowould soon be reading this newspaper. Nevertheless, he passed on Aftenpostenand paid for the four newspapers, which he put on the back seat of the firsttaxi – a Citroën Xantia estate. The driver belonged to the tribe of taxidrivers to whom politicians have learned to listen. But even though he was ontop form, full of gold nuggets about international politics plus gossip aboutthe royals, and even though Reidar was strangely partial to street politics andthe truths championed by drunks and hairdressers, he remained impassive to allthe driver's attempts to get him into conversation. He asked to be driven to anaddress in Jacob Aalls gate. Here he went into a little café with a sleepyearly-morning atmosphere – several unoccupied tables and just two other guests:two young women drinking café latte out of large glasses at the only table bythe window.
Ayoung man dressed in white with inflamed acne on his cheeks and cropped hair inthe shape of a ski jump over his forehead, nodded to the new customer whom herecalled from previous visits. He came out from his position behind the counterand asked Reidar whether he wanted to sit at a table. The new customer shookhis head. On seeing the bewilderment in the young boy's face, he explained thathe wanted to sit by the window and for that reason would wait until the twowomen were finished. The boy gave an exaggerated nod, thus making it clear thathe considered the new customer to be not quite all there, then went back behindthe counter where he continued to chop up cucumbers and lettuce. Reidar stoodat the counter, staring at the two women who soon sensed his attentions andclearly found them unpleasant. A few minutes later the conversation betweenthem had dried up. Before very long both had finished their coffee and askedfor the bill. They let in a cold blast of winter as they battled with the dooron their way out. Reidar sat down on a chair which was still warm, took off hisgloves with a great deal of fuss, placed his leather document case on the otherchair, opened it and took out today's editions of Dagbladet, VG,Dagsavisen and Dagens Næringsliv, putting all four newspapers in apile in front of him. He signalled to the young man, who brought him a huge cupof steaming- hot, black coffee. Folke Jespersen lit a cigarette – Tiedemann'sTeddy without filters – and looked at his watch. It showed ten minutes pastnine. He inhaled, rested the cigarette on the ashtray and sat staring out ofthe window. His gaze fell on the front door which Ingrid, his wife, would openin a little over two hours, intending to spend the afternoon in bed with herlover. His mind drifted back to her, who at this moment, he assumed, would beelegantly huddled up on the sofa in her white frotté dressing gown as shefinished reading Aftenposten. He sat idly smoking while he tried toimagine how she behaved with her lover.
Hethought of the various stages he and Ingrid had been through in their lifetogether. He thought about the fragile, vulnerable creature she had been whenhe first met her. He tried to compare the memory of the person with the quiterobust, now very self-assured woman who slept quietly beside him in bed everynight. She had packed part of herself away and hidden it. A little packetwrapped in silk paper which he imagined she took out when she was with the manliving on the opposite side of the street. Deep down, he wondered whether thatpart of her soul – to which he had once tried to come close – was in the packetor whether that side of her had disappeared, had vanished into nothingness,along with her former vulnerability and insecurity. He wondered whether thewoman he shared flat and bed with every night was the same woman he had oncehoped he would succeed in loving. Somewhere in his mind his thoughts revolvedaround the enigma of human nature, the maturing and developing of a personality.In his mind's eye he saw a sculptor and thought: if you're a sculptor, perhapsyou can claim that the final result has always resided in the stone. But, ahuman being, thought Reidar; human beings are moulded not only by their genesbut also by their surroundings, history, by their life experiences andinteraction with others. A personality does not reside in a person from birth.In complete seriousness, he considered that his curiosity regarding Ingrid'slover was restricted to the little packet wrapped in silk paper containingIngrid's soul, and whether she opened it in the man's company. Acknowledgingthis to himself, Reidar felt something akin to being jealous, but this kind ofjealousy was not directed towards the lover as a person – it was a differentkind of jealousy – a sort of malaise which had nothing to do with the envy hewould feel towards any man to whom Ingrid would reveal her desires. It was morelike a raw form of sorrow, something vague and fleeting, the way he imaginedpeople who had had an arm or a leg amputated would feel pain in the absentlimb. It was a kind of jealousy he believed he was too old to explore further.With a certain melancholy, he pursued these thoughts, and also with a certainmelancholy, he conceded that he cut a sorry figure sitting there as he did now.He tried to find an explanation for his behaviour – why it had become such anobsession to observe with his own eyes how Ingrid routinely cheated on himevery Friday with Eyolf Strømsted. However, he allowed this self-examination towreak havoc in his mind for no more than a few seconds before dismissing it andreturning to active enjoyment of his morning cigarette. When it was finished,he stubbed it out in the ashtray and started on the topmost paper.