Chapter 7
AlthoughJonny Stokmo was small of stature, he was of stocky build; his hands were largeand powerful and he had a loose-limbed, bouncing gait that bespoke strongmuscles. The thinning hair was combed back as well as it could be and in thiscold weather he kept his head hidden in the hood of his quilted anorak. He wassmoking a cigarette. As always, it stuck out from the corner of his mouth, asmall fag stained reddish-brown, filthy from his own saliva mixed with tobaccojuice. He had a moustache which grew downwards in two thin strands either sideof his mouth. It had been burnt away by repeated lightings over the right-handcorner of his mouth.
Hewas waiting for Reidar Folke Jespersen. He paced to and fro on the pavement inThomas Heftyes gate to keep warm. About half an hour before, he had talked to IngridJespersen, who had said that she was expecting Reidar at any minute. His mindwas in turmoil about the imminent meeting. He was unsure as to how he shouldexpress himself. On top of that, he was worried about how he should positionhimself; he would have to try to stand in such a way that he had eye contactwith Reidar, who was taller than he was. He wondered whether to go on theattack or to be friendly, or somewhere in between. Perhaps he should beice-cold, as Reidar usually was. He rehearsed We're both adults in hishead, but disliked the choice of words. The last time Jonny Stokmo talked aboutbeing adult was when he talked to his ex-wife, Berit, on the telephone.
Reidar,I've been giving this a bit of thought would signal that Jonny had reflectedand was willing to see this business from the outside, also that he hadconsidered Reidar's position in an objective light. Reidar, I've, beengiving this a bit of thought, and you have to understand there is only onesolution… It sounded good. Only one solution. It was like sayingthere was no other way, and then Reidar would be keen to hear what the solutionwas. Even though, deep down, Reidar had to know the solution. Because Reidarknew Jonny.
Ingridhad invited him to wait inside, but Stokmo did not want to set foot in ReidarJespersen's flat. He didn't say this, though. She had prattled away like animmature girl, as always. Ingrid Jespersen was a woman with a lot ofconversation in her, the type that likes to flirt with lorry drivers andplumbers, someone who gets the hots for men with dirt under their nails, butnever leaves her lair and the security of being fettered in a humdrum marriage.Jonny was sure that, whether Ingrid knew anything or not, she was a betterperson than her husband, something which he had a mind to tell Reidar.
Hewas freezing cold because he was wearing jeans, with no long underpantsunderneath, no long johns. He should have put them on when the temperaturecrept down to minus 20.
Thetaxi carrying Reidar Folke Jespersen drew into the pavement. Stokmo waiteduntil Jespersen had paid the taxi driver, staggered out and the taxi had drivenoff. He put both hands in his jacket pockets and went over to meet the man. Atfirst Folke Jespersen stood stoop- shouldered on the pavement. Then he wrappedhis coat around him and set off with his old-man-gait, heading for the frontdoor of the building some distance away.
'Oh,it's you,' said the old man, stopping. 'What do you want now?'
Immediately,Stokmo knew how this was going to end. Reidar's intonation, the brief glance,the look of rejection.
'Yes,nice to see you, too,' Stokmo said.
Reidarglared at him over his shoulder. He wanted to pass.
'There'ssomething I want to say,' Stokmo stated.
'Theanswer's no.'
Heknows what it's about, thought Stokmo. So he's thought about the matter;it has been bothering him; he isn't sure how to tackle it.
FolkeJespersen shoved Stokmo in the shoulder so he could pass.
'There'sonly one solution,' Stokmo said with force, standing in his way again.
'Getout of my way,' the old man said.
'I'vedecided,' Stokmo said. 'And…'
'…I'm sick of your prattle,' Folke Jespersen interrupted. 'I don't owe youanything – neither you nor your late father.'
FolkeJespersen was about to force his way past, but Stokmo grabbed him by thecollar. 'You're going nowhere, old man!'
'Ibeg your pardon?'
JonnyStokmo had not envisaged this turn of events, that he would grab the sourpussby the collar. As he felt the old man's body yield to his muscular strength, hewas paralysed by the situation he found himself in. Reidar was not anyone. Thiswas Folke Jespersen. The paralysis that overcame Stokmo allowed FolkeJespersen to loosen the other man's grip with ease. 'How dare you!'
'Youwill pay!' Jonny Stokmo was still angry, but his demand didn't quite have thesame power he had expected. The shock of feeling his own anger translate intoviolence had led to his muscles failing him; he felt weak, his wings had beenclipped.
'Creepback down that stinking hole from which you crept!' hissed Folke Jespersen. Theold man's jaw quivered. He tore himself loose. Stokmo stood in amazement asFolke Jespersen passed by him with long strides. Then the old man stopped, asthough he had changed his mind. He rummaged in his pockets for a pair ofgloves. He glowered at one of the gloves for a moment, then slapped Stokmo inthe face with it, once, then once again. 'You bloody simpleton!' FolkeJespersen snarled and headed for the door twenty-five metres away.
Whenthe old man had passed him, Stokmo seemed to come back to life. 'You're athieving bastard!' he yelled and, on his short legs, bounded after the tall,old man. 'And you won't bloody get away with it!'
FolkeJespersen completely ignored him. As they got – to the front door, herang the bell to his flat and stood staring into space as though Jonny Stokmodid not exist.
'Youwon't get away with this,' Stokmo threatened. 'I'll be back. And it won't beyou doing the slapping, you bloody fascist.'
Therewas a buzz. Folke Jespersen opened the door. 'Do what the hell you like!' hemumbled, letting himself in without so much as a glance in Stokmo's direction.The door slammed in Stokmo's face and he was left looking at it. 'You bastard,'he swore. 'You bastard!' He backed away from the wall and shook his fist at thewindows on the floor above.
Chapter 8
When IngridJespersen went to bed that evening, she was alone for the first time in manyyears. She lay thinking. She remembered how the low, cold, white January sunhad also on this day pierced her lover's bedroom window and shone on anornamental glass object, sending out the same multi-coloured fan of playfullight – across the bed, across her lover's back and her thighs as she, supinewith her hands around Eyolf's hips, had stared at the telephone ringing on hisbedside table. That loathsome white telephone which moved to the beat of hisrhythmical movements in and out of her, that telephone which never stoppedringing. And for some strange reason she had known, lying there with her headrepeatedly banging against the bedstead, known it was Reidar ringing her. Shethought of the hours afterwards, the nauseating and humiliating feeling ofguilt, which had turned every minute of the day into suffering until theevening meal with Karsten, his wife and Reidar's two grandchildren. She thoughtof the change that had taken place when Reidar came home and everyone wassitting at the table. She thought of her own role during the meal, how she hadsucceeded in swallowing the shame, the nervousness, and at the same time howshe had managed to grow herself a shell – not a single anxious glance at herhusband, not a quiver of her hands. Her mind began to wander and she thought ofher time together with Reidar, of twenty-five years of her life married to aman she knew she didn't truly understand. Reidar, who had been married before,who had been a widower when they met, a widower with a son who was not muchyounger than herself. She thought of the twenty-five years she had shared withher husband, and she concluded that these years had not in fact brought themany closer on an emotional level. The telephone conversation, his monologue,had been a demand for subordination. And the fact that she had dutifully playedher role on that evening, converting the subordination into practice, meantthat she now experienced a tiny, but very frightening, thought about her ownlife. For even though it was not the first time she had wondered if she hadmade a mistake accepting Reidar's proposal twenty-five years ago, this was thefirst time she had thought that the years had been a total waste. The very ideaof choosing a wasted life was so scary that she rejected it outright. However,although she somehow managed to repress the notion, something followed in itswake and made her very nervous as she lay waiting for sleep to overtake her. Itwas the fact that she was becoming aware of how little she knew about herself.Lying there, listening to the sounds in the house, to Reidar passing to and frooutside her bedroom, and his distant mumble on the telephone, she had a panicattack. The attack brought on a cold sweat; she tossed around in bed and bitinto the pillow in desperation. Her physical anxiety was so strong that she gotout of bed straightaway, slunk into the bathroom and took an Apodorm sleepingtablet.