The Drowned Boy (23 page)

It was as if he was wading through heavy snow. It was hard work and progress was slow. He thought about what Nicolai had once said, that Carmen was like a piano string and would never break. We’ll see, he mused. Everyone has a breaking point, even you, little Miss Carmen; I won’t give up. And so time passed, week by week, with periods of intense cold and heavy snowfall. Freezing cold black nights and blinding white days. Glittering sun and drifting snow: a pitiless winter. In March, the sun began to melt the snow and slowly but surely it trickled away and spring made an appearance. He thought of the promise he had made to himself that he would fight for justice, that somehow or other he would dig out the truth. But deep down, he had no idea how he would do it. It tormented him day and night for long periods. There was not a shred of evidence, just an elaborate story. The beautiful owned the world, he thought despondently, and everyone would be taken in by Carmen’s tears. She would win, because that was how she was. She was like the scorpion; she would get across the river alive.

HE DID NOT
see her again until early summer. He first noticed her as he walked across the square and could not believe his eyes. He stood there staring with a smile on his lips. Because Carmen Zita really was a sight to behold as she walked between the market stalls in the cobbled square. He managed to pull himself together and went over to say hello, but could not hide his surprise as she stood there blooming in front of him. A Jack Russell danced at her feet.

“Well, well, well,” he said, astounded. “Things have obviously moved on since I saw you last. What wonderful news; when is the baby due?”

She laughed and patted her small, round belly, which was noticeable as she was otherwise so slim.

“Four months,” she said. “I’m past the first trimester.”

She laughed again, unashamedly happy.

“I’ve had amnio and the baby’s fine,” she told him. “I’m so lucky.”

Sejer thought about Tommy, who had not met Carmen’s expectations, with a heavy heart. He understood her anxiety and that she needed reassurance; of course he did. Many would have done the same, he admitted. Elise and I would have done the same, because that’s how people are. That’s life—everyone wants perfection, everyone wants a child without disabilities or deformities.

“And who is the lucky father?” he asked. He wanted to be friendly, because nothing was certain in terms of the hearing. And he had to accept the court’s ruling no matter what, and any doubt was very definitely in Carmen Zita’s favor. He knew all this, but still it bothered him, because sometimes the system failed.

“His name’s Anders,” Carmen said with a smile. “He’s not particularly happy about it. He says that it’s all a bit too fast; but, well, it’s happened. And anyway, it doesn’t matter if Anders is worried about it,” she said cheerily, “because I’m not. If there’s something I’m good at, it’s being a mom.”

Quite, Sejer said to himself. Then he thought about Anders, who wasn’t particularly happy about becoming a father. It wasn’t the best start in life for a new baby, but she didn’t care about that. She really was quite a force to be reckoned with, so full of hope and optimism. He’d seldom seen the like. And maybe the child would grow up and have a good life; it was absolutely a possibility. What do I know? he deliberated. I don’t hold the truth about people and life.

“Your case is coming up on the twenty-fourth,” he said in a kind voice. “How do you feel about it, Carmen? Are you dreading the final judgment?”

“No, what have I got to worry about?” she twittered like a lark. “I can only tell the truth, and the truth always wins in the end. Isn’t that what they say? And you know, sometimes it hurts, but that really is the only way. Friis is very optimistic. He says that everything will be fine, and I trust him. And being pregnant will help as well. The judge will have more sympathy for someone who’s going to be a mother. They can’t lock me up, because I have to look after the baby. Because no one else can take my place. It’s my job. And I won’t run away from my responsibility. I’m going to do this,” she said with determination and force. She tugged at her lovely dress and looked very pleased with herself. The Jack Russell sniffed around Sejer’s shoes. It was a short-haired brown, white, and black terrier: small, energetic, and neat.

Yes, Sejer thought, disheartened. The jury will believe your story, I’m sure. Carmen Zita from Granfoss was obviously not a hardened criminal. She was a young, whimsical girl he would never understand. It annoyed him intensely that the truth might always remain a secret. He patted the little dog on the head.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in court then,” he said with a smile. “And no matter what you might think, Carmen, I wish you well.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s kind of you. We’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell Jacob Skarre I’ve forgiven him all the stress.”

“Yes, of course we’re friends,” he said. “You take good care of yourself and the baby. See you in court.”

Then she carried on across the big market square and disappeared between the stalls. With a growing baby in her belly, a dog dancing at her feet, and her head held high.

TWENTY-SECOND OF JUNE
. Evening.

Dear diary,

You are my dearest and nearest confidant. I have so much on my mind today, it’s now or never. And I just have to say this once and for all. I’m no worse than anyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying? But I was put to an impossible test, and even though I’m strong, it was just too much. The thing is Tommy dragged me down into the mud, and suddenly I was just the girl up at Granfoss with a disabled son. You know how people talk, it’s unbearable. And it was definitely not what I’d planned for my life. What I’m writing now is really important, because it’s the truth, and my case is coming up in only two days. I have to face the fact that I might be convicted. I just hope I can get away with a fine! Because then Dad could pay it and everything would finally be over for good. The way things are now, I might be convicted of negligence and moving the body, because I moved him from the bathtub to the pond. The inspector explained it all to me, and it doesn’t sound good. I dreamed about death all through the long winter. He’s sticking to me like a shadow and disturbs my sleep. Sits on the rug beside the bed baring his teeth.

On August 10, I ran a full bath and poured in lots of bubble bath, so the bubbles were almost over the edge. Because Tommy loved soap bubbles and I so wanted to be good and kind. You have to believe me. Tommy was being so difficult that day. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well, what do I know? He was whining and complaining and didn’t want anything, didn’t want to be held or washed. He hit me with his little fists and tried to get me to go away. And I hate being rejected when I’m trying to be nice, I guess everyone does. I can only say I’m sorry, I really, really am. Because I just got so angry, you have to forgive me, dear diary. I am who I am, and children with Down syndrome are like that, they’re difficult and obstinate and insistent. If there’s something they don’t want to do, they’re impossible. I tried to force him, but he wouldn’t be forced. It was like banging my head against a brick wall. I was on my knees beside the bathtub, holding him up with my left arm and trying to wash him with my right. I did look after him since he was the boy I’d been given, but I had the most terrible thoughts, that I had a child who wasn’t normal, who had things wrong with him. I was sitting on the floor with a retard, and I didn’t deserve it. I mean, what had I done? I hadn’t broken any rules, I hadn’t done anything to deserve being so unlucky. They say that everyone is worth the same. But that’s not true, because there are idiots and they take up a lot of space and time. They’re a burden to the rest of us. Is there anyone who has a child with Down syndrome who can put their hand on their heart and say that they hadn’t hoped for something else? When they told me in the maternity ward, I wanted to scream. But I kept myself together for Dad’s sake, and for Nicolai, obviously. He was in shock as well, even though he never admitted it. But he did take it better than me, I’ll give him that, thanks to his cautious nature—in fact, he was almost a coward. His emotions never really came to the surface. He just moped around, and that’s not healthy. So we took our slow, listless baby home with us. We took him home with heavy hearts. We had no choice, he was what we got. And we couldn’t hand him back and say that we’d changed our minds. But oh, if only we could have done that! It would have been a joy, instead of all the sorrow and rage, bitterness and desperation. Family and friends came flocking to see the new baby, and I was so embarrassed, because they could see something was wrong. They could tell by his eyes that he wasn’t normal. There were no delighted exclamations and I couldn’t handle it. I just wanted to hide my face in shame because I was so embarrassed. And then they didn’t know what to say, and it was all so awkward. I balled my hands and ground my teeth. My cheeks burned with humiliation. I thought about all these things as I sat there by the bathtub, with my difficult, soapy, slippery child in my hands.

I’m not bad! But I’ve always been impulsive and I just boiled over with rage and frustration. So I grabbed both his ankles and dragged him under. It happened on the spur of the moment. I want to say something really important here. I never once thought of killing him. I needed to vent my frustration, stop the whining and complaining that were getting on my nerves. There’s nothing worse than a child screaming. It drives you mad, makes you feel like your head’s going to explode. So I pulled him under. Within a few seconds he was hysterical. He flailed around with his hands and swallowed loads of water. Then I let go of his ankles and pushed him down with both hands, right to the bottom of the bathtub. I held him there until he started to spasm. Then I thought it was maybe enough, and gradually became myself again. And of course I regretted what I’d done, but it was too late, because he’d stopped fighting and in the space of about a minute he was limp and lifeless. But it took longer than I thought. The adrenaline made my heart pound and my mouth dry. I clenched my teeth, it wasn’t easy. No matter what people might think if they’d seen me then, I didn’t kill Tommy with a light heart. And I don’t want it to be said that I killed him with malicious forethought. It wasn’t cold-blooded murder, because my blood has never boiled as it did that day in August. After a while he just lay there absolutely still at the bottom of the bathtub, with no more life in his eyes. The irises were dull, like milky glass. I almost didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the Tommy I had given birth to anymore, just a cold, white, and wet unfamiliar little carcass. He’d thrown up and had foam around his mouth, and that’s when it started to dawn on me what I’d done. I hadn’t planned it, I’m not evil. I just wanted something different from Tommy, I didn’t want all the shame. All the struggle. But then I had to find a way out of it. I had to give a more logical explanation, because sitting there on the floor I realized I had a major problem. I was sitting there with a dead baby and I needed an explanation. Which was why I told the first story that he’d managed to get down to the pond on his own two feet. And then because he was so eager, he’d gone out onto the jetty. Yes, I thought, of course that’s what happened, and people would just have to believe it. After all, I always get my way, so I was used to it. I sat there for a while and listened but couldn’t hear anything from the cellar, where Nicolai was busy with his bikes as usual. So I lifted Tommy up and carried him down to the pond. I walked through the grass with his little body in my arms. I stood out at the end of the jetty and looked at the black water with tears stinging my eyes. And, glancing quickly to the left and right, I threw him in. He was gone within seconds, sank like lead in the dark water. Just so you know, dear diary, I’m not without feelings, and I hadn’t expected the police to catch me. So I had to change my story halfway. And I’ve done what I can just to get through this. I’m going to be a mother, after all, I’ve got responsibilities. I’m finally going to have another baby. It doesn’t matter that Anders isn’t too happy about it. I don’t care about things like that, and in any case I decide over my life.

This is the whole and full truth.

And now I want to stop being plagued by these horrible dreams.

Go away, death, go away!

Granfoss, June 22, Carmen Cesilie Zita, on my honor.

TWENTY-THIRD OF JUNE
. Midsummer’s Eve, morning.

He called to her to see if she had any garbage. He had a couple of boxes out in the hall and wanted to drive down to Stranda to put them on the Midsummer bonfire. Carmen looked up from the paper and saw his red curls, a shock of newly polished copper. Anders looked nothing like Nicolai. He was much more muscular, with broad shoulders and big hands, and a jaw that indicated strength and stamina. But she could still wrap him around her little finger, as she normally did with boys.

“What have you got in the boxes?” she asked.

She folded the newspaper and put it down.

“Old schoolbooks,” he said hastily. “I found them down in the cellar. And some old papers, I’ve tidied it all up, the drawers and cupboards. I did it while you were sleeping. How are you? Are you feeling better? I feel so helpless when you collapse like that. You’re not taking your medicine regularly, I know. Anyway, I’m going to drive down to Stranda and throw all this on the fire. Papers shouldn’t be thrown in the garbage, they should be burned; don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Carmen said. “I agree. Do you want me to come and help?”

He shook his head. “No, I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I won’t be long. And you shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

She got up from the chair and went over to him. He kissed her gently on the cheek, because he couldn’t get enough of her almost silky golden skin. He had snatched her from under the noses of a pack of flirting boys and he was proud of it. No matter where they went, her beauty drew attention. Young or not, Carmen was a catch and he would never find anything like her anywhere in the world. Nothing as beautiful as his angel with the white hair.