When the Devil Holds the Candle (19 page)

"So everybody had arrived at your room. What time was it?"

"About seven. Anders arrived later. He works until seven, so he was probably there by seven-thirty. I don't remember exactly."

"What did you do?"

"Drank beer, of course. I mean, we also talked. Played music. Discussed things."

"What sort of things?"

"Football. The Joe Cocker concert we'd gone to at the Oslo Spektrum. He was rubbish. We talked about that for a long
time. The girls got mad, because they thought he was ... what did they say? They thought he was great. You know, the way he stood there with his body twitching, as if he had no control over it. They fall for that sort of stuff."

Sejer smiled. Robert relaxed. There was still a long way to go before the fateful shot. He was at a moment when he was not yet a murderer, and it felt good to be there and forget about the rest, but it was coming. Like a raging bull, the terrible deed stood tossing its head behind a fragile fence.

"Then we talked about politics. The election. Two of them were going to vote and they were arguing about it. Roger and Greta started to dance. Anita was sitting next to me on the sofa. She sat there the whole time, until late in the evening, except when she had to go to the toilet. You know how girls are when they're drinking." Then he stopped. "I was so happy," he went on, quietly now. "I had everything. I mean it. My room. A job. A girl. Friends. We had two cases of beer ... er ... I didn't just have a weekend ahead of me, I had my whole life. Right at that moment I managed to convince myself that it was all going to last. But then I started getting really..."

"What were you thinking about," Sejer interrupted him, "when you sat on the sofa with Anita and looked around at everything that was yours?"

"That I could have sat there forever. And about how everything would be when she left."

"What kind of life did you envision for yourself then?"

"I don't really know." He made an effort. "Something about starting again, and how hard it would be. I remember thinking that we don't really ever get anywhere, we just have to keep starting over all the time. New job, new friends. New girls. Around and around."

"Then Anita got up and went across the room. What did you think then?"

"That didn't bother me. She could move around if she
wanted to. She didn't do anything, but I kept my eye on her. I kept my eye on everybody. On Anders and Roger. They were looking at her, but everybody did that. I don't usually care. And even though I was ... even though I wanted her all to myself, I didn't say anything, just watched her, and I watched everyone who was looking at her, just to keep tabs on them."

He bent his head and looked down at his prisoner feet.

"Anders was the worst; I know him. And I should have been prepared, but I guess he was jealous. Wanted to tease me a little, maybe. He's always teasing people, but he's not mean. Not at heart."

"What did he do?"

"He went over to Anita and danced with her. I never thought that she shouldn't dance with anyone else, I really didn't. Anders kept an eye on me, as if he wanted to see what I would do. I didn't do anything. But I watched them. I felt really weird," he added.

"In what way weird?"

Robert's body seemed to have sunk a little, and his eyes had taken on a distant look. But he was thinking hard, digging into himself to find out what it was. Sejer said softly, "Can you describe it?"

"It's hard to remember."

"Think back. Imagine yourself there."

"I can see some pictures. But the sound is gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't hear the music anymore. But the picture of Anders and Anita was crystal clear."

"Crystal clear?"

"I could see Anita," he said. "But everything else disappeared. She was dancing with Anders. They were dancing very slowly, as if everything were coming to a stop—the light, the sound—and I couldn't move, I just looked at Anders and Anita. She had forgotten all about me. Mind you, she was really drunk. I mean, we're not supposed to mention that, but she had forgotten all about me!" There was desperation in his voice.

"But Anders hadn't forgotten about you," Sejer said.

"He was staring at me with a horrible smile. I've seen Anders smile before, but never like that. He had yellow teeth. I didn't smile back. I was thinking about the fact that everything was coming to a stop."

"And then?"

"Then he took a small step back. Pushed Anita away. And I thought,
Now he's going to leave.
But that's not what happened. He raised his hands and grabbed Anita's tits. Grabbed them hard so I could see it."

"What did Anita do?"

"Well, she was really ... she laughed," he said grimly. "She just laughed. It was already happening. I was going to have to start again. It all seemed so impossible, as if I would rather die."

"Did you feel that you would rather die?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"What made you think of the shotgun?"

He took his time. Tried hard to remember. As he struggled to concentrate, his breathing became rapid and shallow.

"When I thought that I'd rather die, I remembered that it was in the cupboard in the hall. It doesn't take long to die, only a second."

"So the idea of getting out the shotgun, that occurred to you when you were thinking about dying?"

"Yes. The landlord had a shotgun in the house. I remembered that it was in the hall."

"At that instant, when you thought about the shotgun, is that when you looked at Anita?"

"They looked so unnatural. There was an eerie light."

"What do you mean by eerie?"

"Like they have in clubs sometimes. A blue, metallic light."

"What did you do?"

"I couldn't see anything in the room, just a bright pathway to the door. Suddenly I was standing in the hall. I still couldn't hear anything. The only thing I felt was a faint prickling. Like ... ants in my eyes," he said. "I know that I shouted something at Anders, but I can't remember what. I opened the door. The shotgun was there, as it always was. Nice and shiny. All assembled. Waiting for me."

"And the ammunition?"

"Several boxes. They were up on the shelf"

His voice was hoarse and breathy, and Sejer had to strain to hear him.

"Do you remember any feelings or thoughts from that moment?"

"No feelings. I was dead."

"What do you mean?"

"My face started shrinking. I remember my skin getting tight around my mouth. It was awful. I thought I had to stop time, so I wouldn't have to start all over again."

"How were you going to stop time?"

"With a huge bang," he whispered. "If I fired a shot, there would be a huge bang. And everybody would wake up." He ran his hand over his forehead. "A bang. That would wake us up."

"Were you all asleep?"

"Everybody was in slow motion. About to vanish."

"You loaded the shotgun and went back into the room. What did you see?"

"Everyone looking at me. I liked it, the fact that they had to pay attention to me. They stopped smiling. Everyone except Anders."

"Did you hear anything?"

"My name. Someone shouted. It was far away."

Sejer leaned across the desk. "Why did you raise the shotgun and take aim?"

"I don't know..."

"Think hard, Robert. Why did you raise the shotgun?"

"I needed that bang!"

"But you took aim," Sejer said. "You could have aimed at the ceiling. But you aimed at Anders."

"Yes!"

"You aimed at Anders and pulled the trigger. Why?"

"I don't know. I can't say why!"

In a shrill, heartrending voice he begged Sejer to stop.

"We're just trying to understand," Sejer said. "I won't laugh. I won't get rough with you. I just want to understand."

Robert sobbed and sniffed, staring at the blotting pad, which showed a map of the world. His gaze fell on the snow-white, ice-cold Antarctic.

"I was in a rage when I went to get the shotgun. It would have looked so pathetic if I had aimed at the ceiling."

His head fell toward his chest. Sejer leaned back. His expression didn't change, but Robert wasn't looking at him anyway. He was still in the icy wasteland.

"I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The safety catch was on. It goes on automatically when you put the shotgun together. I remembered about that and took it off. I thought it was so embarrassing," he whispered. "That I made such a mistake. Forgot about the safety catch."

"Didn't you notice that Anders was hiding behind Anita?"

"Yes, I did."

"But you still decided to fire. Did you realize that you would hit her? Anita—the girl you were so fond of?"

Robert met his gaze for a second.

"No. Yes. I couldn't exactly ask her to move. 'Move over, Anita, I want to shoot Anders.' I couldn't do that. I had to shoot."

"Were you angry, Robert?"

"Angry?...I don't think so. But Anders was a coward."

"You were focused on shooting?"

"I needed that bang," he repeated.

"Why didn't you stop?"

"It was too hard. I was already in the middle of it."

"You felt you had passed the point of no return. And then it went off. How did that feel?"

Robert swallowed hard, held back his reply, as if he couldn't believe his own words. "Good," he said finally, and began trembling violently. "It felt good. I got really hot. I could feel myself falling."

"The sounds in the room," Sejer said, "did they come back?"

"After a while. Like when somebody turns up the radio full blast. I was shaking uncontrollably. They were bending over me, everybody was bending over me, and someone was screaming. The girls were wailing, and someone dropped a glass on the floor."

"What did you think had happened?"

"That a terrible accident had taken place. That I was injured."

"You. Injured?"

"Something had hit me. It was all a blur. The sounds were too loud. There was blood on the floor. I thought, somebody is going to come and help me soon. I fell down and I waited for help. I liked the fact that someone was going to come and carry me away. I liked it," he repeated.

"What about now, Robert? Do you want to go on?"

"Yes."

He had been making such an effort that his shirt had big wet patches on it.

"Why?"

"This time, starting again is different. It won't be the same things as before." He leaned across the desk, exhausted. "But I don't understand why. The psychologist can probably find an explanation. But how can he be sure that it's the right one?"

"He's not always sure, Robert. He does his job as best he can. He tries to understand."

"But is there anything to understand? It just happened."

"There are a lot of strange things that just happen. But it's important to go over things. And maybe you'll understand more as time passes."

"But I'm not crazy, am I?" That was the one thing he didn't want to be.

"No. I don't think of you as crazy. Sometimes too many things can happen all at once and knock us over. But you can get up again. You're still the one controlling your own life."

"I don't think so. Not in here."

"Oh, yes. You decide almost everything. What you say, what you think, how you're going to spend your days." Sejer took his hand. "I wish you would eat something."

"If I don't eat I get foggy, and I don't have to think so much."

"It's better to think, if you can. Don't put it off. It'll come back to you sooner or later anyway."

Robert's mouth was dry. He wondered if he could be picked up and carried back to the cot in his cell by this strong man.

"You can get up and leave," he said. "Leave this place and forget about us. I've become somebody's job," he added pensively. "You're paid to talk to people like me."

"Does that bother you?"

"A little."

"I don't mind being around people like you."

Robert didn't answer. Sejer let him sit there. Robert was cautiously forming ideas. He would manage to bear what awaited him, survive prison. Everyone in here had made similar mistakes. He was one of many; some of the others might have done even worse things. He would toe the line, follow the rules, be a model prisoner. Day after day, for weeks, months. He would make it through. But afterward ... when he got out one day, what then? What would he say? What would he do when people found out about his past? Would he be able to handle that? Or would he make sure that he found a way back to this building, with its order and rules? Here it was easy. A few simple tasks, meals three times a day, money for cigarettes. Even kindness. Once again, he started to shake.

"But I want to know how I'm supposed to handle this!" he burst out. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he fought to hold them back and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He sat in silence while the suppressed sobs shuddered inside him. He no longer knew who this Robert was. He had lost his foothold on reality. Slowly, he rose from his chair. He rose up higher and higher, felt himself hovering high above the desk. He could look down at his own empty chair, he could gently turn and circle the room. The chief inspector didn't notice; he was busy writing notes.

Runi was standing on the steps, shouting. She was clearly upset and kept tugging at the doorknob. I ran back to the kitchen and turned the radio up to full volume.

"Irma, it's Runi. You have to let me in, Irma!"

I thought fast. Did I have to open the door? What would happen if I didn't?

"I'm not feeling well!" I shouted. "I stayed home from work today!"

I leaned against the wall for support. I had to keep her out. Why was all of this coming to my house, trying to force its way in?

"I have to talk to you!"

She wouldn't give up. I tried to think of an excuse not to open the door. Andreas would hear us and start screaming. She didn't usually come over like this, without being invited, it was unbelievably bold of her, and of course it was impossible for me to let her inside. But if I didn't open the door...

"Let me in, Irma! I beg you!"

Her voice had reached a falsetto pitch. I thought about the neighbors; they would hear her. I was going to have to open the door. I turned the key and opened the door a crack. She barged into the hall. Her eyes were swollen and her coat was unbuttoned. It was awful to see Runi looking that way. I preferred her usual sweet self.