When the Devil Holds the Candle (29 page)

"You have a nice place," he said politely. "With a nice garden. And a lovely gazebo. I took the liberty of having a look around the back of your house."

There was a rumbling inside my chest, as if someone had lit a stove. The nightmare would soon be over, because I thought he was already starting to look a little hazy as he stood there with his back to me. But then he turned around, and some of his friendliness was gone. There was a commanding tone in his voice; I could hear it quite clearly.

"You should report this," he said. "Your cellar window is broken. The thief got in through the window. I'm going down to the cellar to take a look around. He may have left some tracks."

I leaned heavily on the table. At the same time I realized that
the dream was over, because it always ends right before the big disaster. I tried to remember what the big disaster was, and then I happened to think of the rubbish down in the cellar. That body down there, or whatever it was. Of course he would see it and then come back up and say, "There's a dead man in your cellar, Irma. Do you know who he is?"

I strained to think clearly. Did I know? Andreas Winther. Runi's son. Apparently there were many nightmares. And a reality, too, which I was trying to remember, but which seemed far away. Would he believe me if I told him what had happened? What had really happened? No, he wouldn't. He'd see me as someone very disturbed, which I wasn't. I'm not. I'm just so worn out.

"No," I said, surprised at how firm I sounded. "Don't bother. I'm not going to do anything about it. My son can fix the window. Ingemar. He'll come over if I call him."

"But you were assaulted," he said. "That's a serious matter to us. I urge you to file a report."

"I'm the one who decides," I said swiftly. "This is my house."

Then he looked at me, and his face filled with curiosity. There we stood, an old woman like me and this handsome man, right there in my own kitchen. Runi should have seen it!

"Where are the stairs to the cellar?" he asked. I didn't answer. He was standing on top of them, in fact; he had both feet on top of the trapdoor. Those nice shoes of his. He peered out to the hall; maybe he thought the stairs were there.

"My head hurts," I said. "I need to lie down for a while. I'm not feeling very well."

"I'll take you to a doctor," he said. "You should have that cut looked at."

My eyes widened at the thought. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm as strong as a horse. That's what my doctor says."

"No doubt," he said, "but you've suffered a blow to the head."

"I'll take a sleeping pill and lie down. I'm not some kind of weakling: I can put up with a lot." I said this with pride.

"I'm sure you can," he said. "And I can't force you, of course."

Silence. His eyes roved around the room, looking at the window and the trees outside, which were beginning to turn yellow. It wouldn't be long now.

"I'm looking for Andreas," he said softly. For a moment I pulled myself together and nodded. "Andreas Winther. Runi's son. You know him. What do you think happened?"

I searched for a good answer. That thing under the plastic—that must be what he meant. They all talked about that young man with such reverent voices, as if society had mislaid something irreplaceable. I had a strong desire to snort with contempt, but I restrained myself.

"Boys are always getting into trouble," I said. "And I don't suppose he was any different."

"He most certainly wasn't. Do you know his friend?"

"Do you mean Zipp?"

I searched a bit, through the pounding in my head. "Runi mentioned him. But I don't know him."

"I suspect, as you say, that they'd got into one thing or another." He looked me in the eye with eerie directness. "I'm sure I'll work it all out."

Yes. But by then I'll be long gone, where he won't find me. I was already on my way—I could feel the floor rocking beneath my feet—and then he stood up, and his face was very close. "I'll just take a quick look in the cellar."

I only came up to his chest. And I felt ridiculous, but I wanted that man out of my house at all costs, and they can't, for God's sake, use threats to get into somebody's house like that, so I said, No, no, let's just drop the whole thing! I don't want to deal with this. And I assume that it's my decision. I haven't called anyone or filed a report, and if I needed help, I would have asked for it!

He just smiled and looked at me. "I think you might need help. Not everyone asks for it."

He made a little bow and went to the door. There he turned, one last time, and he wasn't smiling anymore. He looked serious and very determined when he said, "I'll send someone over. Good-bye, Mrs. Funder."

But it was too late for that. I'm going now. You mustn't judge me, you weren't there! All my life I've measured people by what they ought to be, not by what they actually are. And now it's too late. I came into this world and I made nothing but mistakes. I'll soon be sixty. I don't have the strength to start over again, it's too hard. When you know everything, what is there to live for? Something strange has seized hold of me right now, as I stand here, about to leave this house. Something that has kept me hidden for all these years. I shove the rug aside with my foot and open the trapdoor. Shout down the stairs: "I'm leaving now, Andreas. I'll leave the door unlocked!"

I walk through town wearing my brown coat, and as I walk I feel a sort of peace. Not the way I usually feel, afraid that I forgot something important, a window left open, a candle burning. The wind starts blowing, a light drizzle billows toward my face. There's something dreary about everything. The crowns of the trees look weighed down. There's rubbish in the streets, white paper smeared with ketchup. Stray dogs. I don't like dogs, especially scrawny ones. They look so cowardly and are always begging. Be brave, Irma! I don't feel despair. What I feel is more the empty sensation you have when you've been to the theater and seen a bad play: it was all a waste of time. Now you know everything. I don't care whether you read this or not. But think about what I've said when you leaf through the newspapers:

You shouldn't believe everything you read. You shouldn't trust anyone.

I think about Mother and Father. They're still standing in front of the yellow house. They're not waving now, either. No, that would be a confession. And then, finally, I think about Zipp. About whether he might wake up and make something of his life. Find something decent to do. I look at the pale September sun as it shines low through the treetops, the dry leaves that are slowly changing to pure gold. Well, not right now, because it's starting to rain, but maybe tomorrow. But no one taught him, and no one taught me. The house still stands there, shining behind me. Henry said that it was built on clay, that it was just a matter of time, and enough rain, before it would pull loose and slide down.

The collision with his dog sent him reeling against the wall with a bang. He rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head. Listened for any sound in his flat. Was she still dressed? Was she smoking hash?

It was comforting to hear that she was talking to someone on the phone. To a female friend, no doubt. She was giggling like a girl. He tried to restrain the dancing dog as he hung up his jacket. Then he went to the kitchen and washed his hands, opened the refrigerator and looked inside. Kollberg came into the room and stood to attention. I'm standing perfectly still, said his dark canine eyes, I'm not whining or begging, I'm just slobbering like crazy. Sejer took out some food and set it on the counter. Two cold sausages covered with plastic. Hard-boiled eggs. A roll filled with something, maybe stewed fruit. He whispered "Sit" to the dog and waved a sausage.
I need to contact the district nurse,
he thought.
Irma Funder needs attention. Possibly she should even be hospitalized.

"No, are you mad?" he heard from the living room. "Tell me more. All the details." And then she giggled again. He took the paw the dog offered him and handed over the sausage. Sliced some bread and cut up the eggs. Sprinkled them with salt.

"That's exactly what I don't like. I like to play," he heard.

He pricked up his ears. Who was she talking to?

"With the light on. Of course. Do you think I'm ashamed? No, I'm not twenty years old, I'm old enough to be your mother."

Sejer stood there with a jar of mayonnaise in his hand, as if frozen, and now he was listening in earnest. She must not have heard him come in. But of course she had: Kollberg always made such a racket that you could hear it several floors below. "But greed is exciting, I agree with you about that. But not always. Oh yes. Absolutely."

Sejer picked up the other sausage. His confusion inspired a trace of sadism. He started swinging the sausage out of Kollberg's reach. The dog tried to work out what the game was. Tried to stand up on his hind legs, but his body was too heavy. A hundred and fifty pounds and a low center of gravity. So he fell back down, scraping his claws down his master's trouser legs. Sejer gave him the sausage. He spread mayonnaise over the eggs.

"Sometimes I need to be little. A little girl. It's the best thing I know."

He poured milk into a glass. A little girl? Wasn't she going to be finished soon? Was there a faint smell of hash? He suddenly felt so tired. Then tiredness changed to something else. He thought,
I need to go into the living room. I want to watch the news.

She was sitting at the table with the phone clamped under her chin. She heard him and turned to give him a sly wink. He was caught completely off guard. His sandwich slid across the plate and threatened to go over the edge. Kollberg lay down next to him, his nostrils quivering. Sejer concentrated on his egg sandwich.

"I have to go to bed," said Sara suddenly. "I'll call back when I need you, okay?"

Then she smiled at the wall above the table, where he had hung up a calendar and an old certificate from the shooting range. He was an excellent marksman.

"What am I wearing?"

She looked down at herself, at her green corduroy trousers and checked flannel shirt.

"A beautiful red, strapless dress made of pure silk. And I'm very tanned. I've just been to Israel. You're talking to a Jewish woman. Haven't you ever had a Jewish woman?"

Sejer had just taken a bite of his sandwich, and now he nearly choked on it. He looked at his dog, grateful for the fact that he couldn't understand. Instead, he switched on the television and stared at the screen, at the face reading the news, which he couldn't hear because out of sheer politeness, he had turned down the sound. Now he decided to turn it up loud and make her hang up the phone. There was a war on the screen. Fighter planes were taking off from a ship and flying like bolts of metallic lightning through the sky. He could feel the G-force as he sat in his chair.

"Good night, dear."

Sara hung up, walked across the room, and perched on the arm of his chair.

"Didn't you see the roast beef in the fridge?" she asked.

Roast beef? No, he hadn't seen any delicacies like that, he had been listening to her, bewildered. Besides, eggs were fine. A little too much cholesterol, of course, but rich in protein, and that's what he needed to keep his muscles strong.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"Phone sex," she said with a laugh as she brushed back her long fringe. She wasn't ashamed at all. He didn't say anything. He didn't feel hungry anymore.

"I was bored, and you weren't here."

"Do you know how much it costs?" The words flew out of his mouth, and then she laughed even more. She had a spontaneous, hearty laugh. But he didn't understand why she was laughing. Actually, he would have preferred to be alone.

"So how do you know, my good man, that phone sex is so expensive?"

He didn't reply, just sat there feeling foolish. She kissed his rough, gray hair. "I've called them a lot, but I can afford it. I make more than you do." And then she laughed some more.

"But why?" he stammered.

"It's fun. There sits a real live man on the other end of the line." She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "You should try it sometime!"

He was still looking at his egg sandwich. It was only a matter of time before Kollberg snatched it away.

"Where did you get the number?" he asked, embarrassed.

"It was in the newspaper. There are lots to choose from. All depending on what your preference is. Aren't you curious?"

"No."

"They give you everything you want. Everything that's possible to send over a phone line, that is. And that's more than you might think!"

He picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and chewed carefully.

"You're freezing," Sara said. She put her hand on his cheek. She was hot as coals.

"Sometimes we just have to have a little fun in our lives, don't you think?"

Have fun? Was that important? The devil rose up inside Konrad Sejer. He got up from his chair and towered over her with his six foot four frame, and she sat there in surprise, looking up at him like a little girl. He thought,
I'm stronger than she is. I could lift her up and carry her away. She could wriggle and squirm, but she wouldn't have a chance.
He slipped his arm around her waist and held on tight, lifting her from the chair. She squealed with glee, but he noted with satisfaction the tiny hint of panic as he carried her across the room. He stopped in front of the old chest of drawers that had stood in the house on Gamle Møllevej for all those years and weighed a ton. He bent his knees and with a groan set her firmly on the top of it. There was plenty of room. She shrieked with laughter.

"Sit still," he commanded, taking a few steps back. "If you move you'll fall off."

"I want to get down," she cried.

"You can't," he said. "Or the whole thing will topple over!"

"You can't leave me here," she said, laughing, and began to try to find a foothold to climb down, but stopped when she felt the chest start to tilt under her weight.

"Don't move," he said gruffly. "I want to eat in peace. After that we'll go for a long walk."

He sat down again and started eating. Kollberg jumped around, barking and carrying on. He didn't recognize his master. Sara laughed so hard he had to tell her to hush, for fear the chest would pitch forward and crash to the floor. It was full of crystal. She ran a finger along the top. It was black with dust.