Midnight Sun

Chapter 7

I’d got far enough to be able to see the village below me when the church bells started to ring again. I speeded up. It had got colder. Maybe because it was cloudy. Maybe because the summer can come to an end up here quite suddenly.

There wasn’t a soul in sight, but there were several cars parked on the gravel road in front of the church, and I could hear organ music inside. Did that mean that the bride was on her way to the altar, or was it just part of the warm-up? Like I said, I’d never seen a wedding before. I looked at the parked cars, to see if she was sitting in one of them waiting to make her entrance. I noticed that the number plates all had a Y at the front, to indicate that they were from Finnmark. All apart from one, a big, black station wagon that had no letter before the number. From Oslo.

I went up the steps to the church and cautiously opened the door. The few pews were full, but I crept in and found a place on the one at the back. The organ music paused, and I looked ahead. I couldn’t see any bridal couple, so at least I was going to catch the whole thing. I could see a number of Sámi jackets in front of me, but not as many as I’d expected to see at a Sámi wedding. On the front pew I could see the backs of two heads I recognised. Knut’s unruly red hair, and Lea’s shimmering black cascade of locks. Hers was partially covered by a veil. From where I was sitting I couldn’t see much, but presumably the bridegroom was sitting up at the front near the altar with his best man, waiting for the bride. There was a bit of murmuring and coughing and crying. There was something rather appealing about such a reserved, sombre congregation that was still so easily moved on behalf of the bridal couple.

Knut turned round and looked at the gathering. I tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t see me, or at least didn’t return my smile.

The organ started up again, and the congregation joined in with astonishing gusto. ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee...’

Not that I knew much about hymns, but that one struck me as an odd choice for a wedding. And I had never heard it sung so slowly. The congregation stretched out all the vowels to breaking point: ‘Nearer to Thee, e’en though it be a cross that raiseth me.’

After something like five verses I closed my eyes. Possibly out of sheer boredom, but possibly because of the feeling of security from being among a crowd after so many days of watchfulness. Either way: I fell asleep.

And woke up to the strains of a southern accent.

I wiped the drool from the corners of my mouth. Perhaps someone had nudged me on my bad shoulder — it was aching, anyway. I rubbed my eyes. Saw little yellow crusts of sleep on my fingertips. I squinted. The man speaking in a southern accent up at the front had glasses and thin, colourless hair, and he was wearing the cassock I had slept under.

‘. . but he was also someone who had weaknesses,’ he said. Weaknesses. ‘The sort we all have. He was a man who was capable of fleeing from confrontation when he had sinned, who lost his bearings and hoped problems would simply vanish if he stayed out of the way long enough. But we all know that we can’t hide from the punishment of the Lord, that He will always find us. But he is also one of Jesus’s lost sheep, one who has strayed from the flock, one whom Jesus Christ wants to rescue and save with his mercy if the sinner prays for the forgiveness of the Lord when death comes.’

This wasn’t a wedding sermon. Nor was there any bridal couple at the altar. I sat up in the pew and craned my neck. And then I saw it, right in front of the altar. A large coffin.

‘Even so, perhaps he was hoping to forget his past when he set out on his last journey. That his debts would expire, that a line would be drawn under his sins without him having to pay. But he was gathered in, the way we shall all be.’

I glanced at the exit. Two men were standing on either side of the door with their hands folded in front of them. They were both staring at me. Black suits. Fixers’ outfits. The station wagon from Oslo outside. I had been tricked. Mattis had been sent up to the cabin to lure me from my stronghold and down into the village. To a funeral.

‘And that is why we stand here today with this empty coffin...’

My funeral. An empty coffin waiting for me.

Sweat broke out on my forehead. What was their plan, how was it going to happen? Were they going to wait until the ceremony was over, or was I going to be despatched in here, in front of everyone?

I slipped one hand behind me and made sure that the pistol was there. Should I try to shoot my way out? Or cause a scene, stand up and point at the pair by the door, shouting that they were killers from Oslo, sent by a drug dealer? But what good would that do if the villagers had come here voluntarily to attend the funeral of a stranger from the south? The Fisherman must have paid the villagers; he had even managed to get Lea to go along with the conspiracy. Or, if what she said was true, and they didn’t pay too much heed to earthly possessions here in the village, maybe the Fisherman’s people had started a rumour about me, saying I was the devil incarnate. God knows how they’d managed it, but I knew I had to get away.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the two fixers turn to the other and mutter something. This was my chance. I grabbed the handle of the pistol and pulled the gun out from my trousers. Stood up. I had to shoot now, before they had time to turn towards me, so I wouldn’t have to see their faces.

‘. . for Hugo Eliassen, who set out to sea alone even though the weather was bad. To fish for pollock, he said. Or to flee from his unresolved deeds.’

I sat down heavily on the pew again, and tucked the pistol back inside my waistband.

‘We must hope that as a Christian he fell to his knees on his boat and prayed, pleaded for forgiveness, begged to be let into the Kingdom of Heaven. Many of you here knew Hugo better than I did, but the people I have spoken to say that they believe he would have done just that, because he was a God-fearing man, and I trust that Jesus, our shepherd, heard him and brought him back into the flock.’

Only now did I realise how hard my heart was pounding, as if it was going to burst out of my chest.

The congregation began to sing again.

‘The pure and mighty flock.’

Someone handed me an open copy of Landstad’s hymnbook and pointed at the yellowed page with a friendly nod. I joined in with the second verse. Out of sheer relief and gratitude, I thanked providence for letting me live at least a little longer.

I stood outside the church watching the black station wagon drive off with the coffin.

‘Well,’ said an elderly man who had stopped beside me. ‘A watery grave is better than no grave.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You’ll be the one staying in the hunting cabin,’ he said, and looked across at me. ‘So, are you getting any grouse?’

‘Not many.’

‘No, we’d have heard the gun going off,’ he said. ‘Sound carries a long way in weather like this.’

I nodded. ‘Why did the hearse have Oslo number plates?’

‘Oh, that’s just Aronsen, he’s a proper show-off. He bought it down there, I daresay he thinks that makes it look smarter.’

Lea was standing on the church steps with a tall, fair-haired man. The queue of people wishing to convey their condolences had been quickly dealt with. Just before the car was out of sight she called: ‘Well, you’re all welcome to come to ours for coffee. Thank you all for coming, and safe journey home to those not joining us.’

It struck me that there was something strangely familiar about the image of her standing next to that man, as if I had seen it before. There was a gust of wind and the tall man swayed slightly.

‘Who’s that standing next to the widow?’ I asked.

‘Ove? He’s the deceased’s brother.’

Of course. The wedding photograph. That must have been taken in exactly the same place, on the steps of the church.

‘Twin brother?’

‘Twins in every way,’ the old man said. ‘So, shall we go and have coffee and cake, then?’

‘Have you seen Mattis?’

‘Which Mattis?’

So there was more than one.

‘Do you mean Drink-Mattis?’

Only one of them, then.

‘He’s probably at Migal’s wedding down in Ceavccageadge today.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Transteinsletta — down by the cod-liver-oil stone.’ He pointed towards the sea, where I remembered seeing the jetty. ‘The heathens worship their false idols down there.’ He shuddered. ‘Shall we go, then?’

In the silence that followed I thought I could hear the distant sound of drums, music. Hubbub. Drinking. Women.

I turned round and saw Lea from behind as she was heading up towards the house. She was clasping Knut’s hand in hers. The dead man’s brother and the others followed at a distance, in a silent procession. I ran my tongue round my mouth, which still felt dry from my nap. From having been so frightened. From all the drinking, perhaps.

‘Some coffee would be good,’ I said.

The house seemed so different when it was full of people.

I nodded my way past people I didn’t know, who followed me with their eyes and unspoken questions. Everyone else seemed to know each other. I found her in the kitchen, where she was slicing cake.

‘Condolences,’ I said.

She looked at my outstretched hand and switched the knife to her left hand. Sun-warmed stones. Firm gaze. ‘Thanks. How are you getting on in the cabin?’

‘Fine, thanks, I’m on my way there now. I just wanted to pass on my sympathies seeing as I didn’t manage to at the church.’

‘You don’t have to leave straight away, Ulf. Have a bit of cake.’

I looked at the cake. I didn’t like cake. Never had. My mother used to say I was an unusual child.

‘Yes, well,’ I said, ‘thanks very much.’

People had started to pour in behind us, so I took the plate and cake into the living room. I ended up over by the window, where, overwhelmed by the intense, silent scrutiny, I peered up at the sky, as if I were worried it was going to start raining.

‘The peace of God.’

I turned round. Apart from a splash of grey at the temples, the man in front of me had her black hair. And her direct, courageous gaze. I didn’t know what to reply. Simply repeating ‘The peace of God’ would have been fake, but ‘Hello’ felt far too informal, almost a bit cheeky. So I ended up with a stiff ‘Good day’, even if it was an unsuitable greeting for such an occasion.

‘I’m Jakob Sara.’

‘Iulf... Er, Ulf Hansen.’

‘My grandson says you tell jokes.’

‘He does?’

‘But he wasn’t able to tell me what your profession is. Or what you’re doing here in Kåsund. Just that you’ve got my son-in-law’s rifle. And that you’re not a man of faith.’

I nodded blandly, the sort of nod that is neither confirmation nor denial, but which merely acknowledges that you’ve heard what is being said, then stuffed a large piece of cake into my mouth to give myself a few seconds to think. I went on chewing and nodding.

‘And that’s none of my business either,’ the man continued. ‘Not that, and not how long you’re thinking of staying here. But I can see for myself that you like almond cake.’

He looked me hard in the eye as I struggled to swallow. Then he put a hand on my bad shoulder. ‘Remember, young man, that God’s mercy is boundless.’ He paused, and I felt the warmth of his hand spread through the fabric and into my skin. ‘Almost.’

He smiled and walked away, moving on to another of the mourners, and I heard their muttered exchange of ‘The peace of God’.

‘Ulf?’

I didn’t have to turn round to know who it was.

‘Shall we play secret hiding?’ He was looking up at me with a serious face.

‘Knut, I’m—’

‘Please!’

‘Hmm.’ I looked down at the remnants of the cake. ‘What’s secret hiding?’

‘Hiding so that no grown-ups know you’re hiding. You’re not allowed to run or shout or laugh, and you’re not allowed to hide in silly places. We play it when we’re at parish meetings. It’s good fun. I’ll look first.’

I looked around. There were no other children here, just Knut. Alone at his father’s funeral. Secret hiding. Why not?

‘I’ll count to thirty-three,’ he whispered. ‘From now.’

He turned to face the wall, as if he were looking at his parents’ wedding picture, while I put my plate down and discreetly made my way out of the living room and through the corridor. I glanced in the kitchen, but she was no longer there. I went outside. The wind was getting up. I walked round the old car. A few raindrops hit the windscreen as the wind gusted past. I carried on round the back of the house. I leaned against the wall beneath the open window of the workroom. Lit a cigarette.

It was only when the wind died down that I heard the voices in the workroom:

‘Let go, Ove! You’ve been drinking, you don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Don’t struggle, Lea. You shouldn’t mourn too long, Hugo wouldn’t want that.’

‘You don’t know what Hugo would want!’

‘Well, I know what I want. And always have wanted. And so do you.’

‘Let go now, Ove. Or I’ll shout.’

‘The way you shouted that night with Hugo?’ Hoarse, drunken laughter. ‘You argue a lot, Lea, but in the end you back down and obey your menfolk. Like you obeyed Hugo, and like you obeyed your father. And like you’re going to obey me.’

‘Never!’

‘That’s the way we do it in our family, Lea. Hugo was my brother, now he’s gone, and you and Knut are my responsibility.’

‘Ove, that’s enough now.’

‘Just ask your father.’

In the silence that followed, I wondered if I should move.

I stayed where I was.

‘You’re a widow and a mother, Lea. Be sensible. Hugo and I shared everything — this is what he would have wanted, I promise you. And it’s what I want. Now, come here, let me just... ow! Fucking women!’

A door slammed.

I heard more muttered cursing. Something fell to the floor. Just then Knut came round the corner of the house. He opened his mouth wide to shout, and I steeled myself for the cry that would give me away.

But it didn’t come, just the silent-movie version.

Secret hiding.

I tossed the cigarette away, hurried towards him and threw out my arms in resignation. I led him towards the garage.

‘I’ll count to thirty-three,’ I said, then turned to face his mother’s red Volkswagen. I heard his footsteps run off, then the front door open.

When I finished counting, I went back inside.

She was standing on her own in the kitchen again, peeling potatoes.

‘Hi,’ I said quietly.

She looked up. Her cheeks were red, her eyes shiny.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a sniff.

‘You could have got some help to make dinner today.’

‘Oh, they all offered. But it’s better to keep yourself busy, I think.’

‘Yes, maybe you’re right,’ I said, sitting down at the kitchen table. I noticed her stiffen slightly. ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to sit down for a while before I left, and in there... well, I haven’t got much to talk to anyone about.’

‘Apart from Knut.’

‘Oh, he does most of the talking. Clever boy. He’s done a lot of thinking for someone his age.’

‘He’s had plenty to think about.’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

‘Yes.’

I felt I was about to say something, that the words were on their way, I just wasn’t quite sure which ones they were going to be. And when they arrived it was as if they had arranged themselves, that I wasn’t in charge of them, yet they were still born of the clearest logic.

‘If you’d like to be on your own with Knut,’ I said, ‘but aren’t sure if you could manage, I’d really like to help you.’

I looked down at my hands. Heard the peeling stop.

‘I don’t know how long I’ve got to live,’ I said. ‘And I haven’t got any family. No heirs.’

‘What are you saying, Ulf?’

Yes, what exactly was I saying? Had these thoughts appeared in the few minutes that had passed since I had been standing beneath the window?

‘Just that if I disappear, then you should look behind the loose plank to the left of the wall cupboard up there,’ I said. ‘Behind the moss.’

She let the potato peeler fall into the sink and was looking at me with a concerned expression on her face. ‘Are you ill, Ulf?’

I shook my head.

She stared at me with that distant, blue look in her eyes. The look Ove had seen, and had drowned in. He must have done.

‘Then I’m not sure you should think like that,’ she said. ‘And Knut and I will be fine, so don’t worry about that either. If you’re looking for something to spend your money on, there are plenty of people in the village who are worse off.’

I felt my cheeks flush. She turned her back on me and started peeling again. She stopped again when she heard my chair scrape.

‘But thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘Seeing you cheered Knut up.’

‘No, thank you,’ I said, and headed towards the door.

‘And...’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a prayer meeting here in two days’ time. Six o’clock. Like I said, you’d be very welcome.’

I found Knut in what I assumed was his room. His thin legs stuck out from under his bed. He was wearing a pair of football boots that had to be at least two sizes too small. He giggled as I pulled him out and dropped him down on top of the bed.

‘I’m off now,’ I said.

‘Already? But...’

‘Have you got a football?’

He nodded, but his bottom lip was pouting.

‘Good, then you can practise your kicking against the garage wall. Draw a circle, aim as hard as you can, then stop the ball as it comes back. If you do that a thousand times, you’ll be much better than the others in the team when they come home after the summer.’

‘I’m not in the team.’

‘You will be, if you do that.’

‘I’m not in the team because I’m not allowed to be.’

‘Not allowed?’

‘Mum says I can, but Grandpa says sport takes your attention away from God, that the rest of the world can spend Sundays shouting and yelling and running after a ball, but for us Sunday belongs to the Word.’

‘I see,’ I lied. ‘And what did your father say about that?’

The lad shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘He didn’t care. All he cared about...’ Knut stopped. He had tears in his eyes. I put my arm round his shoulders. I didn’t need to hear it. Because I already knew, I’d met plenty of Hugos, some of them had been my customers. And I myself was fond of that sort of escape, I needed that outlet. It was just that as I sat there feeling the boy lean against me, the mute sobbing that rocked his warm body, I couldn’t help thinking that that had to be something no father could run away from, would even want to escape. That it was a blessing and a curse that strapped you firmly to the tiller. But who was I to say anything about that, I who — whether or not of my own accord — had abandoned ship before she had even been born? I let go of Knut.

‘You’re coming to the prayer meeting?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. But I’ve got another job for you.’

‘Okay!’

‘It’s like secret hiding, it’s all about not saying anything, not to anyone.’

‘Great!’

‘How often does the bus come?’

‘Four times a day. Two from the south, two from the east. Two during the day, two at night.’

‘Okay. I want you to be there when the daytime bus from the south arrives. If anyone you don’t know gets off, you come straight to me. You don’t run, you don’t shout, you don’t say anything. Same thing if a car with Oslo plates arrives. Do you get it? I’ll give you five kroner each time.’

‘Like a... spy mission?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘Are they the people who are going to bring your shotgun?’

‘See you, Knut.’ I tousled his hair and stood up.

On the way out I met the tall, fair-haired man as he stumbled out of the toilet. I heard the water flush behind him as he was still fumbling with his belt. He raised his head and looked at me. Ove Eliassen.

‘The peace of God,’ I said.

I could feel his heavy, drink-soused gaze on my back.

I came to a stop a short way down the road. The sound of drums was carrying on the wind. But I had already sated my hunger, I’d fulfilled my need to see other people.

‘I think it’s time for me to go home and have a good cry,’ Toralf would sometimes say late in the evening. That always made the other drinkers chuckle. That it happened to be precisely what Toralf did was another matter.

‘Put on that angry bloke of yours,’ he would say when we got home. ‘Let’s take a trip into the depths.’ I don’t know if he actually liked Charles Mingus, or any of my other jazz records, for that matter, or if he just wanted the company of another miserable bastard. But occasionally Toralf and I would enter the black of night at the same time.

‘Now we’re properly miserable!’ he would laugh.

Toralf and I called it the black hole. I’d read about a guy called Finkelstein who had discovered that there were holes in space which would suck everything in if you got too close, even light, and that they were so black they were impossible to observe with the naked eye. And that was exactly what it was like. You couldn’t see anything, you were just getting on with your life, and then one day you could just physically feel that you’d got caught in the gravitational field, and then you were lost, you got sucked into a black hole of hopelessness and infinite despair. And in there everything was the mirror image of the way it was outside, you’d keep asking yourself if there was any reason to have any hope, if there was any good reason not to despair. It was a hole in which you just had to let time run its course, put on a record by another depressed soul, the angry man of jazz, Charles Mingus, and hope you emerged on the other side, like some fucking Alice popping out of her rabbit hole. But according to Finkelstein and the others, that might be exactly what it was like, that there was a sort of mirror-image wonderland on the other side of the black hole. I don’t know, but it strikes me that it’s as good and reliable a religion as any other.

I looked over to where I knew the path ran. At the landscape that seemed to rise up and vanish into the clouds. Somewhere in there, the long night started.