Midnight Sun

Chapter 9

When I saw Anita’s father at the breakfast table, he was a pretty good match for what I’d imagined based on the sound of his snoring. Hairy, rather fat, and gruff. I even imagined that I’d somehow heard his string vest in his snoring.

‘All right?’ he said. Gruffly. And stubbed out his cigarette on the half-eaten slice of bread in front of him. ‘You look like you need coffee.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, relieved, and sat down opposite him at the folding table.

He looked at me. Then he turned back to his newspaper, licked the end of his pencil, and nodded towards the stove and kettle. ‘Get it yourself. You don’t get to fuck my daughter and have coffee served to you.’

I nodded and found a cup in the cupboard. I filled it with pitch-black coffee as I peered out through the window. Still overcast.

Anita’s father stared down at the newspaper. In the silence I could hear her snoring.

My watch said quarter past nine. Was Johnny still in the village, or had he moved on to look somewhere else?

I took a sip of the coffee. I almost felt I ought to chew it before swallowing.

‘Give me—’ the man looked up at me — ‘another word for “castration”.’

I looked back at him. ‘Sterilisation.’

He looked down at the paper. Counted. ‘With one “r”?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, maybe.’ He licked the pencil and filled in the word.

While I was putting my shoes on in the passageway and was about to leave, Anita came storming out of her bedroom. Pale and naked, hair all over the place, wild-eyed. She wrapped her arms round me, holding me tight.

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ I said, and tried in vain to reach the door.

‘Will you come back?’

I leaned back and looked at her. She knew that I knew. That they didn’t usually come back. But still she wanted to know. Or not.

‘I’ll try,’ I said.

‘Try?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look at me. Look at me! You promise?’

‘Of course.’

‘There, you said it, Ulf. You promised. And no one makes a promise to Anita without keeping it. I’ve got a stake in your soul now.’

I gulped. Nodded. To be strictly accurate, I hadn’t promised to do anything but try. Try to want to, try to find time, for instance. I pulled one arm free and reached for the door handle.

I walked back to the cabin the long way. I went round the hills to the north-east so I could approach through the clump of woodland. I crept closer through the trees.

The buck was marking its territory by rubbing one horn against the corner of the cabin. It wouldn’t dare do that if there was anyone inside. Even so, I slipped down into the furrow carved out by the stream and followed it at a crouch to the place where I had hidden the rifle. I removed the stones, unrolled the rifle from the roofing felt, checked it was loaded, and walked quickly towards the cabin.

The buck remained where it was, looking at me with interest. God knows what it could smell. I went inside.

Someone had been there.

Johnny had been there.

I glanced round the room. Not much had changed. The cupboard door was ajar, and I always made sure I closed it properly because of the mice. The empty leather case was sticking out slightly from beneath the bunk bed, and there was ash on the inside door handle. I removed the plank next to the cupboard and stuck my arm in. I let out a sigh of relief as I felt the pistol and money belt. Then I sat down on one of the chairs and tried to work out what he might have been thinking.

The case told him I had been there. But the fact that there was no money, dope or any other personal possessions in sight might suggest to him that I had left, having got hold of a more practical rucksack or something. Then he had stuck his hand into the ash in the wood-burning stove to see if it was still warm, to get an idea of what sort of head start I might have.

That was as far as I could follow his reasoning. What next? Would he have moved on somewhere else if he had no idea of where I might have gone, or why I had left Kåsund? Or was he hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for me to come back? But if that was the case, wouldn’t he have taken more care to cover his tracks, so that I wouldn’t suspect anything? Or — hang on — here I was, thinking that the obvious signs of his visit meant he had moved on — and what if that was exactly what he wanted me to think!

Fuck.

I grabbed the binoculars and scanned the horizon, which I now knew down to the smallest detail. Looking for someone, or something, that hadn’t been there before. Staring. Concentrating.

I did it again.

After an hour or so I started to feel tired. But I didn’t want to make coffee and have the smoke signal that I was back to anyone within several kilometres.

If only it would start to rain, if only those clouds would drop their load, if only something would happen.This damn waiting was driving me mad.

I put the binoculars down. Closed my eyes for a moment.

I walked out to the reindeer.

It looked at me warily, but didn’t move.

I stroked its antlers.

Then I climbed up onto its back.

‘Giddy up,’ I said.

It took a few steps. Hesitantly at first.

‘Yes!’

Then more firmly. Then faster. Towards the village. Its knees clicked, faster and faster, like a Geiger counter approaching an atom bomb.

The church was burned out. Obviously the Germans had been there. Hunting for members of the resistance. But the ruins were still standing, warm and smouldering. Stone and ash. And around the black stones they were dancing, some of them naked. They were dancing incredibly fast, even if the priest’s singing was slow and laboured. His white cassock was black with soot, and in front of him stood the bridal couple, her dressed in black, him in white, from his white cap to his white wooden shoes. The singing died away, and I rode closer.

‘In the name of the Norwegian state, I pronounce you man and wife,’ he said, then spat brown saliva on the crucifix hanging next to him, raised a judge’s gavel and struck the charred black altar rail. Once. Twice. Three times.

I woke up with a start. I was sitting with my head against the wall. Damn, these dreams were wearing me out.

But the banging was still audible.

My heart stopped beating, and I stared at the door.

The rifle was leaning against the wall.

I grabbed it without getting up from the chair. I put the butt against my shoulder and rested my cheek against the side of it. My finger on the trigger. I let out the breath I realised I had been holding.

Two more bangs.

Then the door opened.

The sky had cleared. And it was evening. Because the door faced west, the figure in the doorway had the sun behind it, so all I could see was a dark silhouette with a halo of orange light, against the low hills.

‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, lowering the rifle. ‘I thought it was a grouse.’

Her laughter was deep and genuine, but her face was in shadow, so I could only imagine the shimmering light in her eyes.