2

The river cascaded through the countryside, splitting the cold town into two shivering gray floes. It was April and still wintry. Just as it reached the middle of the town, somewhere about the district hospital, it began to roar and grumble, as if the nagging traffic and noisy industry along its banks had disturbed it. It coiled and wreathed in ever stronger currents as it advanced through the town. Past the old theater and the Labor Party headquarters, by the railway tracks and on past the square to the old exchange, which was now a McDonald’s, down to the brewery — a pretty shade of pink and also the oldest in the country — to the Cash and Carry, the motorway bridge, a huge industrial park with several car firms, and finally the old roadside inn. There, the river could heave a final sigh and tumble into the sea.

It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and in a short while the brewery would be transformed from a dreary colossus into a fairy-tale castle with a thousand lights that were reflected in the river. The town was only beautiful after dark.

Eva watched the little girl as she ran along the riverbank. The distance between them was ten meters; she was careful not to let it increase. It was a gray day and few people were about on the footpaths; a bitter breeze blew off the swiftly flowing river. Eva kept an eye out for dog owners, and in that eventuality, whether the dog was loose, for she couldn’t breathe easily until they’d passed. She saw none. Her skirt flapped around her legs and the wind cut right through her knitted sweater, forcing her to hug herself with both arms as she walked. Emma skipped along contentedly, if not gracefully, for she was well overweight. A fat kid with a large mouth and an angular face. Her red hair whipped the back of her neck, the moisture in the air giving it an unwashed look. Certainly not a cute little girl, but as she was unaware of the fact, she pranced blithely along in her artlessness, and with an appetite for life which only a child possesses. Emma was seven, five months until she began school, Eva thought. One day she’d catch herself reflected in the critical faces of the playground, see her own unlovely person for the first time. But if she was a strong child, if she was like her father, the man who’d packed up and gone to live with someone else, she wouldn’t give it another thought. This was what occupied Eva Magnus as she walked. This, and the overcoat that she’d left in the hall at home.

Eva knew every inch of the footpath, they’d walked it countless times. Emma was the one who went on about it, who wouldn’t relinquish the old habit of strolling by the river; Eva could have done without it. At regular intervals the child ran down to the water’s edge because she’d seen something that had to be inspected more closely. Eva watched her like a hawk. If she fell in there was no one else to save her. The river was fast flowing, the water icy, and the girl heavy. She shuddered.

This time Emma had found a flat stone right down by the bank. She waved, shouting to her mother to come. Eva followed. There was just enough room for both of them to sit.

“We can’t sit here, it’s wet. We’ll get cystitis.”

“Is that dangerous?”

“No, but it’s painful. It stings, and you’ve got to wee all the time.”

They sat down anyway, following the eddies with their eyes and marveling at the movements of the water.

“Why are there currents in the water?” Emma asked.

Eva had to think for a moment. “Well, goodness, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s got something to do with the riverbed; there’s lots of things I don’t know. When you go to school, you’ll learn about all that.”

“That’s what you always say when you don’t know the answer.”

“But it’s true. In any case you can ask your teacher. Teachers know a lot more than me.”

“I don’t think so.”

An empty plastic container came sailing rapidly toward them.

“I want it! You got to get it for me!”

“Yuck no, leave it alone, it’s only rubbish. I’m cold, Emma, can’t we go home soon?”

“In a little while.” Emma pushed her hair behind her ears and rested her chin on her knees, but the hair was coarse and unruly, it sprang forward again. “Is it very deep?” She nodded toward the middle of the river.

“No, not particularly,” said Eva quietly, “eight or nine meters, I should think.”

“That’s really, really deep.”

“No, it’s not. The deepest place in the world is in the Pacific Ocean,” she said musingly. “Some sort of hollow. It’s eleven thousand meters deep. That’s what I call really, really deep.”

“I wouldn’t like to go swimming there. You know everything, Mom, I don’t think teachers know all that. I’d like a pink school bag,” she went on.

Eva shivered. “Mmm,” she said. “They are pretty. But they get dirty awfully quickly. I think those brown ones are nice, those brown leather ones, have you seen them? Like the bigger children have?”

“I’m not big. I’m only just starting school.”

“Yes, but you’ll get bigger, and you can’t have a new bag every year.”

“But we’ve got more money now, haven’t we?”

Eva didn’t reply. The question made her shoot a quick glance over her shoulder, a habit she’d formed. Emma found a stick and poked it into the water.

“Why is there froth in the water?” she continued. “Nasty, yellow froth.” She whipped it a bit with her stick. “Shall I ask at school?”

Eva still didn’t answer. She, too, had her chin on her knees, her thoughts had wandered away again, and Emma had receded into the corner of her eye. The river brought back memories. Now she could see a face shimmering under the dark water. A round face with narrowed eyes and black brows.

“Lie down on the bed, Eva.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say, lie down on the bed.”

“Can we go to McDonald’s?” Emma asked suddenly.

“What? Yes, why not. We’ll go to McDonald’s, at least it’s warm there.”

She rose, slightly distractedly, and took the child by the arm. Shook her head and stared down into the river. The face had vanished now, there was nothing there, but she knew it would return, perhaps to haunt her for the rest of her days. They climbed up to the path and set off slowly back toward the town. They didn’t meet a soul.

Eva felt her thoughts running wild, pursuing their own course and arriving in places she’d rather forget. The roar of the river conjured up a host of images. She had waited for them to fade, to find peace at last. And time had passed. One day at a time had turned into six months.

“Can I have a Happy Meal with a present? It’s thirty-seven kroner and I haven’t got Aladdin.”

“Yes.”

“What’ll you have, Mom? Chicken?”

“Not sure yet.” She stared at the black water again; the thought of food was nauseating. She didn’t bother with food much. Now she noticed how the surface rose and fell, under the dirty yellow scum.

“Now we’ve got more money, we can eat whatever we want, can’t we, Mom?”

Eva kept quiet. All at once she stopped and strained her eyes. Something pale had floated up just beneath the surface of the water. It rocked sluggishly as it was pushed toward the bank by the powerful eddy. Her eyes were so taken up with watching that she’d forgotten the girl, who had also halted and who could see far better than her mother.

“It’s a man!” Emma gasped. She clamped herself hard onto Eva’s arm, her eyes popping out of her head. For a few moments they stood transfixed, staring at the sodden, decomposed body as it floated, head first, in among the stones. He was lying face-down. The hair on the back of his head was thin and they could make out a bald patch. Eva was oblivious to the nails digging in through her sweater, she looked at the waxen-colored corpse with its matted blond hair and couldn’t remember seeing him before. But his trainers — those blue and white striped high-top trainers.

“It’s a man,” Emma repeated, more quietly now.

Eva wanted to cry out. The cry came forcing its way up her throat but never emerged. “He’s drowned. Poor man, he’s drowned, Emma!”

“Why does he look so horrible? Almost like jelly!”

“Because,” she stammered, “because it happened some time ago.” She bit her lip so hard she pierced it. The taste of blood made her sway.

“Have we got to lift him up?”

“No, don’t be silly! The police do that.”

“Are you going to phone them?”

Eva put her arm around the girl’s chubby shoulders and stumbled along the path. She looked back again quickly, as if waiting for some attack, yet uncertain from which direction it would come. There was a phone box on the approach to the bridge, so she hauled the child after her and searched in her skirt pockets for change. She found a five-kroner piece. The sight of the partially decomposed man flashed before her like an ill omen, an omen of all that was to come. She had managed to calm down at last, time had settled upon everything like dust and made the nightmare pale. Now her heart was hammering beneath her sweater, completely out of control. Emma was silent. She followed her mother with frightened gray eyes and halted.

“Wait here. I’ll ring and tell them to come and fetch him. Don’t move!”

“We’ll wait for them, won’t we?”

“No, we certainly won’t!”

She pushed into the box, trying to control her panic. An avalanche of thoughts and ideas rushed through her head, but she dismissed each of them in turn. Then she made a quick decision. Her hands were clammy, she inserted the five-kroner piece into the slot and dialed a number with swift fingers. Her father answered, groggy, as if he’d been asleep.

“It’s only me, Eva,” she whispered. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but it was high time. Soon I’ll be sleeping all round the clock. Is something the matter?” he growled. “You’re het up. I can hear that you’re het up, I know you.”

His voice was dry and hoarse, but there was still a keenness to it, a keenness which she’d always loved. A sharpness that rooted her fast to reality.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Emma and I were going out to eat and we found this phone box.”

“Well, put her on then!”

“Er, well, she’s down by the water.”

She watched the numbers on the display counting down, threw a quick glance at Emma, who was pressed against the glass of the door. Her nose was squashed flat like a lump of marzipan. Could she hear what they were saying?

“I haven’t got a lot of change. We’ll come and visit you one day soon. If you’d like.”

“Why are you whispering like that?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Am I?” she said a little louder.

“Give my girl a hug. I’ve got something for her when she comes.”

“What’s that?”

“A school bag. She needs a school bag for the autumn, eh? I thought I’d save you the expense, things aren’t all that easy for you.”

If only he’d known. She said: “That was kind of you, Dad, but she’s pretty sure about what she wants. Can we change it?”

“Yes of course, but I bought the bag they said I should. A pink leather one.”

Eva forced her voice to sound normal. “I’ll have to go, Dad, the money’s run out. Look after yourself!” There was a click, and he was gone. The numbers on the display had stopped.

Emma looked at her expectantly. “Are they coming now?”

“Yes, they’re sending a police car. Come on, we’ll go and eat. They’ll ring if they want to speak to us, but I don’t think they’ll need to, at least not yet, perhaps later, but then they’ll get in touch. This has nothing to do with us at all, you see, not really.” She was almost breathless, talking frantically.

“Can’t we just wait and see them arrive, please can we?”

Eva shook her head. She crossed the street with the girl in tow, while the red man was still showing. They were an oddly matched pair as they walked into town, Eva tall and thin with slender shoulders and long, dark hair, Emma plump and broad and knock-kneed, with a slightly waddling gait. Both of them felt cold. And the town was cold, in the miasma from the chill river. It’s an inharmonious town, Eva thought, as if it could never really be happy because it was split in two. Now the two halves were struggling to gain the upper hand. The north side with the church, the cinema, and the most expensive stores, the south side with the railway, the cheap shopping centers, the pubs, and the state off-license. This last was important and ensured a steady stream of cars and people across the bridge.

“Mom, why did he drown?” Emma fixed on her mother’s face and waited for an answer.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he was drunk and fell into the river.”

“Perhaps he was fishing and fell out of his boat. He should have been wearing a life jacket. Was he old, Mom?”

“Not particularly. About Dad’s age, perhaps.”

“At least Dad can swim,” she said with relief.

They had arrived at the green door of McDonald’s. Emma put her weight against it and pushed it open. The smells within, of hamburgers and french fries, drew her and her unfailing appetite further into the place. Gone was the dead man in the river, gone all life’s problems. Emma’s tummy was rumbling and Aladdin was within reach.

“Find a table,” Eva said, “and I’ll order.”

She made for the corner as usual and seated herself under the flowering almond tree, which was plastic, while Eva joined the line. She tried to banish the image that lapped at her inner eye, but it forced itself on her again. Would Emma forget it, or would she tell everyone? Perhaps she’d have nightmares. They must stifle it with silence, never mention it again. In the end she’d think it had never happened.

The line inched forward. She stared distractedly at the youngsters behind the counter; with their red caps and red short-sleeved shirts they worked at an incredible pace. The fatty haze from the cooking hung like a curtain behind the counter, the smells of fat and frying meat, melted cheese and seasonings of all kinds forced their way into her nostrils. But they seemed oblivious to the thickness of the atmosphere, running back and forth like industrious red ants, smiling optimistically at each and every order. She watched the quick fingers and the light feet that sped across the floor. This was nothing like her own day’s work. She stood in the middle of her studio most of the time, arms folded, fixing a stretched canvas with a hostile stare, or possibly an imploring one. On good days she stared aggressively and went on the attack, full of audacity and aplomb. Once in a blue moon she sold a painting.

“Happy Meal, please,” she said quickly, “and chicken nuggets and two Cokes. Would you be very kind and put an Aladdin in? She hasn’t got that one.”

The girl went to work. Her hands packed and folded at lightning speed. Over in the corner, Emma raised her head and followed her mother with her eyes as she finally came weaving across with the tray. Suddenly Eva’s knees began to tremble. She sank down at the table and looked in wonderment at the girl who was eagerly struggling to open the little cardboard box. She searched for the toy. The eruption was deafening.

“I got Aladdin, Mom!” She raised the figure above her head and showed it to the entire restaurant. They all stared at her. Eva buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“Are you ill?” Emma turned deadly serious and hid Aladdin under the table.

“No, well — just not a hundred percent. It’ll soon pass.”

“Are you upset about the dead man?”

She started. “Yes,” she said simply. “I’m upset about the dead man. But we won’t talk about him anymore. Never, d’you hear, Emma! Not to anyone! It’ll only make us sad.”

“But do you think he’s got children?”

Eva wiped her face with her hands. She wasn’t certain of the future anymore. She stared at the chicken, at the doughy brown lumps fried in fat, and knew that she couldn’t eat them. The images flashed past again. She saw them through the branches of the almond tree.

“Yes,” she said at length, “he’s probably got children.”

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