Hell Fire

17

On the wall above his bed, Eddie Malthe had a photograph of himself sitting on his father’s lap. It had been taken when Eddie was three, just before his father left them. Mass had refused to let him have it in the living room, and Eddie looked at it every night before he went to sleep. Only now it was morning. He sat up in bed and took the picture down. It had been taken on a warm day and they were both wearing summer clothes. His father was holding Eddie tightly in his strong arms. Thick bangs fell over his forehead and his smile was broad and happy, whereas Eddie looked very serious.

He stared at the photograph for a long time. Even though he had studied it countless times before, it was new for him each time. His father looked so happy, so why had he left them? He hung the picture back up on the wall and went into the living room. Soon after, his mother appeared in her nightie; he could see her body through the thin material. She checked the thermometer outside the window and shivered.

“Twelve degrees,” she reported. “We’d better light the stove. Put your coat on; you’ll have to go out and get some wood.”

Eddie looked at her body. She was heavy, just like him, and he could see her big breasts swaying under the fabric.

“Let Shiba out so she can pee.” She opened the door to the bathroom and disappeared inside, and he heard her turn on the faucet. Shiba was lying in her corner and Eddie went over and pulled her tail. Then he hauled her up by the collar and pushed her from behind into the hall. The cold hit him when he opened the door. He stepped into his heavy boots and pulled on a heavy jacket. He wouldn’t have to clear snow today, which he was pleased about, but the price was the extreme cold. Shiba immediately went around the corner of the house and peed, and then she wanted to go straight back inside.

Eddie got out a couple of plates. He took the cheese, sausage, and jam out of the fridge and got the bread, and then set the table for a simple breakfast. He sat down to wait. He had slept heavily and could still feel the sand in his eyes.

“I dreamed about Dad last night,” he said, when his mother sat down. It wasn’t true, but he wanted to hear about his father, and it was a way to start the conversation.

“But you can’t even remember him,” Mass objected. “You were only three.”

“I know.” He chewed his bread. “But sometimes I think I remember things all the same.”

“What kind of things?” Mass asked, sounding skeptical.

“His white shorts,” Eddie said with conviction.

“That’s what you’ve seen in the photograph.”

He didn’t answer. “What did he die of?” he asked instead.

“I’ve told you before,” Mass said patiently. “It was cancer. That’s what we all die of these days. Sooner or later.”

“But you won’t, will you?” Eddie asked anxiously.

“No,” she said and laughed. “I’m certainly not planning to do that. I’ll probably live to a hundred. But I have got a pain in my back,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“It happens to ladies of my age. We scrub and clean all our lives, you know. There isn’t much help to be had from you.”

“But I’m good at clearing snow,” Eddie retorted, feeling offended. Mass had to agree with that.

“You’re right,” she said with a sudden smile. “What would I do without you?”

Eddie crowed. They needed each other so much; it put him in a good mood. He said that he would load the dishwasher. Mass stayed at the table and studied the dog lying asleep in the corner.

“I’m worried about Shiba,” she said. “She’s not that old, but she’s really not very well. There’s something wrong with her leg. What do you think it is?”

“Hip dysplasia,” Eddie suggested. He put a tablet in the dishwasher and closed the door.

“No, never. I’ll get an appointment at the vet. Do you want to come?”

Eddie nodded happily. The dishwasher started to rumble as it filled with water. Then he went out into the snow to get the newspaper and luckily didn’t bump into Ansgar. He went back in and gave it to his mother, who was now on the sofa.

Eddie sat down at the computer. He looked up Copenhagen, the city where his father had moved to with someone else and then died. Copenhagen had a population of 1.2 million and was the largest urban area in the country, comprising eighteen constituencies, Eddie read. It was situated on the east coast of Zealand, and the key institutions were the Danish Parliament, the Palace, the Supreme Court, and the government administration. Twenty percent of Denmark’s population lived in Copenhagen. He sat and studied the map, telling himself that his father had lived on one of those streets. He turned to his mother. “Where exactly in Copenhagen did Dad live?”

Mass sighed and lowered the newspaper. “Goodness, I don’t know. It’s such a long time ago. I don’t know that I want to know either. Sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t know?” Eddie persisted.

She shook her head. “Eddie, darling, do you think I’d lie to you?”

No, he didn’t think so. He continued reading about Copenhagen, a city he had never been to. Denmark’s a small country, he thought. I’ll find him.