Hell Fire

20

When they got home after speaking to Munthe the vet, and Eddie had carried Shiba from the car into the house, they sat down in the kitchen. Mass fiddled with a box of tablets that the vet had given her: Metacam, chewable painkillers for dogs. They were tasty and Shiba had eaten one without hesitating.

“Eight is quite old for a dog,” Eddie said. “In human years, she’s actually fifty-six.”

“Yes,” Mass said and looked straight at him. “She’s as old as me.”

Eddie hadn’t thought about that. He followed his mother with his eyes as she got up and went over to the countertop, where she stood, at a loss.

“Whatever,” Eddie said. “She’s not exactly a puppy. And she’s overweight, just like me.” He said this with a smile that his mother didn’t see.

“I’ll go and get the paper for you,” he said soothingly, “so you can relax a bit.” He pushed his feet down into his boots and went back outside. He didn’t bump into Ansgar, which was a relief; the possibility of an encounter always added a touch of tension to his trips to the mailbox. Sometimes he thought that if Ansgar made any more sarcastic remarks, he would break his nose. Ansgar was a bit of a wimp really; he was bigger and stronger.

He collected the mail and went back inside. Mass was sitting in a chair waiting, and she took the newspaper from him. Eddie went to the fridge for a Cherry Coke and then sat down at the computer. He sat there thinking for a while before starting to search. His dad had spent his final years somewhere in Copenhagen; he had to be buried in one of the graveyards there. It must be possible to find out which one. He did a search for graveyards in Copenhagen, and when a long list popped up on the screen he felt slightly sick. He hadn’t imagined there were so many; where on earth should he start? He ran down the names and addresses, reading them quietly to himself.

Assistens Cemetery in Nørrebro.Holmens Cemetery in Østre Farimagsgade. Solbjerg Cemetery in Roskildevej. Vestre Cemetery in Vestre Kirkegårds Allé. Vor Frelsers Cemetery in Amagerbrogade. And so it went on.

He slowly worked his way through them all. His mother didn’t know where his father was buried; only his new family knew and they also lived in the city of Copenhagen, along with 1.2 million other people. But he still thought there must be a way to find him. Or his grave, of course, as he wouldn’t find anything else. His mother did have some information, so he knew his name, date of birth, and the date he moved to Copenhagen.

“What are you doing?” Mass asked from her chair. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Eddie said tersely. His mother wouldn’t like what he was doing, he was sure of that. He didn’t want to tell her about the plan he was hatching.

Mass lowered the newspaper. Once he had decided on something, he never gave up. Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be looking for a girlfriend — there were lots of people who met on the Internet these days. It was quite normal. He had said that he didn’t want a girlfriend, but he could have changed his mind. And even though he was one of a kind and on the heavy side, she thought he was handsome, with his strong body and curly brown locks.

“Are you keeping secrets from me?” she teased.

“Yes,” was his reply.

She didn’t want to ask any more questions, because even though they lived in the same house, he had the right to some privacy. After a while, he turned the computer off, and Mass went to the utility room to take some laundry out of the dryer. Eddie picked up the paper and turned to the crossword. He worked his way steadily through it, word for word. Biblical fruit, two words, ten letters. Adam’s apple. Central star. Sun. Flame. Girlfriend. The expression “deadly defense” was harder, eleven letters. He had an “l” and a “u,” nine letters, so the word was leukocyte, a scientific term for killer cells. Purification works. That might also be something in the body. Six letters and he had an “e.” Spleen. Ideology, eight letters. Politics? Religion? Both fitted. After doing some more, he got the letter “m” and then “f.” The word was manifesto. But now he had to sort out this graveyard thing. The thought of his father’s grave would not go away; he kept mulling it over in his mind. He would never forgive the woman who had taken his father from them, never. The audacity. He put the newspaper down and went into the kitchen. He bent down over the dog and whispered in her ear: “We’ll be going to the vet again soon to have you put down.”

“Leave Shiba alone,” his mother said sternly. “She’s ill and needs some peace.”

“I know.”

She was standing with a piece of clothing over her arm, and she held it up for him. It was his black New York sweatshirt and it had shrunk to child-size in the warm dryer.

“I want a new one,” he said, determined. “We’ll have to go back to the store.”

“Aha,” she said and laughed out loud. “That’s only because you want to see the Ethiopian girl again.”