I Can See in the Dark

Chapter 25

De Reuter appeared the next afternoon, this time in a dark blue suit and stylish turquoise tie, perfectly knotted. He sat down at the desk. He wanted to know if I was abreast of things and understood what was happening.

‘I simply want justice,’ I said, ‘like everyone else. I don’t mind being judged for the small things I’ve done, but not for this. I really do find it hard to grasp that this is even happening. Why have they all turned against me? I thought they were decent colleagues. Not to put too fine a point on it: I feel thoroughly betrayed.’

De Reuter unzipped his briefcase with verve. Papers rustled.

‘There’s just one thing I’ve got to get straight, if you don’t mind,’ he said, his dark eyes resting on me.

‘Yes?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘You mustn’t conceal things from me.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘What I mean,’ he explained, ‘is this. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises sprung on me when I’m in court. There must be no secrets. We must be open with one another.’

‘You won’t have any unpleasant surprises,’ I assured him. ‘These are simply groundless accusations. And when the day of the trial comes, I’ll have my answers ready, I can promise you that.’

‘Did you see Nelly after she was dead?’

‘She was carried down to the basement, and her next of kin could go and see her. Yes, I did make a quick visit to the mortuary to say goodbye. It’s always a little sad, she’d been with us a long time. She was like a sparrow. Tiny and thin and blind.’

De Reuter sat watching me as I spoke. I couldn’t imagine him with a family, and a wife, with brats running about clinging to his legs. I couldn’t imagine him working in the garage or watching saucepans, or even having a life beyond this. He’s probably always a lawyer, I thought, always on his way to some cell or other, with an overfilled office for a base, where his volumes of Norwegian Statutes shine red and ponderous on the shelves. And if he has a woman, she’ll be a lawyer, too. Perhaps they share an office. Perhaps they sit opposite each other as they work, their glances meeting once in a while across the piles of papers.

‘When we’re in court, it’s important that you show respect,’ he pointed out. ‘And preferably, a considerable degree of humility, too. It creates a good impression, it’s what they want to see. The lay assessors can’t be bought, but they’re not impossible to charm and persuade. Remember all this when we’re in court.’

‘It’s not easy to show humility when you’re innocent,’ I protested. ‘Because I’m pretty furious really, and I have a right to be.’

‘Then you must check yourself,’ de Reuter returned. ‘And remember this. The court is looking for civility.’

He took me through my entire life, more or less. My childhood and adolescence, of which I could tell him little apart from small, confusing fragments. He particularly wanted to know about my relationship with my parents, and with others of my own age.

‘I had no relationships whatever,’ I explained. ‘Not with anyone.’

‘But, what about your mother?’

‘Well, she brought me up well. I’m very independent. I don’t rely on others, I don’t think one should.’

‘And Nelly Friis? What was your relationship with her?’

‘I suppose I was rather fascinated,’ I said. ‘Nelly was blind, and I’d thought a lot about what it would be like to live in darkness. The thing is, I don’t experience the dark in the same way as other people do.’

De Reuter turned his eyes to me.

‘So tell me how you do experience the dark,’ he asked.

‘I can see anyway. Every object seems to have remnants of light left in it, which enables me to see the outline of everything, even when it’s pitch black. I can also make out surfaces and spaces, they pulsate with an orange-coloured light. I’ve always had this ability, but I’ve never found any explanation for it. I’ve probably got more receptors than other people. Let me put it this way: I’ve always felt myself to be somewhat different and unusual.’

De Reuter made a short note. A tiny crease of anxiety appeared between his eyes.

‘Don’t mention that in court,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘People may take it the wrong way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They may think you’re a bit mad. And we must avoid that. So, you can see in the dark, can you? Well I never. I’ll go and make a fair copy of these notes now and get to work. I’ll visit as often as I can. Let me know if there’s anything you need; don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve got quite a number of clients, but your case is an interesting one, so I’ll be following it closely. Apart from that, are they treating you with respect?’

I gave him a sour smile, and wondered if he was naive, or if it was simply that he was living in a completely different world.

After he left, I stood and looked around my cell. I realised I could choose one of three ways to pass the time. I could lie on my bed with my hands behind my head. I could pace the small floor with calm, deliberate steps to keep my circulation going. Or I could sit at the desk in front of the window, and watch the sun’s reflected glow in the panes of the sanatorium.