Mercy aka The keeper of lost causes

5

In the evening Merete Lynggaard was her real self. With every white line that whipped beneath her car on the way home, she discarded a part of herself that didn’t fit in with life behind the yew trees in Magleby. She felt transformed the instant she turned toward the sleepy expanses of Stevns and crossed the bridge over the Tryggevælde River.

Uffe was sitting there as usual, a cup of cold tea on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, bathed in the light from the TV, with the volume turned up full blast. After she parked the car in the garage and walked around to the back door, she could clearly see him through the windows facing the courtyard. Always the same Uffe. Silent and motionless.

She kicked off her high heels in the utility room, dumped her briefcase on top of the furnace, hung up her coat in the entrance hall, and left all her papers in her office. Then she took off her Filippa K. trouser suit, placed it on the chair next to the washing machine, took down her dressing gown from its hook, and put on her slippers. Everything was exactly as it should be. She wasn’t the type who needed to wash off the day under the shower as soon as she stepped in the door.

Then she rummaged in the plastic bag and found the Hopjes sweets at the bottom. Only when the candy lay on her tongue and raised her blood sugar was she ready to turn her attention to the living room.

It wasn’t until then that she shouted: “Hi, Uffe! I’m home now.” Always the same ritual. She knew that Uffe had seen the headlights of her car the second she drove up the hill, but neither of them had a need for contact until the time was right.

She sat down in front of him, trying to catch his eye. “Hey there, mister, are you sitting here watching TV and mooning over that cute newscaster Trine Sick?”

He scrunched up his face so his crow’s feet reached his hairline, but his eyes never left the screen.

“You’re a real rascal, you know that?” Then she took his hand. It was warm and soft, as always. “But you like Lotte Mejlhede better. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”

Now she saw his lips slowly widen into a grin. Contact was established. Oh yes, Uffe was still inside there. And Uffe knew full well what he wanted in life.

She turned to look at the TV screen and listened to the last two reports on the evening news. The first had to do with the Nutrition Council’s appeal to institute a ban on industrially manufactured trans-fatty acids; the second was about the hopeless marketing campaign conducted by the Danish Poultry Association with government financing. She was only too familiar with the issues. They had resulted in two long nights of intense work.

She turned to Uffe and ruffled his hair so that the big scar on his scalp became visible. “Come on, lazybones, let’s see about getting ourselves some dinner.” With her free hand she grabbed one of the sofa cushions and slapped it against the back of his neck until he started shrieking with joy and flailing his arms and legs. Then she let go of his hair, leaped like a mountain goat over the sofa, through the living room and out to the stairwell. It never failed. Hooting and chuckling with glee and stifled energy, Uffe followed close on her heels. Like a couple of train carriages connected by spring steel, they raced upstairs, down again, outside to the front of the garage, back to the living room, and finally out to the kitchen. Soon they would sit down in front of the TV to eat the food that the home help had cooked for them. Yesterday they had watched Mr. Bean. The day before it was Chaplin. Today it would be Mr. Bean again. The video collection that Merete and Uffe owned included only what Uffe enjoyed watching. He usually lasted half an hour before he fell asleep. Then she would spread a blanket over him and let him sleep on the sofa. Later in the night he would find his own way upstairs to the bedroom. There he would take her hand and grunt a bit before falling asleep beside her in the double bed. When he was finally sound asleep, making soft whistling noises, she would turn on the light and start getting ready for the next day.

That was how the evenings and nights unfolded. Because that was how Uffe loved things to be-her sweet, innocent little brother. Sweet, silent Uffe.