Punishment aka What Is Mine

TWENTY-SEVEN

Aksel Seier got up at dawn, though he had been awake all night. His head felt incredibly light. He rubbed his temples and almost fell over when he got up from the bed. The cat rubbed against his bare legs and uttered some feeble meows. He picked it up. He sat there for a long time stroking the animal on the back, as he stared blindly out the window.

There was one person who had believed him. Long before that Johanne Vik woman came along with her fancy words and incomprehensible sentences, there was someone who knew that he didn’t do what he was imprisoned for. There was another woman, in another time.

He’d met her just after his release from prison, on his first, hesitant, visit to a bar. Nine years of abstinence had taken their toll. The alcohol went straight to his head. He was dizzy after one pint. On the way to the bathroom he fell against the edge of a table. The woman at the table was wearing a flowery summer dress and smelled of lilac. When they couldn’t stop the blood there and then, she invited him back to her room. Just around the corner, she said quickly. It was early evening. He had to go with her and that was that. He looked so kind, she said, and laughed a little. Her fingers were nimble as she dealt with the wound. Cotton wool and iodine that smelled pungent and dribbled in a brown stream down his neck. Bandage. The woman’s concerned eyes; perhaps they should go to the emergency room; it might be best to get a stitch or two. He could smell the scent of lilacs and didn’t want to leave. She held his hand and he told her his story, the plain truth; he had only been out for a week and a half. He was still young and still had some hope that life would turn around. He’d applied for four jobs and been rejected. But there were other possibilities. Things would work out; he just needed to be patient. He was young and strong and hardworking. And he had learned a thing or two in prison.

The woman’s name was Eva and she was twenty-three years old. At five to eleven, when he had to leave out of respect to the landlady, Eva accompanied him. They walked the streets for several hours, side by side. Aksel felt her skin through the material of her dress when he touched her tentatively, the warmth from her body glowed through the coarse woollen jacket he took off and placed over her shoulders as the night wore on. She listened attentively. She believed him and gave him a brief hug before running into the house where she lived. Halfway in she stopped and laughed out loud-she’d forgotten to give back the jacket. They started dating. Aksel didn’t get a job. Four months later he finally acknowledged that the truth would get him nowhere and he made a past for himself in Sweden. He had worked as a carpenter in Tärnaby for ten years, he lied, and eventually got a job as a driver’s assistant. But it only lasted for three months. Someone at the warehouse knew someone who had recognized him. Fired on the spot, but Eva didn’t let him down.

The cat jumped down from his lap and he decided to get away from Harwich Port.

He wouldn’t go far. A trip north to Maine. Only a few days. The university lady from Norway would surely give up after a few days. She had no business here. Even though she seemed to know the area, she was Norwegian. She had something to go back to. When she discovered that he’d gone, she would surely give up. He was not important. Aksel would go to Old Orchard Beach, where Patrick had his carousel and earned good money in the summer. Patrick and Aksel had been friends since he was in Boston, when he first came to the U.S., and Aksel was washing dishes in an Italian bar in North End. Patrick had gotten his friend a place on a fishing boat from Gloucester. After two good seasons, they felt rich. Patrick got a loan and bought the carousel he had always dreamed about. Aksel had just enough to buy the house in Harwich Port, before the nouveaux riches pushed prices up and made it impossible for normal people to get a place by the ocean on Cape Cod. The old friends seldom saw each other and didn’t say much when they did. But Aksel would be welcome at Patrick’s. There was no doubt about that.

The cat was meowing furiously. The cat door was closed. Aksel left the door to the garden ajar and went to get his suitcase from the back of the closet in the bedroom.

There were four pairs of clean underpants in the drawers. He folded them carefully and put them in the bottom. Four pairs of socks. Two shirts. The blue sweater. A couple of sleeveless undershirts. He didn’t need anything else. The clothes lay at the bottom of the suitcase, flat and pathetic; it wasn’t even half full. He tightened the straps over the sweater that lay on top. Then he closed the suitcase before he could change his mind. He would take the letters with him. He had never taken them before on his short trips to Boston or Maine. They were lying where they always lay, on the chessboard that he never used because he never had visitors, a pile tied up with a piece of string. This time it might be best to take them with him.

He shut the suitcase again.

Holding a bag with three cans of cat food in one hand and the suitcase in the other, he went out and locked the door. Mrs. Davis was always awake at this time. As soon as he approached the pickup, she popped her head around the kitchen door and shouted cheerfully that it was a lovely day. Aksel looked up. It could turn out fine; Mrs. Davis was right. The seagulls dropped shells from the skies and swooped down onto the beach to eat. Two boats glided out of Allen Harbor. The sun was already high in the sky. Mrs. Davis trotted over the grass in her eternal pink sweater and took the bag of cat food. It wasn’t enough, he explained, as he would be away for a while. Could she keep a tab? He would pay her as soon as he was back. When? To be honest, he didn’t know. Had to visit someone. Down south. New Jersey, he mumbled, and spat. It might be a while. He’d be grateful if she could look after the cat in the meantime.

“Thank you,” he said, without noticing that he said it in Norwegian.

“Sorry, sweety. He’s gone.”

Mrs. Davis cocked her head and arranged her face into an expression worthy of a funeral.

“Left this morning, I’m afraid. For New Jersey, I think. Don’t know when he’ll be back. Might take weeks, you know.”

Johanne stared at the cat that was lying relaxed in the lady’s arms and letting itself be tickled. Its eyes were alarmingly yellow, nearly luminous. Its gaze was arrogant, as if the animal was making fun of her, an intruder who imagined that Aksel would be waiting on the steps, excited to hear what she had to say, ready for questions, newly shaven and with fresh coffee in the pot. The cat yawned. Its two small canine teeth glistened as its eyes disappeared into two slits, far into the red fur. Johanne took a few steps back and then turned toward the car.

The only thing she could do was leave her card. For a moment she wondered whether she should give her card to the little woman, then she thought about the frightening cat and instead went over to Aksel’s house. She quickly scribbled a message on the back and dropped it in the mailbox. To be on the safe side, she slipped another one under the door.

“He seemed kind of upset, you know!”

The woman wanted to talk. She came closer, with the cat still in her arms.

“He’s not used to visitors. Not very friendly, actually. But his heart…”

The cat jumped lazily to the ground. The woman clutched her breast dramatically.

“His heart is pure gold. I tell you, pure gold. How do you know him, miss?”

Johanne smiled absently, as if she didn’t understand properly. Of course she should speak to the old lady. There was obviously nothing that went on in the small street that she didn’t know. All the same, Johanne retreated and got into the car. She was annoyed and relieved at the same time. It annoyed her that she had let Aksel leave the restaurant without making another arrangement. It made her angry that he’d fooled her and just left. At the same time, his disappearing act was an honest statement. Johanne was not welcome in Aksel Seier’s life, no matter what she had to tell him. Aksel Seier wanted to sail his own sea. She was free.

It was now Thursday, May 25, and she could go home. She should actually call Alvhild. When she got in the car and headed toward Route 28, she decided that she wouldn’t. She had so little to tell. She couldn’t even remember what it was that she’d seen in Aksel Seier’s house that was so surprising that it had kept her awake half the night.