The Caller

Chapter 18

Everyone was talking about what happened to Helge Landmark. Could anyone really just pick up a telephone, people wondered, and do that? Scare the living daylights out of them and humiliate them simply by making a phone call? Apparently, yes. The man they now sought, the man — or boy — had called. And Arnesen from Memento Funeral Home, who’d answered, had no reason to doubt the polite voice. That’s how society functions; it is based on trust. But now the question arose over whether a number of procedures should be changed, especially those concerning death. Even though Helge Landmark had refused to talk to the newspapers, people of course learned that he was dying. What was heartbreaking in all this was that death had made a preparatory visit, had literally entered his house. This was what most astonished people.

Sejer sat by a lamp reading about ALS. Helge Landmark had come down with it just six months earlier. Developing very quickly, in the course of a short time it would lead to his death. ‘Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is a disease of the central nervous system that attacks nerve cells in the spinal cord and brain. The disease is incurable and treatment is exclusively symptomatic. Because they lose strength in their breathing apparatus, ALS patients die of weakened lungs. For some, the first symptoms are difficulties with speech and swallowing. Or the disease begins asymmetrically, frequently with a weakness or clumsiness in one hand.’

Finally he noted the name of some famous ALS patients: Mao Zedong. Stephen Hawking. Axel Jensen.

He was suddenly filled with fear — it leapt on him from behind. Could he describe his passing dizzy spells and his subsequent loss of balance as asymmetric symptoms? The thought was so overwhelming that he gasped for air. To shove the ridiculous idea away, he picked up a sheet of paper that was lying next to the telephone. He’d made a few notes on it. He had called Gunilla Mørk, and they had talked about everything — the most important being the Polish student who had stood on her steps asking for work. She had tried, as best she could, to remember how he’d looked. But she admitted that she hadn’t been herself, that she hadn’t been able to retain any significant details on account of the obituary, which she had just read and which had shaken her to the core. After that Sejer had talked with Sverre Skarning’s young wife. From her he’d obtained a very good description of the man who had come to buy a tray of eggs. Or rather a boy. He had also ridden a moped, or a small motorcycle, she couldn’t tell the difference. They had conversed for a while. He had a friendly voice, she said, rather light and pleasant, and seemed sympathetic. Finally he had spoken with Lily Sundelin. She had remembered something from the hospital. A young man with his arm in a cast had walked up and down the hallway, and he had stared at them without inhibition. Putting it all together, he now had a picture of the person he thought was terrorising people: a young, slender man or boy between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, with longish hair and dark eyes. Dressed in jeans and trainers. And he zoomed off on a moped, or perhaps a small motorcycle, which in all probability was red. The same colour as the helmet. He had a friendly, thoughtful demeanour that won people over. That’s why they trusted him. Asymmetric symptoms, he thought, and put his head in his hands. The damn dizziness. As if someone rapped his knees so that his legs would buckle. No, it had nothing to do with paralysis, he thought, it’s in my head — if that’s any better. He tried to find a kind of peace as he sat in the waning light, but it was taken from him. He leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. Hell begins now. It’s probably old age coming to claim me, making me think about death. It’s what the person who’s playing this awful game wants. My heart has pumped hard for many years, and now it’s starting to count down.

I have a certain number of beats left. That’s just the way it is.

And God knows what he’ll do next time.