The Caller

Chapter 26

Little Theo Bosch sat attentively in front of the television, a bag of Delight crisps in his lap. With just 9 per cent fat, the crisps were approved by his mother, who was careful about such things. He had put a DVD in the machine and followed closely what happened on the screen. Watching Lars Monsen’s green canoe slice through the water, Theo thought he looked like a real mountain man with his tangle of hair and beard: fishing for trout, making up a campfire, sleeping under the open sky. If the wolf howled out there in the dark, Lars Monsen didn’t get scared, because it was just Good Old Greyleg gathering his flock. A fearless man, Lars Monsen wandered the wilderness with such confidence that Theo dreamed himself far away. After he’d watched two whole episodes, he leapt from the sofa and ran to find his mother. But she wasn’t in the kitchen or out in the garden. His father came in while he was searching for her.

‘She’s resting,’ he said. ‘She has a headache. That’s women for you. They need a room of their own where they can be in peace.’

Theo raced up to his parents’ bedroom on the first floor, where he found his mother lying on the queen-sized bed, her face towards the wall. It was stifling hot. She had removed all her clothes and had simply pulled the sheet over her. But the sheet had slid down, and her naked white rump glowed in the dark room.

Theo stood there, staring, a finger in his mouth.

Hannes tiptoed in. He leaned against the door. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘Her bottom looks like two soft buns.’

At that they laughed in the way of boys.

‘Can I hike to Snellevann?’ Theo asked. ‘By myself?’

Hannes Bosch furrowed his brow. He glanced down at his wife’s tempting behind, and then looked at his son. Theo was an obedient child with a certain intensity which often served him well.

‘To Snellevann. By yourself? Now? Do you mean right now?’

Theo nodded. He looked pleadingly at his father. His head was filled with images of the wilderness and so too was his heart. He could hear the song of the forest in the enormous spruces. He wanted to hear the birds sing, see the fish jump. Theo the explorer, that’s what he wanted to be.

‘I’ll take my lunch,’ he whispered. ‘You can help me pack my rucksack so I’ve got everything I need.’

Hannes Bosch cast a glance at his watch. It was still early. He put his hand on his son’s head. Theo wasn’t much more than a tiny tot, but he was a bright boy, and no sissy. To Snellevann, he thought, on his little legs. That would take him an hour. Then he’d probably sit at the water’s edge for twenty minutes before coming home; all in all, it’d take two hours and twenty minutes — a long time for a little boy. To Snellevann. All by himself. Hannes walked to the window and looked out. The weather was fine, and nightfall was a long way off. There was also a good deal of pedestrian traffic on the way to Snellevann. Landowners and farmers spent time in their fields seeing to their cows and sheep, putting out salt blocks, checking the fences. Not to mention hikers and cyclists, and maybe people picking berries. But Theo was just eight years old. On the other hand, it’s safer in the woods than almost anywhere else. They’d agreed on that long ago.

‘Your mum would probably tell you no,’ he whispered.

‘But we won’t ask her,’ Theo said cleverly, with a sideways glance at his father.

They tiptoed out of the bedroom.

Hannes rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘If you’re going out hiking, then you’ve got to plan ahead. Having a plan is important. Lars Monsen never goes off without planning first, right down to the smallest detail. Food. Equipment. Clothing. Everything.’

Theo nodded.

‘You’ve got to dress properly,’ Hannes said. ‘Don’t wear sandals. Find something else.’

‘Shorts,’ Theo said. ‘Because it’s hot. And trainers. An extra jumper in my rucksack. Food and water.’

‘And you’ve got to have a good knife,’ Hannes said. ‘You can’t go to the woods without one. I’ll let you borrow my hunting knife. But don’t tell your mum. You know how women get with knives. They don’t understand.’

Theo collected everything he needed. He was flushed and eager. When he became a famous explorer, like Lars Monsen, journalists would ask him about his very first expedition. Oh, that, he would say. I was just a boy. I hiked to Snellevann and back, and I was really proud of myself.

Hannes packed Theo’s lunch. While he did that, he prepared a few good arguments for when Wilma woke up to find that her little boy had gone off to Snellevann on his own. With a heavy hunting knife in his belt.

But for God’s sake, Wilma, he’s eight years old. You know how he is, with all his Lars Monsen ideas. He’s got it into his head he wants to be an explorer, and you’ll never be able to stop him. I think we should be proud and happy. Some kids can’t be bothered to get off the sofa. What did you say? He’ll get lost? He’s going to Snellevann, Wilma. He’s following the trail, which he’s done a hundred times before. No, the weather is fine, and he will be back in a couple of hours. Or I should say two and a half hours. Think about how proud he’ll be. Self-confidence is pretty important, Wilma, don’t you agree?

He put salami on a slice of bread.

I made sure he took his mobile phone. He’s just a dial away. You can call and check up on him. That is, if you want to ruin the whole experience for him.

So that his son would have some variety, he put Swiss sausage on the second slice and cheese on the third. He mixed blackcurrant squash and poured it in a Thermos. Theo came into the kitchen. He had retrieved his rucksack, and in it he had put his favourite toy, Optimus Prime.

‘Get a belt,’ Hannes said. ‘Where you can put the knife. It should always be easily accessible, you know. In case the Indians come,’ he winked.

Theo fetched a belt. He put on his trainers and tied the shoelaces in a double knot, and was so excited his cheeks flushed. There was something manly about him, something brave and grown-up.

‘I’ll walk you to the metal barrier,’ Hannes suggested.

‘Yup.’

They closed the door and locked it. Wandered down the main road. It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the barrier near Glenna. They stopped and exchanged a few words.

‘Put your jumper on if you get cold.’

‘I will, Papa,’ Theo said.

‘And don’t leave any rubbish behind. Put it in your rucksack after you’ve eaten.’

‘I will. I’ll clean up after me.’

‘If you use the knife, do so carefully. It’s sharp.’

‘I’ll be careful, Papa. I promise.’

Then Theo turned and walked on. He had inherited his father’s big feet, and in the enormous trainers, he reminded his father of a little tottering duck.

Hannes watched his small son until he disappeared round a bend. Then the boy was absorbed by the forest.

Wilma Bosch wasn’t merciful.

Though they were still attractive, the soft cheeks Hannes had admired had disappeared into a pair of bleached jeans. But he knew better than to put his claws on them, because now she was on the offensive.

‘How will he cope if something happens?’ she said.

‘What do you mean, “happens”? Nothing will happen in the woods, Wilma. There are only acorns and hares as far as you can see. What are you really afraid of?’

Wilma moved to the window facing the road. She had clogs on her feet, and they clopped against the wooden floor. Even though she couldn’t see Theo from there, it was her attempt to get closer to him.

‘You ask what could happen,’ she said. ‘A lot, Hannes. An eight-year-old boy is so helpless. He could slip on the rocks, then hit his head and fall in the water. There are snakes and they’re big this year, at least that’s what everyone who knows anything says. There are cows grazing, and moose. Sometimes they attack people,’ she said. ‘You know, when they have young.’

Hannes tried to digest what she’d said.

‘You’re afraid he’ll be afraid,’ he said. ‘Is that what this is all about?’

‘Yes. He’s just eight!’

‘But everyone’s afraid now and then. Maybe he’ll hear strange sounds in the trees, and maybe his heart will leap.

But so does my heart, and I’m thirty-eight. I could slip on the rocks too, hit my head and end up on life support. With no contact with the rest of the world. If we were to discuss all the things that could happen.’

Wilma fell into a chair so heavily that it moved a few centimetres. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I think all that Lars Monsen stuff is too much.’

She pouted. She had folded her hands in her lap, and Hannes noticed the remains of dark red nail varnish. It looked as though tiny drops of blood had trickled from her nails. He patted her arm lightly then reached into his pocket for his mobile. He punched in Theo’s number and waited. He pushed the speaker button so Wilma could hear.

‘Howdy, Theo,’ he said. ‘How far along are you?’

Wilma sat listening to the short conversation. She imagined, at that instant, her son on his way into the big forest.

‘You’re past Granfoss?’ Hannes said. ‘OK. Have you run into anyone? … No one? What about animals? … No, OK.… You’re not cold? … Good, good. Put on your jumper if it gets cloudy … You’re out of breath,’ he added. ‘Are you going up the hills over towards Myra?’

‘About halfway,’ Theo panted. ‘I may have to rest a bit.’

‘You don’t need to rush. You have the entire afternoon. Your mum wanted to know that all was well. You know how it is with women.’

Theo’s voice could be heard clearly through the mobile’s speaker. ‘All’s well.’

‘Can you repeat that?’ Hannes asked, smiling at Wilma.

‘All’s well.’

‘And you’re not afraid or anything? You haven’t heard any scary sounds in the woods?’

At that, Theo’s laughter rolled through the room. ‘No scary sounds, and I’m not afraid.’ His boy’s voice was soft and clear as a bell.

‘Could you call us when you reach the water?’

‘OK, captain.’

Hannes ended the conversation and put his mobile on the table.

‘I will tell you one thing,’ Wilma said. ‘Bears have been spotted as far south as Ravnefjell. It was in the paper.’

Hannes Bosch tugged at his hair. ‘Ravnefjell! He’s just going to Snellevann. Honestly, Wilma,’ he said and took her hands. ‘Are you afraid that Theo will run into a bear? You’re not quite yourself. Did you take too many painkillers?’

He couldn’t help but laugh, because now he thought she had completely lost it. She pulled her hands from his.

‘I hate it when he leaves the house,’ she admitted. ‘When he’s out of my control. It drives me crazy.’

Hannes touched her cheek. ‘I know,’ he whispered.

At that moment Hannes Bosch felt carefree. ‘It’s a dangerous world out there. People drop like flies. Let’s sit on the porch and drink a bottle of wine before the bear gets him.’

Theo stopped at St Olav’s Spring.

The water glinted, and was almost silver fresh.

The spring was marked with a small sign that outlined its brief history. His father had read it to him many times. He stood there for a while paying respect, because the water in the source was holy, and to him the water had its own special shine. St Olav was a holy man, Theo thought, and his spring was too. So if I drink from it I’ll also be holy. He drank big gulps of the fresh water, and he thought it tasted good. Some believed the water had healing powers, and he felt it too — that his energies were renewed.

He pushed on. The holy water had given him new powers, he was certain. He used his eyes and ears, but everything seemed quiet and sleepy. Nature seemed to have settled down, and took no notice of the little boy with big feet who walked the path. Sheep manure and cow dung dotted the trail, and he had to be careful not to step in it. He walked in a zigzag, hummed a song. Wondered whether he should call his father, but decided against it. There’s got to be a limit, he thought. When Lars Monsen’s out in the wild he doesn’t make calls all the time. Ha! he thought, and quickened his pace. One two, one two, one boot and one shoe. Let the snakes come, I’m wearing good shoes.

When he had found a rhythm, he kept it, marching the trail at a good clip. The rhythm stuck with him and gave him speed and strength, and his thoughts focused on one thing: reaching the water. It’s actually quite easy being a man of the wilderness, he thought, once you’ve made up your mind. And you have to have the right equipment. He felt for the hunting knife to make sure it was still on his belt. When a bird fluttered up from the brush, he started. His heart jumped, but his nerves quickly settled.

The final few metres he walked barefoot.

Over the rocks down to the water. He found a fine place to sit, approaching close enough to the edge that his white toes reached the water.

That water is bloody cold, he thought. That’s what his father would have said, if he sat at his side with his toes in the water. His trainers stood neatly beside him with his socks stuffed inside, like two balls of white cotton. He shrugged off his rucksack and opened it, set his lunch with the three slices of bread next to his shoes. On the other side he put his Thermos with blackcurrant squash, and finally Optimus Prime. Because he’d run the last bit, he was out of breath.

I’m in the wilderness, he thought, and I’m really tough.

On his way up he had carried a strong willow branch. Now he snatched the hunting knife from his belt. He struggled slightly getting it out of the sheath. How quiet everything was. Even the tiniest sound was clear, a mosquito humming over the water, rustling leaves and heather. There probably aren’t any snakes, he thought, looking around. His toes were a tempting offering, perhaps, round and a little like marzipan such as they were. But nothing disturbed him as he sat at the water’s edge. Everything was beautiful and silent. He whittled and whittled on the willow branch. The wood smelled so good.

The whole forest, when it came to it, is edible, he thought, the foliage, the grass, the heather, bark and berries. He heard a sound in the distance and leapt up to peer towards the trail. It grew louder and he thought it was a motor. A tractor, perhaps, or a car. The sound came and went, and his imagination began to run wild. That never happened when he walked along a road, Theo thought, because cars drove past all the time. He sat down again, putting the branch down. He drove the knife back into its sheath and began to eat. Of course there were others in the forest. There was nothing to worry about. Just then, he heard voices — no doubt some men cycling the trail. He stood to have a look and one of them waved. Theo waved back. Wow, he thought cheerfully, it’s swarming with people.

He sat. With an enormous appetite he devoured the Swiss sausage and salami. His mother had baked the bread, and what he loved most about it was the crust. Though he was sated after the first two slices, he forced himself to eat the third. A hiker needs his calories. Once again he pulled out the knife and resumed whittling the branch. He fashioned a spear to a point, like an awl. He had to take care not to cut his finger, or accidentally drive the knife into his thigh. If something like that happened, he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to go on any more solo hikes. What excited him most was the thought of coming home and reporting to his parents everything that had happened. Well, OK, nothing had happened so far, but there was still a chance that something could. And if it didn’t, he could easily invent some minor story to make it more interesting. Wasn’t there an eagle circling high up in the sky, on the hunt for prey? Wasn’t there a big trout jumping out of the water? He saw the rings quite clearly; they spread slowly and prettily over the water. When it came down to it, anything could happen, Theo thought, and waved the sharp stick. With the stick he stirred the water as you stir a pot. The silence at the water’s edge and the spreading rings put him in a sleepy trance.

He fell out of reality. Into another, dreamlike landscape that seemed familiar to him. Here, too, there was a little forest lake and a trout leaping from the water. But suddenly a man paddled into view on his right. Theo blinked sleepily, disbelieving what he saw.

Wasn’t that Lars Monsen in his green canoe?

Lars pulled his oars into the boat. The canoe continued to glide, soundlessly like a knife, through the water and towards the bank where Theo sat. Lars’s curly hair had grown wild, his eyes narrow slits, the irises sharp and black like flint. The boat rammed the rocks with a little thunk.

‘Well, well, boy. You’re out trekking,’ Lars Monsen said. ‘Have you been out long?’

Theo shook his head. He sat with the willow spear across his knees and gazed devoutly at his hero. ‘I had thought about going to Ravnefjell,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I ran out of provisions.’ He pointed at the rolled-up wax paper which lay at his side. There were only crumbs left.

‘Bad planning,’ sneered Lars Monsen. His teeth were sharp and white.

Theo nodded. The green canoe had some deep scratches in the bow where it had scraped the rock. His equipment was packed in two leather sacks at the end of the boat. In addition, he had a rifle and a fishing rod.

‘Did you catch any trout?’ Theo asked.

‘Yup. Got two big ones at the tip of the cove early this morning.’

They sat in silence for a while. Lars Monsen had a cap on his head. Now he pulled the brim down so that his eyes remained in shadow.

‘So you’re on your way back?’

‘Yes,’ Theo replied. ‘I figure I’ll be home in an hour. Will take a longer trip tomorrow. I’ll take more provisions then.’

‘Where’s your tent anyway?’ Lars asked. He narrowed his eyes at Theo.

‘Eh, the tent,’ Theo stammered. ‘No, this is just a one-day trip,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘But I’ll get myself a tent, and a canoe,’ he said quickly. ‘One like yours.’

He put his lunch paper in his rucksack. He wasn’t the kind of person who left a mess in the wilderness.

‘I met a teddy bear up here,’ Lars Monsen said and pointed.

Theo opened his mouth in fright. ‘What? A bear?’

‘Yup,’ Lars said. ‘Or rather, three bears. A fat mama bear and her two cubs. Damn, she was a giant, you should have seen her. Shaggy as a bumblebee, heavy as a hippo. There’s fresh bear scat in the whole area.’

Theo’s heart transformed from a small hard muscle into something hot and fluid that flowed through his body.

‘I shouted some swear words at her,’ Lars Monsen laughed. ‘Which was a little too much for Mama Bear. Ladies don’t like it when you’re rude. It was up near Ravnefjell,’ he added. ‘You’re not going that way, are you? You’re going south, to Saga, down through Glenna?’

Theo raised the branch from his lap. He seemed to be on shaky ground. ‘I’ve got a spear,’ he stuttered, ‘and a hunting knife.’

He pulled the knife from its sheath and brandished it, then saw Lars’s rifle lying in the green canoe. That’s what he needed. So he could have blown off the head of the mama bear and her cubs.

Lars Monsen smiled. He threw his curly head back and burst into laughter so booming it rang across the water, making the birds flutter up, and sending squirrels scampering through the heather in fright.

‘So you’ll poke a stick at the mama bear,’ he sniggered. ‘Did you make that spear in woodwork at school? That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day. Yes, Mama Bear will be scared, I’ll bet.’

He grasped the oars with both hands and paddled off. The green canoe gained speed. Theo heard his laughter until the canoe was beyond the headland. I’ve got to get home, he thought, confused, and gathered up his things. He put on his socks and trainers, and stuffed everything in his rucksack. I can’t sit here any longer doing nothing. Lars Monsen. How terrific to see him paddling around Snellevann. But still, Theo thought, even if it was one of his silly daydreams, it was lousy of Lars Monsen to frighten him that way. Talking about bears and stuff, when everyone knows there weren’t any bears this far south. Theo put on his rucksack and got back to the trail. He tried to walk calmly, but couldn’t find a rhythm. Then he began to run, and a cold, sudden wind put the woods in motion. He grew agitated and rushed along, gasping, certain that something was about to catch him. Someone on the edge of the trail was observing him, and something terrible waited further ahead.

Hannes Bosch was an optician, as his father Pim had been before him, and he had a sense for light and refraction — everything that was the eye’s delight. He raised his glass of wine up to the sun and admired the deep, red colour through the crystal. Wilma sat with a newspaper on her lap. She glanced at her husband, and noticed that he had put his feet on the table.

‘Your feet,’ she commented, ‘are heavy as rocks.’

‘They may be heavy,’ he said, ‘but I can stand upright, whether the sea is calm or stormy.’ The wine had made him light-headed; he felt good, and happy. ‘When it comes to you and all your attributes, I keep my mouth shut,’ he laughed. ‘I’m not looking for trouble.’

They sat in the hammock. Wilma put her newspaper down, leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. When the sun was low, as it was now, it was warmest. She could smell Hannes, his fine scent, could hear his heart beating calmly and evenly.

‘You’re never afraid,’ she said and turned her head to look into his mild, grey eyes.

He rumpled her hair, a thick, strawberry-blonde mane smelling of shampoo. ‘Not before I need to be,’ he said. ‘And right now I don’t need to be. I’m sitting here in the sun with you, and I have wine in a crystal glass.’

‘But why hasn’t he called?’ Wilma said.

Hannes tugged at a lock of her hair, twining it round his finger. ‘Maybe he’s trying to tell us something. That he’s not afraid. It’s a demonstration. We shouldn’t spoil it for him by fussing.’

Wilma manoeuvred in under his arm. ‘You’re so confident,’ she said. ‘I’m glad. That’s why I want to be with you for ever. But you’re only human, you make mistakes too.’

‘Not often,’ Hannes said. He let the mild red-wine buzz lead him far away. Wilma’s lock of hair felt like silk string between his fingers.

‘What if he’s actually afraid,’ Wilma said, ‘but too proud to admit it? So he walks the trail alone, his heart in his throat. Being tough for us. Maybe hoping we’ll call him so he’ll be spared the humiliation. That’s another possibility.’

Hannes got up from the hammock. Walking a few paces with a mixture of determination and gravity which made the wooden boards creak with each step, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and called Theo. While he waited, he began crooning. ‘Joy to the World, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her King!’

‘Why are you carrying on like that?’ Wilma laughed at her singing husband.

‘It’s his ringtone. I think it’s from Handel’s Messiah. ‘Joy to the World’. You probably know it. He took a few more steps. Wilma followed him with her eyes.

‘He’s not answering?’

‘Calm down now,’ Hannes said. ‘His mobile’s probably at the bottom of his rucksack, and he’s a bit clumsy, as you know. I can just see it.’

They waited. Hannes continued to pace, listening to the mobile ring.

‘He’s not answering?’ Wilma repeated. Abruptly she got up from the hammock, which swayed a few times before coming to rest.

‘Maybe it’s in his back pocket,’ Hannes suggested. ‘And he’s fumbling with his small hands. Or maybe he’s absorbed by something. Stay calm, darling,’ he teased. ‘We’ll try again.’