The Drowned Boy

13

Did she stand there and watch? Sejer thought miserably.

Did she carry him down to the water while Nicolai was busy with some old bicycle? Did she walk through the grass and along the jetty, throw him into the water, and watch him flail and thrash around? Did she watch with dead eyes and an icy heart? I couldn’t even drown a rat, Sejer thought. It would repulse me. The fear, screams, cramps, and panic. Whether it was from a human or an animal, it was just as bad.

He put on a Monica Zetterlund CD, found a pouch of tobacco in a kitchen drawer, and started to roll a fat cigarette. He only smoked one in the evening; he was a man of moderation. And he had to have a whiskey after all the day’s endeavors, a generous dram to warm his heart. Frank lay at his feet, his breathing shallow, his little pink tongue hanging out the corner of his mouth. Elise, he thought, and looked up at the wall where a photograph of her beamed down at him. The whiskey made him sentimental, and the nicotine gave him a head rush and made him slightly dizzy. Elise, can you see me now? Can you see that we’re doing OK, Frank and I? But you know, there are always difficult days in a person’s life, days that we can’t avoid. There is no life without resistance, no days without worry, no years without pain, no nights without loneliness. There is anguish, dark thoughts, and sparkling hope in every person’s life. And we switch between these all the time, he thought. Everyone is caught in a storm throughout his or her entire life. Carmen and Nicolai were in the middle of the storm. He took a drag on the cigarette and drew the smoke down into his lungs. He was still a bit fuzzy in the head, light and floaty, and outside himself. Dusk was falling outside, night was on the way, and he welcomed it like an old friend. He heard the rumble of thunder in the distance and it slowly rolled closer. I’m actually quite happy now, he mused, and took a sip of the warming whiskey. I’m certainly fairly content with life. If only my health doesn’t deteriorate, if only this dizziness doesn’t take over completely. Why should I get away with it? Not that I’ve ever really thought like that, we humans are exposed to so much. Every day someone is knocked off their feet, thrown brutally and mercilessly to the ground, and abandoned without hope. Sooner or later, fate will catch up with me. Hey you, fate will say, you’ve got away with it for too long; now it’s your turn. Time for you to get up and fight, because it’s now or never.

Frank padded out into the kitchen to drink some water. Sejer could hear the slurping from where he was in the living room. It was a relaxing sound. The whiskey warmed the pit of his stomach and he felt at ease. Not surprising that people turned to alcohol, he thought, it helped against most things. Against pain, despair, sorrow, worry, and anguish. Against all kinds of obstacles and difficulties. The alcohol flooded his veins and made him feel warm and light. He got up and went over to the window, looking down at the town he loved so much. The river with all its bridges, the beautifully lit brewery, the elegant church. And the busy port, where all the imported cars came into the country before rolling out onto the Norwegian roads: Hondas, Toyotas, and Mercedes in endless lines. Trains on their way into and out of the station; boats on the river with lanterns lit. He put his glass down on the kitchen counter and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and went to bed. Frank trotted in behind him and lay down on the rug by the bed as he always did, and they lay there together awake for about fifteen minutes. Then they dozed off and soon fell into a deep sleep free of worries.