The Hidden Child

Chapter 30

‘This is delicious,’ said Vilgot, helping himself to another portion of fried mackerel. ‘This is really delicious, Bodil.’

She didn’t reply, just bowed her head in relief. She was always grateful when her husband was in a good mood and seemed pleased with her.

‘Keep this in mind, boy.’ He pointed his fork at Frans. ‘When you decide to get married, make sure that the girl is good in the kitchen and good in bed!’ Vilgot laughed so loudly that his whole tongue was visible in his mouth.

‘Vilgot!’ said Bodil, glancing at him, although she didn’t dare offer more than a meek protest.

‘Come on, it’s best if the boy learns things like that,’ he said, scooping up a huge serving of mashed potatoes. ‘And by the way, you can be proud of your father today, Frans. I just had a call from Göteborg, and I found out that the company belonging to that Jew named Rosenberg has gone bankrupt, thanks to the fact that I stole so much business away from him over the past year. How about that? That’s something to celebrate! That’s how we need to deal with them. Force them to their knees, one after the other, both financially and with the whip!’ He laughed so hard that his stomach shook. Butter from the fish trickled out of his mouth and gleamed on his chin.

‘It won’t be easy for him to make a living, not these days,’ said Bodil, unable to stop herself. But she realized her mistake as soon as she spoke.

‘What exactly are you thinking when you say that, my dear?’ said Vilgot, deceptively polite as he set down his knife and fork. ‘Since you’re sympathetic to somebody like that, I want to know how you arrived at that point of view.’

‘It’s nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it,’ she said, staring down at her lap, hoping that such a sign of capitulation would be sufficient. But a glint had appeared in Vilgot’s eyes.

‘No, no, I’m interested in what you have to say. Come on, tell me.’

Frans looked back and forth, from his mother to his father, while a knot started forming in his stomach. He saw how his mother had started to tremble as Vilgot fixed his gaze on her. And how his father had that glazed look in his eyes, a look that Frans had seen many times before. He considered asking to be excused from the table, but realized that it was already too late for that.

Bodil’s voice quavered and she had to swallow hard several times before she nervously said, ‘I was just thinking about his family. That it must be hard to find a new means of support these days.’

‘We’re talking about a Jew, Bodil.’ Vilgot’s tone was admonitory, and he spoke slowly, as he would to a child. It was exactly that tone of voice that sparked something in his wife.

She raised her head and said, with a hint of defiance: ‘Jews are also human beings. They have to provide food for their children, just as we do.’

Frans wanted to scream at his mother to shut up, not talk that way to his father. Nothing good ever came of talking like that to him. What was the matter with her? How could she say that to him? In defence of a Jew? How could that be worth the price he knew she would have to pay? Suddenly he felt an unreasonable hatred towards his mother. How could she be so stupid? Didn’t she know that it never did any good to challenge Vilgot? It was best to bow her head and do as he said, not offer any opposition. Then they could get by for a while. But that stupid, stupid woman had just shown the one thing no one should ever show to Vilgot Ringholm: a spark of defiance. Frans shuddered at the thought of the powder keg that this tiny spark was about to ignite.

At first the room was utterly silent. Vilgot stared at her, seeming unable to take in what he’d heard. A vein bulged on his neck, and Frans saw him clench his hands into fists. He wanted to jump up from the table and keep on running until he couldn’t run any more. Instead, he felt glued to his chair, incapable of moving.

Then the explosion came. Vilgot’s fist shot out and struck Bodil on the jaw, hurling her backwards. Her chair toppled over and she landed on the floor with a loud thud. She gasped with pain, a sound that was so familiar to Frans that he could feel it in the very marrow of his bones. But instead of feeling sympathetic, he felt even more enraged. Why couldn’t she have kept quiet? Why was she forcing him to witness this?

‘So, you’re a Jew lover. Is that right?’ said Vilgot, standing up. ‘Answer me! Is that what you are?’

Bodil had managed to turn over so she was now on all fours, struggling to get her breath.

Vilgot took aim and kicked her in the midriff. ‘Are you? Answer me! Do I have a Jew lover in my house? In my own home? Do I?’

She didn’t answer as with great effort she tried to crawl away. Vilgot followed her, then aimed another kick that landed in the same spot. She flinched and crumpled into a heap on the floor, but then managed to get up on all fours again and made another attempt to crawl away.

‘You’re a fucking bitch, that’s what you are! A fucking Jew-loving bitch!’ Vilgot spat out the words, and when Frans glanced at his father’s face, he saw a look of pleasure. Vilgot took aim and kicked Bodil again as he showered curses on her. Then he looked at Frans. Excitement shone on his face, an expression that Frans knew all too well.

‘All right, boy, now I’m going to teach you how to deal with bitches. It’s the only language they understand. Watch and learn.’ He was breathing hard as he unfastened his belt and trousers, keeping his eyes fixed on Frans. Then he took a few steps towards Bodil, who had managed to crawl a few metres away. He grabbed her hair with one hand and he pulled up her skirt with the other.

‘No, no, don’t… think about… Frans,’ she pleaded. Vilgot merely laughed as he yanked her head back and entered her with a loud groan.

The knot in Frans’s stomach solidified into a big, cold lump of hatred. And when his mother turned her head and met his eyes, on her knees as his father thrust inside of her, Frans knew that the only thing he could do to survive was to hold on to that hatred.