The Man In The Window

Chapter 1

Inthe winter gloom of Friday 13th January, Reidar Folke Jespersen started the wayhe started every day, at least for the last fifty of his seventy-nine years: onhis own with a bowl of porridge in the kitchen, his braces hanging loose behindhis back and the rhythmic clinks of the spoon against the bottom of the dish asthe sole accompaniment to his solitude. He had big bags beneath two bright blueeyes. His chin was covered with a meticulously trimmed, short, white beard; hishands were large, wrinkled and bore sharply defined veins which wound their wayup both forearms to his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His arms were powerful; theycould have belonged to a logger or a blacksmith.

Reidarhad no appetite. In the morning he never had any appetite, but being theenlightened person he was, he understood the importance of the stomach havingsomething to work on. That was why he began every day with a bowl of porridge,which he made himself. If anyone had asked what he thought about during theseminutes, he would not have been able to answer. For as he ate, he always concentratedon counting the number of spoonfuls – 23, clink, swallow, 24, clink, swallow. Along life as a porridge-eater had taught him that a bowl would, on average,provide between thirty-eight and forty-four spoonfuls – and if a trace ofwonder lingered in his consciousness during these routine-filled moments of thenew day, it was only his curiosity about how many spoonfuls it would take toscrape the bowl clean.

Whileher husband was eating breakfast, Ingrid Jespersen was in bed. She alwaysstayed in bed longer than her husband. Today she didn't get up until half pasteight, then she wrapped a white bathrobe around her and scuttled out to thebathroom where the underfloor heating was on full. The floor was so hot it wasalmost impossible to stand in bare feet. She tiptoed across, then wriggled intothe round shower cabinet where she took a long, hot shower. The central heatingensured that the flat was always nice and warm, but as her husband could nottolerate the same temperature in the bedroom, he always turned off the radiatorthermostat before going to bed in the evening. Thus the winter cold sneaked inovernight. And even though Ingrid Jespersen was warmly covered by a thick downduvet, she liked to indulge herself with the luxury of a hot shower to awakenher limbs, get her circulation going and make her blood tingle under thesurface of her skin. Ingrid would be fifty-four this February. She oftenfretted at the thought of becoming old, but her appearance never bothered her.Her body was still lithe and supple. These were qualities she ascribed to herdays as a dancer and her own awareness of the value of keeping yourself in goodphysical shape. Her waist was still slim, her legs still muscular, and eventhough her breasts had begun to sag and her hips no longer had their youthful,resilient roundedness, nevertheless she attracted admiring looks on the street.Her hair was still a natural dark colour with a tinge of red. But her teethworried her. She, like everyone of her generation, had had poor dentaltreatment when she was a child. And in two places the fifty-year-old patchworkof fillings had been substituted with crowns.

Themost pressing cause of this vanity was that she had a lover, Eyolf Strømsted, aman who had once been her ballet pupil and who was younger than her, and shedid not want the age difference to become too conspicuous when she was withhim. She turned off the water, opened the cabinet door and went towards themirror where a grey patina of condensation had formed over the glass. There wasstill a slight touch of uneasiness when she thought about her lover's reactionto her smile. At first she studied her teeth by grimacing to herself in themirror. Then she regarded the contours of her body through the film ofcondensation. She pressed her right hand flat against her stomach and spun halfround. She looked at the curve of her back, studied her backside and examinedher thigh muscles as she completed the manoeuvre.

Today,though, she stopped in mid-swing. She stood motionless in front of the mirror.She heard the outside door slam. Her husband's going to work without sayinggoodbye caused her to lose a sense of time and place for a few seconds. Thebang of the door disconcerted her and she stared with vacant eyes at her own imagein the glass. When at last she pulled herself together, it was to avoid lookingat her own nakedness. Afterwards she ran the razor slowly down her right calfbut it was an automatic, absent-minded movement, without a hint of thewell-being and repose the thought of her lover had evoked minutes before.

Thehusband, who had long finished his porridge, and had therefore put on his coatand trudged out of the flat without a word, hesitated for a few seconds in frontof the door, craned his neck and listened to the sound of running water as heconjured up images of his spouse with closed eyes, droplets forming on hereyelashes, breathing through an open mouth in the stream of scalding hot watercascading over her face. For more than ten years Reidar Folke Jespersen hadpractised sexual abstinence. The marital partners no longer touched each other.They had no intimate physical contact whatsoever. All the same, their love foreach other still seemed to others to have a great tenderness and mutualdevotion. This façade was not so very different from the truth for as thecouple's erotic love dwindled to nothing, the relationship still rested on atacit agreement – a psychological contract which contained all the elements ofmutual respect and a willingness to accept each other's foibles and quirks,such as putting up with each other's snoring at night – an agreement which alsoincluded the ability to do so and the extra strain involved in getting alongwith a person one assumed one wished well for every hour of the day.

Untilthree years before, Ingrid had regarded her husband's self-imposed celibacy asa caprice of fate, something she would have to endure in order to apportion duevalue to the time she had lived in tune with her physical urges. But when,about three years earlier, she allowed herself to be mounted by her ex-balletpupil, and when the self-same slim, muscular man withdrew his penis, after nextto no time, supremely aroused, out of control in his excitement andnervousness, spraying large quantities of sperm over her breasts and stomach,Ingrid Jespersen experienced a feeling of purposeful and satisfied calm. Herdaily life was given a new dimension, thanks to the lover. A hitherto ignored,but perceived lack had at long last been addressed and met. She embraced Eyolfwith passion. She cradled him in her arms. She stroked his supple back and hismuscular thighs. She explored him with closed eyes and sensed the satisfactionof knowing a piece of her life had slotted into place. And for the first timefor a long time, as once again she felt her ex-pupil's penis swell between herhands, as the low winter sun cleared the neighbouring block, permitting a sharpray to penetrate two gaps in the blinds to hit the shelf and a glass penguin -an ornament which broke up the sunbeam into a soft carpet of colours, a rainboweffect, which covered their naked bodies and added a symbolic beauty to herphysical enjoyment – at that instant Ingrid Jespersen knew that she wasexperiencing something which would have a decisive impact on her later life.

Takingit as the most natural thing in the world, the two of them repeated therendezvous the very next week. Now, three years later, they no longer needed tomake any written arrangements; they just met in his flat at the same time,every Friday morning at half past eleven. They had no other contact apart fromthis visit, triggered and maintained by the same rather painful longing for theother's body and caresses. She looked forward to these weekly assignations withEyolf in the same way that she would have looked forward to a session with achiropodist or a psychologist. Meeting him was something she did for herwell-being and her mental health. And it never occurred to her that the youngerman would see it in any other way. As the weeks and months passed, asrendezvous succeeded rendezvous, they adapted to each other physically andpsychologically – from which she derived immense, unalloyed pleasure. Sheassumed at the same time that he would also find pleasure in this, all the daysand nights when he was anywhere else but in the same bed as her.

Thismorning, after taking a shower, washing her hair, shaving her legs, rubbingcream into her body, varnishing her toe-nails and applying make-up to hercheeks, lips, eyelashes and not least the rather swollen, wrinkled part underher eyes, Ingrid Jespersen once again tightened the dressing gown belt aroundher waist and went for a stroll through the flat. She stood studying the deepbowl on the kitchen table for a few seconds, the one with the rural patternfrom Porsgrund porcelain factory. The remains of porridge, thinned withsemi-skimmed milk, covered the bottom of the bowl. She automatically picked itup and rinsed it in the sink. Reidar had put the spoon in the dishwasher. Hehad put the carton of milk back in the door of the refrigerator. On top of thefridge, neatly folded, lay the morning edition of Aftenposten. Reidarhad not touched it. The coffee machine on the worktop was full. She poured thecontents into a coffee jug. It was half past nine, and she was not due to meetEyolf for two hours. In half an hour's time, Reidar's son from his firstmarriage would open his father's antiques shop on the ground floor. It was herintention to take the coffee and go downstairs to the shop, chat to herhusband's son and invite him with the rest of his family to dinner thatevening. To kill time waiting, she switched on the radio and sat down on thesofa in the living room with the newspaper in front of her.

Chapter 2

TodayReidar did not drive to the quiet warehouse in Bertrand Narvesens vei in Ensjøas he usually did on other days. Instead of turning left into the garage to gethis 1987 Opel Omega as normal, he walked in the opposite direction. He wentinto Bygd0y allé and wandered in the freezing winter temperatures down to theNarvesen kiosk at the crossroads by Thomas Heftyes gate. Here, in the taxi rankbehind the kiosk, stood three taxis, all in a line with their roof lights lit.Reidar first went to the kiosk and bought Dagbladet, Verdens Gang,Dagsavisen and Dagens Næringsliv. There was a lengthy pause while heread the front page of Aftenposten. His mind was drawn to his wife, whowould soon be reading this newspaper. Nevertheless, he passed on Aftenpostenand paid for the four newspapers, which he put on the back seat of the firsttaxi – a Citroën Xantia estate. The driver belonged to the tribe of taxidrivers to whom politicians have learned to listen. But even though he was ontop form, full of gold nuggets about international politics plus gossip aboutthe royals, and even though Reidar was strangely partial to street politics andthe truths championed by drunks and hairdressers, he remained impassive to allthe driver's attempts to get him into conversation. He asked to be driven to anaddress in Jacob Aalls gate. Here he went into a little café with a sleepyearly-morning atmosphere – several unoccupied tables and just two other guests:two young women drinking café latte out of large glasses at the only table bythe window.

Ayoung man dressed in white with inflamed acne on his cheeks and cropped hair inthe shape of a ski jump over his forehead, nodded to the new customer whom herecalled from previous visits. He came out from his position behind the counterand asked Reidar whether he wanted to sit at a table. The new customer shookhis head. On seeing the bewilderment in the young boy's face, he explained thathe wanted to sit by the window and for that reason would wait until the twowomen were finished. The boy gave an exaggerated nod, thus making it clear thathe considered the new customer to be not quite all there, then went back behindthe counter where he continued to chop up cucumbers and lettuce. Reidar stoodat the counter, staring at the two women who soon sensed his attentions andclearly found them unpleasant. A few minutes later the conversation betweenthem had dried up. Before very long both had finished their coffee and askedfor the bill. They let in a cold blast of winter as they battled with the dooron their way out. Reidar sat down on a chair which was still warm, took off hisgloves with a great deal of fuss, placed his leather document case on the otherchair, opened it and took out today's editions of Dagbladet, VG,Dagsavisen and Dagens Næringsliv, putting all four newspapers in apile in front of him. He signalled to the young man, who brought him a huge cupof steaming- hot, black coffee. Folke Jespersen lit a cigarette – Tiedemann'sTeddy without filters – and looked at his watch. It showed ten minutes pastnine. He inhaled, rested the cigarette on the ashtray and sat staring out ofthe window. His gaze fell on the front door which Ingrid, his wife, would openin a little over two hours, intending to spend the afternoon in bed with herlover. His mind drifted back to her, who at this moment, he assumed, would beelegantly huddled up on the sofa in her white frotté dressing gown as shefinished reading Aftenposten. He sat idly smoking while he tried toimagine how she behaved with her lover.

Hethought of the various stages he and Ingrid had been through in their lifetogether. He thought about the fragile, vulnerable creature she had been whenhe first met her. He tried to compare the memory of the person with the quiterobust, now very self-assured woman who slept quietly beside him in bed everynight. She had packed part of herself away and hidden it. A little packetwrapped in silk paper which he imagined she took out when she was with the manliving on the opposite side of the street. Deep down, he wondered whether thatpart of her soul – to which he had once tried to come close – was in the packetor whether that side of her had disappeared, had vanished into nothingness,along with her former vulnerability and insecurity. He wondered whether thewoman he shared flat and bed with every night was the same woman he had oncehoped he would succeed in loving. Somewhere in his mind his thoughts revolvedaround the enigma of human nature, the maturing and developing of a personality.In his mind's eye he saw a sculptor and thought: if you're a sculptor, perhapsyou can claim that the final result has always resided in the stone. But, ahuman being, thought Reidar; human beings are moulded not only by their genesbut also by their surroundings, history, by their life experiences andinteraction with others. A personality does not reside in a person from birth.In complete seriousness, he considered that his curiosity regarding Ingrid'slover was restricted to the little packet wrapped in silk paper containingIngrid's soul, and whether she opened it in the man's company. Acknowledgingthis to himself, Reidar felt something akin to being jealous, but this kind ofjealousy was not directed towards the lover as a person – it was a differentkind of jealousy – a sort of malaise which had nothing to do with the envy hewould feel towards any man to whom Ingrid would reveal her desires. It was morelike a raw form of sorrow, something vague and fleeting, the way he imaginedpeople who had had an arm or a leg amputated would feel pain in the absentlimb. It was a kind of jealousy he believed he was too old to explore further.With a certain melancholy, he pursued these thoughts, and also with a certainmelancholy, he conceded that he cut a sorry figure sitting there as he did now.He tried to find an explanation for his behaviour – why it had become such anobsession to observe with his own eyes how Ingrid routinely cheated on himevery Friday with Eyolf Strømsted. However, he allowed this self-examination towreak havoc in his mind for no more than a few seconds before dismissing it andreturning to active enjoyment of his morning cigarette. When it was finished,he stubbed it out in the ashtray and started on the topmost paper.

When,more than two hours later, a shivering Ingrid Folke Jespersen scuttled alongthe pavement on the opposite side of the street from the café, wrapped in along, grey, fur-lined coat and went through the front door without even so muchas a cursory glance at the café or any other aspect of her surroundings, Reidarhad finished reading the papers. He had smoked a few too many cigarettes. Hehad drunk two cups of coffee and a bottle of mineral water. As the brown doorclosed behind his spouse, he regarded it with a pained look and almost jumpedwhen the young waiter asked him if he wanted anything else. He checked hiswatch. And the moment his eyes fell on the round watch face, he caught himselfwondering why on earth he always looked at his watch when people asked himquestions. With that, he smiled at himself, gave a brief shake of his head andrequested the bill. After paying, he left two 10-kroner coins on the table as atip, which he felt ought to compensate for his rudeness two hours earlier.Then, with an old man's failing agility, he tottered out into the cold and,stiff-legged, walked down towards Uranienborg for a meeting with his brothers.

Chapter 3

Thefirst thing Reidar noticed on entering his brother's flat was a white screenstanding in the corner of the room – in front of Arvid's old Radionette TV withthe roll-up door. He saw that all the others were present: the youthfulbusinessman and his wife as well as Reidar's other brother, Emmanuel. Thestranger's partner had got up from an armchair by the window and stood ill atease, nervously wringing her hands. She was in that indefinable age betweenthirty and forty, with long, dark, curly hair, wearing a navy blue outfit,which created a sense of formality, although her skirt emphasized her legs.Reidar raised his arm and greeted everyone politely. She stuck out a slenderhand, which she swiftly retracted, and flicked back her long, dark hair,releasing an aroma of perfume around her. Reidar turned to the three men andshook hands with her middle-aged husband. The latter did not introduce himself;instead he nodded towards his wife and introduced her: 'Iselin Varås,' he said.Reidar turned and looked at the woman as she sat back in the armchair.

'Mymarital and business partner,' the man added.

Hemust have been around fifty with short, curly hair, greying at both temples.His looks were the kind that stockbrokers and sports commentators used to have:a brash enthusiasm underpinned by two-day stubble, a small inappropriateearring, jeans and a red suit-jacket. His upper lip was narrow and bared alittle of his top teeth, although it was not possible to say whether it was dueto a nervous tic or a stiff smile.

'Watchout for her, Reidar,' Arvid mumbled in jest, nodding towards the woman. 'She'stough in the clinches.' Arvid was like August Strindberg in one of thedramatist's less choleric moments: an elderly but dignified man with a goatee,pockmarked skin, lots of grey hair and a watch chain in his waistcoat.

Reidarsat beside his other brother, Emmanuel, who was the only person present who hadnot stood up. Emmanuel was the sort who liked to sit. He had always beenoverweight, and a long life as a smoker had given him gurgling emphysema, whichmeant he had almost no lung capacity. Standing upright for him was a terribleexertion.

'HermannKirkenær is in good shape,' Emmanuel wheezed to his brother, nodding towardsthe man in the red jacket.

Reidardid not answer.

'Doyou know Kirkenær?' Arvid asked nervously.

Reidarignored the question. 'Don't drag this out longer than necessary,' heinterjected sourly.

Arvidand Emmanuel exchanged glances in response to this bad-tempered retort. Arvidmade an impatient sign to get the meeting started. Emmanuel spoke up in such aloud voice that it sounded formal: 'Now that we are all gathered here, perhapswe had better get on with the matter in hand.' The ensuing silence seemed tocatch Emmanuel off guard. In his confusion, he craned his neck round, sendingeveryone a good-natured look, and stammered: 'The floor is yours, Kirkenær.'

Kirkenazrtook a step forwards and folded his hands. 'Thank you, gentlemen,' heresponded, moving behind his own chair and grasping the backrest with bothhands. Then he nodded to his wife. 'Iselin.'

Thewoman rose to her feet and passed him a brown folder. Then, with an elegantsway of her hips, she sashayed to the opposite corner and stooped over anoverhead projector on the floor. Arvid Folke Jespersen gave an eloquent coughas she bent down and her skirt tightened over her haunches.

Shewinked at Arvid and smiled in a maternal, indulgent way as she straightened upand put the overhead projector on the table in front of them.

Arvidand Emmanuel scraped their chairs to see better when she switched it on.

'It'salways a little special to talk to such a small audience,' Kirkenær began. 'So,let me first emphasize how happy I am to be here.'

Reidarglared at Emmanuel, who had expected this reaction and therefore ignored it,concentrating on Kirkenær instead.

'Iwould also like to take this opportunity to thank you, Arvid, for our enjoyableand instructive collaboration and also for allowing us to use your flat.'

Arvidgave a gentle, amiable nod.

Ithad now become obvious to all that Reidar Folke Jespersen was not on the samewavelength as his two brothers. He seemed grumpy and displeased, and he himselfwas aware of his role in this game. There was a great deal he disliked aboutthe situation. And this displeasure was given greater nourishment as Kirkenærconsistently addressed him by his Christian name.

Kirkenærstared straight at Reidar with a broad smile. 'I have, as you know, alreadyinformed Arvid and Emmanuel about what I want to say, but let me first presentmy goals for this little gathering here today: I represent freedom, gentlemen.I represent freedom and security because I have a huge amount of money behindme. But I do not wish money to be at the centre of our conversations. Aboveall, I am keen to ensure that you trust me. I want everyone to be clear thatthe fruit of your lives' work is in safe hands.'

Heclosed his eyes as though devising the formulation of his next nugget:

'Experienceis our shared capital. I have cast my eyes over what you have built up withhumility and respect. When I, and Iselin…' he sent an inclusive glance to theremote, queen-like woman who was smiling at the three aged gentlemen '… havegot that far, all that will be left to do is to oversee the investment withprudence. Gentlemen, we have explored the charts and sounded out the terrain,we have consulted the financial titans, and we are in total agreement that weshould pay you in generous measure in order to manage your shopin our name.'

Theman with the red jacket closed his eyes once again – as though tasting what itwas like to have let the cat out of the bag. Then he stood in silence watchingthe three brothers, almost as if he were checking to see how the land lay -until he spun on his heel and placed the first transparency showing hiscalculations.

Reidarsmelt a conspiracy. He and the two brothers followed closely as Kirkenær warmedto his task. None of the three commented on the exact offer when it wasrevealed at the end of Kirkenær's pitch. The young woman scurried around withrefreshments. Arvid had port and Emmanuel took beer while Reidar politelyrefused a drink. The young lady would not take no for an answer. She delvedinto a trunk and came up with miniature bottles of Hennessy and Chivas Regal,but Reidar caught Arvid winking to her and gesticulating that she should notpress him. This familiarity between the four of them – his two brothers and thetwo buyers – brought home to Reidar that Kirkenær had already sold the idea toboth Arvid and Emmanuel. But that was not what made him cold with fury. Therewas something else – though this was not a matter about which he could talk tohis brothers. Something which was causing him to feel trapped, impatient and alittle aggressive. But he refrained from making any further comment to eitherhis brothers or the buyers. He remained impassive. He did not say a word untilKirkenær and Iselin Varås had left.

Arvidlet them out. The three of them were making a commotion in the hall; heavyoutdoor coats were taken off hangers and remarks exchanged. But Reidar didn'tsay anything to Emmanuel while Arvid was bundling the two guests out of theflat. The silence between the brothers was palpable; they each stared at theirown section of the wall, absent-mindedly listening to Arvid flirting with

Iselinthe way old men do, until at last he closed the door.

Reidarrealized that the real cause for Kirkenær's prompt, fuss-free departure wasthat the businessman considered the battle already won. While Reidar sat thinkingabout the situation, he could feel the anger growing inside him. At the sametime he could feel how, yet again, resignation was trying to dampen his rage.It was a feeling he hated more than any other – how apathy had sneaked into hisconsciousness, with the passing of the years, in the same way that mist seepsinto the forest to make it impenetrable and colourless. It was the kind ofapathy that tried to deceive the body into thinking that it had neither theinclination nor the energy to take up cudgels. This duality of the senses -aggression mixed with resignation – gave him the fleeting feeling ofsuffocation. Yet he understood that this meeting was one of the most crucialmoments he had experienced for many years. These thoughts churned through hisbrain as Arvid's whinnying laughter carried through the hall door and Emmanuelglowered darkly at the wall, presumably on account of Reidar's negative bodylanguage. At this moment Reidar was planning a strategy with two short-termgoals. The first was to torpedo the attempt to sell the shop which the brothersowned in joint partnership. The second was to buy himself time to ponder thesituation which had arisen.

Thefirst strike was seconds away. When the hall door opened and Arvid leanedagainst the doorframe with a studied expression on his face, the old soldiertwisted around in his chair, ready for battle.

'Andwhere is the animal?' asked Reidar in measured tones.

As ifon cue, the sound of a low, grunting activity came from the hall. A small,black nose appeared in the doorway. It flicked open the door the necessary fewcentimetres, and a small, fat, panting butterfly dog waddled in. It wagged itstail with half its body and tripped along on thin legs, sniffing like a pigletwith a cold. Reidar bent down and pointed a long finger at the creature'ssnout, causing it to shrink back, retract its head and emit a series of sharpyelps, which in turn made Arvid go down on his knees to protect it. 'There,there, Silvie, there, there.' He picked up the animal and made baby sounds ashe rubbed his face against the dog's drooling head. 'She knows you don't likeher,' he said in a reproachful, annoyed voice. Reidar grimaced at him, almostas though he had seen his brother handling tainted meat or a grotesque insect.

'Thisis not going to happen,' Reidar said, to the point.

Theother two exchanged glances.

'Sothere is no more to talk about,' Reidar decided, and stood up.

'We'vebeen preparing this sale for months,' Emmanuel said in a low hiss. 'You can'tjust torpedo it.'

'Ican,' Reidar stated.

'Whatmakes you think that?' Arvid asked pugnaciously.

Reidardid not grace him with a look. He was already on his way towards his coat. 'Nowthat I've done what you requested,' he said, dismissing them. 'I've listened tothe man. I stood it for half an hour. You wanted me to be persuaded. I was notpersuaded. Not in the slightest. The man is a nothing.'

'Karstenagrees with us.'

Reidarflinched and glowered at Arvid, who repeated, 'Karsten agrees with us.'Bringing Reidar's son, Karsten, into the conversation made Reidar even angrierbecause it suggested that the conspiracy he scented was more widespread than hefirst assumed. It suggested that Arvid and Emmanuel, as well as plottingagainst him, had also got Karsten on board – his own son.

'Karsten'sinterests in the matter are of no relevance,' Reidar said, as unmoved asbefore. 'This is not going to happen,' he repeated.

Arvid'sshoulders quivered with annoyance. He sent Emmanuel another look – to gainsupport – before continuing: 'The long and short of this is that Emmanuel and Iare serious. And because he and I know you, and because he and I predicted whatwould happen if we trusted you to give your opinion, I'm afraid it is your turnto lose.'

ReidarFolke Jespersen regarded his brother with the same unmoved expression.

'You'llhave to give in, Reidar. There are three owners. Two against one is an absolutemajority.'

Reidarwas still silent.

Arvidshot a glance to his brother for support: 'The majority decides – whatever youthink.'

'Majority?'Reidar was working his way around the table towards Arvid, who in fearretreated two paces. Both stopped at a signal from Emmanuel, who was in theprocess of getting to his feet. That is to say, he was panting and manoeuvringhis fat body into a semi- upright position, with his stomach resting on theedge of the table. It was a very rare act. Everyone who knew Emmanuel knew whatexertions lay behind such a physical movement; both the brothers were aware ofthe emotional energy that had triggered these contortions. Emmanuel was thusinstantly furnished with his special badge of authority which had helped him onseveral occasions to overcome the younger brother complex he always ran intowith Reidar. Now, with assured hand gestures, he tried to exploit the advantageby calming down his two brothers who stood facing each other like boxers in aring. 'Take it easy, no damage has been done. Kirkenær will stand by his offerand we must stay united…'

Reidartwitched at the sound of Kirkenær's name. 'Whether this man stands by his offeror not is immaterial. It will not happen!' Reidar's retort was like the rattleof a machine-gun, and he added weight to the salvo by smacking the table hardwith the palm of his right hand.

Arvidput the dog down on a chair and said: 'We'll never get a chance like thisagain!'

'Exactly!'Reidar thundered. 'Exactly,' he repeated, approaching his brother. 'And has itnot occurred to you, in fact, that it's a little odd?'

'Odd?'Arvid looked to Emmanuel for help. He had slumped back into his chair,breathing heavily and wheezing after his efforts. Tiny beads of sweat hadbroken out on his forehead, but the look he sent his eldest brother showed hewas not done for yet. 'That's the problem, Reidar,' he said in a low voice.'You're getting too old. You've lost your bite. We're not giving in this^! time.You're going to lose.'

'Lostmy bite?'

'Yes,'came a shrill yelp from Arvid. 'You're not what you used to be. You and I andEmmanuel – we are…' Arvid gasped for air as if he didn't dare pronounce theword then and there. But he closed his eyes and steadied himself: '… we'reold. Reidar, you're old. You're the eldest. And you're notbloody immortal!'

Reidargave a start. Silvie, the dog, in the armchair began to bark loudly.

'Silvie!'Arvid shouted, already nervous. 'Don't be frightened, Silvie!'

Reidarglared from Arvid to Emmanuel and back again.

'Thereare two of us. You're on your own. This time Emmanuel and I will complete whatwe started. We're selling the shop and that's that.'

Reidarhad turned pale. He grabbed the edge of the table for support. The three men'sheavy breathing was drowned by the dog's yapping and high-pitched whimpering.

ReidarFolke Jespersen took a deep breath and was concise: 'I won't sign anything.'

Theother two men exchanged glances again. Arvid shuffled to the door, which thelittle lapdog took as a signal to jump off the chair. Barking and growling, itwaddled and panted its way over to Reidar and took a bite at his ankle. Reidarstared down at the dog for a few brief seconds, then a shudder ran through hisbody. He took aim and kicked the dog as hard as he could. The dog let out ahollow yelp as it took off from the floor, flew through the room and hit thecorner of the fireplace with a wet smack. The plump dog's body emitted arattling noise and lay motionless.

'Youmonster,' Arvid shrieked, shuffling over to the lifeless animal. He knelt down.'Silvie!' he called in a reedy voice. 'Silvie!'

Emmanuelrolled his eyes at Arvid's distraction. He hunched his shoulders as he tried tolight a slim cigarillo with a hand trembling from tension. The lighter flamegrew with every puff he took. Finally satisfied with the glow, he turned toArvid: 'It was stupid of you to let the animal in, you know that yourself,Arvid. Reidar and the dog have never got on.'

'I'moff right now,' Reidar boomed and pointed to the front door with his long, bonyindex finger. 'And as things stand, there is very little chance I will return.'

'You'vekilled Silvie,' Arvid wailed from the fire.

'Cutthat whining out now!' Reidar snapped. 'Your pooch isn't dead.'

Emmanuelcleared his throat. But his voice gave way as he inhaled the smoke. 'For us…'he mumbled in a semi-strangulated voice,'… for Arvid and myself this is purebusiness, Reidar. Money. It's unprofessional of you to make it into a personalmatter.' He coughed and had difficulty breathing. When he resumed speaking, hisvoice had the same wheeze as a dying godfather in a Mafia film: 'You'll have togive in, that's all there is to it. It would be best for you. Arvid and I willnot comply this time. So you might as well just sign.'

'I'llnever sign,' Reidar hissed.

'She'snot moving,' Arvid shouted, lifting up the lifeless dog. 'Silvie.'

'…We're talking about my damned pension!' Emmanuel went on undaunted, though now inhis normal voice. 'Karsten also agrees that this is for the best. Arvid,Karsten and I – you cannot let your usual bull- headedness spoil the future forus.'

Reidarstood with lowered gaze for a few moments before peering over at Arvid, who washolding the little dog in his arms. Its two front paws pointed up into the air.One paw convulsed and fell as the dog's head twisted and a pink tongueprotruded from its gaping mouth. 'Now the mutt's dead,' Reidar intoned with acrooked, malicious smile playing on his lips. He added: 'You killed it. Youshouldn't have picked it up.' Then he turned and marched towards the door.

'Reidar,'Emmanuel chided. 'The war finished more than fifty years ago. You have nothingto gain by going off on your own. For once in your life, admit defeat.'

AsReidar opened the door, he threw a last glance over his shoulder and said: 'I'mnot signing. That's it. No signature – no contract.'

Emmanuelshouted at Reidar as he left: 'There's no point resisting, Reidar! Tomorrow themoney will be on the table.'

Thedoor slammed shut.

'You'velost,' Emmanuel shouted after him and looked at his brother, Arvid, who slowlyraised his head and sent the closed door a furious glare.

Emmanuelpuffed away on his cigarillo. 'The vet will fix your dog,' he assured hisbrother. 'It's another matter with Reidar. We need his name on the contract.Otherwise, we can kiss the money goodbye.'

Chapter 4

Onthe way down the stairs after leaving his two brothers, while stuffing hisemotional shock into a dusty old drawer in his psyche, Reidar was planning hisnext move.

Atfirst he stood still, shivering, in the freezing snow on the pavement inUranienborgveien as he racked his brain to decide the best way to locate a taxiand a telephone box. That is perhaps the most irritating thing about days likethis, he thought. When you are older, breaks in your routine make the days moredifficult, almost insurmountable. He started to walk down towards Parkveien.After fifty metres, at the corner of Uranienborgpark, he found a telephone. Onunhooking the receiver, he discovered that he needed a card to operate it. Heput the handset back and considered whether he should go straight to the officein Bertrand Narvesens vei in Ensjø and ring from there. It was cold, and he wasstiff and tired. However, he wanted to call from somewhere anonymous. Heregretted not asking Arvid to book him a taxi before he left. A car as a basewould have facilitated progress and his actions; on top of that he would havehad somewhere warm to operate from. Dramatic exits such as the one he had justmade were quite unnecessary, even though the passion underlined his seriousnessand created unrest in enemy ranks.

Withunbending fingers he extricated a telephone card from the wallet in his pocket,as well as the slip of paper on which he had noted down the telephone number ofIngrid's lover. It rang for a long, long time.

'Yes,'came the response at last.

Reidarhesitated, just for a second and no longer. 'This is Reidar Folke Jespersen,'he said. 'Let me speak to my wife.'

Thesilence on the phone continued. 'No melodrama – I don't have the time,' Reidarcontinued in the same calm tone, but with a hint of impatience now. 'It is ofthe utmost importance that I talk to Ingrid – now.'

'Justa moment,' said the man's voice.

Thesilence persisted. Reidar was frozen. He looked around him and cursed Ingrid'snervousness, cursed her for not understanding how he disliked this kind ofwaiting. As he stood there shivering, a white Mercedes with a taxi sign on theroof came up Josefines gate. It stopped a few metres from the traffic lights.Reidar could see the passenger paying. He was keen to be the next passenger. Asif in response to his thoughts, his wife's hushed voice came on the line:'Reidar?'

'Yes,'Reidar intoned. 'I'll be late home today, maybe after seven o'clock.'

Theother end of the line was quiet. The rear door of the Mercedes opened, and thepassenger got out.

'Areyou there?' he asked.

'Yes,'said Ingrid, his wife, in a barely audible voice.

'Iassume this will be the last time I find you in the house of another man,'Reidar said. 'But it is your choice. If you wish to stay married, I expect tosee you at home at seven. If not, you should not return.'

Thewhite taxi started up and turned into the street where he was standing. Reidarraised his arm and hailed the taxi, which pulled up by the kerb. 'In any eventthis episode is forgotten and we will never talk about it,' he concluded and hungup. He took his card from the machine and blew on his hands before hunching hisshoulders and trudging across the pavement to the car door the driver washolding open from inside. He got in and shut the door after him.

'Where?'asked the driver – a chunky Pakistani, concentrating on the traffic behind himin the mirror.

'Ensjo,'Reidar said and took a deep breath. 'I'm freezing. Would be nice if you couldput the heating up a bit.'

Chapter 5

Theanxiety that Reidar Folke Jespersen had not felt for many years lingered – in away it made him feel restless, which also brought back feelings of youth he hadnot experienced for a long time either. So it was an anxiety that he both likedand disliked. But he was unsure about what to do next – and that made himannoyed with himself. He just sat at his desk making the essential telephonecalls and waiting for five o'clock. As the time approached and it was as darkas night outside, he clumped down the steps from his office to the warehouse.The huge hall was full to the rafters with old furniture and artefacts waitingto be sold at the shop in Thomas Heftyes gate. He stood for a few secondstaking in the chaos of artisanship and old everyday items. For a few seconds heallowed himself to drift into a dream, as he usually did whenever he stoodsurveying this scene. But on this day he could not hold on to the sensation. Sohe forced himself to go on, down the stairs. He took a key from his trouserpocket, went to the front door and opened it. It was still icy cold outside. Heopened the lid of the green post box hanging on the wall beside the door. Thekey fell with a faint, almost inaudible clink. Afterwards he went back in andchecked that the door was locked. Then he made his way between all the antiquefurniture, to the very back of the room and stopped in front of afashionable-looking wardrobe. It was covered with carved mouldings and haddecorative flowers painted on the mirrors mounted on the doors. A black dinnersuit hung inside. It had hardly been worn, and had an old-fashioned cut. Hetook off his grey trousers and blue checked flannel shirt, and put on the suit,white shirt and polished shoes.

Afterchanging, he went back to the office and sat smoking at his desk whilecontemplating the reflection of his upper body in the darkened window pane.What he saw was an elderly man with white hair and a meticulously trimmed whitebeard covering his chin and mouth. His eyes followed the outline of his suit;the black contrasting with the white of his shirt, and the black bow tie aroundhis neck. To his sorrow, he was forced to accept that he could not meet his owneyes in the window. I look like my own ghost – in some English drama, hethought, and rose with apprehension to his feet. He walked over to the windowand pulled down the white roller blind. Then he resumed his position at thedesk. It was a heavy table and he had covered it with a smooth white cloth fromwhich shone the faint reflection of the ceiling lamp. There were two stemglasses on the cloth. He stared at the ash on the end of his cigarette, reachedout for the ashtray between the glasses and noticed how his hand was shaking.Then he flicked off the ash. He stubbed the glow on the ashtray, extinguishedthe cigarette and rotated his arm to check the time. With sudden impatience hestood up again and went to the mirror hanging beside the door. He adjusted hisbow tie, brushed the lapels of the dinner jacket and brushed off tiny specks ofdandruff from his shoulders. He studied his shoes, discovered a stain, bentdown and rubbed it with his thumb. There was a grandfather clock between themirror and the door. He opened the door of the clock and checked the time againsthis wristwatch. All of a sudden he inclined his head and seemed to belistening. There was the sound of a door closing.

Heswitched off the ceiling light and put on the desk lamp instead. Then hestooped and took a dark bottle from the space under the table, but stopped allof a sudden and angled his head again, as though listening. There was a knockat the door. 'Come in,' he said, spreading out his arm in a gesture of greetingas a woman appeared in the doorway. She was in her twenties, tall, slim andwearing a long, red dress. Leaning against the doorframe, she was in shadow,out of breath.

'Don'tbe embarrassed,' he said to reassure her.

As hesaid the last word, the woman raised her chin and looked him in the eyes. Heliked the way she fell so easily into the role, liked the self-assurance shedisplayed, and perhaps this was the moment he liked best of all – when she cameinto the light from the desk lamp.

'Niceto see you again!' she said, almost in a whisper.

'Afterfar too long,' he answered, feeling his windpipe constrict with self-pity. Hestared at the ceiling, swallowed the lump in his throat and, in a dream,repeated: 'Far too long.' He collected himself and went round the table wherehe sat down on the swivel chair and fixed his eyes on her.

Theyeyed each other in silence.

Atlast she coughed and said: 'Coming here is like returning to a secret place.'

Hewas quiet.

'It'swith me all the time, everywhere.'

'Whatis?'

Sheconsidered and said at last: 'Longing.'

'Whenyou're here, I forget what it means to wait,' he said and nodded towards thebottle. 'Sherry?'

'Yes,please.'

Hewas about to take the bottle, but hesitated and looked up at her. 'Perhaps youwould pour?'

She strodeacross the floor, took the bottle and poured a glass for each of them. Then sheraised her glass, swirled the liquid around and inhaled the aroma before gazingdreamily at a point in the distance. She sipped at the sherry and put the glassdown. Bit by bit she began to roll down the long glove reaching up over herelbow. 'It was the driver,' she said. 'He wouldn't let me go.'

Shearticulated every word, with slow emphasis, as though she were worried abouthow the message would go down. Reidar had closed his eyes, as if in meditation.In the end, he inclined his head, opened his eyes and said' in measured tones:'Well? Why not?' His eyes had taken on a curious yet also caring expression.

'Hewanted to have me,' she said, dropping the glove on the floor. Her fingers werelong, her nails sharp and painted red. She took off the other glove too -protracted movements, finger by finger, until she had released her forearm fromthe tight-fitting material. 'He was brutal.'

'Was hea stranger, or did you already know him?'

Shelowered her gaze and deliberated. At length, she looked up and said: 'Ask meagain later.'

Reidaracknowledged this clever response with a smile, drew the glass to his lips,sipped the sherry, swallowed and put it down. With a look of satisfaction hestudied the hand resting calmly on the glass. 'There's something I have to talkto you about,' he said in a light tone of voice. 'Something important.'

Shetook a few paces to the left, walked past the large grandfather clock andstopped in front of the mirror. She gazed at herself. 'I was concerned that youhad to wait,' she said, turning back to him. 'But, on the other hand, itappeals to me that a young man shows such obvious interest.'

Hereached out and removed the ashtray from the cloth. He put it on the windowsill, beside a small cassette player which he switched on. Low, tinny violintones poured forth from the player's small loudspeaker.

Shestood stock still, listening with closed eyes. 'Schubert?'

Henodded as she undid the zip on the waist of her dress. Then she began to undothe row of small, white buttons running down the front of her dress. When shewas finished, she freed her shoulders. The dress fell in a bundle around her ankles.She looked down at herself. She was wearing two old-fashioned brown shoes withheels and a string of artificial pearls which she had wound around her neckseveral times. Otherwise nothing.

Reidarcontemplated her from under half-lowered eyelids. When, eventually, he didmove, the chair gave a loud, piercing creak. As if the sound were a signal, thewoman stepped out of the dress onto the floor. She raised her hand and caressedher breasts. The skin on her upper arms was nubbled. 'What did you want to talkabout?' she asked, crossing the floor with long strides.

'Forgiveness,'came the quiet answer.

Shestood for a few seconds looking at the table, her mind elsewhere, as though theword was forcing its way inside her, until finally she scrambled up and layface down on the white cloth. She supported herself on her elbows, took theglass out of his hand and sipped. At last she answered: 'We've talked aboutthat before.'

Henodded.

Thesilence lingered until she passed back the glass and said: 'You and I shouldhave gone to a concert together. Schubert.'

'Where?'he asked.

Shepaused.

Heregarded her with a blank expression.

'Vienna?'she asked, looking up.

Heshook his head.

'Salzburg?'

Heshook his head, his eyes closed.

Asmile formed on her lips. 'London?'

Henodded.

Thewoman lay listening to the music with closed eyes until, without undue haste,she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

'It'snever easy to obtain forgiveness,' she said ruminatively.

Hecleared his throat.

'It'sa two-way thing,' she said.

Hedidn't answer.

Theyboth listened to the music without speaking. After a while she got up onto herknees. The warm light from the ceiling light cast a dark, reddish almost, glowon her skin. He pushed the chair back a little and took in the view from themirror.

'Canyou see?' she asked.

'Almost.'

Sheslid into a better position.

'Perfect.'

He satobserving her in the mirror. He did not move and did not say a word. After along while she opened her eyes. Then he rose to his feet and whispered in herear. 'What are you thinking about?'

'Music,'she whispered back.

'Whatkind of music?'

'Schubert.'

Hewrapped both hands around her face. The blue, somewhat grainy eyelids loweredas he kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She bit her lower lip hard. Herbreathing was heavy and drowned the sharp violin notes from the cassette player.For a few brief seconds he gazed at the ceiling. But when she later buried herface in his white shirt front, he lowered his head with affection against hersoft shoulder and one solitary tear rolled down.

Chapter 6

Outsidethe warehouse where this scene was unfolding, Richard Ekholt stood leaningagainst a wire fence and thinking that the window in the building's façadelooked like a half-closed eye. The eyelid was a roller blind and beneath itthere was a strip of light. His eyes hurt from staring, but he couldn't tearthem away.

Eventhough he was very cold, Richard Ekholt was not aware that he was freezing. Hewas wearing a taxi driver's uniform and nothing over it. The Oslo Taxis logowas sewn on his left sleeve at the top. The uniform was creased, the trousersunpressed and the soiled jacket lapels bore dark, long-term coffee, hot dog andketchup stains. On his feet he was wearing brown shoes unsuitable for freezingtemperatures. When he noticed the woman's silhouette through the white blind,he closed his eyes for two brief seconds. But the feeling that arose fromhaving his suspicions confirmed was a different pain, different from the jealousyhe had felt hitherto. What he experienced was a paralysing hollowness, whichwas not relieved by turning away. For two brief seconds it felt as though theground would hit him in the face before he found a fence to grab hold of.

Therewas just one illuminated window in the row of darkened squares in the wall. Herbody became a blurred shadow which soon became a razor-sharp silhouette againstthe white blind, only to lose its contours in an absurd piece of mutepantomime. The profile of the steep nose, the shape of the top lip and the wigstood out against the blind as she swung round at leisure and began to unbuttonher dress. The silhouette was just as sharp as she wriggled one shoulder outand let her dress fall. Her shadow dissolved as, again, she swung around. Thenhe felt the sensation in his legs go, as though his body were being suckedhollow from seeing her shadow, a torso with straight shoulders and sharplydefined breasts, melt into the form of grey mist, as though a film director weresitting somewhere protecting the audience from the spicy scenes. He neitherregistered the cold on his body nor the icy air in his nostrils. What he feltwas the fleeting touch of her skin on his fingers the moment before she pulledaway from him and ran out of the car. He staggered towards the door throughwhich she had disappeared. Without taking his eyes off the bizarre shadowtheatre going on behind the white blind, he staggered across the tarmac, thepatches of ice and trampled snow until he slumped against the iron door whichhe knew was locked. Nevertheless, he pulled at the handle. He kicked the door.No sign of give. He backed away. How had she got in? he wondered. He searchedfor a bell, but there was nothing to be seen. She must have known the way, hethought. She has been here before, he thought. As though in a trance, hewobbled back to the taxi. All he could hear was the crunching of snowunderfoot. He got in and glowered at the clock on the dashboard. Shouts fromcustomers who wanted a taxi seeped through, but he didn't pay any attention; hedidn't take his eyes off the minute hand on the clock. Soon he could see hisown icy breath. After a while a layer of frozen condensation had covered theinside of the windscreen. His fingers went numb with cold, but all he couldthink of was her shadow through the blind.

Theminute hand moved with infinite slowness. Nevertheless, it crept round half acircuit without his noticing time was passing. It was almost impossible to isee out through the layer of ice covering the windscreen. He ground his teethand blew on his fingers to allay the cold. Then he switched on the engine,revved up and put the defroster and heating on full. He held his hands in frontof the heating ducts, which were soon letting lukewarm air into the car. Hisknuckles were red with cold, his fingers white and bloodless. The ice on thewindscreen soon thawed, leaving small oval patches through which he could see.His fingers began to tingle. But his brain was still churning over her mysteriousrendezvous. Whom had she dressed up for? She had been thinking about this manwhen she was putting on lipstick, when she leaned towards the mirror and put oneye-shadow. The concentrated hand that held the brush – like that – with himsitting in the same room. Her thoughts had been elsewhere, with another man.She had chosen a dress for another man. Already, in front of the mirror, shewas practising this deception. She had not been going to do a job – noreadings, no dance. She had been preparing herself for a lover. He clenched hisfists and glared. There was still light in the window.

Thecar began to warm up; the ice that had covered the windscreen disappeared, andwhen the switchboard finally received the call that had to be hers, he wonderedwhether he would be cheeky and take the job. But he refrained. He sat there,immobile. Soon afterwards a taxi pulled up a few metres away, with the rooflight off. The taxi reversed and waited with the engine idling as the exhaustfumes danced in a line like a grey wad of cotton wool in the cold. Hisattention was still directed towards the window. That was why he didn't hearthem coming at first.

Whenhe did notice them, he grabbed the door handle, then let it go. They camewalking in a tight embrace. No. They were supporting each other. She, in herhigh heels, and he – that was when he discovered it was an elderly man. Thatbecame obvious when she opened the taxi door for him. He followed her figurewith his eyes as she rounded the taxi on her unsteady heels and got in on theopposite side. The taxi set off and he put his car in gear. They took the ringroad – illuminated, almost deserted so early in the evening. He stared at theback of her head in the car window. She did not turn round. She had no ideathat she had been found out. His eyes stung as he followed them down towardsCarl Berners Plass. They were approaching the lights on red and he hung back sothat he would not be seen. He fixed his gaze on the man's white hair. When thetaxi moved off, he did not notice where it was going. He only saw the back ofthe man's head in front of him. He tried to imagine what the man looked like.In his mind, he formulated the question: Who are you?

Slowingto a halt, he realized they had stopped outside her flat in Hegermanns gate. Hebraked, pulled into the kerb and switched on the roof light – an anonymous taxiin any street in town. Lowering his chin to his chest, he pretended to bemaking a note while registering her through his eyelashes. She moved to theside, gave the old man a hug as the door opened, set one foot on the road andmanoeuvred her body out. The old man was looking ahead. He couldn't even bebothered to look ather. The old man was still gazing into space asthe car drove off.

RichardEkholt instantly switched off the roof light on his car and accelerated. Shehad crossed the pavement and was now standing in front of the entrance,searching for her key. She turned as he drove past. They exchanged glances. Shegave a start and made a movement with her arm when she recognized him. But hedrove on. She stared after him. He watched her in the rear-view mirror. Thefigure became smaller and smaller in the little mirror stained with grease andfingerprints, distorting her features into a hazy shadow. A shadow staringafter him, | dejected. But he would take care of her later. First, the old boy.He signalled right and followed the taxi along Ringveien.

Chapter 7

AlthoughJonny Stokmo was small of stature, he was of stocky build; his hands were largeand powerful and he had a loose-limbed, bouncing gait that bespoke strongmuscles. The thinning hair was combed back as well as it could be and in thiscold weather he kept his head hidden in the hood of his quilted anorak. He wassmoking a cigarette. As always, it stuck out from the corner of his mouth, asmall fag stained reddish-brown, filthy from his own saliva mixed with tobaccojuice. He had a moustache which grew downwards in two thin strands either sideof his mouth. It had been burnt away by repeated lightings over the right-handcorner of his mouth.

Hewas waiting for Reidar Folke Jespersen. He paced to and fro on the pavement inThomas Heftyes gate to keep warm. About half an hour before, he had talked to IngridJespersen, who had said that she was expecting Reidar at any minute. His mindwas in turmoil about the imminent meeting. He was unsure as to how he shouldexpress himself. On top of that, he was worried about how he should positionhimself; he would have to try to stand in such a way that he had eye contactwith Reidar, who was taller than he was. He wondered whether to go on theattack or to be friendly, or somewhere in between. Perhaps he should beice-cold, as Reidar usually was. He rehearsed We're both adults in hishead, but disliked the choice of words. The last time Jonny Stokmo talked aboutbeing adult was when he talked to his ex-wife, Berit, on the telephone.

Reidar,I've been giving this a bit of thought would signal that Jonny had reflectedand was willing to see this business from the outside, also that he hadconsidered Reidar's position in an objective light. Reidar, I've, beengiving this a bit of thought, and you have to understand there is only onesolution… It sounded good. Only one solution. It was like sayingthere was no other way, and then Reidar would be keen to hear what the solutionwas. Even though, deep down, Reidar had to know the solution. Because Reidarknew Jonny.

Ingridhad invited him to wait inside, but Stokmo did not want to set foot in ReidarJespersen's flat. He didn't say this, though. She had prattled away like animmature girl, as always. Ingrid Jespersen was a woman with a lot ofconversation in her, the type that likes to flirt with lorry drivers andplumbers, someone who gets the hots for men with dirt under their nails, butnever leaves her lair and the security of being fettered in a humdrum marriage.Jonny was sure that, whether Ingrid knew anything or not, she was a betterperson than her husband, something which he had a mind to tell Reidar.

Hewas freezing cold because he was wearing jeans, with no long underpantsunderneath, no long johns. He should have put them on when the temperaturecrept down to minus 20.

Thetaxi carrying Reidar Folke Jespersen drew into the pavement. Stokmo waiteduntil Jespersen had paid the taxi driver, staggered out and the taxi had drivenoff. He put both hands in his jacket pockets and went over to meet the man. Atfirst Folke Jespersen stood stoop- shouldered on the pavement. Then he wrappedhis coat around him and set off with his old-man-gait, heading for the frontdoor of the building some distance away.

'Oh,it's you,' said the old man, stopping. 'What do you want now?'

Immediately,Stokmo knew how this was going to end. Reidar's intonation, the brief glance,the look of rejection.

'Yes,nice to see you, too,' Stokmo said.

Reidarglared at him over his shoulder. He wanted to pass.

'There'ssomething I want to say,' Stokmo stated.

'Theanswer's no.'

Heknows what it's about, thought Stokmo. So he's thought about the matter;it has been bothering him; he isn't sure how to tackle it.

FolkeJespersen shoved Stokmo in the shoulder so he could pass.

'There'sonly one solution,' Stokmo said with force, standing in his way again.

'Getout of my way,' the old man said.

'I'vedecided,' Stokmo said. 'And…'

'…I'm sick of your prattle,' Folke Jespersen interrupted. 'I don't owe youanything – neither you nor your late father.'

FolkeJespersen was about to force his way past, but Stokmo grabbed him by thecollar. 'You're going nowhere, old man!'

'Ibeg your pardon?'

JonnyStokmo had not envisaged this turn of events, that he would grab the sourpussby the collar. As he felt the old man's body yield to his muscular strength, hewas paralysed by the situation he found himself in. Reidar was not anyone. Thiswas Folke Jespersen. The paralysis that overcame Stokmo allowed FolkeJespersen to loosen the other man's grip with ease. 'How dare you!'

'Youwill pay!' Jonny Stokmo was still angry, but his demand didn't quite have thesame power he had expected. The shock of feeling his own anger translate intoviolence had led to his muscles failing him; he felt weak, his wings had beenclipped.

'Creepback down that stinking hole from which you crept!' hissed Folke Jespersen. Theold man's jaw quivered. He tore himself loose. Stokmo stood in amazement asFolke Jespersen passed by him with long strides. Then the old man stopped, asthough he had changed his mind. He rummaged in his pockets for a pair ofgloves. He glowered at one of the gloves for a moment, then slapped Stokmo inthe face with it, once, then once again. 'You bloody simpleton!' FolkeJespersen snarled and headed for the door twenty-five metres away.

Whenthe old man had passed him, Stokmo seemed to come back to life. 'You're athieving bastard!' he yelled and, on his short legs, bounded after the tall,old man. 'And you won't bloody get away with it!'

FolkeJespersen completely ignored him. As they got – to the front door, herang the bell to his flat and stood staring into space as though Jonny Stokmodid not exist.

'Youwon't get away with this,' Stokmo threatened. 'I'll be back. And it won't beyou doing the slapping, you bloody fascist.'

Therewas a buzz. Folke Jespersen opened the door. 'Do what the hell you like!' hemumbled, letting himself in without so much as a glance in Stokmo's direction.The door slammed in Stokmo's face and he was left looking at it. 'You bastard,'he swore. 'You bastard!' He backed away from the wall and shook his fist at thewindows on the floor above.

Chapter 8

When IngridJespersen went to bed that evening, she was alone for the first time in manyyears. She lay thinking. She remembered how the low, cold, white January sunhad also on this day pierced her lover's bedroom window and shone on anornamental glass object, sending out the same multi-coloured fan of playfullight – across the bed, across her lover's back and her thighs as she, supinewith her hands around Eyolf's hips, had stared at the telephone ringing on hisbedside table. That loathsome white telephone which moved to the beat of hisrhythmical movements in and out of her, that telephone which never stoppedringing. And for some strange reason she had known, lying there with her headrepeatedly banging against the bedstead, known it was Reidar ringing her. Shethought of the hours afterwards, the nauseating and humiliating feeling ofguilt, which had turned every minute of the day into suffering until theevening meal with Karsten, his wife and Reidar's two grandchildren. She thoughtof the change that had taken place when Reidar came home and everyone wassitting at the table. She thought of her own role during the meal, how she hadsucceeded in swallowing the shame, the nervousness, and at the same time howshe had managed to grow herself a shell – not a single anxious glance at herhusband, not a quiver of her hands. Her mind began to wander and she thought ofher time together with Reidar, of twenty-five years of her life married to aman she knew she didn't truly understand. Reidar, who had been married before,who had been a widower when they met, a widower with a son who was not muchyounger than herself. She thought of the twenty-five years she had shared withher husband, and she concluded that these years had not in fact brought themany closer on an emotional level. The telephone conversation, his monologue,had been a demand for subordination. And the fact that she had dutifully playedher role on that evening, converting the subordination into practice, meantthat she now experienced a tiny, but very frightening, thought about her ownlife. For even though it was not the first time she had wondered if she hadmade a mistake accepting Reidar's proposal twenty-five years ago, this was thefirst time she had thought that the years had been a total waste. The very ideaof choosing a wasted life was so scary that she rejected it outright. However,although she somehow managed to repress the notion, something followed in itswake and made her very nervous as she lay waiting for sleep to overtake her. Itwas the fact that she was becoming aware of how little she knew about herself.Lying there, listening to the sounds in the house, to Reidar passing to and frooutside her bedroom, and his distant mumble on the telephone, she had a panicattack. The attack brought on a cold sweat; she tossed around in bed and bitinto the pillow in desperation. Her physical anxiety was so strong that she gotout of bed straightaway, slunk into the bathroom and took an Apodorm sleepingtablet.

Althoughthe physical unease continued to bother her, at some point she fell asleep andheard nothing until she awoke with a start – she had no idea what woke her,just that there had been something.

Itwas night outside. The doziness caused by the sleeping pill lay like a heavy cloudover her temples while her body was tense with fear. The experience of twodissimilar states – crippling fear and wakefulness (she was not capable ofexperiencing either of them fully) – filled her with an oppressive feeling ofnausea somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She lay still fearing whateverit was that had woken her. She lay rigid, stone still, not daring to move.She didn't dare to move her head because she sensed that someone was inthe room. Someone might hear her breathing. Someone might hearthe duvet rustle if she moved.

Ifonly it weren't so cold, she thought, and stiffened even more. The air she wasinhaling was ice-cold. The air in the bedroom should not be so cold. Withinfinite care, trying not to make a sound, she turned her head. And then shesaw two things: the bedroom door was open, and Reidar was not in his bed. Thelight from the room outside fell through the open doorway forming a broad, greytrapezium of shadow across the floor and the end of Reidar's bed; the eerie, shadowylight further revealed that Reidar's duvet was as neat and untouched as whenshe had fallen asleep.

Hehad not been to bed at all. This had never happened before. If Ingrid had beenparalysed with fear until now, from this moment she sank into an even worse,even more acute, physical state, a state which caused a cold sweat to break outand her fingers to feel like stiff, insensate lumps of wood. As her eyesfeverishly scanned the room, there was a part of her hovering above her body. Apart of her saw herself lying in bed, as rigid as a pole, with wild eyes. Thesame part of her observed her body beginning to sit up. What are you doing?said this part of her. Are you crazy? But her body was not listening.With infinite slowness she raised herself, petrified that she would make asound, that someone would hear what she was doing. Her eyelids wereheavy; her brain was still numb from the sleeping tablet. For two or threeseconds this nightmare still felt dream-like. If her heart had not beenpounding in her body, so out of control, she would have turned over and goneback to sleep, sedated. But that didn't happen. What happened was she that shesat up and swung her legs onto the floor. Despite her sluggish state, she feltthe cool air in the room brush against her nightdress, penetrate the fibres ofthe material and spread a light shiver through her body. And the instant herfeet met the wooden floorboards, she received a new shock. Her bare footencountered something chill and damp. The floor was wet. And as though she werebeing charged with power from a generator – still outside herself – she saw herlong forefinger reach for the switch on the bedside table lamp. A dry click andthe lamp came on, casting a warm, yellow light over the brown, mahogany tableand around the bed. There was a white patch on the floor, a small puddle ofwater with snow in the middle. It was the type of mess left by someone comingin from outdoors with snow on their shoes.

Thesnow came off and after a while began to melt because the temperature washigher indoors. Now, at this moment, as her brain struggled because her senseswere still dulled by the strong medication, she realized what must have wokenher up. Someone, a person, had tiptoed in and stood over her bed, watchingher as she slept. It must have been Reidar. But where was he now?

Shestood up and staggered through the doorway into the bathroom. She stared at thefront door, which was wide open – an open door letting in the cold air from thestairs and making the flat cold. She closed the door. As the door clicked intoplace, the thought struck her that perhaps she was not alone.

Shescoured the darkened flat through the open door. The idea of venturing throughthe door and into the darkness was repellent.

Sheturned uneasily to the telephone on the low table and caught a glimpse ofherself in the mirror. A pale figure with lifeless eyes. She slumped down onthe stool beside the mirror and allowed her fingers to tap in a number she knewby heart. It rang and rang. In the end it was Susanne who answered.

Shewhispered into the mouthpiece: 'Could you ask Karsten to come over? Reidar isnot here and I think there has been a break-in.'

'Isthere anyone in your flat?'

'Not sure,but the doors are open. I was woken up. You must ask Karsten to come!'

'ButKarsten isn't here!'

'Isn'the?'

'No.'The silence hung in the air. She didn't know what to say. It was Susanne whoought to say something, who ought to explain why Karsten wasn't at home in bedwith his wife. But Susanne said nothing, and Ingrid couldn't bring herself toask about that of all things. She was confused. The numbing tiredness caused bythe pill was making her mind function in slow motion. 'Can you come then,Susanne? I'm so scared.'

'Thechildren are sleeping.'

Thesilence that persisted now, after the woman's answer, oppressed Ingrid stillfurther. She raised her head and looked round at the darkened flat where dangerlurked. She cleared her throat and whispered: 'Can't you wake them up and comehere?'

'Ingrid.'Susanne's voice was more awake now. 'What are you going on about? A break-in?Have you been having nightmares?'

'No,'Ingrid snapped, peering over her shoulder in panic – because this conversationwas unpleasant and because someone might be listening to her. Someone… 'Ihave not been having nightmares. Would you wake Karsten so that I can talk tohim?'

'Karsten'snot here, I said.'

'You'relying.'

Ingridinstantly regretted her outburst. But it was too late. Susanne's voice was ascold as ice as she articulated her response with slow emphasis: 'No, I'm not,you hysterical old bag. I am not lying and Karsten is not here. I cannot runaround like a flunkey for you. I have two children here and they need all thesleep they can get. If you're so frightened, get dressed, switch on the radioand make yourself a cup of tea which you…'

'Susanne,don't ring off!'

'…which you can drink until Reidar gets back. Goodbye.'

Shewas standing with her back to the wall and the receiver in her hand. Annoyingengaged signals were coming from it. Her eyes glazed over and she took a stepforward so as not to lose her balance.

Atthat moment there was a bang.

Itwas a door slamming on the floor below.

Ithad to be Reidar. He was downstairs in the shop. She took another step andlistened. There were footsteps downstairs. It had to be Reidar. Then there werefootsteps on the staircase. Slow, heavy footsteps. She concentrated. Was hiswalk that heavy? Dear God, she thought. Let it be Reidar. And nowsomeone was coming up the stairs. The footsteps came closer and stopped.Outside her door.