The Murder of Harriet Krohn

16

He spends four weeks on remand.

Then an additional four weeks, and he isn’t allowed any letters or visitors. He passes much of his time dozing on the narrow bunk beneath the window. He glides away and forgets everything, until he’s rudely awoken by keys jangling in the lock. The days are uniform; they blend into one another uneventfully. He often sits by the window staring out. Not much happens out there. A woman on a bicycle is a real treat. He notes all the details: the bike’s shiny paint; the flapping skirt; the glimpses of naked, golden calves. A couple of youngsters messing around with a skateboard. Little things. The cloud formations and the trees moving in the wind, their great crowns swaying. A flock of birds crossing the sky.

He likes the food and he eats well. In the evenings, he’s allowed to go into the yard for a smoke. He tells them about his illness and informs them in subdued tones of his possible fate in a few years’ time. They listen and nod, but they don’t show him the sympathy he’d hoped for. So far he’s been able to manage, but at times he finds himself waiting for the big deterioration. The disease is like a dormant volcano. Frequently he lies on his bunk sensing his body. Nothing that happens in it escapes him or his questioning anxiety. A stitch in his side, a sensation in his leg. It’s all analyzed.

At last he’s allowed visitors. He lets Julie know and settles down to wait. He walks in a tight circle in his cell to get his body warm. There’s so much he wants to say. She has the right to an explanation. He knows he’s got the words. He’s been through everything so often in his thoughts, and more recently with his lawyer. He knows that he can explain his panic. When she attacked him from behind and began screaming. He looks at the time. He glances out of the window. Straightens the blanket on the bunk slightly, nervously adjusts his shirt collar. Julie is so wise, so sensible. He believes it will be all right. He runs his hand through his hair and looks at the time again and waits. His ears are tuned to the noises in the corridor. He listens for sounds of footsteps and keys. Soon they’ll stand in the door saying, you’ve got a visitor, Torp. It only takes five minutes to walk up from Oscarsgate to the courthouse; she’ll be on time for sure. No doubt she’ll be pleased to see him. He does another round of the floor. He prepares himself and feels that he’s in control. He ends up standing by the window. The traffic outside is intermittent. The odd car, the occasional woman with a baby carriage. The weather is warm and sunny. It doesn’t occur to him that he’ll spend years within these four walls. It’s incomprehensible to him. It doesn’t occur to him that he’ll do time: after all, he’s ill. And so he’s buoyant and lighthearted, and only focused on Julie, who’ll soon be here.

He’s quite certain she’ll be here.