The Return

41

Night once more.

Awake once more. Judgment was passed yesterday, and her last hope was blown out like a candle flame in a storm.

Guilty.

Verhaven guilty again. She fumbles for her glass. Sips at the lukewarm soda water and closes her eyes. Turns her thoughts inside and out. What is it behind this unbelievable turn of events? What is it forcing her to hang on despite everything? Instead of just letting everything go, dropping all her resistance?

Breaking this lunatic silence and sinking down into the darkness. What?

Andrea, of course.

Last time she was two years old; now she’s of marriageable age. A mature woman. The woman her mother never became; there is a progression in everything, an inexorable, black logic against which she has no defenses. A destiny, it seems to her.

Please, God, let her relationship with Juhanis come to something.

Please, God, make them make their minds up soon so that he can take her away from here.

Please, God.

When?

When did the first crystal-clear suspicion enter her mind this time?

The same day? That same rainy afternoon in September when the body was discovered by Mr. Nimmerlet? As early as that?

Perhaps. Perhaps she knew right away. Suppressed it and slammed the door shut on it. Immediately hit upon her twisted excuse to escape and swallowed it hook, line and sinker; he hadn’t been in town that day. He’d driven to Ulming with the broken chain saw; she checked that herself in her diary. It must have been that very day…. He stopped by at the Morrisons on the way as well, even if they weren’t at home, it seems. He said that himself, and there had been nothing unusual about what he’d done or the way he’d acted. Nothing unusual.

They couldn’t do anything with the saw, but of course he had been there, and as it’s a long way between Ulming and Maardam, it can’t have been him. Not this time; this time it really is Verhaven; it must be Verhaven.

Guilty!

But she knows even so.

She’s lying here in her big bed in the refurbished bedroom, and knows. Is more and more convinced of this black certainty. Chained to him and to her silence, that’s how it feels; more and more bitter, more and more strong, and clearer than ever during these ecstatic, sleepless hours in the early morning.

Him and her. Man and wife.

But never man and woman. Not since Andrea was born. All these years they have never come together. She has closed her legs to him and left him outside; that’s what has happened. Transformed this strong and healthy man into somebody who runs after whores. A married man who every month takes his car to town in order to satisfy his tortured urges with bought love.

That’s what I have turned him into.

And into a murderer.

Him and her. This unavoidable certainty. And the choice, has she ever had a choice?

No, she thinks, and swallows that as well. I have never had a choice.

She sits upright. Dries the cold sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. Tries to relax her shoulders and take slow, deep breaths while she looks out the window. The sky in the east is defined by the dark outline of the coniferous forest.

Oh God, she thinks. Can anybody understand?

Even You?

She clasps her hands, but the words of her prayer are locked inside her.

I will take the punishment, she thinks. Punish me for my silence!

Let me remain in my bed forever! Let me…let me do just that. Let me cease once and for all staggering through this house, which is my home and my prison. Let me stay here.

May my wrecked pelvis split open forever!

She sinks back against the pillows and it dawns on her that this is how it must be. Exactly like this.

But may there be some kind of meaning, despite everything. At last the words find their way over her lips. May…may my unfathomable darkness be my daughter’s light! she whispered out into the night. I do not beg for forgiveness! I do not beg for understanding! I ask for nothing! Punish me, oh God!

Then she closes her eyes, and almost as if she has been given an answer, she can feel the shaft of pain shooting up through her body.