Murder of Halland (8 page)

In the beginning, before we started watching television every night, we read and talked. One evening, Halland told me about a hypnotist he had seen as a boy. The man made a group of teenagers think they were hens, but Halland didn’t believe they were truly hypnotized. He still thought the man was a hoaxer.

I witnessed a similar performance by the same
hypnotist
, though he was older then. He convinced me, and I told Halland so. ‘Why?’ he asked. I had told the story so often that my reasoning had become an anecdote in its own right. But now that I wanted to tell the anecdote to Halland, the words stuck in my throat.

I was afraid that the hypnotist’s power would reach out and grab me even though I sat at the back. I kept shaking my head and saying no to keep his voice and eyes away from me. Volunteers from the audience were invited onto the stage. Told to do stupid things, they
obeyed. When they were handed invisible drinks, they raised their invisible glasses and looked like they were drunk. ‘Now you’re at a sex show!’ said the hypnotist’s metallic voice. ‘What do you see, Hans Henrik?’ Hans Henrik was a tall, skinny boy in my class who never said a word. The audience held its breath.

‘It’s disgusting!’ he shouted in a strange, deep voice. The audience laughed.

I didn’t want to reveal myself. The ambiguity of the situation frightened me. In Halland’s eyes I saw how much I resembled Hans Henrik. The incident didn’t
appear
funny any more. Halland wouldn’t be amused in the right way; the anecdote could reveal insights about me I hadn’t even considered. So this was another story I didn’t tell him.

In the night, I screamed, ‘You’re touching me!’

‘Where? Where?’ he whispered. But whatever was
happening
had stopped and there was nothing more to say.

I took my bike. How did I look? At least I had a bath and put my hair up as best I could. Two long earrings dangled in unison as I pedalled. The air was warm and still. I sang softly to myself: ‘
Blest comfort too holds the
peaceful night, when skies in the sunset glow
.’ The rape fields smelt sweet. I had drunk another aquavit before leaving the house. Two, in fact. I felt like continuing to sing, but then just spoke: ‘Brandt! Halland! Brandt!
Halland
! Where are you? Where are you? What’s going on? What’s happening?’ I liked to repeat myself. Besides, I wasn’t listening to the words. I liked the rhythm. I liked the drink talking. I was worried yet happy. At least, I felt as though I were happy. But that couldn’t be true. Someone had bought the Pavilion. Why had we not heard about it? Did Halland know? We had not visited the Pavilion for a while. Two years, perhaps. Last time we took a picnic and sat on the stone bench in the overgrown
garden. Now he was with me again, the dear man. The cheat, the traitor. We were entering the woods. The beech trees sported their new leaves. The sun went down and I only wobbled a bit. I could hear the music long before I arrived. Getting off my bike, I walked the rest of the way in order to savour the moment. My steps slowed. I passed a couple of laughing, tipsy youngsters who didn’t appear to notice me.

As I stepped into the dim light, I recognized some faces. They all looked the other way. Only one brightened on seeing me. Lasse had apparently forgotten that we weren’t going to speak to each other. As he started to walk towards me, a girl pulled him back, wanting to dance. A flat-chested young woman at the bar looked me in the eye as though she were about to say
something
, but she said nothing. When I pointed, she pulled me a beer.

Brandt’s lodger stood in the corner furthest from the dance floor and talked to a blonde with hair down past her waist. She seemed a fun person. He laughed so heartily that I felt sure I could hear him above the music. Turning away, I sensed him. The feeling reminded me of being a teenager. I pretended not to be bothered. I was a grown-up now. His dark hair, narrow hips and angular jaw contradicted any strict notions of beauty and lent him an original air, the kind of thing that had attracted me since childhood. Not everyone had that look. Halland hadn’t, neither did Troels. Here I was, standing with my back to him, knowing where he was in the room, certain that I would always know. Gulping
down my beer, I asked for another and a Fernet Branca to go with it. The music was OK and I wanted to dance. The lodger and the blonde had stopped talking; she was on the dance floor now, smiling at me. I began to move towards her, but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t recognize him at first. ‘I owe you an apology!’ he shouted above the noise. His speech was slurred. ‘For what?’ I shouted back. ‘For nearly having you arrested!’ It was Bjørn the caretaker, the last person to see Halland alive, or nearly so.

Surely I should’ve dragged him outside so we could talk in peace? Instead I shouted, ‘Do you want to dance?’ ‘Love to!’ he shouted back. While I danced with the
caretaker
, the lodger stood sipping a beer. He had shaved and his hips were narrow. I wanted to move closer to him, to ask him if Brandt had come home, even though I knew he hadn’t. I closed my eyes to hear the music. I turned and swayed. The singer’s gravelly voice kept missing the top notes, but he was good. I opened my eyes to look at him and found myself facing the wrong way. I almost fell on top of some people at a table. Bjørn the caretaker was gone. The blonde was on the other side of the room. Where was Brandt’s lodger? The people at the table glared at me. The woman closest to me stood up and took me by the elbow. She wanted to lead me away, but I didn’t want to go. ‘Come on!’ she barked, bustling me along. People stepped aside. I was going to tell her that we were like Moses parting the waves, but there was too much noise.

We went out into the foyer. The woman bundled me outside. I recognized her. She worked at the supermarket
checkout. ‘Best I run you home, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to go home!’ I protested. ‘I’m sure you don’t, but you really ought to.’ Where had I left my bike? My tongue didn’t obey me. ‘My husband’s just died!’ I blurted out, immediately feeling angry with myself. I liked the woman so much, and here I was offending her because I was drunk. ‘I know; everyone does!’ ‘Do they?’ ‘
And
you’re all over the papers today!’ ‘Am I? What for?’ ‘You ought to go home.’ I began to snivel. ‘But I don’t
want
to go home!’

The woman went back inside. A boisterous group of kids were smoking a little way off. O, angular jaw! I giggled. I stepped awkwardly on the soft woodland ground. Why was the night so dark? How far had I come? The Pavilion was behind me, but there was no music. I stood in the darkness, in the silence. The air was heavy. I saw a shadow in front of me; I wasn’t sure. The night was blacker than black. Had I gone blind? I closed my eyes and opened them again. No difference. Straining to hear, I put my hand out to feel my way. Was this the path? Would I walk into a tree? I felt a breath of air. Was someone breathing next to me? I stiffened, then swayed, took a step, then another. I recited out loud, ‘No sound of anyone fleeing.
Darkness, darkness – the knave’s head
upon a plate!
’ Now I was singing, aware that I was
singing
the song I only ever sang when I was drunk. I didn’t sound pretty. I felt my way forward with my feet. This must be the path. Angular jaw. Thank goodness I got away. Away from the Pavilion. Away from myself. Where did I leave my bike? Is it summer? When will the sun come
up? I felt cold and put my hands to my ears. My earrings were gone. That was always the way. I needed a pee and tried to squat down without falling over. Where was I? Warmth rose up from beneath me. Then I was bathed in a sudden, violent light. I nearly lost my balance. ‘Don’t shoot!’ My voice rang out and everything went dark again. A car door opened and a glow shone from inside. Someone was walking towards me. Struggling to get to my feet and pulling my knickers up, I fell over into the wet. ‘And I have broken a tooth!’ I shouted. 

‘He used to come here now and again because of the sea eagles. One time he fell into the reeds. I helped him inside, didn’t I? Gave him a hot toddy and a warm jumper. He had been ill and was still rather frail, but my word he was handsome! He would look in every now and then. Halland was a good-looking man, but nothing went on between us. You’d know that, of course, being his wife. What am I saying! Of course you would!’

Laughter. Peals of laughter.

‘But handsome, I’ll give him that. Not that I ever let on, though he may have had an inkling. Then again, he might just have felt comfortable here. I’m always one to put the coffee on. I gathered he hardly drank at all, apart from the odd beer perhaps; that was a pleasure of the past like the other thing. We could always chat, though.
I’ve never been married myself, never had a man in the house – around the house, I mean. So it was nice. Cosy, even. Do you know, I’d squint my eyes sometimes and picture him living here. I hope you don’t mind me saying this. I never told him to his face, of course. Nothing to be worried about there. Still, you know what I mean. He was frail and poorly the first couple of years. Handsome, mind! You were a lucky woman. My word!’

Laughter. Loud braying laughter.

‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing to laugh about. I know there isn’t. I always thought you were a lucky woman. You and I never knew each other, but he talked about you all the time. Not excessively, mind. Not like he was saying things he shouldn’t. He was in the dumps, you see. On your behalf, you could say. Because you were young, a lot younger. That was the thing. He’d torn you away from the life you had before, and the thought upset him. He didn’t think he was much of a man any more, but of course he was. You can vouch for that. You were never wanting for anything in that department, as far as I could make out. He spoke to me in confidence, of course. I’m not sure I understood him right, because he never said it in so many words. It’s more what I took him to mean, understand? I’ve thought about him such a lot over the years. I hope you didn’t mind me turning up at the funeral? I felt I knew him better than most, you see. Next to you, of course. But then what would I know? One thing, though: I won’t half miss him. You should’ve seen me crying when I heard the news on the radio. I was in shock, understand? I had to get on my bike and see the
spot, but the police had cordoned everything off. When I went back later, there was nothing to see. Not so much as a drop of blood was left of him. Gave me the willies, it did. First he was there and then he wasn’t. And then, when I saw the coffin in the church. Well, it might have been him and then again it might not. The coffin could’ve been empty for all anyone knew. The pastor never said a word about him other than his name, so who’s to say? I didn’t care for that one bit. He ought to have said a few words at least. He could’ve said that Halland was the most handsome man in the town. Because he was, wasn’t he? And he could’ve said something about his birds, about all the things he knew. Or the books he read. There was plenty there to be getting on with. But not a word. Always been too high and mighty by half, that pastor, if you ask me. Not that I go there much, but it’s true all the same, a lot of folk say so. I’d play for him sometimes too. Just occasionally. I’m not bad, even if I say so myself. He actually paid to have the piano tuned. That was the only thing he ever gave me, mind. Just in case you were wondering. I never imagined I’d see you at the Pavilion, but I can understand why you were there. I’m in mourning myself, but that didn’t stop me, did it? You were lucky I found you at all. How on earth you managed to wander so far, I’ll never know. You could’ve lain there and died in the night if my torch hadn’t picked you out on the way home. I saw you dancing and didn’t have the nerve to speak to you. But when I found you there, I felt I was receiving a gift from Halland. Like the time Halland fell into the fjord. A fairy tale, it was. There you were, lying
in the woods in the dark. Imagine what Halland would have made of you. Am I wrong?’

Laughter. Trickles of laughter.

‘I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but like that queen once said,
We have both lost a good man
. No misunderstanding intended.’

‘Sorry, I’m going to be sick,’ I said, and headed for the door. I spewed everything out in front of the woman’s house, making sure to spray her front step. I wasn’t going back inside anyway. So there I stood, bent double and gripping the iron handrail, cold sweat on my forehead. The retching felt awful and yet, as always, came as a relief. I was shaking uncontrollably, and then there was nothing left inside me. Throwing up with nothing to throw up was the worst. After a while, the spasms stopped. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I spat in the grass and went round the side of the house, where I found my bike leaning against the wall next to a bench. Her name was Stine. My head was pounding. How had I ended up on her sofa? Had I come on my bike? I sat down on the bench in the sun. My head didn’t welcome the
brightness
. I shivered from coldness. I could hear Stine laughing inside the house. Did she laugh out loud when she was on her own? Was she on the telephone? ‘Don’t ever tell anyone this,’ Halland would say sometimes. I wanted to weep. Was Stine’s laughter Halland’s way of taunting me? Was I meant to be his gift to this demented, cackling woman? I refused to believe he had ever felt comfortable in her company. Madness.
I’m in mourning myself
!