Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (7 page)

Valdemar was
growing so
fast now, Anna could hardly keep up. Every
day he seemed to have new victories and to conquer the impossible. Only four
years old and he was talking like a ten year old, the doctor had told her. His
mind seemed to be a masterpiece of its own. He had taught himself to do many
things that Anna never thought he would be able to do. And, often, the solution
was among the simplest. He got by doing a lot of things with his toes and feet.
One day when Anna was in the living room, Valdemar called her from the kitchen
and asked her to come and see something. As she entered, she was stunned to
realize that her little boy had managed to tie one of his father's ties around
the refrigerator handle and fasten it with a knot using his toes. Then, he put
the end of it on his shoulder and, using his mouth, started pulling till the
door opened.

"There," he said. "Now I can get
my own food."

Anna laughed and picked him up. Then she danced
while holding him tight. Valdemar laughed and laughed. After that day, he
didn't stop amazing his mother with his accomplishments. He used his chin to
hold his plate between the chin and the shoulder and carry it to the table when
it was dinnertime. He pressed buttons on the microwave with his nose and he
played videogames by simply using his toes.

Anna was thrilled to see how many things he was
capable of and, as the days went by, her hopes rose that he would one day be
able to take care of himself.

But what broke her heart was seeing him making
all this progress and then looking at his dad for acknowledgement and never
receiving it. Every day, Anna told Michael about what Valdemar did now and how
clever he was, but every day he would answer the same: "The kid is a
loser. He will never be able to do anything."

And every time he said that, he broke Anna's
heart a little. Especially when Michael would look at Valdemar with resentment
at the dinner table when he ate either by simply sticking his face into the
plate or when Anna fed him with the spoon.

"See?" he said. "He still can't
even eat on his own."

Every day, Anna saw how the hurt grew in
Valdemar's eyes and she cursed her husband for not seeing the progress, for not
hoping and dreaming of a future for their son like she did. Then one day, when
Valdemar was four, he was occupied in the garage for a long time and Anna was
worried. Valdemar loved hanging out in there, using his dad's tools when he
wasn't at home, with nothing but his feet. Anna was wondering what he was up to
when he suddenly stormed into the kitchen holding something between his chin
and shoulder. He placed it on the table, but still Anna couldn't see what it
was. It looked like a small iron pipe that he had welded onto a small round
slice of metal that could turn. Anna couldn't really see what it was, but
Valdemar soon showed her. He smiled like this was the proudest moment of his
life. Anna didn't understand.

"How did you make this?"

"I welded it."

"You used your dad's welder? Are you
insane? You could get hurt!" Anna was furious. Just the thought of him
alone with that dangerous instrument made her heart race. Didn't he understand
that he wasn't like other kids? Didn't he know he was handicapped? It was like
he refused to accept the fact that everything was harder for him than for other
kids.

"I put on dad's helmet. Don't worry, Mommy.
Let me show you what this is for. Just wait and see. You'll love it. Grab a
spoon," he said.

Anna handed him a spoon.

"And a bowl of cereal."

"But it's almost time for dinner," she
argued. "I don't want you filling up on all kinds of food before we eat.
Daddy will be home any minute now."

"Mommy. Just help me, will you
please?"

Anna sighed and poured some cornflakes into a bowl
and poured milk on top of them. Then, she placed it in front of Valdemar.

Valdemar picked up the spoon using his mouth,
put it in the bowl, and dug up a spoonful of cereal. Still using his mouth, he
placed it on top of the iron pipe that had a small submersion through the
center where the handle of the spoon fitted perfectly. Then using his nose,
Valdemar pushed the spoon around till he could reach the food on the end of it
and ate it.

Valdemar looked up with a big smile. Anna burst
into tears just as the door opened and Michael stepped in.

"What's going on here?" he asked.
"Why are you crying?"

"Oh Michael. You've got to see this,"
Anna said and ran to him. "Our boy has taught himself how to eat with a
spoon. Come and see."

Anna noticed Valdemar's body was shaking as he
picked up the spoon with his mouth again. He managed to get cereal on it, then
placed it in the submersion again and turned it with his nose. Then he opened
his mouth to eat the food from the end of the spoon, when his nose accidentally
tipped the spoon off the iron pipe and it fell down on the table spreading
cereal and milk on the newspaper lying next to his bowl.

Valdemar looked up at his dad who growled and
picked up the paper and started to walk away.

"It worked just fine before," Anna
said. "It really did Michael. He was eating on his own. I tell you it's a
miracle."

Michael turned around and looked at Anna.
"A miracle? You call that a miracle? I call it a failure. A pathetic
failure. So what if he can learn how to eat on his own? Most kids can do that
when they're less than a year. How is he ever going to ride a bike?"

At the
hospital, the
piggy-doctor told Henrik that he was
fine and ready to be discharged.

"We would like for you to come back for a
check-up to make sure your remaining kidney is working properly in about two
weeks. Until then you must rest, give your body time to heal. And for God's
sake, try not to get yourself too agitated."

Henrik growled and gathered his belongings. He
looked at the display on the cellphone while waiting for the taxi in the
hospital lobby. No one had tried to call him. Henrik's stomach hurt and he
found the pills the doctor had given him for the pain. He swallowed one without
water and stared once again at the phone.

Why hadn't she called? Why hadn't Janni answered
her phone when he had tried to call her? She was, after all, his wife. She had
to know that he was in the hospital for Pete's sake. The police said they had
informed her. Where was she?

The taxi drove up in front of the entrance and
Henrik got up from the chair and walked towards it, taking slow steps to ease
the pain. He was sweating heavily. The taxi driver held the door for him and
took his suitcase. Henrik growled when he noticed how the taxi-driver handled
his suitcase, banging it around, not caring that he was making scratches and
bumps in it. Henrik shook his head and took in a deep breath.

Probably Pakistani with that
turban on his head. Probably a terrorist in training. Just like the rest of
them. Nothing but trouble.

Henrik shook his head while the man smiled at
him, showing a row of pearly white teeth in his brown face.

Why does the Danish population
refuse to see that all those people only come here to destroy our nation from
the inside? First they will be elected for parliament, then they will build
their ugly, noisy mosques and make us stop having Christmas because it is offensive
to them and soon no one will eat pork anymore and the brown-skinned will be in
charge. That is what is going to happen and it has already started, hasn't it? They
are already complaining about the Christmas trees and the pork served in
schools. And the Danes are stupid enough to listen and then they change it in order
to not offend the growing Muslim community. Meanwhile, they have their meetings
where they declare death to the Danish population behind our backs. It should
be illegal to be this freaking stupid!

"So where are we going?" the
brown-skinned man with the turban asked. The taxi didn't smell as bad as Henrik
had expected it to.

Henrik looked at his phone and felt the anger
rise inside of him again. He wanted to crush the phone between his fingers.

Home? Are you going home? Back
to Roskilde and a woman who doesn't care about you?

"Where to?" the taxi-driver asked
again.

His calmness irritated Henrik.
Probably Buddhist or something stupid
.
Henrik felt like screaming. He restrained himself and made a decision.

"Take me back to Brabrand. To Hotel Kragen.
I have some unfinished business there."

"As you wish," the taxi driver said
and started the car.

Henrik found his wife in the contact information
on his phone and looked at it. Should he text her? Let her know he was out of
the hospital? Nah, she didn't even care that he was in there in the first
place, did she? No she would have visited or at least called. Henrik looked at
the photo on his phone showing his wife and son. Didn't he mean anything to
them?

As the taxi drove out of Aarhus and into the
countryside, Henrik opened Facebook. There were a ton of messages for him on
his wall from colleagues and acquaintances wishing him well and telling him
they saw him on TV and how awful it was what had happened to him. Most of them
told him to let them know if there was
anything
they could do for him
.

"Bah," Henrik said out loud. It was so
easy to show sympathy on Facebook without meaning anything by it.

Henrik found his wife's Facebook page and
scrolled on her wall, reading all the messages and updates. On the day he had
been admitted to the hospital, she had changed her status from married to
single
. Her status today was a quote from
one of her favorite TV shows,
Sex and the
City
.
“Men cheat for the same
reason that dogs lick their balls … because they can.”

Henrik felt infuriated
and threw the phone on the seat next to him with a groan. The taxi driver
looked at him in the rearview mirror.

"Everything all
right?" He said with his stupid foreign accent that made Henrik even
angrier.

"Yes, everything is
all right," he said imitating him rolling on the r like he had done.

So she had guessed that he
was with a woman that night.
Big deal
.

The taxi came to a stop
and Henrik paid the man and got out. With much discomfort, he walked inside the
lobby. Luckily, there were no journalists there. Henrik had feared they would
still be there, but they had probably moved on. The man behind the counter
gasped when he recognized Henrik's face.

"Let me get the
owner on the phone," he said.

"No. No. I'm not
here to talk to the owner. I need to talk to someone in the bar. Could you help
me find who the bartender was that night?"

"S … ssure,"
the clerk stuttered. "That would be Arne. Let me find him for you. One
moment, please."

Henrik nodded and held on
to the counter. At the hospital, they had told him he would experience pain for
the next couple of days, but it was perfectly normal. There was nothing about
this pain that seemed normal to Henrik. He sighed and looked around. Eyes were
watching him, scrutinizing him, and when he turned to look at them, they looked
away.
So I'm the freak now, huh? I'm the
freaking talk of this small town?

"Here is the gentleman who wishes to speak
to you."

Henrik heard the voice behind him and turned
around. A man, whom he recognized as the bartender who had waited on them that
night, looked back at him. He reached out his hand. "I'm so sorry, sir.
For what happened that night."

"Good," Henrik said. He closed his
eyes as a wave of pain rolled in over him.

"Are you alright sir? Should we call for
help?"

"No. No. No help please. I'm fine. The
doctor at the hospital said it was perfectly normal to have some pain. Besides,
I don't care. I just want to find whoever did this to me."

"At least sit down, sir," the clerk
said and helped Henrik to a chair.

"Don't fuss around me," Henrik growled
and removed the clerk's hand from his arm. The way he held him made him feel
like an old man or a cripple. And no one treated him like a cripple. Henrik was
a man at his best age. He was many things. He was handsome, he was charming and
had a way with the ladies, but he wasn't pathetic. He didn't need people's
help. "I hate fussing."

The clerk stepped back. "Sorry, sir. I
didn't mean to …"

"Well, you did." Henrik sat in the
chair. It felt good to rest a little. He looked up at the bartender. "I
want to know who she was," he said. "I want to know everything you
know about the girl."

"Very well sir. But I do believe I told
everything to the police."

Henrik looked into the bartender's eyes. So
that's how Janni knew. The police had told her? Asked her if she knew? Had they
no respect for people's privacy?

Henrik's hands were shaking in anger. The clerk
and bartender saw it on his face. There was no way this girl was going to get
away with ruining his life like this. Once he found her, she was getting what
she had coming to her.

And it wasn't going to be pretty.

Henrik looked at the bartender. "What have
you got? I need to know everything. If you give me what I need, I'll consider
not pressing charges against the hotel."