few steps, peeked into the kitchen. She wasn't there. He kept going, the smell got stronger. Something wasn't right. He stopped. She was sitting on the sofa with her feet propped on the table. Soft music reached his ears from the stereo. Billie Holiday singing 'God Bless the Child'. She was wearing lipstick and a green dress. Her hair gleamed, blonde and shiny, and he thought: She's beautiful. But that's not it. He glared at her.
'What is it?' she said gently. There was no trace of anxiety in her voice.
'What are you doing?' he stammered.
'Relaxing.' She gave him a radiant smile.
'Dinner's ready. Jacob called, said he'd be here shortly.'
It smells of hash, thought Sejer. Here, in my own living room. I know that smell, it's not like anything else, I can't be mistaken. He was dumbstruck. He was a mute beast, a fish out of water. The smell was thick in the whole room. He cast a wild glance at the balcony door, went over and opened it. He was so unbelievably surprised, so completely bowled over.
'Konrad,' she said. 'You look so strange.' He turned to face her. 'It's nothing. Just . . . something occurred to me.' His voice didn't sound normal. He tried to think. Jacob could be there any second. Sara didn't look stoned, but maybe she would be soon. Jacob would think he condoned it, and he didn't. What on earth should he do? She's a psychiatrist, she works with people who are very sick, many of them destroyed by drugs – heroin and ecstasy – and here she sits, getting stoned. On my sofa. I thought I knew her. But I suppose, after all, I don't. The crease on Sejer's forehead was deeper than it had ever been.
Sara got to her feet. She placed her hands on his chest and stood on her toes. He was still taller than she was.
'You look so worried. Please don't be worried.' The only thing he smelled was the caramel scent of her lipstick. He swallowed hard, and there was an audible gulp in his throat.
Why do I become a child in the arms of this woman? he wondered. And then, out loud, his voice hoarse: 'What's that strange smell?' She laughed slyly. 'I put a whole nutmeg in the mousaka by mistake, and I haven't been able to find it.'
He stared at his feet. He certainly didn't have time for a shower now. Jacob would be at the door any moment. The fresh September air came streaming into the room. Billie Holiday was singing. He didn't know if the smell was still there as the room gradually cooled off. Norwegian law, he thought. In accordance with Norwegian law. It sounded ridiculous. He could say anything to her, but not that. It occurred to him that this woman had her own laws. And yet she had higher moral standards than anyone he knew. He felt like a schoolboy. Realised there was so much he didn't know, so much he had never tried. He was curious about people, he wanted to know about them, who they were and why they were that way. But right now he felt something wavering inside him.
The doorbell rang. Sara went to open the door. Jacob was sharp, for all that he looked like a schoolboy. Was the smell still there? His eyes stopped at the picture of Elise on the wall in front of him. She smiled back. She had no worries. She disappeared for an instant, seemed more dead than usual. It was harder to summon her back, her voice, her laughter. He felt a new kind of grief that she was about to disappear in a different way. Would it never end? He went out to the balcony. He liked the crisp autumn air and the bright colours. Liked this time of year better than the summer. He took several deep breaths. He thought he ought to work out more; he wasn't getting any younger. There was plenty of life left. Matteus would grow up, black in a white world. He had to be there for him. Sejer shook his head, bewildered. Couldn't understand his sudden gloom. And then, there was Jacob Skarre standing next to him.
'Smells good!'
'What do you mean?' asked Sejer, on the defensive.
'From the kitchen,' Jacob said.
They ate and drank and talked about their jobs. Sara told stories from the Beacon psychiatric hospital, where she worked as a doctor. She wasn't the least bit stoned, at least not that Sejer could see. But now and then he would glance at her surreptitiously, and he scrutinised Jacob more closely than usual. One of the things about Jacob was that he was so tactful. If he noticed anything he would never say so. Should he mention it himself when they were alone? He brooded over this as Jacob talked about a shooting incident. It was a bad case, but, even so, an old story that repeated itself with few variations. Jacob was determined to confer with his God, to find some meaning in something which had no meaning. Because there wasn't any meaning or purpose, it wasn't part of any higher plan that would lead to anything good. Sejer was convinced of that.
'It was a bunch of kids who were going to have a party. It happened the same way it always does. The guys bought the alcohol and then picked up the girls. One of the boys, called Robert, had a rented room. And a stereo system. The landlord was gone, it was perfect timing. The idea was to get drunk, get laid, and then brag about it the next day.' Skarre looked up at Sejer with the bluest eyes in the world.
'Somebody also brought along some dope. They weren't really drug users, it's pretty much considered decadent to smoke a little hash at a party, and it's not exactly a major crime any more, not these days. To keep it short, the whole thing ended in the deepest misery. Drunkenness, then fighting. Robert got out a shotgun and shot his girlfriend right in the face. Her name was Anita, 18 years old. She died instantly.'
He paused and stared into his glass of red wine. Held it by the stem, not wanting to leave any fingerprints on the bowl of the glass. It was amazing, Skarre's attention to detail.
'They were ordinary boys,' he said to Sara. 'I know it sounds as if they were nothing but the dregs at the bottom of society, but they weren't. They all had jobs or were students. They came from decent homes. Had never done anything criminal.' He started swirling the wine in his glass. 'In a way it's impossible to understand, don't you think?
Except to suppose that something took over.
Something from outside.'
'You can't blame the Devil,' said Sejer with a smile.
'I can't?'
'Hasn't he been officially excluded from the Norwegian church, as being non-existent?'
'That's a great loss to human kind,' said Skarre meditatively.
'Why so?' Sara wanted to know.
'If we don't believe in the Devil, we won't be able to recognise him when he suddenly shows up.'
'Blame the Devil? For heaven's sake. That would cut a lot of ice in court.'
'No, no.' Jacob shook his head. 'Try to think of it like this. We encounter the Devil all the time. The question is, how do we handle him?' He fell silent for a moment. 'I don't really believe in the Devil, but I have doubts now and then,' he said, smiling.
'For example, when I saw the photo of Anita – what was left of her – or Robert's face through the bars sitting in his cell. He's a good person.'
'All of us are both good and bad, Jacob,' Sara said. 'It's not an either/or.'
'You're right. Some people are fundamentally good. Others are fundamentally cynical. I'm talking about a basic tone that exists in every person. And in Robert, it's good. Don't you agree, Konrad?' Oh yes. He agreed. And he didn't understand it. He didn't go to bed. Gave himself an extra hour. Sara and Jacob were going in the same direction, so they shared a taxi. He patted his leg, the signal for his dog to come and lie down at his feet. His thoughts whirled. Matteus, Sara, Jacob, Robert, and everything that happens. But life is not basically bad. The red wine had taken its effect, he had to admit. He'd drunk his fill, and a little more besides. Matteus would be fine, everyone was healthy, he was doing well in his job. And he would work out this thing with Sara. Later. He stared up at the picture of Elise. Since all was finally quiet in the building and anyway no-one could see him, he drew her a little closer.
Ingrid Sejer was also still awake. She had put Matteus to bed at 8 p.m., sung him a song and tucked him in. Later on she went to get his school bag to check that everything was there. Books and gym kit. She took it out to the living room and opened it. Glanced through his books, made sure the pencil was sharp, that the rubber and glue stick and scissors were there. A folded slip of paper fell out. The blue-tinted paper was not one she recognised. Perhaps it was a message from his teacher, intended for her.
'I'M GONNA CUT THREE GASHES IN YOUR BACK
AND I'M GONNA RUB SALT IN THEM SO THEY HURT
