his childhood, and his youth; some more recent. . Irene and the children, goings-on at school and trips with Bendiksen; but it was well into the early hours before that night cropped up in his mind’s eye. .
He was sitting on the corner sofa. He had got dressed and there were candles burning here and there. Eva was wander-ing around in her kimono and singing something; he had some difficulty in keeping his eyes on her. He had a glass in his hand, and remembered that it was absolutely essential. . absolutely vital that he not drink another single drop. He turned his head, the room was swaying to and fro. . Not another single drop.
He took a swig. It was a good wine, he could taste that despite all the cigarettes: dry and full-bodied. And the doorbell rang. Who the hell. .?
Eva shouted something and disappeared. He realized that she had gone to open the door for the visitor, but he couldn’t see the hall from where he was sitting. He grinned.
Yes, he remembered grinning at the fact that he was so drunk, he daren’t even try to look back over his shoulder.
Then Eva came back into the room with the visitor, the visitor first. He couldn’t see the man’s face, it was too high up; a move like the one required to see it was impossible. The visitor remained standing for quite some time before sitting down, and Eva was somewhere else, she’d shouted something, but now the man was sitting there in any case; Mitter could see his torso and his arms, only the lower part of his arms, his rolled-up shirtsleeves. . He was smoking, and Mitter also took a cigarette and the nicotine made him feel dizzy.
The smoke was hot and nauseating in his throat, and it wasn’t long before they started talking. And then the visitor leaned forward and flicked the ash off his cigarette, and Mitter saw who it was.
He opened his eyes and myriad stars came meandering into his consciousness, making him feel dizzy.
I shall forget this again, he thought. It came to me for just a moment, but tomorrow it will have gone.
He fumbled for the pencil lying on the bedside table.
Heard it fall on the floor. Leaned tentatively over the side of the bed and groped around in the dark over the cold flag-stones, and eventually found it.
Where? he thought. Where?
Then he took the Bible out of the drawer in the bedside table. Thumbed through as far as Mark or thereabouts, and wrote down the visitor’s name.
Closed the Bible. Put it back in its place and closed the drawer. Fell back exhausted on his pillows, and felt. . felt something starting to tremble inside him.
It was a flame. A pitifully small candle flame that somebody had lit, and that was no doubt well worth looking after.
Keeping alight.
He was mad, but at least he understood the implications of this memory.
And thanks to the power of that pale candlelight, he gave himself the task of coming to terms with it all when dawn came.
Writing a letter to the visitor.
Just a line.
He fell asleep. But woke up again.
Perhaps he should also make a phone call.
To that unpleasant person. . whose name escaped him for the moment.
As long as the flame doesn’t go out.
22
The telephone call was put through from the switchboard to the duty officer only minutes before he was due to be relieved.
In fact, he ought to have been relieved several hours previously, but Widmar Krause’s young wife had started to feel labor pains in the early hours of the morning, and it was her first pregnancy. Erich Klempje had no alternative but to stay on duty. He’d started his shift as early as nine p.m. the previous night, but isn’t that what colleagues are for?
He was only staying on until the emergency was over.
There was no question of her giving birth already, but getting to the hospital and waiting and then the examination followed by getting back home again all took time.
He noted it down automatically in the black folder.
11:56 Incoming call from Majorna.
“Police. Sergeant Klempje. How can I help you?”
At that very moment the doors were flung open and in marched two constables, Joensuu and Kellerman, dragging with them a whore from V-Square high on drugs.
“You can only have me one at a time!” she yelled. “And it’s double price for bleeding police bastards!”
Although the whore was small, and the combined weight of Joensuu and Kellerman must have been upwards of 450 pounds, they were obviously having trouble in propelling her to the cells. Blood was pouring from scratches on one of Kellerman’s cheeks, and Klempje suspected that the whore would not be totally unmarked if they could get her into a dark corner.
“Kiss my ass! But brush your teeth first!” she screeched, landing a well-directed knee between Joensuu’s legs.
Joensuu cursed and bent double. Klempje sighed and put his hand over the receiver.
Two probationers who had been writing reports came to assist, and before long the whole group was out of earshot.
For Christ’s sake, Klempje thought. If I don’t get some sleep soon I shall start crying.
He returned to the telephone call.
“Yes, what do you want?”
“This is J.M. from Majorna. This is J.M. from Majorna.”
Oh no! Klempje thought.
“Yes, I’ve made a note of that. What’s it about?”
“I’d like to speak to. . I’d like to speak to. .”
Silence. Klempje shook his head. The voice was monotonous, but tense. It sounded as if he was reading out something he’d learned by heart.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to speak to. .”
“Who do you want to speak to? This is the police here.”
“I know that,” said the voice. “I want to talk to the unpleasant one.”
“The unpleasant one?”
“Yes.”
“Who is the unpleasant one? This place is teeming with unpleasant police officers,” said Klempje, suffering from an attack of disloyalty to his colleagues.
“The worst of them all. . He’s big and his face is purple and he swears. I want to speak to him.”
“Okay, I’ll make a note of that.”
“Is he there now?”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
The caller hung up. Klempje sat for a few seconds with the receiver in his hand. Then he also hung up and went back to his crossword.
Two minutes later Krause appeared.
“Thank God for that,” groaned Klempje. “Well?”
“Nothing,” said Krause. “False alarm.”
“If it hurts, it hurts, I suppose.”
“Klempje, when it comes to pregnant women you are a greenhorn.”
