'I think an apology would not be out of place,' he said. Her bosom heaved, her nostrils quivered. Her eyes filled slowly with tears.
'Well?' he asked.
'Sorry.' Her voice was barely audible.
'You'll have to speak up.'
'Sorry'
Brandhaug beamed.
'There, there, Rakel.' He dried a tear from her cheek. 'This will be fine. You only have to get to know me. I want us to be friends. Do you understand, Rakel?'
She nodded.
'Sure?'
She sniffled and nodded again. 'Excellent.'
He stood up and loosened his belt buckle.
It was an unusually cold night and the old man had slipped into his sleeping-bag. Even though he was lying on a thick layer of spruce twigs the cold from the ground penetrated his body. His legs had gone stiff, and every now and then he had to rock from side to side to prevent his upper body from losing feeling too.
The windows in the house were still lit, but it was now so dark outside that he could no longer see much through the rifle sights. The situation wasn't hopeless yet though. If the man returned home this evening the outside lamp above the garage entrance, facing the forest, was lit. The old man looked through the sights. Even though the lamp did not give off much light, the colour of the garage door was bright enough to outline him clearly against it.
The old man turned over on to his back. It was quiet here; he would hear the car coming. Provided he didn't fall asleep. The bout of stomach pains had drained him, but he couldn't sleep. He had never slept on duty before. Never. He could feel the hatred and tried to warm himself on it. This was different, this was not like the other hatred which burned on a low, steady flame, which had been there for years, consuming and clearing the undergrowth of small thoughts, creating a perspective and allowing him to see things better. This new hatred burned with such ferocity that he wasn't sure whether he was controlling it or it was controlling him. He knew he must not let himself be dragged along; he had to stay cool.
He looked at the starry sky between the spruce trees above him. It was quiet. So still and cold. He was going to die. They were all going to die. It was a good thought; he tried to keep it in mind. Then he closed his eyes.
Brandhaug stared at the chandelier on the ceiling. A strip of blue light from a Blaupunkt advert outside was reflected in the prisms. So still. So cold.
'You can go now,' he said.
He didn't look at her, just heard the sound of the duvet being folded back and felt the bed rise. Then he heard the sound of clothes being pulled on. She hadn't said a word. Not when he touched her, not when he had ordered her to touch him. She lay there with these large, wide-open, black eyes. Black with fear. Or hatred. That was what had made him so uncomfortable that he hadn't…
At first he had ignored it. He had waited for the feeling. Thought of other women he had had, all the times it had worked. But the feeling didn't come and after a while he had asked her to stop touching him. There was no reason why she should be allowed to humiliate him.
She obeyed like a robot. Made sure she kept her end of the bargain, no more, no less. There were six months to wait until Oleg's custody case became time-barred. He had plenty of time. No point getting het up; there would be other days, other nights.
He had gone back to the beginning, but he clearly shouldn't have had the drinks. They had numbed him, made him unresponsive to her caresses and his own.
He had ordered her into the bathtub and made a drink for them both. Hot water, soap. He had held long monologues about how beautiful she was. She hadn't said a word. So quiet. So cold. In the end the water had gone cold too and he had dried her and taken her to bed again. Her skin afterwards was bumpy and dry. She had started to tremble and he had felt her beginning to respond. Finally. His hand had moved downwards, downwards. Then he had seen her eyes again. Big, black, dead. Her gaze fixed on a point on the ceiling. And the magic was gone again. He felt like slapping her, slapping life into her lifeless eyes, slapping her with the flat of his hand, seeing the skin flare up, become inflamed and red.
He heard her taking the letter from the table and opening the clasp on her bag.
'We'll have to drink less next time,' he said. 'That goes for you too.' She didn't answer.
'Next week, Rakel. Same place, same time. You won't forget, will you?'
'How could I?' she said. The door closed and she was gone.
He got up, mixed himself another drink. Jameson and water, the only good thing to… He drank it slowly. Then he lay back.
Soon it was midnight. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. From the adjacent room he could hear someone had put on pay-TV. If it was pay-TV, that is. The groans sounded fairly lifelike. A police siren cut through the night. Damn! He tossed and turned. The soft bed had already made his back go stiff. He always had problems sleeping here, not solely because of the bed. The yellow room was and always would be a hotel room, an alien place.
A meeting in Larvik, he had told his wife. And, as usual, when she asked he couldn't remember the name of the hotel they were staying in. Was it Rica, he wondered? If it finished late, he would ring, he had said. But you know how it is with these late-night suppers, darling.
Well, she had nothing to grumble about. He had provided her with a life that was more than she could ever have hoped for with her background. Thanks to him, she had travelled the world, lived in luxurious embassy residences staffed with servants in some of the world's most beautiful cities, learned foreign languages and met exciting people. She had never had to lift a finger all her life. What would she do if she were left on her own, never having worked? He was the basis of her existence, her family, in short everything she had. No, he wasn't that bothered about what Elsa might or might not think.
Nevertheless, it was her he was thinking about right now. He should have been there, with her. A warm, familiar body against his back, an arm round him. Yes, a little warmth after all that coldness.
He looked at his watch again. He could say the supper had finished early and he had decided to drive home. Not only that, she would be happy. She absolutely hated being on her own at night in that big house.
He lay there listening to the sounds coming from the neighbouring room.
Then he got up and quickly began to dress.
The old man is no longer old. And he is dancing. It is a slow waltz and she has rested her cheek against his neck. They have been dancing for a long time, they are sweaty and her skin is so hot it burns against his. He can feel her smiling. He wants to continue dancing like this, to go on simply holding her until the building burns down, until time stands still, until they can open their eyes and see that they have come to a different place.
She whispers something, but the music is too loud.
'What?' he says, bending his head. She places her lips against his ear.
'You have to wake up,' she says.
He thrust open his eyes. He blinked in the dark before seeing his breath hang rigid and white in front of him. He hadn't heard the car arrive. He turned over, gave a low groan and tried to pull his arms from underneath him. It was the noise of the garage door that had awoken him. He heard the car revving up and just caught the blue Volvo being swallowed up by the dark garage. His right arm had gone to sleep. In a few seconds the man would come out again, stand in the light, close the garage door and then… it would be too late.
The old man fumbled desperately with the zip on the sleeping-bag and pulled out his left arm. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, but sleep wouldn't let go, like a layer of cotton wool muffling all the sounds and preventing him from seeing clearly. He heard the sound of the car door being closed.
Now he had both arms out of the sleeping-bag and fortunately the starlit sky gave him enough light quickly to locate the rifle and put it in position. Hurry, hurry! He rested his cheek against the cold rifle butt.
He squinted through the sights. Blinked, couldn't see a thing. With trembling fingers he took off the cloth he had wrapped around the sights to keep the frost off the lens. That's it! Rested his cheek against the butt again. What now? The garage was out of focus, he must have moved the rangefinder. He heard the bang of the garage
