Don't Look Back

which was starting to deepen into twilight.

Suddenly he saw a fly crawling across the glass on the inside. A fat, black bluebottle. That too was a sign of spring, he thought, as one more appeared, crawling across the pane and circling near the first one. He didn't really have anything against flies, but there was something disgusting about the way they rubbed their legs. It seemed such a private gesture, something equivalent to a person scratching his private parts in front of others. The flies seemed to be looking for something. Another one appeared. Now he was staring at them intently; and an uneasy feeling came over him. Three flies on his window at the same time. Strange that they didn't fly away. There was another one now, and another; soon the window was swarming with big black flies. Finally they flew away and disappeared behind the chair near the window. There were so many now that he could hear them buzzing. Reluctantly he raised himself up from the sofa with a feeling of dread. There must be something behind the chair, something they were feasting on. He stood up, walked across the room, approaching cautiously, his heart in his throat. He pulled the chair aside. The flies flew in all directions, a whole swarm of them. The rest had congregated on the floor, eating something. He poked at it with his toe. An apple core. Rotten and soft.

He sat up, feeling a little dizzy, still on the sofa. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Confused, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the window. Nothing. He'd been dreaming. His head felt heavy and dazed; his neck was stiff, and so were his calves. He stood up and couldn't resist the impulse to look behind the chair. Nothing. He went to the kitchen to fetch his bottle of whisky and packet of tobacco. Kollberg stared at him expectantly. 'OK,' he said, changing his mind. 'Let's go for a walk.'

It took them an hour to walk from the block of flats to the church in the middle of town and back. He thought about his mother. He ought to visit her; it had been a long time since he'd seen her last. Someday, he thought dejectedly, his daughter Ingrid would glance at her calendar and think the same thing: I suppose I should pay the old man a visit. It's been a long time. With no delight; only a sense of duty. Perhaps Skarre was right after all, perhaps it was unreasonable to live to be as ancient as a spruce tree and then just lie in bed, nothing but a burden. He picked up the pace, a little overwhelmed by these thoughts. Kollberg leaped and bounded beside him. But it wasn't good just to let yourself go. He would fix up the bathroom. Elise would have liked those tiles, he was sure of it. If she knew that he still hadn't got around to it… no, he didn't even want to think about that. Eight years with imitation marble was shameful.

At last he poured himself a well-earned whisky. It was late enough now; he might be able to fall asleep. The doorbell rang as he was putting the top back on the bottle.

It was Skarre, not quite as shy as he'd been the previous time. He had come on foot, but frowned when Sejer offered him a whisky.

'Do you have any beer?'

'I don't, but I can ask Kollberg. He sometimes has a small supply at the back of the fridge,' Sejer said. He went out and then returned with a beer.

'Do you know how to put up bathroom tiles?' he asked.

'I certainly do. I took a course in it. The key is not to skimp with the preparation. Do you need help?'

'What do you think about these?' Sejer pointed to the blue dolphins in the brochure.

'Those are great. What do you have now?'

'Imitation marble.'

Skarre nodded sympathetically and raised his beer. 'Halvor's fingerprints don't match the ones on Annie's belt buckle,' he said. 'Holthemann has agreed to release him for the time being.'

Sejer didn't reply. He felt a sense of relief, mixed with irritation. He was glad that it wasn't Halvor, but frustrated because they didn't have a suspect.

'I had a nasty dream,' he said, a little surprised by his own candour. 'I dreamed that there was a rotten apple behind that chair over there. Completely covered with big, black flies.'

'Did you check?' Skarre said with a grin.

Sejer took a sip of his whisky. 'Just some dust. Do you think the dream means anything?'

'Maybe there's a piece of furniture that we've forgotten to look behind. Something that's been standing there the whole time, and we've forgotten all about it. It's definitely a warning. Now it's just a matter of identifying the chair.'

'So we should go into the furniture business?' Sejer chuckled at his joke, a rare phenomenon.

'I was hoping you still had a few cards up your sleeve,' Skarre said. 'I can't believe that we haven't made any progress. The weeks keep passing. Annie's file is getting older. And you're the one who's supposed to be giving advice.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Your name,' Skarre said. 'Konrad means: 'The one who gives advice'.'

Sejer raised one eyebrow in an impressive arc without moving the other. 'How do you know that?'

'I have a book at home. I look up a name whenever I meet someone new.'

'What does Annie mean?' Sejer asked at once.

'Beautiful.'

'Good God. Well, at the moment I'm not living up to my name. But don't let that discourage you, Jacob. What does Halvor mean, by the way?' he asked with curiosity.

'Halvor means 'the guard'.'

He called me 'Jacob', Skarre thought with astonishment. For the very first time he used my Christian name.

*

The sun was low in the sky, slanting across the pleasant balcony and making a warm corner so they could take off their jackets. They were waiting for the grill to heat up. It smelled of charcoal and lighter fluid, along with lemon balm from Ingrid's planter-box which she had just watered.

Sejer was sitting with his grandson on his lap, bouncing him up and down until his thigh muscles began to ache. Something inside him would disappear with the boy's youth. In a few years he would be taller than his grandfather and his voice would change. Sejer always felt a sort of wistfulness when he held Matteus on his lap, but at the same time he felt a shiver run down his back from sheer physical well-being.

Ingrid picked up her clogs from the floor of the balcony and banged them together three times. Then she stuck her feet into them.

'Why do you do that?'

'An old habit,' she said, smiling. 'From Somalia.'

'But we don't have snakes or scorpions here.'

'I can't help myself. And we do have wasps and garter snakes.'

'Do you think a garter snake would crawl into your shoe?'

'I have no idea.'

He hugged his grandson and snuggled his nose in the hollow of his neck.

'Bounce more,' Matteus said.

'My legs are tired. Why don't you find a book and I'll read to you instead?'

The boy hopped down and raced into the apartment.

'So how are things going otherwise, Papa?' Ingrid said, her voice as light as a child's.

Otherwise… he thought. What she means is in reality; how are things going in reality? How was he feeling deep inside, in the depths of his soul? Or it could be a camouflaged way of asking whether anything had happened? Whether, for instance, he had found a girlfriend, or was having a longdistance romance with someone. Which he wasn't. He couldn't imagine anything like that.

'Fine, but what do you mean?' he said, trying to sound sufficiently guileless.

'I was wondering if perhaps the days don't seem so long any more.'

She was being terribly circumspect. It occurred to him that she had something on her mind.

'I've been very busy at work,' he said. 'And besides, I have all of you.'

This last comment prompted her to start fidgeting with the salad servers. She tossed the tomatoes and cucumbers energetically. 'Yes, but you see, we're thinking of going south again. For another term. The last one,' she said quickly, giving him a glance and looking more and more guilty.