Morgan had put the gun on the windowsill. 'Look what I found!'
He held out something to Errki. Dry brown paper, folded together several times. 'On the floor under the bed. A map of Finnemarka. Let's work out where we are.'
He read aloud, 'Map of Finnemarka, National Map Company, 1965. Give me a hand, Errki.'
Morgan picked up the gun and went back to the living room. Errki followed.
'Do you know how to read a map? You're going to have to help me. Can you find the location of this cabin?'
He spread out the map, and it just about disintegrated under his fingers. Errki looked at it. Then he put the tip of his finger on a tiny, pale blue spot. 'We're here,' he said.
'Is it that easy?' Morgan stared. 'How can you be so sure?'
'Look at the water outside,' Errki said. 'See how it's shaped? Then compare it to the map. It's called Himmerik Lake.'
'Jesus. You do have your lucid moments.'
Morgan went over to the window and looked out. The water had the very same shape as the lake marked on the map. 'You're really familiar with this place, aren't you? We haven't gone very far have we,' he added. 'Tonight I can head over the ridge and come out here,' he pointed at the map again. 'And just for fun I'm going to trade clothes with you.'
He grabbed the whisky bottle. At last he was feeling better. He knew where they were. Everything had a name: the mountains, the lake, and around everything the road network, clearly numbered.
'You'll go back the same way we came while I continue on – I guess it's northwest. You can borrow my shorts. You'll look great in these Hawaiian shorts. I'll let you go then. Around midnight.'
He looked pleased. He had a goal.
'The news,' he said suddenly. He stumbled over to the radio and turned up the volume. A female broadcaster this time. Errki sat down on the floor again and closed his eyes. His lips felt numb and pleasantly relaxed from the liquor.
Morgan looked at Errki. 'Where do you think she lived? Did you know her?' He scratched his head. 'I wonder if they're going to search near here? Can you imagine what he must have been thinking to do something so terrible?'
Errki tossed his head involuntarily, making his hair flutter. But he didn't say a word.
CHAPTER 11
'Why was he committed?' Sejer asked. 'Can you tell me that? Did he threaten someone?'
Dr Struel shook her head. 'He stopped eating. When he came to us he was badly undernourished.'
'Why wasn't he eating?'
'He couldn't decide what he wanted to have. He would sit at the lunch table, wavering between two different kinds of meat.'
'What did you do?'
'When he gave up and went back to his room I made him a sandwich and took it to him. No milk or coffee, just the sandwich. I put it on his bedside table. The first time, he wouldn't touch it.'
'Why not?'
'I made a mistake. I cut the sandwich in half, and then he couldn't decide which part to eat first.'
'Are you saying that it's possible to starve to death because it's too hard to make a decision?'
'Yes.'
He shook his head as he tried to comprehend how inexpressibly difficult it could be to handle daily life. 'And you really believe that the man has supernatural powers?'
She threw out her hands. 'I'm just telling you what I saw. Other people will tell you other stories.'
'Have you ever asked him how he does it?'
'I asked him, 'Who taught you that?' He smiled and said, 'The magician. The magician in New York.''
'But surely it's a coincidence.'
'I don't think so. Once in a while things happen that we simply can't explain.'
'Not for me,' he said.
'No?' She was teasing him again. 'You're one of those people who understands everything?'
He felt ridiculous. 'That's not what I meant. What else was he able to do?'
'One time a group of us were playing cards in the smoking lounge. Errki was there too, but he wasn't playing. He can't stand games. It was late at night and dark outside, and the lights were on. Suddenly Errki said, in his peculiar, quiet way, 'We should have candles on the table.' Yes, I thought, that would be cosy. I asked him to get some from the kitchen, but he refused. No-one else wanted to go either. They said candles would get in the way of the cards. I felt sorry for Errki. For the first time he had made a suggestion, and no-one listened. The next instant the power went out. The lounge was plunged into darkness, and so was the rest of the building. There was a lot of commotion as we stumbled out to find a candle. 'I tried to tell you,' was all Errki said.
'But he wasn't always successful. Once he wanted to learn to fly, and jumped out of a third-floor window. It's a miracle he wasn't killed. But he landed on a bicycle rack, which left him with an ugly scar down his chest. It happened while they were living in New York.'
'Were they taking LSD or anything like that?'
'I don't know. And his father didn't know either. He didn't pay much attention.'
'Is he as physically repulsive as they say?'
'Repulsive?' She gave him a confused look. 'He's certainly not repulsive. Maybe a little unkempt.'
'Is he unhappy?'
As soon as he said it, the question sounded foolish it, but she didn't mock him.
'Of course. But he doesn't know it. He doesn't allow those kinds of feelings in.'
'What kinds of feelings does he allow in?'
'Contempt. Forbearance. Arrogance.'
'He doesn't sound as terrible as I thought.'
She sighed heavily. 'He's actually just a talented little boy who wants to do his best. He wants to do everything perfectly and he's so afraid of making a mistake that he has ended up quite unable to do anything at all. At school he did very poorly on verbal exercises; he would sit and mutter at the window so that no-one could hear what he was saying. Yet in writing he was at the top of his class.' 'And eventually you got him to talk?' 'He talks now, if he feels like it. Sometimes he can be devastatingly articulate, even funny. He has a scathing sense of humour.'
'Has he ever tried to take his own life?'
'I don't think so, apart from the flight out of the window in New York, which I haven't yet altogether understood.'
'So you wouldn't consider him to be suicidal?'
'No. But in this profession nothing is certain.'
'Would you understand it if he did do something like that?'
'I would. It's a human right to take one's own life.'
'A human right? Is that how you think of it?'
She stared down at her hands. 'I don't agree with therapists telling their patients that death is not a solution. It's a solution for the person concerned of course. To choose death is a logical consequence of the fact that we're able to make choices. And it's a solution that human beings have always been able to consider.'
'But you do what you can to prevent it, don't you?'
'I tell them, 'It's your choice.' And I'm not always happy when I force them to accept a long life, or rob them of a psychosis which, in spite of everything, they regard as their only refuge.'
