old-style camera, they widened, pulling in everything around them.
Uffe looked down again, and this time Carl followed his gaze toward the grass. Uffe was very much present now.
“So you do recognize him?” asked Carl, picking up the picture of Dennis Knudsen on his parents’ silver wedding anniversary again and holding it up. But Uffe swept it aside like a sulky child and began uttering noises that didn’t sound like a normal kid’s whimpering; it was more like an asthmatic who couldn’t get enough air. His breathing was almost a wheezing, and the nurse shouted for Carl to leave.
He followed Uffe’s eyes again, and this time there was no doubt. They were fixed on the other photograph Carl had brought. The picture of Dennis Knudsen with his friend Atomos, standing behind, leaning against Dennis’s shoulder.
“Is this how he should look instead?” asked Carl, pointing at the young Dennis in his go-kart outfit.
But Uffe was looking at the boy behind Dennis. Never before had Carl seen a person’s eyes so riveted on something. It was as if the boy in the picture had taken possession of Uffe’s innermost soul, as if these eyes in an old photograph were burning Uffe like fire, even as they also gave him life.
And then Uffe screamed. He screamed so loud that the nurse shoved Carl down on the grass and took Uffe in her arms. He screamed so loud that Egely’s tenants began howling as well.
He screamed so loud masses of cormorants lifted off from the trees, leaving everything deserted.
30
It had taken Merete three days to wiggle the tooth loose, three nightmarish days and nights in hell. Every time she placed the jaws of the tongs around the throbbing beast and the blast waves of infection sucked all strength out of her, she had to muster her courage again. A slight nudge to one side and her entire organism shut down. Then a few seconds of heart-pounding fear before the next twist of the tongs, and thus the process continued without end. Several times she tried to yank hard, but her strength and courage failed her the moment the rusty metal clinked against the tooth.
When she finally reached the moment when pus began steadily streaming out of the gum and the pressure eased for a moment, she collapsed in tears of gratitude.
She knew they were watching her out there. The one they called Lasse hadn’t yet arrived, and the button on the intercom was still stuck. They didn’t say anything to each other, but she could hear them moving around and breathing. The more she suffered, the harder they breathed, almost as if it excited them sexually, and her hatred toward them grew. Once she got the tooth out, she’d be able to look to the future. Yes, she would exact her revenge, but first she had to be able to think.
So once again she placed the foul-tasting metal jaws around the tooth and wiggled it, never doubting that she had to get the job done. That tooth had caused her enough damage; now the pain had to end.
She eventually pulled it out one night when she was alone. It was hours since she’d last heard any sign of life from outside, so the relieved laughter that slipped out in the echoing space was hers and hers alone. The taste of the infection was refreshing. The throbbing that caused the blood to flow freely in her mouth was like a caress.
She spat on her hand every few seconds and smeared the bloody mass on the mirrored panes, first one, then the other. And when the blood no longer flowed, her work was done. A small square, eight by eight inches, on one of the portholes was all that remained unbloodied. Now she’d robbed them of their pleasure in watching her whenever they felt like it. Finally she was in control of when she would appear in their field of vision.
When they put the food in the hatch the next morning, the woman’s curses woke her up.
“The little slut has covered the windows with filth. Look at that! She’s smeared shit over the whole thing, that pig.”
She heard the man say that it looked more like blood, and the woman snarled, “So that’s the gratitude we get for giving you the tongs? So you could smear your filthy blood all over everything? If that’s your way of saying thank you, then you’re going to have to pay for it. We’re turning off the lights. Let’s see what you say to that, bitch. Maybe then you’ll wipe off that mess. And until you do, you’re not getting any more food.”
She heard them make a move to take back the food bucket in the airlock, but she ran over and stuck the tongs into the carousel. They weren’t going to cheat her out of this last portion. So she pulled out the food bucket at the last second, right before the hydraulic mechanism let go of the tongs. The mechanism spun around with a whistling sound, and then the hatch door closed.
“That trick may have worked today, but it won’t work tomorrow!” yelled the woman outside. The fury in her voice was consoling. “I’ll give you spoiled food until you wipe off the windowpanes. Do you hear me?” And then the fluorescent lights in the ceiling went out.
Merete sat still for a while, staring at the faint brown stains on the mirrored panes and the small clear patch that was slightly brighter. She noticed that the woman tried to reach it so she could look in, but Merete had deliberately placed it too high. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt such joyous triumph stream through her body. It wouldn’t last long-that much she knew-but under the circumstances, such moments were the only things she had to live for.
That, plus visions of revenge, dreams of freedom, and to stand face to face with Uffe again one day.
That night she switched on the flashlight for the last time. She went over to the little blank space on the pane and shone the light inside her mouth. The hole in her gum was enormous, but it looked all right, at least as far as she could tell. The tip of her tongue agreed. The healing process had already begun.
After a few minutes the light of the flashlight grew fainter, so she got down on her knees to examine the closing mechanism around the airlock door. She’d seen it thousands of times before, but now she might have to memorize exactly how it looked. Who knew whether the ceiling lights would ever be turned on again?
The airlock door was convex and presumably conical, so it could make a tight seal to close off the space. The lower section, which was the hatch in the door, was about thirty inches high, and here too it was almost impossible to feel where the sections joined. A metal peg had been welded on the front, at the bottom, so the hatch door would stop in a fully open position. She examined it thoroughly until the light from the flashlight died out.
Afterward she sat in the dark, considering what she could do.
There were three things she wanted to control. First, what other people could see of her; that was something she’d already dealt with. A long, long time ago, right after she’d been kidnapped, she’d meticulously searched all the surfaces and walls for the tiniest suggestion of a camera, but there was nothing. The monsters who were holding her prisoner had put their faith in the mirrored panes. They shouldn’t have done that. It was the reason that she could now move about unobserved.
Second, she was determined to make sure she didn’t lose her mind. There had been days and nights when she’d disappeared inside herself, and there had been weeks when her thoughts had run in circles, but she had never allowed her brain to stop. When she’d realized where that might lead, she forced herself to think about others who had endured similar situations. People who had been condemned to solitary confinement for decades without being convicted of any crime. There were plenty of examples in world history and in literature. Papillon, the Count of Monte Cristo, and so many others. If they could do it, so could she. She had forcibly directed her thoughts to books and films and the best memories of her life, and she’d snapped out of it again.
Because she would continue to be herself, Merete Lynggaard, until the day she left this place. That was a promise, and she was determined to keep it.
And when that day finally arrived, she would be in control of how she would die. That was the third thing. The woman outside had said before that it was Lasse who made the decisions, but if the situation arose, the she-wolf could easily take matters into her own hands. Hatred had seized control of the woman before, and it could happen again. Only a second of insanity was necessary in order for her to open the airlock and equalize the pressure. That moment was very likely to come.
