Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

“I forget to plug it in. I’m an old man, I can’t remember every little thing. Anyway, I’m always frightened it’s going to short-circuit.”

“We’ll have to organize a time switch or something.”

“Have you come into money?”

It went deathly quiet. The first drops of boiling water dripped into the filter and the smell of coffee spread through the kitchen.

“No,” she said quietly. “But I’m not letting lack of money take all the pleasure out of my life any more.”

“Ah, you’ve got yourself a printing press! I thought as much.” He sat down contented. “I’d like a Tia Maria as well.”

“I know.”

“So you remembered? That today’s the fourth of October?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t forget this date, I won’t ever forget it. You’ll have a Tia Maria for Mom just as she asked you to.”

“You don’t need to make it too small, either.”

“I never do, I know you.”

He got his liqueur, they had their coffee and sat looking out of the window. It wasn’t hard for the two of them to sit in silence, they’d done it so often. Now they gazed at his neighbor’s barn, at the maple tree, which was blood-red and yellow, and they noticed that the bark was loosening from one side of its trunk.

“He’ll be taking that tree down soon,” her father said softly. “Look. Hardly any branches left on one side.”

“But it’s beautiful for all that. It’ll be very bare without that tree.”

“It’s diseased, you know. The tree will die anyway.”

“Should we cut down big trees just because they’re not perfect anymore?”

“No. But because they’re ill. He’s already planted a replacement, on the left there.”

“That tiny sprig?”

“That’s how they begin. They get bigger gradually, but it takes forty to fifty years.”

Eva slurped her coffee and glanced clandestinely at the time. He’d certainly be at home by now, he’d have read her note, perhaps he was talking to his wife about whether they ought to think about selling. No he wasn’t, he’d decide without asking her. But maybe he was phoning a mate for advice about what he could ask for a well-maintained Manta. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to make an offer. She hadn’t a clue. She could say that she’d need to make some inquiries herself. Perhaps he was washing it at this very moment, and going over it with the vacuum cleaner. Or perhaps he’d read the note, snorted with contempt, and thrown it away; possibly the wind had torn it from under the windshield wiper and he’d never even read it at all. Maybe he was just sitting watching television, a beer at his side and his feet on the table, while his wife minced around telling the boy to be quiet, at least while Dad was watching the news. Or perhaps he’d gone into town with the lads for a bowling session. She thought about all of this and went on sipping her coffee, there were thousands of possible reasons why he might not phone. But there was also a reason why he might: money. She’d find out if he was as greedy as her, and she believed he was. It would be an opportunity to rid himself of something that could link him to the murder as well. Her cup was just on its way to her lips and her gaze was fixed on the dying tree outside, when suddenly the phone rang. Coffee sloshed down her chin as she jumped up.

“What’s the matter?” Her father stared at her in astonishment.

“Your phone’s ringing, I’ll get it.”

She ran to his workroom. She closed the door carefully behind her and had to calm herself down a little before lifting the receiver with a trembling hand. It might not be him. Perhaps it was the home help saying she was ill. Or perhaps it was Emma, or someone with the wrong number.

“Liland,” she said quietly.

There was a moment’s silence. His voice sounded uncertain, as if he was scared of being made to look foolish. Or perhaps he sensed danger.

“Yes, it’s about an Opel Manta. I want to speak to Liland.”

“Speaking.” For an instant she was totally overwhelmed by the sound of his voice. “So you’re interested?”

“It’s more you that’s interested. But I thought it was a man.”

“Does it make any difference?”

“No, course not. So long as you know what we’re talking about.”

“Oh, God!” She gave a small laugh. “Why, we’re talking about money, aren’t we? Most things are for sale, if the price is good enough.” She’d adopted a hearty tone. It was easy.

“Yeah, yeah, but the price’ll have to be really good.”

“It will be, provided the car’s as good as it looks.” Her heart was thumping wildly under her sweater. He sounded sulky; she realized that she couldn’t stand him.

“The car’s tip-top. Just a tiny oil leak.”

“Okay, that can be fixed. Can I have a look at it?”

“Course. You can see her tonight if you want. I’ve been over her with the vac and tidied inside. But you must give her a test drive.”

“I wasn’t exactly going to buy without giving it a test.”

“It’s not definite I’m going to sell.”

Both were silent, and she listened to the hostility that quivered on the line between them without quite knowing where it came from. As if they’d both hated each other for a long time.

“It’s ten past seven now. I’ve got a couple of things to take care of first, but could you be in town for half past nine, for example? D’you live in town?”

“Yes,” she said curtly.

“What about — at the bus station?”

“Fine by me. At half past nine. I’ll see you when you arrive, I’ll be by the kiosk.”

He hung up, she stood for a time listening to the dial tone. Her father was shouting from the kitchen. She stared at the handset and marveled at how unaffected he was. As if nothing had happened. That was it. For him it really was over. He’d put it behind him. Now he was interested in money. But she had been, too. She shuddered and went out again, slid behind the kitchen table. Things were happening almost too fast now, she must gather her wits, but her heart was thumping away and she knew she had more color in her cheeks than usual.

“Well?” said her father expectantly. “Don’t they want to speak to me?”

“He had the wrong number.”

“Oh? That took a long time to find out.”

“No, he was just talkative. A pleasant sort. Asked if I wanted to buy his car.”

“Nah. You’d better leave that to others. When you want a new car, you ask Jostein for help.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She filled her cup and stared out at the maple again. The tear in the bark really was ugly. It resembled nothing so much as a large, suppurating wound.

She waited in the dark. There wasn’t a breeze anymore, the wind came in capricious squalls over the roof of the bus station, and her ponytail slapped about her ears, which were freezing now, because her hair wasn’t hanging over them and warming them as it usually did. Her thoughts wandered, here and there, back to the time when they’d been girls. Suddenly she saw her so clearly in her mind’s eye, an image from a summer, perhaps they’d been eleven at the time. Maja was wearing that American bathing suit she’d been so proud of. Her uncle had bought it for her, the uncle who was on a whaler and always came home bearing exciting gifts. Sometimes a little of his bounty even showered down on Eva as well. Boxes of chocolates and American chewing gum. The bathing suit was bright red and amusingly crinkly. It had elastic criss-crossing it and this made the material crinkle into tiny bubbles. No one else had a swimming suit like it. When Maja came out of the sea, the bubbles were full of water and even bigger, and made her look like a huge raspberry. This was the image she gazed at now, Maja coming out of the water, the water running off and splashing around her feet, her hair even darker because it was wet, wearing the best swimming suit on the entire beach. Again and again Maja comes up from the water. She grins and displays her white teeth, for she knows nothing about the future and how it will all end.