Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Listen here," he said in a low voice. The drum roll was more muted, Errki thought, he must have created a greater sense of order in his head. "You can at least answer this question."

He looked up at Errki, who was sitting on a tree stump with his knees pulled up. "Just tell me if you've escaped from somewhere. A home or something like that. Or whether you're on your own and have a flat, or you live with your mother. I'm curious. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

While he waited, he took a packet of tobacco out of his bag. Errki didn't reply. Nestor was about to take up his position, the one where he squatted down with his chin pressed to his knees and his hands linked around his legs. That was the position. When he sat like that, Errki was allowed to speak.

"I mean, have you run away from a hospital or something? Is anyone looking for you? Is there a search going on?"

The question made Errki wag his head back and forth.

"Let's make a deal," Morgan said. "I'll ask you a question. If you answer, you have the right to ask me one, which I have to answer if I want to ask you something else. How about that?"

Morgan felt quite proud of this suggestion as he looked at his hostage. In spite of the black leather jacket and dark trousers, he didn't look sweaty. That was odd. He, on the other hand, was drenched with sweat, and his sleeveless shirt had big dark patches.

"I'd just like to find out who you are," he added. "It's not that easy."

"A person can't see much when the Devil is holding the candle," Errki said.

He spoke in a weary voice, as if it cost him far too much energy to waste words on a poor man like Morgan.

Morgan started at the sound of Errki's voice. It was bright and pleasant-sounding, and he spoke with great solemnity. Errki tilted his head and listened intently to Nestor's whispering. The robber's suggestion sounded familiar. A game they used to play at the asylum. In group therapy.

"I'll start," he said.

Morgan smiled, relieved to hear such a normal remark.

"But the same applies to you, right? If I answer honestly, then I have the right to ask you a question and get a truthful reply."

Errki assented by meeting his glance.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, and at the same moment he heard Nestor laughing shrilly down in the depths of the cellar.

Morgan frowned. He scowled at the black-clad figure and licked his lips.

What are you going to do now? That was an unexpected question. Well, he could just make something up, since this lunatic was barely capable of understanding the answer he gave him. But they weren't supposed to lie. And besides it seemed impossible to lie to those gleaming eyes. He realised that he felt terribly alone. He started to sweat even more. What are you going to do now? Damned if he knew. He was sitting here with a bag full of money and an imbecile he couldn't understand. He hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm waiting for dark," he said.

Waiting for dark. Nestor curled his lips into what looked like a smile. Tell him, Errki! Make the man open his eyes.

"It's not going to get dark," said Errki. "It's midsummer."

"I'm not stupid," Morgan snapped back.

Oh yes, he is, Nestor chuckled, rocking back and forth like a devil-may-care old woman.

"Between midnight and two in the morning it will be twilight. Then we'll see what happens," Morgan said.

The voice sounded threatening again, and the drums were once more off tempo.

"Now it's my turn. What's wrong with you?"

Errki spread his fingers. This was what disgusted Morgan. If it hadn't been for the way he splayed his fingers and the nasty way he rocked his head, he would have been bearable.

An honest answer, Errki thought. What's wrong with me? A shudder rushed through and stirred up the grey cellar dust. Nestor snarled gruffly. What's wrong with me? He looked down. A blood-red spot appeared in the grass, right at his feet. It started rising, slowly getting bigger. If he moved his foot a centimetre, the blood would touch his trainers.

"Well? Are you going to answer?" Morgan gave him a sullen look. "We had an agreement. What's wrong with you? An honest answer. Come on."

Errki sat as if frozen solid, staring down at his trainers.

"OK, I'm going to be nice, unlike you, since you're a little strange. I'll ask you another question. But if you don't give me a proper answer this time, I'm going to get angry."

He stared hard at Errki to emphasise how serious he was. "You moved so damned fast up this slope. I've never seen anything like it. Do you know this area?"

"Yes," Errki said, raising his head. He was careful not to move his feet.

Morgan was excited. "Do you know it well? Then maybe you know a place where we could sit and wait for dark? Or maybe we should build ourselves a shelter out of branches, what do you think?"

Now Errki had more questions. He struggled over them, annoyed at the man's lack of clarity. Know it well? A shelter out of branches?

"Yes," he said as he checked the spot of blood. Several insects had been attracted to it and were crawling around, feasting.

"Yes, you know it well, and yes, we'll build ourselves a shelter out of branches," Morgan said enthusiastically. "OK. You build the shelter. I'll hold the gun. Besides, I can't stand all the prickly branches."

Lazily he brushed aside the lowest branch of a spruce tree. Errki stared at the gun which lay in the grass hardly any distance from his feet.

"Tell me," Morgan said, "how good are you at observing details? If you had to identify me to the police, for example. Not that it will come to that, but humour me: how would you describe me?"

Errki whispered, "It's my turn now."

"Sorry, you're right. Fire away."

He licked the paper and stuck the cigarette between his lips, fumbling for his lighter.

"What's wrong with you?" said Errki.

Morgan stared at him in puzzlement, his eyes narrowing with displeasure. Nestor snickered. The Coat fluttered its arms a bit over in the corner. He was always so loose. Powerless, in a way. Every now and then it occurred to Errki that he was all bluff. Nothing more than a damned bluffer.

"There's nothing wrong with me, goddamn it," Morgan said harshly. "And so far I haven't given you so much as a scratch. Whether things will stay that way depends on your willingness to cooperate."

He felt unsure of himself. It was hard to figure out crazies; they were so unpredictable. But there was a certain logic to them, as far as he knew. It was a matter of finding it.

"Let me tell you one thing," he said, "I'm not completely ignorant of your problem. I did my civilian service in a psychiatric hospital. You wouldn't have guessed that, would you? I refused to do military service. I'm a pacifist."

He looked down at the gun in the grass and gave a gleeful laugh. "I remember one odd character there who went around sniffing his underpants. He wouldn't hurt a fly otherwise. How about you? Do you wander around sniffing your underpants?"

It was a dreary discovery for Errki to realise just how childish this man was. He checked the spot of blood. It was still there.

"While I think of it," Morgan said, "it's my turn to ask a question. What kind of description will you give the police if you have to tell them about me? Come on, let's hear it."

A fool of a man, Errki thought. A rumpled clown in silly shorts. Scared most of the time. If he loses the gun, he's helpless. At the asylum they would undoubtedly say that he had been neglected as a child.

Errki proceeded to study him with such blazing eyes that Morgan was unsettled.

Height: about one metre 70, definitely no taller.

Morgan kept silent, waiting.

Weight: about 20 kilos heavier than me. Age: maybe 22. Thick, sandy hair. Straight dark eyebrows. Eyes, greyish blue. Small mouth with full lips.