Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"What are they talking about? I didn't take off my mask until we were out of sight!"

He put the radio down in the grass. "They're bluffing!"

Annoyed, he took his tobacco pouch out of his pocket and rolled a cigarette. Errki was listening to a fly buzzing persistently in front of him.

"The police still do not have any real leads in the death of 76-year-old Halldis Horn who was found murdered yesterday morning. The woman was discovered at her home, brutally killed with a sharp object. The woman's wallet had been taken. Her mutilated body was found by a boy playing in the area."

Morgan's eyes took on a remote look.

"Now there's an example of what I mean by a real crime. Do you see the difference? Nobody's going to miss the money I took. The bank has insurance. No-one got hurt, and the car doesn't have a scratch on it. Then you have people who murder for the sake of a lousy wallet."

Errki was still listening to the fly. He was convinced that it was trying to get at him; all the buzzing must have a purpose. It was annoying how much the clown Morgan talked. He didn't understand the meaning of a word, of holding on to it, saving it for an important moment.

"And an old woman! I don't understand things like that. It must have been a real maniac." He glanced over at Errki. "Are you good at making a shelter out of branches, by the way? Used to be a Boy Scout, maybe?"

Errki opened one eye and stared at him. Morgan was reminded of a lamp behind a thin curtain, giving off a dim light.

"We need to find water, at any rate. You don't know of a stream do you? Or a lake?"

Nestor was rocking back and forth, squatting, as usual, with his chin resting on his knees. Errki was always impressed by this position; he could sit that way for hours without getting tired. The Coat, which couldn't stand up straight or even sit down because it had nothing inside except for foolish remarks, waved the flap of its pocket. Just to show that it was still there and intended once or twice to stay until someone hauled it away.

"Do you like whisky? Long John Silver, room temperature."

Morgan took another drag on his cigarette and stared straight ahead, scratching his calf because there was a twig or insect annoying him. Slapping at insects made him sweat, and for a moment he cast a suspicious glance at the man lying beside him in the grass.

"How can you lie still like that?" he grumbled. "You've got a whole battalion of flies just above your nose."

He ground out his cigarette end in the grass, stood up abruptly and went over to Errki. Bent down, grabbed hold of his shoulder hard, and gave him a shake.

Errki flinched. "Don't touch me!"

"So you don't like it when I grab you, huh? Afraid of being infected or something? People like you are always scared of bacteria and germs, isn't that right? But there's nothing wrong with me. I took a shower yesterday, which is more than can be said for you."

A gust of wind made the Coat flutter and roll across the floor. Errki gave a start and raised his hands.

"What's the matter?" Morgan looked at him. "Are you sick? I can't get you those pills, but honestly, if I could, I would. I'm not stingy. And as for the robbery," he swallowed hard. "You may not realise it, but the robbery was an act of friendship."

The words were spoken with the utmost sincerity. Errki was confused. One minute the man was puffing himself up like an air bag, and the next second he was as friendly as a hospital chaplain. He stood up and started walking again. He moved very fast and was far away before Morgan even realised he had started off.

"Take it easy, I'm coming."

But Errki strode on ahead and vanished beyond a thicket. Morgan could hear branches breaking, dry little snaps.

"Wait right there. This bag isn't light, dammit!"

Errki walked on and on. The two in the cellar watched him go. Nestor turned his head slightly. He seemed to be sending a small signal to the Coat, who waved one sleeve in response. It looked as if they were planning something, or making an important decision. He walked faster. That's what they wanted – to see what would happen. Behind him he could hear the man's footsteps and his ragged breathing. He thought about the gun, about what it could do, about all the power between heaven and earth.

"Errki, goddamn it! I'll shoot!"

Morgan was running. It occurred to him that the woods were so dense that Errki could easily disappear in an instant, even just crouch down behind a bush and sit perfectly still as he ran past. And he didn't know where he was. Would he be able to find his way back to the road where the car was parked?

"I'll shoot, Errki. I've got plenty of bullets. Do you know what a bullet will do if it hits your leg? It'll turn your calf inside out!"

His calf? Errki had to concentrate to remember which part of the body was called the calf. He never saw it because it was always behind him. He kept on going until he heard a sharp crack and something whistled past his ear. The bullet gave off a tiny puff as it flew past. The next instant it slammed into a tree trunk just in front of him. White splinters leaped from the trunk like spikes of hair. He stopped.

"OK! You get it at last. I thought you would."

Morgan was panting like a dog. "Next time I'll aim for your calf. Now slow down. We're going to have to stop soon. I don't feel like trudging around any more. It's getting late."

Errki bit his lip hard. Something was approaching fast. He could sense that he was getting close, he was almost there, but he wasn't ready. He looked around and knew exactly where they were. The other man didn't. He started walking more calmly. Had to remember not to irritate Morgan. He pictured the wound in the tree, and the same wound in his back, a whole explosion right into the marrow, the skin shredded, the blood gushing out as if from an open tap, and the great leap into eternity.

He longed for it. But he pushed it away for when he was ready, until the right day, the right time. It would be soon, he could feel it. So much had happened. The man behind him might have been sent to him as a helper. This is how he saw it: he would plummet into the endless universe, onto a path that was his alone, others passing by on the right and the left, beyond his reach, like tiny vibrations in the atmosphere, small gusts streaming past. Maybe his mother was hovering around like that, with her arms out to her sides like wings and the light from the stars like crystals in her black hair. Following her would be the dark sound of a flute. The alternative was to continue as he was, with someone always on his heels. I'm tired, he thought. Who forced us to start this run? Who is sitting at the finish line and waiting? And how damned far are we supposed to go? Blood, sweat and tears. Pain, sorrow and despair!

They had come to a grove where the trees thinned out into a small clearing. Morgan at long last caught up with Errki. The bag fell to the ground with a thump. The robber's eyes lit up.

"Hey, look at that! A little cottage, all to ourselves. We can play mama and papa and the kids here." He looked genuinely pleased. "Jesus, I'm going to be glad to get indoors."

He trotted past Errki, heading for the door. Errki looked at the dark patch on the top step where his guts had spilled out and lain steaming only 24 hours earlier. Morgan didn't notice it. He tugged at the rotting door, and it opened slowly with a creak. He peered inside.

"Dark and cool," he said. "Come on."

Errki was still standing outside in the grass. There was a thing he was trying to remember, but it slipped away like a rubber band. This had been bothering him for years, the elasticity of his thoughts.

"It's nice inside. Come on in."

Morgan pushed Errki into what had been the living room when shepherds lived in the hut, and went over to the window.