Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Morgan was impatient.

"I can't swim," Errki muttered. He was still standing with his back turned. The corner of his mouth was twitching.

"Doesn't matter. You can hold on to the edge. Come on. I'm sweating like a pig."

Errki didn't move.

"What's it going to be? I'm cocking the gun."

Errki heard a sharp click through the sound of the drum roll. Morgan had got an idea in his head, and he was going to see it through, no matter what happened. Errki took a few steps closer to the water and felt a rushing at his temples. For him water was just as unthinkable as a sea of flames. His normally pale cheeks were blazing. Carefully he turned around. Couldn't see the gun; maybe Morgan had hidden it in the heather. Now he was coming towards Errki with a menacing expression, his fists raised.

"I want to see what you look like when you're scared," he said.

Errki lurched wildly to one side and doubled over, prepared for the attack. Morgan hesitated and gave him a wary look but he kept on coming towards him. Errki darted up and forward, like a beast of prey, and furiously sank his teeth into Morgan's nose. His jaws slammed together like a pair of scissors, he felt his sharp teeth burrowing through skin and cartilage, all the way to the bone. Morgan teetered, trying to keep his balance, flailing his arms violently, but Errki refused to let go. For a long time he held on until he came to his senses, and then he did let go.

At first Morgan didn't utter a sound. He stared at Errki in astonishment, and several seconds passed before he realised what had happened. The end of his nose was loose, it seemed to hang from a thread. And then the blood came, pumping out in little spurts. Morgan screamed. He raised his hands to his nose, felt the blood running out and tasted it in his mouth, and then a strange numbness.

"Oh, God!" he howled as he sank to his knees. "Errki! Help me! I'm bleeding!"

He was truly a pitiful sight as he knelt there in the heather with his hands on his face. The blood was gushing out. Errki stood and stared at him. Rocking back and forth, terrified by all the blood but at the same time calmer because he had fought back. Now everything would be different. He could hear the commotion down in the cellar. They were cheering his effort, hailing him as a hero, the applause went on and on.

"You shouldn't have pressurised me like that. I can't stand being pressurised!"

Now you're screaming again. How disgusting.

"It's going to get infected!" Morgan whimpered and sobbed. "Do you realise what you've done? You're a real lunatic. You can just clear off and go back to the asylum. Damn it, man, this is going to be the death of me!"

"I tried to tell you," Errki said peaceably, "but you didn't want to listen."

"Good Lord, what am I going to do?"

"You could put a piece of moss on it," Errki said.

It was certainly quite a sight: Morgan in those gaudy shorts with his nose falling off.

"Major parts of the world are at war," he said.

"I don't have a damned thing to clean the wound with! Don't you know how dangerous it is to be bitten by a human being? It's never going to heal. You fucking asylum devil!"

"You're different when you're scared."

"Shut up!"

"You've had a tetanus shot like everybody else, haven't you?"

For once Morgan didn't answer. Errki thought it was about time – he talked too much. The hut was already full of his rubbish.

"Years ago," he gasped finally. "I don't think it's still good. Besides, it only takes a matter of hours to turn into blood poisoning. You have no idea what you've done! You lunatic!"

"Rinse it with whisky," Errki said. "You can borrow my underpants for a bandage."

"Shut up, I said! Shit, I can't take this any more!

He started fumbling around in the heather for the pistol, keeping one hand on his nose. Errki caught sight of the weapon, glinting brightly in all the green. Both of them bent forward, but Errki was faster. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. Morgan began to shake. He uttered a few gurgling sounds of fear and tried awkwardly to scramble backwards. His jaw dropped open, and Errki peered inside at several black fillings. A terrified person is not a pretty sight, he thought. Then he raised the gun and threw it with all his might in a great arc right into the lake. It made a modest little splash.

"You fucking bastard!"

Morgan collapsed again, in a mixture of relief and despair. "I should have shot you dead, I should have done it right at the start."

His lips were quivering. "I should have shot you in the back and turned your arse inside out! It only takes an hour for a wound like this to go to hell, I should have driven right to the doctor! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm Errki Peter Johrma. I'm just here on a visit."

Morgan was still sobbing. In his mind he could picture the putrefaction, the decaying flesh and poisoned blood spreading with the speed of lightning through his veins, through all the arteries, and with one blow striking right at his heart. He felt as though he was going to faint.

"Wherever you might fall, you should spread out hay," Errki said sagely.

He started walking up the path. A bellow came from behind.

"Don't leave me!"

"The fly that refuses to leave the corpse will end up in the grave," Errki said. But he stopped. He had never heard anyone yell at him like that, saying they needed him. He was touched by the sight of Morgan with his ruined nose. He was no longer pitiful. Not in a disgusting way.

"Say something! Help me with the wound. I'll never be able to show my face in public again!" Morgan moaned.

"No, you won't. You robbed a bank, and the police have a good description of you."

"Will you go back up to the hut with me?"

"I'll go back with you."

"Hurry up. I'm bleeding."

"Why all the rush? Where's the fire?" Errki said, and started walking. Then he turned around again. Morgan came staggering after him. He was spitting and coughing to get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

"You taste like lard," said Errki thoughtfully. "Sickeningly sweet lard. Like English sausages."

"You damn cannibal!" Morgan sniffed.

Morgan was lying on the sofa, pale but composed. Errki had taken the whisky bottle and shaken tiny little drops of Long John Silver on to his bitten nose. Morgan screamed like a pig. Errki thought his skull would split open.

"Enough, enough! Save some for me to drink too," he whimpered. Errki handed him the bottle.

"Be careful not to touch the wound with your fingers. I can just imagine where they've been. In the most unmentionable places."

It was so simple to talk. The words flew from his lips and whirled around like dandelion fuzz.

"I feel sick," Morgan groaned, taking a big gulp. He lay back down on the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Wouldn't it be just as easy to tear your nose off?" Errki suggested. "It's so loose."

"Not on your life! Maybe the doctors can sew it back on."

Errki stood staring at him. They were in the same room again. He had nowhere else to go. It was quiet; the only sound was Morgan breathing heavily. It felt as if something had fallen over them from the ceiling. The room was darker too, making it cosier. And Morgan was no longer in charge. It was surprising, but it seemed as though he was relieved to be rid of the role. It was nicer this way, now they were equals. They could relax a bit, maybe even get some sleep. The day had been so full of trouble. Errki could feel that he needed to rest. To put his thoughts in order.

"Turn on the radio."

Morgan spoke with a slight quaver to his voice, the way people do when they're sick and need tending to. Too bad about his nose, thought Errki. It was so small to start with, and now there's almost nothing left.