Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Morgan paused. "'Hold on to it!' she'd shout, and we'd hold on tight, terrified that it would fly away. And it did. Because when we opened our hands, there was nothing there. Just dirt and sweat. I suppose it was meant to be an exercise in concentration, but it just made us feel terrible. Grown-ups do so many damned strange things to children."

He shook his head in resignation at the thought. "Errki has the same problem. Either he's confused and can't hold on to his thoughts, or else he thinks the same thing over and over again. It's called obsessing. I know about problems like this; I worked with those kinds of people."

They could hear Errki grunting.

"Do you know why he bit me on the nose?"

"I have no idea," Kannick whimpered.

"I wanted him to take a swim down there, and he refused. He can't swim. He doesn't like people to nag him. You shouldn't nag him or, in the twinkling of an eye, he'll be hanging on to your ear, or worse."

"Can I go now?"

Kannick's voice was as thin as a thread. He spoke as softly as he could so that Errki wouldn't hear him.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Can you go now? Why the hell do you think you should? Are we going to let you get off more easily than us? Did you do anything to earn that? This is our destiny," he said solemnly. "We're trapped here, waiting for the police to come and lock us up. But we refuse to give ourselves up. We're proud and brave, and we won't give up without a fight."

Morgan's voice was full of drunken pathos. He talks like Geronimo, Kannick thought. Errki wasn't the only one who was off his head. They were both mad. Maybe he was mad too. It wasn't easy to tell, when it came down to it. But he was living in a reform school, after all, not in a nuthouse. Or was it a nuthouse? He felt appallingly sick and tried to gulp back the sensation that something woollen was growing in his throat. In a certain way, he belonged here with these two men. He knew that.

"Is your mother still alive?" Morgan asked abruptly. He had pulled Kannick's arrow out of the wall and was studying it.

"I think so," the boy said glumly.

"Now, hold on a minute," Morgan snapped. "Are you really that bitter? Don't try to tell me that you don't know whether she's alive or dead. My mother's alive. She's on the dole. And I have a sister who runs a beauty parlour."

"So she should be able to fix your nose."

"Cut the sarcasm. She's doing really well. Is your mother alive, Kannick?"

"Yes."

"At the government's expense?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, does she have a job, or is she on the dole?"

"I don't really know."

"Does she send you money?"

"Just packages once in a while."

"Here's a tip, for the next time you have a birthday. Ask for a package of Slimfast."

Kannick had no idea what Slimfast was. He sat there thinking about his mother, whom he seldom saw. She only came if Margunn rang and nagged her to. Usually she brought him chocolate. It was hard for him to remember what she looked like; they didn't even talk much. His mother didn't really look at him, she just gave him furtive glances, and then she'd cringe and look away in sheer fright. Suddenly he thought of something that had happened a long time ago. He had come home from school one day, stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at his mother. She looked different. Her hair had grown a whole lot longer, all in one day, in the few hours he'd been sitting at his desk.

"Did you get a wig?" he asked.

She tossed aside the newspaper she was reading and reluctantly turned to look at him. "No, I didn't. This is genuine hair that's been attached."

"Huh?" He was so surprised that he sat right down at the table. It wasn't only her hair, either. Her fingernails were long too, dark red and bright as the paint on a shiny new car.

"What do you mean 'attached'?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "Is it glued on?"

"Yes. It'll hold for weeks."

She swept her hair back, fanning it out to demonstrate for him. This new mane of hair had given her a new dignity. Her expression was different, she held her back straighter, carried herself like a queen.

The temptation was too great. Kannick lunged across the table and with a dirty hand grabbed a hank of hair and pulled. It didn't budge. It was unbelievable.

"You idiot!" she shrieked, jumping up from the table. "Do you realise how much this cost?"

"You said that it was stuck on."

"And you just had to try to ruin it, didn't you?"

"Who did it?"

"My hairdresser."

"How much did it cost?" he asked sullenly.

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you? But that's none of your business. You don't have any money."

"No. Not even pocket money."

"What do you need pocket money for? You never do anything for me!"

"You never ask me to."

"What exactly can you do, Kannick?"

Suddenly she leaned across the table and gave him a challenging look. "Is there anything you can do, Kannick?"

He picked at a drop of dried jam on the tablecloth. He couldn't think of anything, not a single thing. He wasn't good at reading, and he was terrible at sports. No-one could beat him at darts, but he didn't mention that.

Later, when she was in the shower with her new hair tucked up under a plastic shower cap, he peeked inside her handbag. He knew there wouldn't be any money. She was smarter than Margunn, and she'd taken her money into the shower with her. But he found the receipt from the hairdresser's. It was hard for him to decipher the grown-up handwriting, but for once he made an effort. Hair and nails, 2,300 kroner, paid in full. He felt as though he couldn't breathe. Went roaring into the bathroom and tore the shower curtain aside.

"That was enough for a bicycle!" he shouted. "All the other children have bikes!"

She pulled the curtain back into place.

"Hair grows all by itself," he yelled, "and it's free!"

"Leave my things alone," she shouted back. "You need a father who can discipline you. I'll never get my hands on a proper man if I look like a witch. I have to make myself look good. It's all for your sake."

He could see the outline of her body through the shower curtain. It would be an effort to get her out of there, if he really wanted to. He could go over to the sink and run the cold water. Then the water in the shower would be so hot that she'd scorch herself. But he didn't feel like it. That was an old trick.

Kannick felt quite exhausted. He rested his forehead against his knees and sighed. He was hungry too. The others had eaten all of his chocolate. But his thoughts were still pulling him back to the past. Once he had come home before his mother and found the box of drain cleaner inside the bench cupboard. He had a sudden, funny idea. He knew quite well how it worked: tiny, round, bluish-white beads that were sprinkled over the drain in the sink when it blocked, which was all the time. Contact with water turned the beads into a corrosive, foul-smelling gas. He had found an empty milk carton, rinsed it out thoroughly, and dried it carefully. Then he sprinkled a generous quantity of beads in the bottom and went into the bathroom. He lifted up the grating from the drain in the shower, put the carton inside, and replaced the grating. He'd never forget his mother's howl when she went to take a shower. She turned on the hot water, and poisonous gas filled the whole cubicle. She came storming out, coughing and spluttering, while she screamed the ugliest curses she could think of, and there were plenty. He had created his own gas chamber!

Morgan interrupted his thoughts. "What else have you got in that case?" he asked. "Do you have anything I could use as a bandage?"

Kannick thought for a moment. He had had different kinds of arrow. An extra bow string. A bag of nocks with a tube of glue. String wax. Pliers. And a cotton cloth for the sight.