Karin Fossum - Bad Intentions

‘And what is that?’

‘GHB. Or Salty Water,’ Reilly said. ‘Or Jib. Known and loved by all. What’s up?’

He stepped inside.

Axel wanted to say that he had toothache. However, he started telling Reilly a different story, and he did not understand why. He was not in the habit of confiding in anyone. People who opened up were like babies spewing milk. But it was as if the pain unlocked something he would normally have kept quiet about. There was an ache inside him which he had ignored for a long time.

‘I went to the hospital yesterday,’ he said. ‘To see my dad.’

Reilly gave him a look of surprise. Axel never spoke about his father. Perhaps he was ashamed of him or perhaps his illness was too hard for him to deal with. In just a few seconds he had been robbed of his father, a handsome man, who had suddenly collapsed in a ditch. He had lain in a hospital bed ever since, pale and shapeless like sausage meat.

‘I’ll tell you what happened,’ Axel said, ‘so that you know. We were walking down the road, my dad and I. Four years ago. It was summer. I had come to visit them at their holiday cottage. We had gone to buy some eggs from a nearby farm. My mum needed them for baking. Idyllic, don’t you think? Father and son on a country road on a warm, sunny day. He was fifty-three years old. Fifty-three, Reilly. He was a good-looking man, he was still in great shape and everything. You remember that, don’t you, that he was a good-looking man?’

Reilly nodded. He had splayed his feet to keep his balance. His head was spinning and he would have preferred to sit down, but he didn’t dare move.

‘It was a warm afternoon,’ Axel said. ‘I remember a few details. Insects. Stinging nettles by the roadside. An awful lot of stinging nettles. They have their own special smell, by the way, did you know that? You can make soup from them, but I can’t imagine it tastes very good.’

Reilly was unsure where this was going. Not that the business with Axel’s father was a secret; everyone knew he was a goner, that he would never walk again. But Axel was so pale and his eyes so black, as though he might attack the first person he saw. And I would be the first person, Reilly thought. He retreated a step, just to be on the safe side.

‘We were walking down the road,’ Axel said. ‘We were in the middle of a conversation. My dad was quite talkative; he always had something to say, an opinion about something or other. A point of view. Suddenly he shot off to the left and then he simply ran into the ditch head first. I’ve never seen anything so terrifying. It was like the air going out of an inflatable toy. All I could think about was the stinging nettles. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. When I bent over, I noticed his jaw had slackened, it was disgusting. On one side. Do you know what I mean?’

Reilly knew. He saw Axel touch his jaw. He moved to the wall for support. The drugs he had taken were making him dizzy.

‘His face was completely distorted,’ Axel said. ‘I didn’t know what was happening, so I phoned for help. It was a long wait. I couldn’t get anything out of him. I just squatted down in the sun thinking that someone had beaten him up. Because that’s what it looked like. Someone had given him a beating that he would never recover from. I didn’t know exactly what had happened, but I was certain of this: he had been destroyed. He was gurgling and waving one hand as though he wanted me to go away. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t bear to look at him. I had to get up and walk a little way down the road, but I kept hearing the noises he was making. Then they came to get him. They rolled him on to a stretcher and later into a bed. That was the last time we had a conversation.’

‘But he does make sounds?’ Reilly tried. Gravity making its way through his drug-induced haze.

‘Yes, but they’re completely meaningless,’ Axel interrupted him. ‘Just gurgling and grunting. It would be better if he would just shut up. I can hardly bear to look at him, either. I don’t even know if he is pleased to see me. I don’t think so. I don’t think he gives a toss. Everything about it is embarrassing. It’s humiliating and revolting. He needs help with everything. From strangers.’

‘Does he know who you are?’ Reilly asked cautiously.

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He starts to cry.’

Axel paused. The pain hammered away at his jaw and he was about to be overcome by a violent attack of self-pity.

‘He’s been lying in that bed for four years,’ he said.

‘Mm,’ Reilly sighed.

‘He’s got bedsores,’ Axel said. ‘Lots of them. They’re really deep.’

Reilly nodded for the second time. He had never seen bedsores because his job was moving beds around, but he understood that if you spent years lying in a warm bed, then your skin would not get the circulation that it needed, especially not where the skin was stretched tightly across the bones. It grew red and tender and eventually tiny cracks would form. That was how he imagined it.

‘They’re deep,’ Axel repeated. ‘His body is riddled with holes and the holes have turned into long tunnels.’

Reilly’s eyes widened. He visualised the long tunnels through the haze, and he began to feel queasy.

‘It’s like an eel has bored through him,’ Axel said, ‘and it’s no use closing the sores, they’re too big. I was there once when they changed his bandages. They stank of decay. He’s completely perforated. Like a worm-eaten apple.’

‘What’s this really about?’ Reilly asked. ‘You’re completely manic.’

‘Infected wisdom tooth.’

‘Christ Almighty. Does it hurt?’

‘Like hell,’ Axel replied.

‘You might have told me straight away,’ Reilly said. ‘Instead you go on about your perforated dad.’

Axel groaned. ‘I just wanted to make a point,’ he said. ‘My dad did everything right. His whole life. Because he believed it would lead to something good. But I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t owe anyone anything. I reserve the right to make my own rules. I’ve never signed any contracts and I’ve never made any promises. I could do the right thing my whole life, but no one would reward me for it.’

‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this,’ Reilly stuttered.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Axel barked. ‘I can give everything I own to a poor man in Africa, and the next second I might get run over by a truck. That’s how it is and we have to accept it. So don’t ask me to make moral decisions! And don’t you whine on about Jon!’

Reilly opened his mouth to say something, but Axel continued, his eyes shining.

‘Don’t you dare quote the Koran!’ he yelled.

Reilly pulled a chair over to the window. Axel had a view of the river. They saw a tanker move slowly, its lights shining. A long silence followed Axel’s bitter rant.

‘What do you think it’s carrying?’ Reilly asked and pointed.

Axel massaged his jaw and said nothing.

‘Chemicals, probably,’ Reilly mused.

‘I don’t give a damn about its cargo,’ Axel said. ‘For all I care it could be chocolate mice.’

‘The crews of chemical tankers become sterile,’ Reilly said. ‘They never have kids. By the way, we don’t import chocolate mice,’ he added, ‘we make our own. It’s Nidar isn’t it, who makes the mice?’

Axel focused on his breathing. He knew that oxygen was important when it came to pain management. ‘I need to talk to Hanna Wigert,’ he said. ‘I need to know if she suspects anything. I need to be in control.’

‘We lost that in December,’ Reilly said.

Axel swallowed a large mouthful of red wine.

‘It’s worth keeping your eyes open,’ he said. ‘And then there’s Molly. I don’t trust her either. Girls like her have a vivid imagination. And fantasies can turn into rumours.’