Karin Fossum - Don't Look Back

"What do you think he's doing?"

"I have no idea. Maybe he's writing a diary."

"In that case, I'd like to read it."

"Are you going to bring him in again?"

"Certainly."

They emptied their glasses and got to their feet. On their way out Skarre caught sight of a photo of Elise, with her dazzling smile.

"Your wife?" he said.

"The last one she had taken."

"She looks like Grace Kelly," Skarre said. "How did an old grouch like you ever capture such a beauty?"

Sejer was so taken aback by this boundless impudence that he actually stuttered as he answered mildly, "I wasn't an old grouch back then."

The car crunched over the gravel road to Lundeby Church. It was floodlit now and stood in the pink-coloured light with solemn self-possession, as if it had stood there forever. In reality it was only 150 years old, a minuscule sigh in the crown of eternity. They shut the car doors without a sound, stood next to the vehicle, and listened for a moment. Skarre looked around, took a few steps towards the chapel, and headed for the rows of graves in the foreground. Ten white headstones, evenly spaced.

"What's this?"

They stopped to read the gravestones.

"Military graves," Sejer said. "British and Canadian soldiers. The Germans shot them here in the woods on the ninth of April 1940. Children put white anemones on the graves every May 17th. My daughter Ingrid told me about it."

"'Pilot Officer, Royal Air Force. A. F. Le Maistre of Canada. Age 26. God gave and God has taken.' A long way to come for such a brief heroic act."

Skarre looked around him. "All the way from Canada, in his new uniform, to fight for those on the side of justice. And then gunfire and death."

They had laid Annie to rest at the edge of the cemetery, down near a large field of barley. The flowers had faded and were beginning to decay. The two officers stared at them, each lost in his own thoughts. Then they began to read the inscriptions on the other headstones. Two rows beyond Annie's grave, Sejer found what he was looking for. A small headstone, rounded on top, with a beautifully etched inscription. Skarre bent down and read what it said. "Our beloved Eskil?"

Sejer nodded. "Eskil Johnas. Born August 4, 1992, died November 17, 1994."

"Johnas? The carpet dealer?"

"The carpet dealer's son. He got something caught in his throat and choked to death. After he died the marriage fell apart. Which isn't so strange; indeed, apparently it's quite common. But Johnas has an older son who lives with his mother."

"He had pictures of the boys on the wall," Skarre said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "What's that little hollow on the top?"

"Someone must have stolen something from the headstone. Maybe there was a bird or an angel. There often is on children's graves."

"Strange that they haven't replaced it. It seems such a fragile little grave. Looks almost neglected. I thought it was only old people who were forgotten like this."

They turned and looked down at the fields surrounding the cemetery on all sides. Lights from the nearby rectory flickered piously in the blue dusk. "I suppose it's not easy to get out here. The mother moved to Oslo and it's a long way from there."

"It would only take Johnas two minutes."

Skarre looked in the other direction, towards Fagerlund Ridge, where the houses glittered below Kollen.

"He can see the church from his living-room window," Sejer said. "I remember seeing it when we were at his house. Maybe he thinks that's enough."

"His dog must have had her pups by now."

Sejer didn't answer.

"Where are we headed next?"

"I don't really know, but this little chap is dead." He glanced down at the grave again and frowned. "And Annie became a different person afterwards. Why would she take it so hard? She was a tough girl with lots of energy. Isn't it true that healthy, normal people get over these things? Isn't it in our nature to accept death and go on living, at least after a certain amount of time has passed?"

He fell silent. A little confused, he knelt down and once again examined the almost bare grave, distractedly rearranging the sparse foliage.

"So the fact that she reacted the way she did, in spite of her tough character, means something?" asked Skarre.

"I'm not sure. I don't know what I'm getting at."

"How could anyone steal from a grave?"

"The fact that you can't comprehend it is a good sign," Sejer said, getting to his feet.

They started back to the car.

"Do you believe in God?" Skarre asked.

Sejer pursed his lips into an odd little pout. "Well, no, I don't think I do. I believe more in… some kind of power," he said.

Skarre smiled.

"I've heard that sort of thing before. A power is more acceptable. Seems strange that it's so difficult for us to give it a name. But it's obvious that 'God' is an enormously loaded word. So where do you think this power is leading us?"

"I said power," Sejer said, "not will."

"So you believe in a power that has no will?"

"I didn't say that either. I simply call it a power; whether it's guided by a will or not is an open question."

"But a power with no will would be terribly depressing, don't you think?"

"You don't give up, do you! Is this a clumsy attempt at confessing your faith?"

"Yes," Skarre said.

"Jesus. The things a person doesn't know." Sejer pondered this unexpected revelation for a moment and then muttered, "I've never understood faith."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't understand what it takes to have it."

"It's just a matter of a certain attitude. You choose an attitude to life, which in time brings you benefits and joy. It gives you a sense of connection to the past and it lends a meaning to life and death that is intensely reassuring."

"Choose an attitude? Haven't you been saved?"

Skarre opened his mouth and let out a peal of laughter redolent of the coastland and skerries and salt water. "People make everything so complicated when it's actually very simple. You don't have to understand everything. The important thing is to feel. Understanding comes gradually."

"Then that's for me," Sejer said.

"I know what you're betting on," Skarre said, grinning. "You don't believe in God, but you can clearly imagine the Pearly Gates. And like most people, you hope that Saint Peter will be asleep over his books so that you can slip inside at an unguarded moment."

Sejer laughed heartily, from the very depths of his soul, and did something he would never have thought possible. He put his arm around Skarre's shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

They had reached their car. Skarre plucked off a leafy twig that had caught on the windshield.

"I would have bought another bird," Skarre said, "and had it properly attached to the headstone. If it was my child."

Sejer started up the old Peugeot and let the engine run as he sat in silence for a moment.

"I would too."

Halvor was still at his computer. He hadn't thought it would be easy, because his life had never been easy. It might take months, but that didn't frighten him. He was going over everything he could remember about what she had read or listened to, selecting titles at random, or a character's name from a book, or specific words or phrases that had been part of her vocabulary. Often he simply sat and stared at the screen. He didn't care about anything else any more, not TV or his CD player. He sat alone in the silence, spending most of his time in the past. Finding the password had become an excuse for staying in the past and avoiding the future. There was nothing to look forward to anyway. Only loneliness.

What he had shared with Annie was of course too good to last; he should have known that. He had often wondered where it was leading and how it would end.