Allyn Allyn - Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. Vol. 135, No. 1. Whole No. 821, January 2010

“Did you go far?” her daughter asked.

“To the beacon on Stolshogda.”

“Oh. The same walk you and Father took so many times. I should have known you went there today.”

“I know. I had to. And do you know what? It was as though Birger followed me the whole way. I didn’t see him, and I didn’t hear him. Yet he was there, like a detached part of myself. Isn’t that strange?”

The daughter hugged her mother, eyes blank.

“Well, you must be tired now. Would you like to sit down? The table is set, as you can see.”

“I need to freshen up first. It’s only eleven-thirty. At twelve o’clock exactly we drink a toast to Birger, as we agreed. The guests arrive at one o’clock. If anyone turns up, that is. We can’t expect it, now that Birger is no more. But we must be prepared.”

“I’m pretty sure Arne Midtli will turn up,” said Robert Odden. “He mentioned he had made something Birger was supposed to have had.”

“Well, I never. If he turns up, his brother Erik is sure to be along, too. The more the merrier. I know they’re fond of whisky. We do have soda, Robert?”

“Don’t worry, we have everything we need.”

“Fine, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Marta Lindbo disappeared into the spacious cabin. When she reappeared fifteen minutes later, she was wearing a green skirt and yellow blouse. With her brown skin and her blond, newly brushed hair, she looked almost youthful.

“How pretty you are, Mother!” exclaimed Linda Odden.

She had also freshened up. She looked good in a green pantsuit and yellow silk blouse. Her brows above her shiny eyes were replenished with dark make-up. Robert Odden had donned a pair of black trousers, a white shirt, and a blue striped tie. He smiled self-consciously and said:

“Birger would make a fuss could he see me now. I can practically hear his voice: ‘A tie on at the cabin! That’s like wearing a swimsuit to church, dear boy!’”

The two women smiled. Marta Lindbo said:

“Yes, he would have said something like that. He always had a clever tongue. But I appreciate that you have dressed for the occasion, Robert.”

She suddenly became quiet. She sat down at the table with a hand covering her face. Robert and Linda Odden glanced at each other. She made a small gesture and he bent over to bring out a bottle of Champagne from a cooler. A few seconds later, an explosion sounded. The cork was launched high into the air. Then he poured the glasses that Linda Odden had set out. She raised her voice. It was shaking slightly.

“It’s noon. Today, on the twentieth of June, Father would have turned eighty. This was not to be, but he is with us all the same. He always will be. A toast to Father!”

The three of them lifted their glasses. Marta Lindbo’s eyes were blank. When she had drunk, she said:

“Excuse me, I can’t help being moved. But it’s so... so pointless... that Birger is no longer amongst us. Here, at this cabin that he built with his own hands. At this place, which he loved so dearly. To me, it’s just...”

She sniffled and couldn’t go on. Robert Odden started to speak, calmly and quietly.

“We are all moved today, all three of us, Marta. Both Linda and I feel exactly as you do. I believe that there always is meaning in things that appear to be meaningless. Birger disappeared on that hunting trip on the twenty-ninth of October last year. He was never found despite an exhaustive search. I don’t want to reopen old wounds, but I would just like to repeat what Birger said to me some years ago. ‘When I feel that my time has come,’ he said, ‘I would just like to disappear in the mountains up here. Return to nature, so to speak.’ And Birger’s wish was heeded. That’s why I have a strong sense that he is still amongst us. In the fresh air, in the pure water, in the wildflowers, the heather, and the birdsong in the hillsides.”

A prolonged silence followed these words. Then Marta Lindbo leaned forward and patted her son-in-law on the hand, and said quietly:

“Thank you, Robert, that was beautiful. It was just what I needed to hear today.”

“Let’s drink another toast,” said Linda Odden. “Let us be merry. For what would Father have wanted more on this day than for us to enjoy ourselves. Death is part of life. I feel that even more now. Birger is amongst us. I can see him clearly. The warm smile, the cheery glint in his eye, the quick retort. Another toast to Father.”

They lifted their glasses once more. When they had drunk, Linda Odden disappeared into the kitchen. She soon returned with a pot of coffee and a tray of smoked trout sandwiches, scrambled eggs, and finely cut vegetables.

“My, my, how delightful!” exclaimed Marta Lindbo, “you really made an effort, dear.”

“It’s the trout Birger caught in the Heivatnet Lake last summer,” said Robert Odden. “He wanted to save it for his eightieth birthday. It has been in the freezer all this time. And as you will notice, it is of excellent quality.”

Linda Odden poured coffee. They ate piously at the solid wooden table that Birger Lindbo had once built with his own hands. The sun was warm. Bright yellow flowers and grass swayed in the gentle breeze. A brownish-red butterfly fluttered across the fields.

“Memories come flowing back on days like these,” said Marta Lindbo. “I remember the night I met Birger as if it were yesterday. I was only twenty, and he was thirty-three. But I can assure you that it was love at first sight. He was so grown-up, so handsome, so sure of himself. I fell for his blue, honest eyes. And for the good strong hands. Yes, I was young back then, but love matured me. Youthful nonsense became a thing of the past.”

The conversation flowed along, almost exclusively about Birger Lindbo. If he had been present, he would have sat at his customary place at the north end of the table. Now Robert Odden was sitting there, because his mother-in-law had wanted it so.

“It’s a man’s place,” she said, “And I don’t want it be empty.”

Robert Odden had hesitated to begin with. Then he moved, with the slightly self-conscious smile that made him so boyish. Linda Odden fetched a plate of waffles and a bowl of cloudberry jam.

“The berries we picked at Bjornemyra bog last autumn,” she explained. “Father was with us. He probably picked more than his share.”

They ate in silence once more. Linda Odden poured Birger Lindbo’s favorite liqueur. Everything was well planned and stylishly executed. The mild intoxication and the warm summer breeze had put them all in an elevated, slightly emotional state.

Everything seems so right, Linda Odden thought to herself. She no longer had any sense of self-reproach. After almost eight months of varying degrees of regret and frustration she had found spiritual equilibrium. As soon as she felt a hint of a bad conscience, it was countered by a feeling of objection. Herself as a little girl, on her father’s lap. No, it was hardly incestuous. But she seemed to recall that he had felt her up a few times. And in recent years he had been difficult. A real stubborn miser. Why had he insisted on living in the huge villa when Marta preferred the Canaries during the winter and beyond? Particularly when he knew that Robert and she could use the space.

She had prepared the packed lunch that day her father and mother had set out on what was to be his final hunting trip. She knew what they would want. Egg sandwiches for her mother, whole wheat bread and salami for her father. He always preferred strong, hot coffee for his thermos, while she preferred sweet tea. A few sleeping pills in his coffee, well, that could only be construed as mischief. How he had completely vanished, she just couldn’t fathom. It had to be providence. It was only later that she contemplated the intimidating term autopsy. She hadn’t thought far ahead, but things had turned out well.