Karin Fossum - I Can See in the Dark

‘I haven’t seen any women on the block,’ I said. ‘Aren’t there any female prison officers here?’

For a few moments Margareth was silent. Her bony hands ceased in their activity and rested on the work surface, her eyes under their darkened lashes became distant.

‘No, no women,’ she said at length. ‘Apart from me that is, but I suppose I don’t count.’

‘So, have there never been any?’

Margareth lifted a hand to her eye, perhaps to wipe a tear, I thought.

‘A long time ago there was a girl working here,’ she said. ‘Well, I say a girl because she was only twenty-something. Her name was Linda, and everyone liked her a lot. She worked hard on behalf of the inmates and their rights. And she was fearless, too,’ she added. ‘Positive and caring. She was a good-looking girl, and no mistake. Many a yearning glance followed her when she patrolled the corridors, I can tell you.’

She picked up a raisin and popped it in her mouth. Chewed it for a while.

‘She had long, blonde hair and a ponytail. I once told her she ought to get rid of it, that sooner or later one of the men here would grab it and pull her down. If you know what I mean. Well, sometimes they snap, and they grab whatever’s to hand. Spectacles. And ears, and that kind of thing, I expect you can imagine. But she wouldn’t listen, and she kept her long, blonde hair.’

Margareth said nothing for a while, and then she looked straight at me.

‘They went to the cinema one evening, she went with one of the prisoners here. His name was Frank and he was in for murder, sentenced to sixteen years. Frank was very strong. And had a brain the size of a pea, if the truth be told. He spent practically the whole day working out in the gym, and he got bigger with every month that passed. Then he was granted an evening’s leave and permission to go to the cinema. And Linda was to accompany him. Can you believe the management consenting to something like that?’

I didn’t answer. Margareth continued.

‘They went off early that evening in a van, and they never retuned.’

‘Did they abscond?’ I asked stupidly.

‘He killed her,’ Margareth said. ‘After the film. The van was parked in a copse, and they found her lying in the grass next to it. Most of her blonde hair had been ripped off. Frank was caught a couple of days later and immediately admitted the crime. But he never gave a motive for it. Presumably he’d made advances to her, and she’d refused, naturally. She could hardly have done otherwise. Lads with big muscles don’t like getting no for an answer. What on earth’s wrong with them? Everyone gets rejected now and then. I’ve been rebuffed more times than I care to remember. That’s life. Not everyone wants us, after all.’

That rings a bell, I thought to myself, and gave Margareth a sideways glance. If only I had a woman.

She took another raisin.

‘So you see,’ she continued, ‘after that affair, our managers have never dared to employ women again. That would have brought it all back again. And we couldn’t bear to be reminded of that. Yes, it was awful what happened to Linda. Truly awful.’

Margareth finished speaking and carried on with her work. She bustled about adding the final touches, mixing juice in two large jugs, and placing the beetroot in small bowls. I cast my eye over it all, and I thought that never before had colours seemed so bright and vivid and radiant. The beetroot was wet and dark as blood, and it dyed her lips red when she put a slice in her mouth.

‘Is Frank still on the block?’ I wanted to know.

‘No, he’s in Oslo Prison. So you won’t be bumping into him around here. The other inmates turned against him, he had to be transferred.’

‘What about your assistant?’ I remembered. ‘What’s happened to him?’

‘He’s on long-term sick leave,’ Margareth answered. ‘It seems to be a problem with his bones, he’s got pains all over his body. That’s the only reason you’ve been given this opportunity,’ she added. ‘Not because you’re special or unusual in any way, but because it means they don’t need to employ a stand-in and that saves them money. And if you work well, they’ll let you stay in the kitchen for a good while.’

Margareth.

I hadn’t registered her surname, only Margareth. I went about savouring the name, moving it around my mouth, rolling it across my tongue, letting it fill my head and heart. Margareth. The name was like a little tune, the name was pleasant and warm, and perhaps just a tiny bit lonely. Margareth, Margareth. With beetroot juice on her lips, and her light blue eyes fringed with black lashes. I imagined a simple juxtaposition. Margareth and Riktor. Didn’t that sound like a couple, like two souls that belonged together? There was something about the chime and rhythm of the names, they went so perfectly together: Margareth and Riktor. Suddenly, I fancied that there was a more profound meaning to my life so far. Everything I’d undergone, the many interrogations and the forlorn cell, the false accusations. The betrayal. All the time I’d been journeying towards Margareth. I was certain this was right, certain that the future held something, something I needed and wanted, had always wanted. As if in a vision I saw it: an entirely new perspective. Margareth and me in the park near Lake Mester, together on a green bench. I paced around my cell thinking of these things, thinking of Eddie and Janne, and the joy of being a couple.

At length I sank down on the chair. The sanatorium on the hillside opposite, which I could see through the bars, had four rows of windows, and there were twenty windows in each storey, I’d counted them. It was no longer used as a sanatorium, but was now a rehabilitation centre for heart patients. I thought of all the people lying in their beds behind the windows, with hearts that suddenly, and possibly without warning, had stopped beating. Or beat irregularly, or much too fast, and I thought of their fear of dying. I imagined them lying in their beds with hands on chests, checking. These continuous contractions that are so vital to us. There was nothing wrong with my own heart, it beat steadily all day long with energetic persistence. What was it Arnfinn had said about his heart? It beat like an Opel engine. But during those interviews with Randers my pulse did occasionally rise.

De Reuter worked tirelessly.

He often popped in to my cell, or we would sit in a visiting room, but he realised I was managing fine and would soon leave again. Janson took me out into the exercise yard so that I could feel the sun on my face. I sensed it was warming me in a new and promising way now after my meeting with Margareth; I could almost feel the vitamins penetrating my skin. Janson would sit on a bench and smoke a cigarette, while I made slow circuits of the yard.

‘How old is Margareth?’ I enquired, halting in front of him.

‘Well,’ said Janson, taking his time. ‘She must be getting on for fifty, wouldn’t you think? Or maybe forty-five? She’s from the north,’ he said, ‘and she’s a widow. Her husband was killed on the railway, many years ago now. Nasty business. Some shock that must’ve been.’

‘Killed on the railway?’ I said in horror. I put my hands on my hips and looked aghast at Janson. ‘How? Was he in a car? Or walking along the line?’

‘It’s all a bit vague,’ Janson said, flicking the ash off his cigarette. ‘Don’t try asking questions about it, or she’ll chuck you out of the kitchen. She won’t ever speak about what happened.’

I went on walking in wide circles. I stuck my fingers through the wire fence that surrounded us, and smelt the scent of grass from the other side, the tang of the freedom which had been taken from me. It never occurred to me that I might be found guilty of Nelly’s murder because I had some belief in justice. But the other thing, the thing that had happened to Arnfinn, was quite a different matter. I could defend myself there, too, if it came to it. I peered up at the prison wall with its rows of windows, each covered by a grate of rusty metal. The surrounding area was dominated by the building, old and grey and ponderous, and the netting fence was topped with great rolls of barbed wire. They were like huge birds’ nests. But I knew that people had escaped. I had no such plans myself, and I was eagerly anticipating the start of my case. Then I would rise to my feet in court, stand tall, and tell the truth.