Karin Fossum - I Can See in the Dark

Janson often popped in. He wanted to check that I was behaving well. And where Margareth was concerned, everything I did was impeccable.

Then a most unexpected thing happened.

I actually had to put out a hand, searching almost for something to steady me, as I tried to comprehend a quirk of fate so astonishing that it left me speechless and only able to stand there dumb and irresolute. Janson had escorted me to a visiting room. For a meeting with a woman called Neumann. ‘A woman of a certain age,’ Janson had said. ‘She’s been an accountant all her life. And a prison visitor for many years at various institutions, she’s got lots of experience. She’ll be here at two.’

Now she was standing there, in the open doorway.

With red lips and a stiff perm. Ebba from the park near Lake Mester. She was my prison visitor. Her eyes opened in amazement as she saw me, and then she controlled herself as much as she could to smooth over her own huge surprise at finding me, Riktor, waiting for her. Riktor the prisoner. Charged with murder.

But I soon recovered and, as we’d suddenly been thrown together like two dice in a box, made the best of a bad situation. We shook hands. She had a firm grip. She wasn’t embarrassed for an instant, instead I noticed a humorous smile spread over the red mouth. She regained her composure and unbuttoned her jacket, her movements were assured, calm and well rehearsed, there was a secureness, deep within her person, that had a comforting effect. I sat down.

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m the type that gets over surprises quickly.’ She pulled out the other chair, straightened her clothes and patted her hair, taking her time. ‘We’ve met before, of course. And I did sometimes wonder what had become of you, because you used to come to the park so frequently. But now I know why.’

She settled herself on the chair. Knees pressed together, a hand up to her hair.

‘Life isn’t kind to everyone, that’s for sure,’ said Ebba Neumann. Despite the shock, her voice was firm and steady, she was doubtless a woman who was used to speaking at meetings, a woman who’d rise, when the situation demanded it, and say a few wise and unifying words.

She put her handbag on the floor. A brown handbag of imitation crocodile skin, with a large, gold-coloured clasp. She sat with her body and head erect, the neat undulations of her grey hair receding in waves from her brow.

‘What have they told you?’ I wanted to know. ‘About why I’m here; have they said anything?’

Her hands rested serenely in her lap, like thin, curled insects. One of her fingers had two plain gold rings on it, her own and her husband’s, I thought; presumably he was dead. Her nails were varnished and looked like mother-of-pearl.

‘Not a thing,’ said Ebba. ‘And it’s none of my business. You haven’t been found guilty of anything. As I understand it, you’re on remand. And to put your mind at rest, I know how to keep my mouth shut. Please forgive my presumption, but in spite of everything, you’re looking well.’

She took off her jacket, and hung it over the back of the chair. She had long, shapely legs and gossamer-thin stockings and I could make out finely branching veins through the delicate mesh.

‘If you knew what I was accused of, you’d be shocked,’ I said.

Suddenly I was overcome with bitterness over all that had happened. That I was being held in this institution for an indefinite period, totally without grounds, totally without guilt. So friendless and alone that the Red Cross had to send an old woman to keep me company. I’d been insulted and humiliated, but I was glad she was sitting there, she was a link to the park, to the time before all this happened, to the good and disciplined life that I’d had control over.

‘Possibly so,’ she conceded, ‘but we don’t have to talk about that. Just for the record though, I do read the newspapers. And there’s been a lot of comment about what happened.’

Naturally, the press had revelled in it. The nurse from Løkka, and all the things he’d been up to. The lunatic care worker. These lies. This conspiracy, this whole rotten thing.

‘Then you know everything there is to know,’ I said. ‘That’s the way of the world now, we’re informed about almost everything that happens. And you become my prison visitor. I don’t know how you dare.’

‘Shouldn’t I dare?’

I gave her a long, hard appraisal. Her hair, her hands with their rings, her feet in their brown court shoes with small bows. This eminently elegant woman I’d seen so many times before. Who might even be on my side, in spite of everything.

‘There comes a day when we get out of prison,’ I said to Ebba. ‘And then we might come after you. Follow you, beg. Ring up, and be a nuisance, and annoy you. People turn into stray dogs when they’re released, that’s what the prison officers say. Haven’t you ever considered that?’

Ebba gave a long and hearty laugh. It was the first time I’d heard her laughter: it was deep, infectious and redeeming. Automatically, I thought of Woman Laughing , it was the same warm sound that came to my inner ear when I passed that evocative sculpture at the park entrance.

‘No,’ she said smiling. ‘I’m not frightened that you’ll come after me. Or follow me. Or beg for anything. I’m not scared of dogs, either.’

‘You’ve probably been warned to keep quiet about yourself. About where you live, what you do, and suchlike. You’re sitting here hamstrung by instructions about what’s allowed and what’s not allowed. Guidance from the Red Cross. Am I right?’

She was searching her handbag for lozenges. She held the packet out to me, but I refused; it mentioned something about eucalyptus on the blue-and-white wrapper. Perhaps she was actually nervous after all, and her mouth was dry.

‘I’ve come to listen to what you’ve got to say,’ she explained. ‘To what’s on your mind. To what’s weighing on your conscience, if you’ve done something wrong. And if not, I’ll listen to your concerns. But not a word, not a syllable of any of this can I pass on. I have a duty of confidentiality. Like a Catholic priest.’

She smiled good-naturedly.

‘I’d like to think they’re treating you well. But there isn’t much compassion in a place like this. And a life without compassion is a lonely life. I often think about that.’

Her eyes took in the wretched visiting room. Worn furniture, a few pictures on the walls, a water sprite rising up from a tarn with green, gleaming eyes, a squirrel in mid-air, sailing from one branch to another, dirty windows. Then something came to her mind and suddenly she grew eager. She leant forward in her chair, her eyes shining with a special intensity.

‘I bet you can’t guess who walked to the park yesterday? I mean, under her own steam. That young girl, you know, the one who always sat in a wheelchair. Do you remember her, and her mother?’

‘Miranda,’ I said with surprise. ‘Are you seriously telling me she can walk? She can’t walk, she’s disabled.’

Ebba nodded. ‘She’s got braces on her legs. She can’t bend her knees, of course, but she is walking. One little step at a time. I nearly fell off my bench, it was like a miracle. I’ve never seen a child so proud.’

‘How wonderful,’ I said half-heartedly.

And I tried to imagine the scene. The thin girl strutting along on stiff legs. And that walking nail display, Lill Anita, following behind with supporting hands. And I didn’t like it a bit; I didn’t like the way the image I’d formed long ago of the two of them, the mother and the child with all her spasms, suddenly had to be modified now, it was as though I’d lost control of life. Leg braces. Well, really.