Ю Несбё - Macbeth

I don’t like your ship , Fred thought. I’m a small man who doesn’t like big ships.

‘By the way, you’re going to see less of me in the future,’ the captain said.

‘Oh?’

‘Not enough cargo. Last year we lost Graven when they went bankrupt and then Estex closed down. What we have on board now is the last remaining stock.’

Fred had noticed by the way the ship lay in the water there was less cargo than usual.

‘Shame,’ Fred said.

‘No, makes no odds,’ the captain said gloomily. ‘Knowing this toxic stuff we’ve been transporting for all these years is paid for with our fellow citizens’ lives... Believe me, I haven’t always slept well and I’ve sometimes wondered what it must have been like being the captain of a slave ship. You have to be creative to find good enough excuses for yourself. Perhaps we know the difference between right and wrong even without using this wonderful big brain of ours. But with it we can assemble some really sophisticated arguments which, individually, sound good and, as a whole, can lead us to exactly where we want to go, regardless of how steeped in insanity this all is. No, Fred, I don’t want to ask the coastguards for permission to navigate these contaminated waters without a pilot. On Wednesday we were queueing up to come in when a message came from the harbour master himself saying that we had top priority. Free of charge.’

‘That must have been a nice surprise.’

‘Yes. Then I took a closer look at the bill of lading. Turned out we’d been transporting two Gatling guns. This is beginning to resemble how it was under Kenneth. Hey, careful! Are you trying to scald our pilot, son?’

The man in the chequered galley outfit had lost his balance as the ship pitched into a wave and had spilled coffee on the pilot’s black uniform. The guy mumbled an apology into his beard, put down the cups and hurried out.

‘Sorry, Fred. Even here, where half the town is unemployed, it’s hard to find crew with sea legs. This bloke came to us this morning claiming he’d worked in a galley before but had lost his papers.’

Fred slurped from the cup. ‘He’s not been on board a boat before and he can’t make coffee either.’

‘Oh well,’ the captain sighed. ‘We’ll manage as we’re only going to Capitol. That’s the Isle of Hanstholm behind us and now we’re over the worst. I’ll call up your boat and tell them to throw out the ladder.’

‘OK,’ Fred said, swallowing. ‘Then we’re over the worst.’

Macbeth was sitting on a chair in the corridor wringing his hands and staring at the door to the suite. ‘What’s he actually doing in there?’

‘I don’t know much about psychiatry,’ Jack said. ‘Shall I get some more coffee, sir?’

‘No, stay where you are. But he’s good, you say?’

‘Yes, Dr Alsaker’s supposed to be the best in town.’

‘That’s good, Jack. That’s good. Terrible, terrible.’ Macbeth leaned forward on the chair and hid his face in his hands. There was still an hour to go to the radio interview. He had woken before dawn to screams from Lady’s room. And when he dashed in she had been standing beside the bed pointing at the dead baby.

‘Look!’ she shrieked. ‘Look what I’ve done!’

‘But it wasn’t you, my love.’ He tried to hold her, but she tore herself away and fell to her knees sobbing.

‘Don’t call me my love ! I can’t be loved, a child killer shouldn’t be loved!’ Then she turned to Macbeth and looked at him through those crazed black eyes of hers. ‘Not even a child killer should love a child killer. Get out!’

‘Come and lie down with me, darling.’

‘Get out of my bedroom! And don’t touch the child!’

‘This is insanity. It’s going to be burned today.’

‘Touch the child and I’ll kill you, Macbeth, I swear I will.’ She took the body in her arms and rocked it.

He swallowed. He needed his morning shot. ‘I’ll take some clothes and leave you in peace,’ he said, going to the wardrobe. Pulled out a drawer. Stared.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go and get some more. We need it, both of us.’

He left and instead of going for some more power he had got Jack to call for psychiatric assistance.

Now Macbeth looked at his watch again. How long could it take to fix the little short circuit she’d obviously had?

In response the door opened and Macbeth jumped up from his chair. A little man with a wispy grey beard and eyelids that appeared to be one size too large came out.

‘Well?’ Macbeth asked. ‘Doctor... er...’

‘Dr Alsaker,’ Jack said.

‘I’ve given her something to calm her down,’ the psychiatrist said.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Hard to say.’

‘Hard? You’re supposed to be the best.’

‘That’s nice to hear, but not even the very best know all the labyrinths of the mind, Mr Macbeth.’

‘You have to cure her.’

‘As I said, with the little we really know about the human mind that’s a lot to ask...’

‘I’m not asking , Doctor. I’m giving you an ultimatum.’

‘An ultimatum, Mr Macbeth?’

‘If you don’t make her normal again, I’ll have to arrest you as a charlatan.’

Alsaker looked at him from under his oversized eyelids. ‘I can see that you have slept badly and you’re beside yourself with worry, Chief Commissioner. I recommend you take a day off work. Now as for your wife—’

‘You’re mistaken,’ Macbeth said, taking a dagger from his shoulder holster. ‘And the punishment for not doing your job is draconian during the present state of emergency.’

‘Sir...’ Jack started to say.

‘Surgery,’ Macbeth said. ‘That’s what’s needed, that’s what a real doctor does: he cuts away what is pernicious. He excludes any thought of the patient’s pain because that only makes him vacillate. You remove and destroy the offending item, a tumour or a rotting foot, to save the whole. It’s not that the tumour or the foot are evil in themselves, they simply have to be sacrificed. Isn’t that so, Doctor?’

The psychiatrist tilted his head. ‘Are you sure it’s your wife who needs to be examined and not yourself, Mr Macbeth?’

‘You have your ultimatum.’

‘And I’m leaving now. So you’d better stab me in the back with that thing if you need to.’

Macbeth watched Alsaker turn his back and set off towards the stairs. He stared at the dagger in his hand. What on earth was he doing?

‘Alsaker!’ Macbeth ran after the psychiatrist. Caught up with him and knelt down before him. ‘Please, you have to, you have to help her. She’s all I have. I must have her back. You must get her back. I’ll pay whatever it costs.’

Alsaker held his beard between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Is it brew?’ he asked.

‘Power,’ Macbeth said.

‘Naturally.’

‘You know it?’

‘Under a variety of sobriquets, but the chemicals are the same. People think it’s an anti-depressant because it acts as an upper the first few times until the episodes become psychotic.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s what she takes.’

‘I asked what you take, Mr Macbeth. And now I can see. How long have you been taking power?’

‘I...’

‘Not long evidently. The first thing to go is your teeth. Then your mind. And it’s not easy to escape from the prison of psychosis. Do you know what they call you when you’re completely hooked on power? A POW.’

‘Now listen here—’

‘A prisoner of war. Neat, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not your patient now, Alsaker. I beg you not to leave until you’ve done all you can.’

‘I promise to return, but I have other patients to attend to now.’