Карин Фоссум - The Whisperer

I still don’t know anything. Why are you in prison? Did you harm someone, lose control? I have been living here in Berlin for twelve years and I have always wished the best for you. But lots of things are coming back to me now, memories from when I was little, and when I started to understand as a boy, and finally as a teenager decided to flee. I chose the path of least resistance, a coward’s solution. And I’m not proud of that. Perhaps you remember some of it as well, or you have tried to forget. But ever since the inspector called and told me that you were being held on remand for a very serious crime, it’s as though someone has opened a chamber that had been closed for years .

There are lots of things I want to ask you about .

Do you remember the time you took me to the nursery on Kirkelina, but never came to collect me? It was summer, and I had a half-day place, from one to five, that was paid for by the council. They had to ring you several times. Granny was visiting Grandad in hospital, and we had no contact with the neighbours, for obvious reasons. While I waited, I played in the big boat, the one with the pirate flag and small cabin, do you remember? I would often sit in the cabin and look out at the world through the porthole, because I felt safe in there. I wasn’t that old, you know, but I remember it well, how the grown-ups looked at each other, the murmuring and raised eyebrows. They often talked like that, in hushed voices. The other children were picked up one by one, the cars drove out of the parking place and disappeared, and silence fell on the playground. The adults discussed what to do with me, who they should contact. And I sat quietly in the cabin, and if any of them had asked me, I would have begged in a feeble voice to go home with one of them, possibly the one called Britt who was so kind. Stay the night with her, sleep in her bed, in a house that held no uncomfortable surprises. But they didn’t ask me what I wanted. They were more interested in getting rid of me, they wanted to go home to their own children. But you came in the end. Suddenly there you were in the doorway, and all you had on was your underwear and some old wellies. I crawled out of the boat and walked across the grass, and you looked at me with glassy eyes, as though I were a stranger .

‘ Who do I have to pick up?’ you said. ‘Is there someone asking for me? ’

There are tears in my eyes as I write this to you. And I wonder what telling you all this now might lead to, when you are obviously in a very difficult situation. And need something quite different. But I’m going to continue all the same. That was a random example. I have lots of stories like that, a sea of strange events that frightened me and confused me. Just as you were always frightened and confused, and Grandad too. The kids at school used to ask me about life in the loony bin on Kirkelina. Or they shouted after me that they’d seen my mum naked. Or they pointed and laughed and screamed because they’d spotted Grandad in the middle of the traffic, where he stood shouting and waving his arms until the police came to get him. Everyone’s going to die, he’d shout, everyone’s going to die. I have problems sleeping, Mutti. I’m constantly afraid. But I guess you know all about that .

Granny was always so tired. Exhausted by the fear that you and Grandad would be sectioned, that social services would come and get me and that I would be handed over to strangers, and that she would be left on her own. In her own heroic way, she managed to keep the family together, she managed to show us in the best possible light whenever they turned up unannounced, and she assured them that she was in full control and knew what was going on at all the various levels. When I think about Granny, it warms my heart, but it also makes me sad. She had no life of her own, she had more than enough to do looking after us. I used to get up at the same time as her, you know, always very early, she had to be ready, always prepared. I sat in the doorway to the bathroom and watched while she put up her long hair, and fastened it, one hairpin at a time, practised to perfection, until her silver locks were all gathered in a big bun. How she took her time getting dressed, always in a dress or skirt and jacket, always good shoes, even when she was indoors, because then she was in control, and goodness knows, she needed to be. I loved our time together in the bathroom, it was sacred, just me and her, and the house was quiet and normal. Grandad had not got up yet, or you. The madness had not begun, it was just Granny and me. Our eyes met in the mirror. We smiled and winked at each other in our special way, we had our own signals, our own language. We were the only ones in the world who understood anything at all. We never spoke about our mornings in the bathroom. We did not have much peace in our house, I could only listen to my own thoughts at five in the morning. Granny was a queen, Mutti. She was a queen .

And you are being held on remand, Mutti. Which means that you didn’t just stop the traffic on Kirkelina or predict everyone’s death and destruction, or stand on the square ranting. You didn’t wander the streets in only your underwear. You have destroyed something or someone. My imagination is running wild here in my cell. I have always been so afraid that this would happen .

Your son ,

Rikard Josef

My darling Rikard Josef ,

What can I tell you, other than that I am well! I have been very well for a long time now, but you have not kept in touch, you left. Year after year I have managed alone, I have a full-time job with good colleagues, and get on with all the neighbours and the man in the shop over the road (although he has moved now). But this autumn I have been at war, I have been the victim of a cruel campaign and have for a long time been receiving anonymous threats. I asked the police to help me on several occasions, but my request fell on deaf ears. No one bothered to come and see me, no one heard what I said. And now you write to me about things that happened a long time ago. That is all in the past, there is no point in opening up old wounds, and that is what you are doing. You must remember that I had a lot to deal with when I was young. Your grandfather and his illness, financial problems, the authorities, who were constantly on our back. Social services who would turn up unannounced, come in and ask personal questions, while they checked that everything was clean and there was food in the cupboards and clothes in the drawers. And there always was, to say anything else would be a lie. I carried you in my arms, do you not remember? And you know that I’ve always been susceptible to infections. That day you mentioned, when I was late in coming to pick you up from nursery, I had a temperature and was feverish. It turned out to be a lung infection and I was on antibiotics for two weeks. But you know that our family is prone to infections, that our immune systems are not strong, all families have their weaknesses. So when they called me from the nursery, I ran out of the house to come and get you, and was confused. You know how hot and bothered a fever can make you. The only thing I could think was that I had to get there before social services, I knew they were watching us with beady eyes, and that they would take note of the slightest thing. Do you know what I have often thought? That you went to Berlin because you were ashamed of us. You were ashamed of me and your grandfather, you were ashamed because we did not have much money, and you wanted so much more. We were the family you did not want to introduce to others. If that is what you thought, I would like you to tell me. The truth will not kill me, just so you know. The worst thing is not knowing. But now we’re talking again, you and I. So let’s just continue and see where it gets us .