Карин Фоссум - Hell Fire

His mother was now in so much pain that she couldn’t move. Some small clear drops of morphine dripped from a bag straight into her arm. They didn’t talk much anymore. Eddie sat lost in his own thoughts and Mass lay completely still with her eyes closed.

There wasn’t much time left.

Eddie barely left her side. He held her hand tight and sat leaning forward in the chair, making his back ache. The nurses were in and out all the time, and always had a friendly word for him.

“Would you like to be alone?”

“Yes,” Eddie replied.

“Are you frightened?”

“Yes.”

Sometimes his mother opened her eyes as if she wanted to check that he was still there. She felt him squeeze her hand, but her own lacked strength. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her hairless head was the color of wax. Eddie prepared himself for her imminent death. When the evening drew in, she clearly had something on her mind. She tried to turn her head to catch his eye.

“Eddie,” she whispered. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Yes, Mom,” he replied. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“No, it’s not something I want you to do. It’s something that you should know. And I don’t have much time left.”

Eddie leaned even farther forward.

“Anders,” she whispered. “Anders Kristoffer. He’s not your father.”

Eddie dropped his mother’s hand as if it were a burning coal. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, alarmed. “I went to his grave.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t your father. Not your real father.”

Eddie felt himself swaying on the chair. He thought about the two photographs hanging on his bedroom wall, the ones he looked at every night before falling asleep. His father and him. Inga and Mads. She had taken everything away from him in the space of a second.

“But who was my father, then?” he asked.

Mass closed her eyes. “You’ll never find him, Eddie. Let it lie.”

“Is he dead as well?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know where he is. Let it go.”

“Does that mean you slept around?” he asked.

“No, it’s not what you think.”

The thought of having to look for a new father winded him. No father, no brother in New York. But what bothered him most was the fact that his mother had lied to him. He had lived a lie all his life and he didn’t know if he could forgive her. But perhaps she had her reasons for keeping it secret. His mother looked like she was sleeping. He thought she was perhaps already dead.

But a little while later, she came to life again. She coughed without any force, and a single trickle of blood appeared in the corner of her mouth.

“You have to forgive me, Eddie,” she whispered. “I only ever wanted the best for you. And the truth isn’t always the best. And we’ve had a good time together, you and I. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“So please take what I’m about to say with composure.”

Eddie didn’t know if he dared to listen.

“I’m not your mother, Eddie,” Mass told him. “Not your real mother.”

He sat on the chair for a long time, as though paralyzed.

Then he got up and went over to the window. He could see the parking lot and all the cars far below. And behind were the green hills where people went for walks in both summer and winter. He had been there as well, with Mass, for the first time when he was a baby in a blue Simo carriage. Then on his own two feet. To get to the top, they had to drive through a tunnel called Spiralen, and there was a big troll in the middle of the tunnel. He turned back to the bed.

“I couldn’t have my own children, Eddie,” Mass explained. “Anders and I were foster parents, and initially you were supposed to go back to your real mother. But then that didn’t happen. And after a year we formally adopted you. I want you to know that I was over the moon, Eddie. You’ve always made me so happy.”

Eddie stepped closer and bent down over the bed. “But my real mother,” he asked, confused. “Why didn’t she want me?”

“There were lots of reasons. It’s not easy to explain.”

“What was her name? Where does she live? Or don’t you know that either? I have to know, Mom; you have to tell me!”

Mass clawed at the blanket. The blood was barely flowing through her veins and her heart was barely beating. “I’m not so sure that you should try to find her,” she said. “It’s not always such a good idea. Remember Adelina-Susann who went all the way to Lahore.”

“But why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Is she poor?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Why wouldn’t she be pleased to see me, then?”

“She was only fifteen when she became pregnant,” Mass explained, “sixteen when you were born. She gave you away, Eddie; she couldn’t keep you. She was far too young.”

Eddie flared up. For a few mad seconds, he lost control. Mass didn’t recognize his voice; it was hoarse and dark. He leaned down over the bed and put a hand on either side of her head.

“Tell me who she is!” he shouted. “Now!”

Mass died so quietly. One moment she was there, the next she was gone — no fight, no movement. Just a small sigh. Her eyes were open but she no longer saw him.

He contacted Eiker funeral directors and asked for help. He would rather go to their offices because he didn’t want to open the door to strangers at home. They promised they would organize everything, and that all he needed to do was say what he wanted. He sat and looked through the catalogues, and then made a relatively swift decision and ordered the cheapest white coffin, which cost six thousand kroner. And the cheapest gravestone from the stonemasons. He didn’t want any kind of wake after the funeral because it would cost money and he couldn’t afford it. Not many people would come anyway. He didn’t know much about hymns and he didn’t want to follow the coffin to the grave. Someone else could carry her out. He would drive straight home and lick his wounds. They told him that he could apply for financial assistance from social services and said that they would help him fill in the forms and notify all the necessary authorities of his mother’s death. Eddie accepted their help. He asked them to order a simple wreath with no card because there was nothing he wanted to write on it. There was no need for any singers; he just wanted the whole thing over and done with.

In the evening, once everything had been decided, he sat in a chair at home. His cheeks started to burn. When he touched them with his hand, he could feel the heat, and after a while he got up and went to look in the mirror.

His face was red and it was spreading down his neck. What Mass had told him had started to burn him up inside. His real mother had given him away because she didn’t want him. She had given him away like some package, pushed him around like garbage. And no doubt she now had other children whom she loved. He turned off all the lights and sat down again. His cheeks continued to burn and sting. It was an unfamiliar feeling for someone who never went out in the sun. He sat there quietly, alone in the dark, and felt the fire burning.

Ansgar came to the funeral, but he had the good sense to sit at the back. Eddie didn’t so much as look at him. He was having trouble enough looking at the white coffin. He knew that Mass was lying inside, but he still couldn’t comprehend it. As the organ released its sad tones, he felt that the church was closing in and he bowed down as far as he could on the hard pew. He thought the priest was meanly dressed, in a simple cassock with a belt around his waist. You don’t know Mass, he thought; you don’t know what you’re talking about. God has nothing to do with this.

When the service was over, the priest wanted to shake his hand. It was weak and half-hearted and Eddie turned and walked down the aisle and then out. As he stood by the car, Ansgar came over and seemed to want to say a few words. Eddie pursed his lips, opened the car door, and got in. His neighbor bent down and looked into the car.