Ю Несбё - The Kingdom

In the pause that followed the only thing that could be heard was Willumsen’s breathing. This dilemma demanded an increased supply of oxygen to the brain. I said a prayer, not for my soul, but that the stress might give him a stroke right here and now.

‘Two months,’ he said suddenly. ‘If you’re not dead in two months, starting today, then I’ll be back. You won’t know where, or when or how. Or who. But it could be the last words you’ll ever hear will be Danish. This is not a threat, it’s a promise. OK?’

I stood up. ‘Two months at the most,’ I said. ‘This tumour is a powerful bastard, Willumsen, it won’t let you down. And one other thing…’

Willumsen was still aiming the rifle at me, but with a lowering and raising of the eyelid signalled for me to continue.

‘Is it OK if I take my tins of snuff from the fridge?’

Of course I knew I was pushing it, but I was supposed to be a dying man who didn’t much care how it happened.

‘I don’t use the stuff, so do what you want.’

I took my tins of snuff and left. Jogged down through the trees with daylight already fading. Headed west in an arc and then, hidden from view behind the rocks, up towards the lake where I had seen Rita that last time; naked, humiliated, aged by daylight and a young man’s gaze.

I headed back towards the cabin from the north. There were no windows on that side, only thick timber walls, human fortifications, because attack always came from the north.

I walked right up to the wall, sneaked round the corner to the door. Wrapped my scarf around my right hand and waited. When Willumsen emerged I kept it simple. A punch directly behind the ear, where the cranium gives the brain less protection, and two in the kidneys which, besides hurting so much you can’t even scream, makes you amenable. He dropped to his knees, and I relieved him of the shotgun which was slung over one shoulder. Hit him on the temple and dragged him back inside.

He’d tidied away the roll of plastic and pushed the chair back into place by the wall next to the fireplace.

I let him get his breath back, let him look up and stare into the mouth of his own shotgun before starting to talk.

‘As you can see, I lied,’ I said. ‘But only about the tumour. It’s true that I haven’t met Rita for years. And since it only took one text message for me to come bounding up here with my tail wagging you’ll also understand that she was the one who ended it, not me. Don’t get up!’

Willumsen cursed quietly but did as I told him.

‘In other words, this could have been a story about what you never know will never hurt you and how we all live happy ever after,’ I said. ‘But since you don’t believe me and have expressed your intention to bump me off, you leave me with no choice but to bump you off. Believe me, it brings me no pleasure to do so, and I’ve no intention of taking the opportunity to resume the affair with the woman who will shortly be your widow. In other words it might seem extremely unfuckingnecessary to kill you, but unfortunately, from a practical point of view, it’s the only solution.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ groaned Willumsen. ‘But you’ll never get away with murder, Opgard. A thing like that has to be planned.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And I’ve had the few minutes I needed to realise that your plan to kill me has provided me with the best chance in the world to kill you . We’re here alone, at a place where no one saw us come or go, and do you know what the most common cause of death among men between the ages of thirty and sixty is, Willumsen?’

He nodded. ‘Cancer.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Oh yes.’

‘It’s not cancer,’ I said.

‘Car crash then.’

‘No.’ But I made a mental note to google that when I got home. ‘It’s suicide.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘In our village at least we’ll have made our contribution to the statistic if we include my father along with Sheriff Olsen and you.’

‘Me?’

‘Christmas week. Man takes his shotgun and goes alone to his cabin without telling anyone, found in the living room with the shotgun lying next to him. That’s about as classic as it gets, Willumsen. And oh yeah, black frost. So no trails leading to and from the cabin.’

I raised the shotgun. Saw him swallow. ‘I’ve got cancer,’ he said, his voice thick.

‘You had cancer,’ I said. ‘Sorry, but you recovered.’

‘Shit,’ he said, a sob in his throat. I curled my finger around the trigger. The sweat broke out on his forehead. He began shaking uncontrollably.

‘Pray your last prayer,’ I whispered. Waited. He sobbed. A puddle swelled out from under his bearskin.

‘But of course, there is one alternative,’ I said.

Willumsen’s mouth opened and closed.

I lowered the shotgun. ‘And that is if we agree not to kill each other,’ I said. ‘And take a gamble on trusting each other.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘What I’ve now just proved is that I’m so certain you will realise there’s no reason to kill me that I’m passing up a more or less perfect opportunity to kill you. That is what I call a leap of trust , Willumsen. See, trust is a benign, contagious sickness. So if you don’t kill me, I won’t kill you. What d’you say, Willumsen? Gonna take that leap with me? Have we got a deal?’

Willumsen wrinkled his brow. Gave a sort of hesitant nod.

‘Good. Thanks for the loan.’ I handed the shotgun back to him.

He blinked, staring at me in disbelief. He wouldn’t take it, almost as though he suspected a trick. So instead I propped the shotgun up against the wall.

‘You realise of course that I – I…’ He coughed snot, tears and slime from his throat. ‘…I would have said yes to anything right now. I haven’t made any jump, only you. So how can I get you to trust me?’

I thought it over for a moment.

‘Oh, this’ll be plenty good enough,’ I said, and held out my hand.

IT SNOWED ON NEW YEAR’S Day and the snow lay until the end of April. At Easter there were more people than ever before heading for their cabins and the service station did record business. We’d also been given an award as the best service station in the county, so the mood in the shop was good.

Then came the report into the development of the road network that concluded a tunnel should be built, and the main highway be routed around Os.

‘It’s a long way off yet,’ said Voss Gilbert, Aas’s successor in the party. Maybe so, but it wasn’t long until the next local elections, and his party would lose. Because it stands to reason, when a village can be wiped off the map of Norway with a stroke of the pen then someone in the village hasn’t been doing his lobbying job.

I had a meeting with head office and we agreed just to keep on milking the cow as long as we had her. Following that: readjustment, scaling back, for which read – redundancies. Small stations are needed too. And if things didn’t work out, I wasn’t to worry, they told me.

‘The door is always open to you, Roy,’ said Pia Syse. ‘If you want to try something new, all you have to do is call, you have my number.’

I stepped up a gear. Worked harder than ever. That was fine, I like working. And I’d given myself a goal. I was going to get my own station.

One day Dan Krane came in as I was cleaning the coffee machine. Asked if he could ask me a few questions for a story he was doing about Carl.

‘We hear he’s doing well over there,’ said Dan Krane.

‘Oh yeah?’ I said and carried on cleaning. ‘So this is going to be a positive article, is it?’

‘Well, our job is to show both sides.’