Jo Nesbo - Midnight Sun

There was a pause.

In the end Knut broke it. ‘When predators can’t get enough mice and lemmings, they take grouse eggs.’

‘Of course,’ I said with a nod, and realised my back was sweating. I could do with a wash. My shirt and money belt could do with a wash. My suit jacket could do with a wash. ‘I daresay I’ll find something to shoot. It’s more of a problem that I’m a week early. After all, hunting season doesn’t start until next week. I’ll just have to practise until then.’ I hoped the Sámi had given me accurate information.

‘I don’t know about a season,’ the woman said, pushing the broom across the floor where I had slept so hard that the broom head squeaked. ‘You southerners are the ones who came up with that idea. Here we go hunting when we have to. And don’t bother when there’s no need.’

‘Speaking of needs,’ I said. ‘You don’t know of anywhere in the village where I could stay?’

She stopped cleaning and leaned on the broom. ‘You just have to knock on a door and they’ll give you a bed.’

‘Anywhere?’

‘Yes, I’d say so. But of course there aren’t that many people at home right now.’

‘Of course.’ I nodded towards Knut. ‘Summer holidays?’

She smiled and tilted her head. ‘Summer work. Anyone who’s got reindeer is sleeping in tents and caravans at the pastures down by the coast. A few have gone fishing for pollock. And a lot of people have gone off to the fair in Kautokeino.’

‘I see. Any chance I could rent a bed from you?’ When she hesitated I quickly added: ‘I’ll pay well. Very well.’

‘No one here would let you pay much. But my husband isn’t at home, so it’s really not befitting.’

Befitting? I looked at her skirt. Her long hair.

‘I see. Is there anywhere that isn’t so... er, central? Where you can get some peace and quiet. With a view.’ By which I meant, where you can see if anyone’s coming.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘Seeing as you’re going to be hunting, I suppose you could always stay in the hunting cabin. Everyone uses it. It’s fairly remote, and a bit cramped and ramshackle, but you’d certainly get your peace and quiet. And a fine view in all directions, that much is certain.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘Knut can show you the way.’

‘There’s no need for him to do that. I’m sure I can—’

‘No!’ Knut said. ‘Please!’

I looked down at him again. Summer holidays. Everyone away. Bored having to follow his mum to do her cleaning. Finally, something happening.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Shall we go, then?’

‘Yes!’

‘What’s bothering me,’ the dark-haired woman said, dipping the broom in the bucket, ‘is what you’re going to shoot with. You’ve hardly got a shotgun in that case.’

I stared down at my case. As if I were measuring it to see if I agreed with her.

‘I left it on the train,’ I said. ‘I called them, they’ve promised to send it on the bus in a couple of days.’

‘But you’ll be wanting something to practise with,’ she said, then smiled. ‘Before the season starts.’

‘I...’

‘You can borrow my husband’s shotgun. The two of you can wait outside until I’m done, this won’t take long.’

A shotgun? Hell, why not? And because none of her questions was phrased as a question, I simply nodded and walked towards the door. I heard quick breathing behind me and slowed down slightly. The young lad tripped over my heels.

‘Ulf?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know any jokes?’

I sat on the south side of the church and smoked a cigarette. I don’t know why I smoke. Because I’m not addicted. I mean, my blood doesn’t thirst for nicotine. It’s not that. It’s something else. Something to do with the act itself. It calms me down. I might as well smoke bits of straw. Am I addicted to nicotine? No, I’m sure I’m not. I might possibly be an alcoholic, but I’m really not sure about that either. But I like being high, wired, drunk, that much is obvious. I liked Valium a lot. Or rather, I really didn’t like not taking Valium. That’s why it was the only drug I’ve ever felt I had to actively cut out.

When I started dealing hash it was mainly to finance my own use. It was simple and logical: you buy enough grammes so you can haggle about the price, sell two thirds of it in small quantities at a higher price, and hey presto, you get free dope. The path from there to turning it into a full-time occupation isn’t a long one. It was the path to my first sale that was long. Long, complicated, and with a couple of twists and turns I could have done without. But there I stood, in Slottsparken, muttering my concise sales pitch (‘Dope?’) to passers-by I thought had long enough hair or freaky enough clothes. And like most things in life, the first time is always the worst. So when a bloke with a crew cut and a blue shirt stopped and asked for two grammes, I freaked out and ran.

I knew he wasn’t an undercover cop — they were the ones with the longest hair and the freakiest clothes. I was scared he was one of the Fisherman’s men. But gradually I realised that the Fisherman didn’t care about small fry like me. You just had to make sure you didn’t get too big. And didn’t venture into his amphetamine and heroin market. Unlike Hoffmann. Things had ended badly for Hoffmann. There no longer was a Hoffmann.

I flicked the cigarette butt in amongst the gravestones in front of me.

You have an allotted time, you burn down to the filter, and then it’s over, for good. But the point is to burn down to the filter, and not go out before that. Well, maybe that isn’t the whole point, but just then it was my goal. I don’t really give a shit about the point of it. And there’d been plenty of days since the funeral when I hadn’t been very sure of the goal either.

I shut my eyes and concentrated on the sun, and on feeling it warm my skin. On pleasure. Hedon. The Greek god. Or idol, as he should probably be called seeing as I was on hallowed ground. It’s pretty arrogant, calling all other gods, apart from the one you’ve come up with, idols. Thou shalt have no other gods before me . Every dictator’s command to his subjects, of course. The funny thing was that Christians couldn’t see it themselves, they didn’t see the mechanism, the regenerative, self-fulfilling, self-aggrandising aspect which meant that a superstition like this could survive for two thousand years, and in which the key — salvation — was restricted to those who were fortunate enough to have been born in a space of time which was a merest blink of the eye in human history, and who also happened to live on the only little bit of the planet that ever got to hear the commandment and were able to formulate an opinion about the concise sales pitch (‘paradise?’).

The heat disappeared. A cloud was passing in front of the sun.

‘That’s Grandma.’

I opened my eyes. It wasn’t a cloud. The sun was forming a halo around the young boy’s red hair. Was the woman in there really his grandmother?

‘Sorry?’

He pointed. ‘The grave you just threw your cigarette at.’

I looked past him. I could see a plume of smoke rise from the flower bed in front of a black stone. ‘I’m sorry. I was aiming at the path.’

He folded his arms. ‘Really? So how are you going to hit grouse when you can’t even hit a path?’

‘Good question.’

‘Have you thought of any jokes, then?’

‘No, I said it was going to take me a while.’

‘It’s been—’ he looked at the watch he didn’t have — ‘twenty-five minutes.’

It hadn’t. It was beginning to dawn on me that the walk to the hunting cabin was going to be a long one.

‘Knut! Leave the man alone.’ It was his mother. She came out through the church door and walked towards the gate.