Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 37 - The City of Horror

They looked at one another. Did they dare?

The door to Nataniel’s room was opened carefully. An anxious, enquiring voice said: “Mum?”

They rushed upstairs. Nataniel stood in the doorway. There was no trace of the wolves or of those who had been in his room.

Christa picked him up and hugged him.

“Nataniel!” exclaimed Vetle. “What on earth happened?”

“Was it Imre?” asked André.

Nataniel looked at them. He was confused. He asked childishly: “Why was I up in my room? I was playing with my new truck downstairs, and then, suddenly, I was up here!”

His eyes showed that he had been crying, but he clearly didn’t remember anything.

They went into his bedroom and Rikard, the policeman, inspected it thoroughly. But there was no sign that any creatures from outside had been there. The room looked precisely as it usually did, with the amusing pattern on the wallpaper, toys on the floor and a checked duvet on the bed.

They never got an explanation of what had actually happened because Nataniel knew nothing, and they didn’t want to frighten him with questions. It was best if he didn’t remember anything. But everybody was sure that black angels had visited them. After all, Nataniel was related to them and he had been chosen for a very important task. He was to fight against Tengel the Evil.

Except that it was much too early! After all, he was only a little boy.

All this was something that occupied Rikard’s thoughts a lot. He couldn’t get the incident out of his mind.

But soon he had something else to think about.

–

Nos 4, 5, 6 and 7: Willy, Herbert, Gun and Wenche

A few hours earlier, on the day that Vinnie and Agnes were walking their dogs, a man had been walking along a quiet road on the outskirts of Halden. He was Willy Matteus, thirty-seven, with eyes that shone intensely blue against his weather-beaten complexion. His clothes were of good quality, albeit somewhat worn and very creased – and much too thin for the freezing cold. There was something about his demeanour and appearance that saved him from being identified as one of those who were workshy or idlers.

The silence was broken by a noisy group of people coming out of a villa. They were guests taking a noisy leave of their hosts. A man showing clear signs of a bulge shook the host’s hand eagerly. “Thank you for a splendid lunch! It was just superb!”

“Having you here always means that the party will be extremely pleasant,” the host said, laughing. He turned to Herbert’s wife: “How wonderful for you to be married to such an entertaining person. He’s always in such good spirits! What zest! I bet you’re never bored with him by your side!”

Herbert’s wife gave the host a pale smile. What a boring wife he has, thought the host. She doesn’t even smile when he tells his crazy jokes. Herbert politely kissed the hand of his giggling hostess with exaggerated courtesy. “Thank you, madam! Lunch was wonderful! And the wine ... oh, la la!”

He made a circle with his thumb and index finger. His wife gave him a concerned look. “Herbert: don’t you think it would be unwise of you to drive after all those drinks? Wouldn’t it be better if ...?”

“Rubbish,” yelled Herbert. “I’ve never felt better.”

A nine-year-old girl, who had been standing there in silence, said: “Dad, can’t we go home soon? I want to watch Children’s Hour!”

“Take it easy,” Herbert replied. “Dad just wants to say goodbye.”

“You’re taking an awfully long time about it!” said the girl cheekily.

They all turned to Willy Matteus as he approached them. “Excuse me,” he said. “Can you tell me how to get to the station?”

Herbert reacted straightaway to this new audience. “The station? That big, ugly, grey building, where all the choo-choos go? Yes, well ...”

He gave Willy Matteus long-winded directions, mixed with bad jokes that made his hosts double up with laughter while his wife seemed even more embarrassed.

“Thank you,” said Matteus politely. “Do you happen to know if the train to Sarpsborg will be arriving soon?”

“It’s just left,” the hostess said quickly. “The next one is due in four hours’ time.”

Herbert yelled: “What an awful shame!”

Willy Matteus bit his lip. “Oh, how annoying. I’m in a bit of a hurry. Well, anyway ...”

Herbert, who was in the mood to embrace the whole world, gestured expansively. “You can come with us in the car. We’re going in that direction.”

Matteus was taken by surprise, and after a couple more goodbyes, the car was on its way northwards. Herbert was feeling on top of the world, singing and telling dirty jokes so that even the car moaned. His wife, Gun, and the stranger sat in silence, smiling dutifully when it was needed.

“Sit quietly at the back, Wenche,” Herbert told his daughter. “We won’t get anything for the car if you kick the seats like that.”

“Are you selling the car?” Willy Matteus asked politely.

“No, not just yet, but at some point we’ll probably need to replace it with a newer one.”

Matteus chewed a bit on that. This meant that you didn’t really own your car if you were thinking about its sale price all the time, because it was the future owner’s car you were driving.

He looked out of the window at the Norway he had been dreaming of for so many years. They were approaching Sarpsborg, but his home town didn’t look the way he remembered it. All he could see was ugly, square, two-storey houses in boring colours and with small, identical gardens around them. He had run about and played in these fields as a child. Some rundown old hovels and a ramshackle farm had stood there. He remembered that he had thought that it all ought to be repaired, but this ...?

Herbert said: “By the way: I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name’s Herbert Sommer.”

The words were followed by a rhetorical pause. Willy understood that Herbert expected him to recognize the name.

Herbert went on: “You don’t recall my name then?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve spent many years abroad.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that explains it,” Herbert said, laughing. “I’m pretty well known in Norway. Compère, entertainer, radio, TV, that sort of thing ...”

There was no need to mention that his guest performances on the radio were a few short items from a local pantomime. In his self-glorification, he didn’t have time to be interested in who his passenger was.

The effect of the wine was beginning to wear off and he wasn’t quite as ebullient now. Oh, how well Gun recalled the various stages! Finally, the monologue died out and all you could hear in the car was the daughter’s moaning falsetto as she sang an eerie song she had picked up somewhere. She sang the grim theme over and over again:

“Death and sorrow will follow in his wake.”

Until her father roared: “Shut up, Wenche! Why can’t you sing one of my songs? Something to make us smile! ‘Death and sorrow will follow in his wake.’ Ugh!”

Willy smiled at the girl next to him and gave her a chocolate bar. She thanked him and looked at the wrapping paper. “The words are strange!”

Willy laughed. “It’s from the Netherlands. I’ve just come from there.”

Wenche offered a piece of chocolate to her mother. Herbert shuddered at the mere thought of chocolate. He was grumpy and bloated in the face and looked as if he could do with some fresh air.

The road bent sharply. The car, which was going a bit too fast, skidded on the slippery surface, and Herbert swore. A car was coming in the opposite direction, and Gun Sommer let out a shrill scream when for a moment it looked as if a collision was unavoidable. Then the other car made a swift manoeuvre and landed in the ditch. Herbert’s car heeled and swayed like mad until a tree by the roadside made it stop.