Per Petterson - I Refuse

‘Wow, he’s got fat,’ Jonsen said. ‘When did that happen,’ and then he said: ‘No, no, we haven’t got the time for this.’

He headed straight for the hall with a napkin in his hand, and I followed him, close behind, like a trailer, and Jonsen almost threw the door open before the sergeant had a chance to knock. He was about to go up the steps, but then he stopped when the door opened. He looked tired and foul-tempered. There were lines round his mouth I hadn’t noticed the last time I saw him, down past his nose to his chin, they really caught your eye. It was summer now, June and warm, but he was wearing a thick denim jacket, open at the front and lined with fur around the neck on both sides, and in the middle, his stomach was bulging over the skull and the red eyes of glass. They didn’t shine as they had before.

‘Hello there,’ Jonsen said. ‘There is food on the table. It’s good, I can tell you that much,’ he said, ‘Tommy made it.’ Which was true. ‘There’s plenty left, if you’re hungry,’ Jonsen said.

‘I don’t want any food,’ the sergeant said.

‘Right,’ Jonsen said. ‘If you’re not here to eat, why are you here, then.’

I joined Jonsen at the top of the steps, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, and we looked down on the sergeant and then he had to look up at us, and he didn’t like that. He was already seriously annoyed. You didn’t have to ring a psychologist to know that. We had a telephone now. They had finished digging. And we had a phone at the sawmill. You had to have one.

‘I’ve come about the fire,’ he said.

‘What fire,’ Jonsen said.

The policeman sighed. ‘What fire,’ he said. ‘Are you stupid or what,’ he said. ‘The Berggrens’ house burned down a week ago, only two hundred metres down the road. The house where Tommy used to live.’ He pointed to me.

‘I know where I used to live,’ I said.

‘I know you know where you used to live. Do you think I’m completely stupid,’ he said. ‘The point is, the fire people say someone started it.’

‘So,’ Jonsen said.

‘So,’ the sergeant said. ‘Jesus. Everyone knows that if someone set fire to the house it was Tommy. Do you think we’re stupid,’ he said. ‘So Tommy is coming with me. The police chief wants to talk to him.’

‘Tommy didn’t set fire to the house. Is that clear,’ Jonsen said, and he closed the door hard, and turned to go back to the kitchen, but the policeman banged on the door just as hard, and Jonsen opened up and said:

‘What is it now.’

‘Don’t try to be funny. Tommy has to come along with me.’

Jonsen turned and looked at me. I was standing right behind him now. ‘Are you going with him to see the police chief,’ he said.

‘I haven’t got the time,’ I said. ‘We have to get back to work soon. We have to have everything ready for the delivery tomorrow. We have to do the paperwork and load up. We’re going to Eidsvoll with a full van, and there are two men off sick. I haven’t got the time.’

‘You heard,’ Jonsen said to the policeman. ‘He hasn’t got the time.’

‘I don’t give a shit where you’re going tomorrow. Tommy’s coming with me right now. The police chief wants to talk to him. I’ll bring him back afterwards. Jesus.’ The sergeant was so tired he was barely able to stand. He sighed. ‘Come on,’ he said.

‘You’d best go with him,’ Jonsen said. ‘Or else we’ll have to ring for a doctor.’

‘Fine, then. I’ll go with him. I’ll be back before you know it,’ I said.

The sergeant shook his head. ‘Jesus,’ he said.

I was there for an hour. The police chief was all right. He said I had set fire to the house. I said I hadn’t set fire to the house. I said it was my house, and Siri’s house, and the twins’ house, and the police chief said it wasn’t, it wasn’t my house, and I said, who owns the house then, but he didn’t know. It’s my house, I said, and I can do with it what I like. So it was you who started the fire then, he said. No, I said, it wasn’t me who started the fire. And so it went on. In the end, we both got tired of it. Then we talked about my father for a while, about what a bastard he had been, but I had to defend him a little. He’d had a tough life, I said, and then he was alone with us, I mean, my mother just vanished, and it wasn’t easy for him, being on his own, and the police chief said I might have a point, but anyway, he said, and shook his head. And then he said, do you have any idea what happened to your mother, and I said I didn’t have a clue. Six years she’d been gone and no one knew where. And then he asked me if I had set fire to the house, and I said I hadn’t. All right, he said, that’s it for now. The sergeant will drive you back. You’ll be hearing from me. Do you understand, Tommy. Yes, I said, that’s fine, and then he said, damn you, Tommy, if it was you who started the fire. It wasn’t me, I said.

When I came out the sergeant was standing by the car. He was leaning against the open door. His eyes were closed.

‘Hi,’ I said. He opened his eyes and looked at me and closed them again. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, but there must have been something, he wasn’t like that before. Suddenly I felt very sorry for him. It just came over me. I went all warm. There were tears in my eyes. It’s true.

‘Are you not well,’ I said.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

‘Hell, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t understand it. But there’s got to be something. I’m so damn tired all the time, even though I sleep and sleep.’

‘But, have you been to the doctor.’

‘No, but I guess I’ll have to.’

‘It would probably be a good idea.’

We stood like that for a while. Him with his eyes closed. Me with my hands in my pockets, examining his face. He was just over thirty, thirty-five, maybe. That wasn’t very old, but he didn’t look well. He looked older, forty, or more.

‘Do you want me to drive,’ I said.

He opened his eyes. ‘Maybe you should,’ he said. ‘Actually, that would be great. I am so tired,’ he said, and then he walked round the car and got into the passenger seat, and I got in behind the wheel and turned the key. The car started straight away, and we drove on to the road from the police station, and the Volvo was such a thrill to drive I felt excited, elated, I almost laughed sitting there. Fifteen minutes later I parked by Jonsen’s postbox, which was my postbox too and had been for four years, and through the window I could see Jonsen sitting at the kitchen table smoking and looking out on the road, his one hand under his chin and the other holding the cigarette.

I slipped the lever out of gear and let the engine run with the handbrake on, and then we got out on either side, the sergeant and I, and when he came round the front grille and was about to get in behind the wheel he said:

‘Oh hell, am I stupid or what. You don’t have a driving licence, do you.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t. I won’t be eighteen until autumn. In November.’

‘Christ,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘Am I stupid or what.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.’

‘I won’t tell.’

‘I appreciate that,’ he said. ‘Christ, I’m so tired,’ he said.

‘Perhaps you should go and see a doctor,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll have to,’ and he pushed the lever into first gear, and the car left the village as slowly as it had arrived a couple of hours before.

I went up the steps, into the hall and into the kitchen where Jonsen was sitting at the table smoking.

‘Were you driving,’ he said.