Christian Jungersen - You Disappear

In bed, I toss and turn at his side, I can’t fall asleep, yet I don’t feel awake either. Again and again I check my cell, to see if I accidentally turned it off or set it to mute, to see if the text to Bernard was sent. The sign on the ceiling: are we really cursed? Is it our own fault? I threw Frederik out a long time ago, and Niklas found me unconscious on the kitchen floor. Something a son shouldn’t have to experience. Yes, cursed. A righteous punishment.

And the odor in here: my father home from prison, the smell of his two-bedroom flat as he sat with a blanket across his legs and slowly went to pieces. My visits, the months before he died. He was definitely cursed.

The doorbell rings. I’m not up to answering it, but then Frederik gets out of bed and goes downstairs.

I can hear that it’s the neighbor. A letter for us, delivered to them by mistake. I’ve explained to them that they shouldn’t give letters or messages directly to Frederik. I’m worried that they won’t reach me, but I can hear she’s doing it anyway.

They’re talking down below. I hate getting letters. As a rule, they just pile more work on top of what I’m already behind on. Forms to fill out for the municipality, the union, the insurance company; new appointments with Frederik’s doctors. It never lets up.

Frederik comes back in. “Not good,” he says.

“ What’s not good? God damn it, what is it this time? What mess have you dragged me into now?”

He hands me a letter that he’s already opened, and I twist myself up into a sitting position.

It’s from Frederik’s new lawyer.

Dear Mr. Halling ,

I have attached the psychiatric report from the Medico-Legal Council .

Unfortunately, it is not as positive as we had hoped. As you can see, the council chose to disregard the opinion they commissioned from the neuropsychologist Herdis Lebech .

As you will recall, it is not possible to appeal the case any further .

I am at your disposal for any questions you may have, starting on Tuesday. You may call my secretary and request an appointment for us to speak on the telephone .

Sincerely yours ,

Louise Rambøll

I read the opening lines of the attached report and skim the other pages: … finds the assertion that Frederik Halling was mentally unstable at the time of the crime not proven … fully acquainted with the consequences of his actions and therefore responsible …

Back when Frederik was himself, I would have talked to him about a matter as critical as this. I also would have tried to in the first months after his operation, because I still couldn’t conceive then how meaningless my efforts really were. But I no longer have the energy — the energy to struggle with the case and at the same time attend to his needs.

My cell phone lies on the night table, still without a text from Bernard. I punch in the new lawyer’s number. Her secretary doesn’t want to transfer me, but I press her and at last she puts me through.

“I don’t understand … but Dr. Lebech said …” I find myself crying.

Louise Rambøll’s an idiot — just as she’s been in my previous conversations with her. The only thing she can say is that I’ve understood the letter correctly: Frederik will receive a sentence of at least three years. After he’s served his time, his criminal record will prevent him from ever working with children again or for a public employer, regardless of how well he becomes. If he doesn’t qualify for a disability pension, he’ll have to go on welfare, and there’s nothing we can do about it.

Frederik asks, “What’s she saying?”

“She hasn’t got a clue about anything!” I shout at him, with her still on the line.

I hang up without saying goodbye and call Bernard.

His secretary doesn’t want to put me through either. But I don’t stop crying while I tell her to tell him that Frederik’s psychiatric report has come.

He takes the phone and his manner is formal — hardly that of a man whose limbs were entwined with mine on the hood of a car last night.

“This is Bernard.”

“Bernard, you’re going to have to take on the case again. Louise Rambøll is totally impossible. Frederik’s going to jail now.”

“Louise is very clever.”

“No! She’s about to send Frederik to jail!”

“I’ll have a talk with Louise, and then—”

“You know full well that you’re so much better than she is!”

It’s true, so there’s nothing he can say.

“Frederik’s going to jail because you didn’t want us. People will keep on blaming us for everything, they still won’t talk to us. And Frederik will simply shatter in there. He’ll get even sicker.”

“I’d like to help you as much as I possibly can,” he says. “I really feel terrible about this. I’ll have Louise send me a copy of the psychiatric report, then I can give you some suggestions over the phone. And I’ll have a long talk with Louise.”

“But that won’t change a thing.” Now I’m sobbing into the receiver.

“But I think we’ll both regret it if I take on this case again.”

Now Frederik is standing next to the bed, looking at me with eyes wide. I avoid his gaze as I say, “If Frederik can’t get the best lawyer, he runs a greater risk of going to jail. He does !”

Bernard pauses. A pause is a good sign; I keep my mouth shut.

He clears his throat, and then he asks, “Don’t you think you should think this over?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Another pause; longer this time. I’m no longer crying, just listening in silence. I want to hear his breathing over the phone, but my own breath is still making too much noise.

“Okay,” he says at last. “But remember that I’m Frederik’s lawyer —not yours.”

“I understand.”

“Frederik’s the one I’ll meet with. If he’s amenable to it, you may come along on occasion. But it will be he and I. You and I will not be having any meetings alone together.”

“Of course. Of course. That’s the way to do it.”

“Okay. Good.”

Again a pause. Now I think I can faintly hear the background noise where he is. The cars on the street outside his office; perhaps his breath.

“Thank you so very, very much, Bernard,” I say. “Thank you. It means the world to us.”

“Okay … Yes. Okay. Frederik will naturally want to know as much as possible about the consequences of the new report, and as quickly as possible.”

“Yes.”

“If he could be here in forty-five minutes, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Bernard. It’ll make all the difference. I’m so glad to have you back.”

His tone becomes formal again. “You mean glad that Frederik has me back .”

“Yes. Of course.” I try laughing, but he doesn’t laugh with me, and then I can’t either.

After we hang up, I get up out of bed. It would be natural for me to give Frederik a hug now. But I can’t anymore; I just look at him.

“Now we still have a chance, anyway,” I say.

I put on some clothes and reapply my makeup, while Frederik goes down to make some sandwiches to take in the car — ham, cheese, and tomato, since he no longer eats only jam sandwiches.

I drive fast, staring straight in front of me at the freeway. Neither of us is hungry after all, so he sits with the lunch box in his lap. He says, “I’ve started to think about some of the things I remember from after the operation. Some strange things. Did they really happen?”

“Yes,” I say, “it was a strange time.”

“But I’m thinking — did you use to call Bernard up at night while I lay next to you in bed?”