Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘Seventh,’ she whispers.

Daniel raises his head, but his eyes remain downcast. He should never have got messed up in this. He should have done what Dejan suggested a couple of months ago: Hey, Dano! What do you say — me and you, we rob a bank, get the fuck outta here, go and live like kings in Dubai, eh, man?

But the girls came into the picture and Dubai went out the window.

Minutes from now, maybe a few hours, and he’ll be sitting in the police station.

Daniel brings his finger to the button and presses it.

She knows her way around here. Veronika has been in and out of hospital since she was a little girl. She’s been back and forth together with Inger, check-up after check-up at the audiology clinic. Seventh floor, said the woman at reception, and nodded to Veronika the way you nod to somebody you’re used to seeing, but she struggled to maintain a natural expression when she saw the mesh of cuts on her face.

‘Sandra Vikadal? Seventh floor.’

The lift is slow and heavy. Veronika seeks out his hand, finds his fingers.

‘My finger friend.’

What is she on about? Daniel shoots her a puzzled look.

She laughs. ‘Just popped into my head.’

‘You come out with some weird stuff.’

‘What did you say?’ She looks at him with that expression she always gets in her eyes when she doesn’t catch what’s been said. Vigilant, the tiniest bit offended.

‘Nothing,’ Daniel says, ‘nothing.’

The lift ascends, passing floor after floor. A sterile smell pervades, even in here, the odour of hospital and of unease. People go quiet when they use lifts, doubly so in hospitals.

The doors slide open.

‘Hey?’ She squeezes his hand.

‘Mhm?’

‘It’s okay, you know. I’m with you, all right?’

Daniel nods. He can’t bring himself to speak.

‘We’ll go in, you get to see her, and after that you’re mine. Yeah? We’ll just ride. You and me. Far from here. We still have time.’

He nods, but he doesn’t believe what she’s saying. They exit the lift and set their feet on the linoleum of the seventh floor. It’s almost as though the ground is swaying beneath them. There are double doors to either side of them and Veronika points to the ones to the right. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just nods and lets her lead the way.

She wants to hold him by the hand, reaches for his, but he avoids her attempt. He speeds up, noses a few inches ahead of her as they walk down the corridor. A doctor and a nurse are walking towards them. Daniel looks down. They pass empty chairs, doors and rooms, people inside with pain in their bodies. Veronika draws level with him, tries to take hold of his hand once more. Daniel brings his fingers to his eye, pretends to have something in it.

Then they halt. A man and a woman are standing outside a room about fifty feet in front of them. Daniel takes an audible intake of breath and makes as if to turn back.

‘Who’s that?’

He gives her a quick glance and she understands who it is.

The man is tall and slim, wears a suit and shirt and has polished shoes. The woman is petite, slender, dressed in a blue jacket, with a neckerchief and her hair neatly styled.

‘Relax,’ Veronika says, ‘do they know who you are?’

Daniel tugs her with him, back towards the lift, but she resists.

‘Wait, stand still. Don’t look at them. Look at me. Have you met them?’

‘No, I haven’t met them,’ he says, angrily.

‘Take it easy, Daniel,’ she says. ‘They’re talking to a doctor. Look. He’s quite calm. The father has his arm round the mother. She’s crying.’

Daniel brings his hands to his head. Massages his forehead with his fingertips.

Then they see them. Two uniformed police. A man and a woman. They come out of the same room. The woman tilts her head to the side, says something into the radio mounted almost at her shoulder. The other speaks to the doctor and Sandra’s parents.

Daniel and Veronika turn and walk quickly away. They don’t stop until they make it around the corner by the lift.

‘What are we going to do?’ Daniel’s eyes flash fiercely.

Veronika takes a step to the side, looks down the corridor.

‘They’re talking,’ she says.

Daniel swallows.

‘Wait,’ she says, ‘wait, they’re leaving.’

‘What?’

‘They’re going the other way.’

‘The other way?’

Daniel sticks his head round the corner to take a look. She’s right. The doctor and the police are accompanying Sandra’s parents further down the corridor. The doctor opens a door and shows them in.

‘Come on,’ Veronika says, giving him a tug, ‘now.’ She begins to walk towards the room Sandra is in.

Daniel hesitates, but she’s stronger. Veronika won’t hear him. She doesn’t want to hear him. That’s how this girl is. She says weird things and has no trouble crossing boundaries others wouldn’t dare contemplate. She lacks something other people have. She possesses something they do not.

Daniel is on the verge of letting her go into Sandra’s room on her own, on the brink of turning around and leaving. But he’s unable to resist her. She’s too much. That copper-red hair. That pursuable body. She’s like pure metal.

They reach the mint-green door and Veronika reaches for the handle, pressing it down gently.

Daniel wavers as she enters, but follows her in.

It’s a single room. A narrow entrance with a bathroom to the side, a window ahead with the curtains opened. The late September light shines into the room. A poster of a flower arrangement hangs on the wall to the right. To the left, a bed with curtains drawn around it. A low hum from the air conditioner. A chair facing the bed.

‘I can’t do this.’ Daniel closes his eyes.

‘You can,’ Veronika whispers, reaching her hand towards the curtain.

The sound of the curtain rings sliding along the pole. A soft swish. The material is drawn aside. It’s her. The burnt hair, the slashed face. It’s him. The bright mouth, the deep-set eyes.

They approach the bed.

Sandra is lying under a duvet with the hospital emblem on it. Her head is turned to the right and she can’t move it. Her hair is lying neatly across the pillow the way her mother arranged it. Her lips are dry and cracked, even though her father has applied lip balm to them. She has bruises on her face, a cut under her cheekbone, because the people standing in front of her knocked her down. There’s a glass of water on the table beside the bed, as well as a vase with three red roses; one for hope, her mother said, one for faith, she said, and one for the future.

Sandra can’t feel a thing. Not anywhere. Her senses, with the exception of sight and hearing, are gone. She doesn’t know if they can see that she sees them. She doesn’t know if her eyes are moving.

‘Jesus.’

Daniel brings his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. He sinks down into the chair.

‘She’s in a coma,’ Veronika says, leaning down so her face is closer to Sandra. Studying her.

‘What have we done?’

‘Don’t you want to talk to her?’ Veronika brings her eyes up close to Sandra’s, scrutinises them, as though she suspects Sandra of pretending to lie so still.

‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Veronika doesn’t take her eyes off Sandra. ‘Get on with it, so.’

‘What will I say?’ Daniel’s voice is meek.

‘I don’t know. Say what you need to say.’

Veronika gives a short nod to herself, as though confirming her belief in what she sees: Sandra is in a coma. She can’t move. This is not an act.