Then they came to get him. They rolled him onto a stretcher and later into a bed. That was the last time we had a conversation."
"But he does make sounds?" Reilly tried. Gravity making its way through his drug-induced haze.
"Yes, but they're completely meaningless," Axel interrupted him. "Just gurgling and grunting. It would be better if he would just shut up. I can hardly bear to look at him, either. I don't even know if he is pleased to see me. I don't think so. I don't think he gives a damn. Everything about it is embarrassing. It's humiliating and revolting. He needs help with everything. From strangers."
"Does he know who you are?" Reilly asked cautiously.
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"He starts to cry."
Axel paused. The pain hammered away at his jaw and he was about to be overcome by a violent attack of self-pity.
"He's been lying in that bed for four years," he said.
"Mm," Reilly sighed.
"He's got bedsores," Axel said. "Lots of them. They're really deep."
Reilly nodded for the second time. He had never seen bedsores because his job was moving beds around, but he understood that if you spent years lying in a warm bed, then your skin would not get the circulation that it needed, especially not where the skin was stretched tightly across the bones. It grew red and tender and eventually tiny cracks would form. That was how he imagined it.
"They're deep," Axel repeated. "His body is riddled with holes and the holes have turned into long tunnels."
Reilly's eyes widened. He visualized the long tunnels through the haze, and he began to feel queasy.
"It's like an eel has bored through him," Axel said, "and it's no use closing the sores, they're too big. I was there once when they changed his bandages. They stank of decay. He's completely perforated. Like a worm-eaten apple."
"What's this really about?" Reilly asked. "You're completely manic."
"Infected wisdom tooth."
"Christ Almighty. Does it hurt?"
"Like hell," Axel replied.
"You might have told me straightaway," Reilly said. "Instead you go on about your perforated dad."
Axel groaned. "I just wanted to make a point," he said. "My dad did everything right. His whole life. Because he believed it would lead to something good. But I've learned my lesson. I don't owe anyone anything. I reserve the right to make my own rules. I've never signed any contracts and I've never made any promises. I could do the right thing my whole life, but no one would reward me for it."
"I'm not sure where you're going with this," Reilly stuttered.
"I'm not going anywhere," Axel barked. "I can give everything I own to a poor man in Africa, and the next second I might get run over by a truck. That's how it is and we have to accept it. So don't ask me to make moral decisions! And don't you whine on about Jon!"
Reilly opened his mouth to say something, but Axel went on, his eyes shining.
"Don't you dare quote the Koran!" he yelled.
Reilly pulled a chair over to the window. Axel had a view of the river. They saw a tanker move slowly, its lights on. A long silence followed Axel's bitter rant.
"What do you think it's carrying?" Reilly asked and pointed.
Axel massaged his jaw and said nothing.
"Chemicals, probably," Reilly mused.
"I don't give a damn about its cargo," Axel said. "For all I care it could be chocolate mice."
"The crews of chemical tankers become sterile," Reilly said. "They never have kids. By the way, we don't import chocolate mice," he added, "we make our own. It's Nidar, isn't it, who makes the mice?"
Axel focused on his breathing. He knew that oxygen was important when it came to pain management. "I need to talk to Hanna Wigert," he said. "I need to know if she suspects anything. I need to be in control."
"We lost that in December," Reilly said.
Axel swallowed a large mouthful of red wine.
"It's worth keeping your eyes open," he said. "And then there's Molly. I don't trust her either. Girls like her have a vivid imagination. And fantasies can turn into
"But he does make sounds?" Reilly tried. Gravity making its way through his drug-induced haze.
"Yes, but they're completely meaningless," Axel interrupted him. "Just gurgling and grunting. It would be better if he would just shut up. I can hardly bear to look at him, either. I don't even know if he is pleased to see me. I don't think so. I don't think he gives a damn. Everything about it is embarrassing. It's humiliating and revolting. He needs help with everything. From strangers."
"Does he know who you are?" Reilly asked cautiously.
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"He starts to cry."
Axel paused. The pain hammered away at his jaw and he was about to be overcome by a violent attack of self-pity.
"He's been lying in that bed for four years," he said.
"Mm," Reilly sighed.
"He's got bedsores," Axel said. "Lots of them. They're really deep."
Reilly nodded for the second time. He had never seen bedsores because his job was moving beds around, but he understood that if you spent years lying in a warm bed, then your skin would not get the circulation that it needed, especially not where the skin was stretched tightly across the bones. It grew red and tender and eventually tiny cracks would form. That was how he imagined it.
"They're deep," Axel repeated. "His body is riddled with holes and the holes have turned into long tunnels."
Reilly's eyes widened. He visualized the long tunnels through the haze, and he began to feel queasy.
"It's like an eel has bored through him," Axel said, "and it's no use closing the sores, they're too big. I was there once when they changed his bandages. They stank of decay. He's completely perforated. Like a worm-eaten apple."
"What's this really about?" Reilly asked. "You're completely manic."
"Infected wisdom tooth."
"Christ Almighty. Does it hurt?"
"Like hell," Axel replied.
"You might have told me straightaway," Reilly said. "Instead you go on about your perforated dad."
Axel groaned. "I just wanted to make a point," he said. "My dad did everything right. His whole life. Because he believed it would lead to something good. But I've learned my lesson. I don't owe anyone anything. I reserve the right to make my own rules. I've never signed any contracts and I've never made any promises. I could do the right thing my whole life, but no one would reward me for it."
"I'm not sure where you're going with this," Reilly stuttered.
"I'm not going anywhere," Axel barked. "I can give everything I own to a poor man in Africa, and the next second I might get run over by a truck. That's how it is and we have to accept it. So don't ask me to make moral decisions! And don't you whine on about Jon!"
Reilly opened his mouth to say something, but Axel went on, his eyes shining.
"Don't you dare quote the Koran!" he yelled.
Reilly pulled a chair over to the window. Axel had a view of the river. They saw a tanker move slowly, its lights on. A long silence followed Axel's bitter rant.
"What do you think it's carrying?" Reilly asked and pointed.
Axel massaged his jaw and said nothing.
"Chemicals, probably," Reilly mused.
"I don't give a damn about its cargo," Axel said. "For all I care it could be chocolate mice."
"The crews of chemical tankers become sterile," Reilly said. "They never have kids. By the way, we don't import chocolate mice," he added, "we make our own. It's Nidar, isn't it, who makes the mice?"
Axel focused on his breathing. He knew that oxygen was important when it came to pain management. "I need to talk to Hanna Wigert," he said. "I need to know if she suspects anything. I need to be in control."
"We lost that in December," Reilly said.
Axel swallowed a large mouthful of red wine.
"It's worth keeping your eyes open," he said. "And then there's Molly. I don't trust her either. Girls like her have a vivid imagination. And fantasies can turn into
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