admirable.’
‘What on earth do you know about that?’
‘I only had to make a phone call. To the council, to the power and phone companies. It’s funny, you know, when you ring from the police, information simply pours out.’
She wavered for a second, made a great effort to pull herself together and met his gaze. Her eyes flickered like torches in a strong wind.
‘Was your daughter in the phone box with you?’ he asked mildly.
‘No she waited outside. It was so cramped in there. She takes up quite a lot of room.’
He nodded to himself. She’d turned again, away from him. ‘But you knew that Durban and Einarsson were acquainted, didn’t you?’
The question was a shot in the dark, and hung there in the room. She opened her mouth to reply, closed it again and opened it once more, while he waited patiently with his gaze fixed on her golden eyes. He felt like a bully. But she knew something, he had to get it out of her.
She continued to struggle a little with her thoughts, then she mumbled: ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Lies,’ he said slowly, ‘are like sand. Have you ever considered that? The first is just a minute grain, but sooner or later you’ve got to go a bit further and add another to the first, so that they’re growing all the time and getting bigger and bigger. In the end they’re so heavy you can’t bear the weight.’
She was silent. Her eyes filled, and she blinked rapidly a couple of times. And then he smiled. She stared at him a little confused, he was so different when he smiled.
‘Aren’t you ever going to paint with colours?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because reality isn’t black and white.’
‘Well, then it probably isn’t reality I’m painting,’ she said sullenly.
‘So what is it?’
‘I don’t know really. Emotions, perhaps.’
‘Aren’t emotions real?’
There was no answer. She stood at the door a long time watching him as he went to the car, as if she wanted to hold him back with her eyes. And really wanted him to turn and come back.
Afterwards he drove to his daughter’s house. He reached it just as Matteus had finished his bath. Warm and wet and with a thousand small glittering drops of water in his curly hair. He got into a pair of yellow pyjamas and looked just like a chocolate wrapped in gold paper.
He smelt of soap and toothpaste, and the bath water still contained a shark, a crocodile, a whale and a watermelon-shaped sponge.
‘It’s high time,’ his daughter said with a smile, and embraced him, slightly embarrassed, because it was so long between visits.
‘It’s busy at work. But I’m here now. Don’t make anything extra, I’ll just have a sandwich if you’ve got one, Ingrid. And a coffee. Isn’t Erik at home?’
‘He’s playing bridge. I’ve got a pizza in the freezer, and cold beer.’
‘And I’ve got the car,’ he smiled.
‘And I’ve got the number of the taxi,’ she parried.
‘The way you twist things about!’
‘No,’ she laughed, ‘but I’ll twist this!’ She pinched his nose.
He seated himself in the living room with Matteus and a gaudy children’s book of dinosaurs. The small, freshly bathed body was so warm in his lap that sweat began to prickle on his scalp. He read a few lines and ran his hand through the coal-black hair; he never ceased to be amazed at how crinkly it was, at how unimaginably small each individual curl was, and the feel of it against his hand. Not soft and silky like Norwegian children’s hair, but coarse, almost like steel wool.
‘Grandad going to sleep here?’ the boy said hopefully.
‘I’ll sleep here if Mum lets me,’ he promised, ‘and I’m going to buy you a Fina suit which you can wear when you’re mending your trike.’
Later he sat on the edge of Matteus’s bed for a while, and his daughter could hear indecipherable mumblings from within. There were growlings and rumblings, probably supposed to be a rendering of some nursery rhyme or other. His musical
‘What on earth do you know about that?’
‘I only had to make a phone call. To the council, to the power and phone companies. It’s funny, you know, when you ring from the police, information simply pours out.’
She wavered for a second, made a great effort to pull herself together and met his gaze. Her eyes flickered like torches in a strong wind.
‘Was your daughter in the phone box with you?’ he asked mildly.
‘No she waited outside. It was so cramped in there. She takes up quite a lot of room.’
He nodded to himself. She’d turned again, away from him. ‘But you knew that Durban and Einarsson were acquainted, didn’t you?’
The question was a shot in the dark, and hung there in the room. She opened her mouth to reply, closed it again and opened it once more, while he waited patiently with his gaze fixed on her golden eyes. He felt like a bully. But she knew something, he had to get it out of her.
She continued to struggle a little with her thoughts, then she mumbled: ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Lies,’ he said slowly, ‘are like sand. Have you ever considered that? The first is just a minute grain, but sooner or later you’ve got to go a bit further and add another to the first, so that they’re growing all the time and getting bigger and bigger. In the end they’re so heavy you can’t bear the weight.’
She was silent. Her eyes filled, and she blinked rapidly a couple of times. And then he smiled. She stared at him a little confused, he was so different when he smiled.
‘Aren’t you ever going to paint with colours?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because reality isn’t black and white.’
‘Well, then it probably isn’t reality I’m painting,’ she said sullenly.
‘So what is it?’
‘I don’t know really. Emotions, perhaps.’
‘Aren’t emotions real?’
There was no answer. She stood at the door a long time watching him as he went to the car, as if she wanted to hold him back with her eyes. And really wanted him to turn and come back.
Afterwards he drove to his daughter’s house. He reached it just as Matteus had finished his bath. Warm and wet and with a thousand small glittering drops of water in his curly hair. He got into a pair of yellow pyjamas and looked just like a chocolate wrapped in gold paper.
He smelt of soap and toothpaste, and the bath water still contained a shark, a crocodile, a whale and a watermelon-shaped sponge.
‘It’s high time,’ his daughter said with a smile, and embraced him, slightly embarrassed, because it was so long between visits.
‘It’s busy at work. But I’m here now. Don’t make anything extra, I’ll just have a sandwich if you’ve got one, Ingrid. And a coffee. Isn’t Erik at home?’
‘He’s playing bridge. I’ve got a pizza in the freezer, and cold beer.’
‘And I’ve got the car,’ he smiled.
‘And I’ve got the number of the taxi,’ she parried.
‘The way you twist things about!’
‘No,’ she laughed, ‘but I’ll twist this!’ She pinched his nose.
He seated himself in the living room with Matteus and a gaudy children’s book of dinosaurs. The small, freshly bathed body was so warm in his lap that sweat began to prickle on his scalp. He read a few lines and ran his hand through the coal-black hair; he never ceased to be amazed at how crinkly it was, at how unimaginably small each individual curl was, and the feel of it against his hand. Not soft and silky like Norwegian children’s hair, but coarse, almost like steel wool.
‘Grandad going to sleep here?’ the boy said hopefully.
‘I’ll sleep here if Mum lets me,’ he promised, ‘and I’m going to buy you a Fina suit which you can wear when you’re mending your trike.’
Later he sat on the edge of Matteus’s bed for a while, and his daughter could hear indecipherable mumblings from within. There were growlings and rumblings, probably supposed to be a rendering of some nursery rhyme or other. His musical
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