The Caller by Karin Fossum Page A

into his field of vision.
    ‘Is the image sharp?’ Hannes asked. ‘Can you see them clearly?’
    Theo nodded. ‘They’re grazing.’
    ‘Like cows, they eat all day. What a life. Some live like kings.’
    Theo’s arms grew tired from holding the binoculars, but he didn’t want to let them go. He didn’t want to head home again, either; he wanted to sit here with his father for ever, on the warm rock near Snellevann, with the binoculars at his eyes.
    ‘Mama must be done with the dishes by now,’ Hannes said.
    ‘And she’s in the hammock,’ Theo said.
    ‘And she’s snoring so the birds are flying off in fright.’
    For a moment they chuckled at Wilma whom they loved so much. Theo raised the binoculars again. The sheep lay like white specks on the green hillside. He caught sight of a ramshackle old barn, and far to the right, a few red cows.
    ‘There’s something’s odd about one of the sheep,’ he reported.
    Hannes waited for further explanation.
    ‘It’s different.’
    ‘Is it black?’
    Theo shook his head. ‘No. It’s more orange.’
    ‘C’mon. Orange. You watch too many films.’
    Hannes grabbed the binoculars. Through the lens he saw an orange-coloured sheep among the white ones. It moved around comfortably, apparently without knowing of its glaring peculiarity. The sight was so unusual that Hannes stayed put, staring.
    ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘What on earth have they done with that sheep? He looks like an orange on four legs.’
    Hannes’s laughter rang out over Snellevann. For quite some time they scrutinised the orange-coloured sheep. The binoculars passed between them, and each time it was Theo’s turn, he was transfixed by the unusual sight. Then he leapt from the rock and ran around, waving his arms enthusiastically. Hannes worried about the binoculars. They were from Zeiss, the most expensive kind you could buy, and he didn’t want to see them smashed on the rocks.
    ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. ‘Careful with the equipment.’
    Theo sat obediently and handed the binoculars back to his father.
    ‘Someone’s attacked the poor thing with spray paint,’ Hannes confirmed. ‘Maybe a sheep tagger?’
    He looked once more at the sheep, couldn’t get enough of it. Lifted the binoculars, lowered them again. Shook his heavy, Dutch head. ‘Isn’t that the colour they use in the Highway Department?’ he said. ‘When they measure and mark the road? The kind of colour that glows in the dark. I’m just wondering.’
    ‘The other sheep don’t seem to care,’ Theo commented. ‘They just keep eating as if it was nothing.’
    ‘That’s because sheep are pretty stupid. They have brains the size of coffee beans.’
    To get a better look, Hannes scrambled to his feet, and Theo stood up too. They observed the unusual sheep. Then Hannes searched in his pocket for his mobile. He wanted to call the local newspaper and tell them about the strange discovery. While his father made the call, Theo put the bottle of Solo to his lips and drank. He was happy.
    ‘My name is Bosch,’ said the father. ‘Hannes Bosch. We’re in the woods down by Snellevann, my son and I, and we’ve found something incredible. Send a reporter. Bring a photographer – with colour film. Otherwise you’ll miss the point.’
    He listened a moment, nodded several times, and winked at Theo.
    ‘Really quite amusing,’ he said. ‘You won’t believe it until you see it.’
    Theo drank more of the sweet carbonated liquid. He picked up his walking stick again, sat and waved it as his father talked with the newspaper reporter.
    ‘You should probably contact the sheep farmer and ask him to bring shears,’ Hannes said. ‘He’s going to have to trim right to the skin. But take a picture first, for goodness’ sake. Ha ha … No, I don’t know who owns the flock, but as I said, they’re out on the hillside above Snellevann … Fifty or so … It could be Sverre Skarning’s. You could start with him. One of the