Broken (25 page)

His defence counsel entered.

It happened so elegantly that Alvar thought he could hear a fanfare in the distance. Benedict Josef Lind entered the room with a spring in his step. Dressed in a dark suit and a snow-white shirt with a narrow bottle-green tie which matched his eyes. He was slim and long-limbed, about the same age as Alvar, and he carried a black briefcase. He stopped. Took a good look at Alvar. His gaze was steadfast, his handshake firm and warm. Then he held up the briefcase and pressed the locks. A sharp snapping sound was heard as they both sprang open at the same time, a carefully studied gesture, a ritual. He took out some papers. Stood for a while peering at the words, put the papers back in his briefcase.

'Eide. Delighted to meet you. How are you?' he asked with authority. His voice was powerful and deep. 'Have they given you something to eat?'

Alvar shook his head, he was confused. He could not remember the last time he ate, but he did not feel hungry. Only giddy, it felt as if he was floating.

'I'll take you downstairs to the canteen,' Lind said resolutely. 'If you're going to get through this, you'll need a decent meal.'

'But,' Alvar faltered, 'I need to explain myself. It's such a long story, you see, I need time!'

Lind looked at him.

'You'll have all the time in the world, Eide, I give you my word, but you need to take care of yourself. You look exhausted, you've ended up in a difficult situation.'

There was no point in protesting. Alvar closed his mouth. Suddenly it felt good that someone else was taking charge. He, who up until now had never wanted to let go, now surrendered completely to his commanding, confident lawyer in the dark suit. It was a totally new sensation, a feeling of falling, of melting like butter, becoming pliable. Because could it get any worse? He had a vision of himself lying on a bed with his hands behind his head. A small window with bars in front of it. A desk, a simple chair, a shuttered door. Uprooted from the community. Though it occurred to him then that he had never been part of the community.

'The canteen makes first-class sandwiches,' Lind said. 'And Magda, the cook, can make a cup of coffee that will wake us both up. Come on, let's go. We can talk while we eat.' Lind nodded in the direction of the door; Alvar got up from his chair and followed him. Together they went down the corridor, Alvar with his head bowed, Lind with his chin up. They took the lift, they stood close to each other. A faint smell of aftershave filled the tiny space.

'Everything can be explained,' Lind said. 'There's a logical explanation for even the most incomprehensible action.'

'Exactly!' Alvar burst out. 'If only they'll believe me. If only they can understand!'

'It's my job to make sure they believe you, but I'll obviously need your help.'

Alvar nodded. The lift had stopped, they exited. Lind strode into the canteen, he knew his way around and was completely at ease. Alvar trailed after him, while he looked fearfully at the other diners. But no one even glanced at him twice, they had their own problems to contend with, he thought.

'Here, Eide. By the window,' said Lind, pointing.

He had stopped at a table for four; now he pulled a chair out for Alvar. This tiny gesture moved him, he had never been attended to in this way. It made him study Lind furtively.

'What can I tempt you with, Eide?' Lind asked. 'Rissoles? Prawns? Roast beef?'

'Rissoles, please,' Alvar said modestly. Suddenly he felt starving. He remained at the table while Lind went over to the well-stocked sandwich counter. He poured two cups of coffee, paid, and returned. Carried the laden tray with the greatest of ease. Alvar stayed in his seat, staring at Lind's well-groomed hands; his fingers were long, his nails completely clean. No ring on his finger, though that meant nothing, the man was probably married and had children like everyone else. No, a little voice told him, not this man. He is different. His feelings took him by surprise; he stared down at the table. Grabbed his knife and fork, he could not think of anything to say.

Lind sat down. His manners were exquisite, as though he had been a winner his entire life, someone who could cope with anything life threw at him.

'So this Katrine Kjelland,' he said, 'whom it appears you knew, if I've understood it correctly, for a whole year. Do you blame her?'

Alvar looked up. He shook his head fiercely.

'Oh, no,' he said sincerely, 'I don't blame her for a second. She was a lost soul. She was trapped in the mire and she couldn't get out. That's how I look at it.'

Lind kept watching him. Alvar felt that his bare head shone like a bowling ball. Lind frowned.

'But she put you in a very difficult situation, surely we can agree on that?'

While he waited for Alvar to reply, he cut off the corner of his open prawn sandwich and put it in his mouth. His teeth were white and flawless.

'Well,' Alvar pondered, 'I suppose it takes two. I was naive. I always have been.' He stuck his knife into the rissole, it was very tender.

'That's not a crime,' Lind said with emphasis. He washed down the prawn with a mouthful of coffee. 'And your intentions were probably good.'

'Good intentions?' Alvar looked at him across the table. Every time he looked into those green eyes, he felt perplexed. Because everything about this man seemed so familiar. He sensed a kind of trust, as if they were on the same side. And so they were, but there was something more than that, something that made him blush.

'You bought drugs for her,' Lind said, 'because you couldn't bear to see her suffer. That's a good intention, don't you think?'

Alvar nodded. He drank his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

'I've always kept people at a distance,' he admitted. 'I can't bear it if they suffer. I can't bear the responsibility. I'm a coward deep down. The mess I'm in now stems from my own cowardice. It's my only explanation, my only excuse.'

Lind studied him closely. His green eyes grew sharp.

'Why don't you blame her at all?' he asked directly. 'She forced her way into your life, she exploited all your weaknesses. She manipulated you, emptied your bank account, slept in your bed, drank your coffee, died on your sofa?'

Alvar dropped his knife and fork.

'But she had no proper control over herself,' he said, trying to make excuses for her. 'Everything she did was controlled by heroin. Addicts are not themselves, you know that.'

Lind listened, resting his chin on his hand.

'True,' he conceded. 'In a way you were victims of each other. You both did something right, you both did something wrong. I want the blame shared, Eide, what do you say to that?'

Alvar hesitated. 'Sharing the blame? Only one of us is alive, surely that says it all?' Suddenly he felt utterly despondent. Lind chatted on undisturbed.

'Her family doesn't hold you responsible; they could see where she was heading. They don't blame you,' he said softly.

'I don't understand,' Alvar said. 'How can they be so magnanimous given what's happened?'

Lind looked at him sternly. 'It was her lifestyle that killed her,' he stated. 'Not you, Alvar Eide. Don't you see?'

'I contributed,' he argued weakly. 'I went to Bragernes Square and I was careless. I should have checked what it was I bought for her. Suspected that it might be harmful. I was just trying to ease my own discomfort, I'm actually very selfish.'

'But she took the pills herself,' Lind said. 'She grabbed them and washed them down with water.'

'While I was watching her,' Alvar said. 'Passively. Terrified. And what happened afterwards is unforgivable.'

'Tell me about it,' Lind asked him.

Alvar looked down. 'I felt deeply ashamed. It's a well-known feeling for me, I grew up with it. It's in my veins, let me put it that way. It was like being dragged along by the current. The feeling that I could never hold my head up high again.'

Lind pushed his plate aside and kept listening to him.

'How people would gossip, the story splashed all over the front pages. Suggestions that I might have been taking advantage of her, but I didn't!'

'I know,' Lind said calmly.

'But worst of all was the fear. As I sat in the car driving through town with her dead body on the back seat, I suddenly had the feeling that I didn't know myself at all. That I had a cunning and devious side to me that I had never known about until then.'

'You're not cunning and devious,' Lind said softly.

Alvar folded his hands in his lap. 'I probably won't manage very well in prison,' he said feebly.

'If you're convicted, I'll make sure it's a suspended sentence. We will claim mitigating circumstances.'

'No,' Alvar shook his head in despair. 'You won't be able to get me off this one. I'm touched that you have faith in me, but I'm a grown man of forty-two and she was a sixteen-year-old girl. The jury will expect a certain degree of maturity, which I clearly don't possess. And that's humiliating, it's unbearable.'

Lind leaned forward. His voice was low and sincere.

'But you had your reasons for acting the way you did,' he said. 'We need to tell the jury what they were. We will show them in such a way that the whole sequence of events seems inevitable and logical. You took her in for a whole year. She considered you to be her friend, her family will testify to that. The way I look at it, your chances are good, but you have to believe that, too. I'll be with you all the way.'

His last sentence echoed in Alvar's head.
I'll be with you all the way.

'There's a story behind this tragedy,' Lind said. 'Twelve long months when she was a part of your life. You need to tell this story, Eide, right down to the last detail. What you thought, what you felt, how you were. How she got this hold over you, which she clearly had. She did have a hold on you, didn't she?'

'I can't stand up in court and speak ill of her,' Alvar said quickly. 'I've no right to do that and you can't make me.'

'You don't need to speak ill of her, but you need to tell it like it was. That she was stronger than you. I presume that she was?'

'She wasn't scared of anything,' he said in a tired voice. 'Not until that Friday when she turned up in withdrawal. I think of her as a brave soldier, she went to war every single day. While I, big coward that I am, sat safe and sound in my own comfortable castle.'

'You're very hard on yourself,' Lind said. 'Why is that?'

Alvar relaxed his shoulders. 'I should have seen where it was going. I should have turned her away, then she would still be alive.'

'No,' Lind said calmly. 'She was already on her way down and she took you with her.'

Then he folded his arms and rested them on the table. 'Tell me this,' he asked. 'Will you miss her?'

A wounded smile escaped from Alvar's lips. 'Yes,' he said, 'I will miss her. No one else comes to my flat.'

This revelation made him blush a second time.

'If you've had enough to eat,' Lind said, 'I suggest we start work. Is there anything else you want to tell me, anything that's important?'

'My cat,' Alvar said suddenly. 'My cat's probably sitting on my doorstep waiting to be let in. I'm sure he's hungry.'

'You have a cat?' Lind smiled. His white teeth sparkled. 'I'll look after your cat. Give me your keys, I'll stop by your house when we've finished.'

Alvar rummaged through his pocket for the key. He got up and pushed his chair. Lind gestured in the direction of the lift.

'Together we'll build a defence,' he said. 'You need to do your part. Do you understand?'

Alvar stared at the floor.

'Those who will be judging you need to know who you are. This means that you need to make yourself vulnerable and tell them all those things, it means you've got to trust me, you must believe that I want what's best for you.'

Alvar swallowed hard. 'I've never been in the habit of talking about myself in great detail,' he said quietly.

'What are you scared of?' Lind wanted to know.

'That they'll laugh, I think. That they'll despise me. That they'll call me a pathetic loner.'

'Don't be so negative,' Lind said firmly, 'chin up! Talk about yourself, start giving people a chance. People are much better than their reputation. Now you've got the opportunity to make a new discovery.'

'Perhaps they'll reject me,' Alvar said, deeply worried.

'Perhaps they'll find you not guilty,' Lind said.

The lift door closed. The space felt intimate.

'How did it start?' Lind asked. 'When did you first meet her?'

Alvar closed his eyes and remembered. Suddenly it all became clear to him. His first, but oh-so-fateful mistake.

'It was late last November, and it was cold. She came into the gallery where I work, staggering on her high-heeled boots, and she was freezing cold. I've never in all my life seen anyone so cold. Someone had to do something,' he said. 'For once in my life I decided that it was going to be me. So,' he sighed, 'I went up to the kitchen and got her a cup of coffee.'

A man jumped the queue.

He was second in line, but he could not wait. He came into my house, all the way to my bedroom, he demanded to be heard. I carried him for twelve months. He has been in my thoughts every single day. His despair was my despair, I have felt responsible for him every single minute. Now I am standing by my window looking out at the world, the world I forget about for long periods of time when I am preoccupied with my writing. The azalea by my front door sways in the wind. Every now and then there is a sudden and forceful gust. It looks as if the whole crown of the tree is dancing a mournful dance, it bends, it surrenders. It has been standing there for more years than I have been alive, and it will still be there the day I die. That day may not be far away, I live a hard life. One day my teeth will be grinning in my skull, while the azalea dances.

The wide Lier Valley spreads out in all its glory. I can see farms, cows out to pasture, and now and then I can hear lowing, mild, woeful complaints in the stillness. I let the cat in, he goes to the kitchen for some food. I stroke his head lightly, feel his small skull underneath his fur. It is autumn, it is dark November. This season which I love most of all, the time when everything settles down. The outer landscape matches my inner one, it is gloomy and windswept. I go over to the computer, pull out my chair and sit down, pondering in the blue light. I have left Alvar Eide in the care of Benedict Lind. He does not need me any more, he can manage the remainder of the race himself, but I have given him some tools. He has been given his own story and he needs to tell it to those who will judge him. I hope they don't judge him harshly, I certainly don't. Yet there is one more detail before we finish. I feel that it belongs in the story. I want to give Alvar a final, friendly send-off. So I make myself comfortable and type, swiftly and fluently, a last important page. Just then I hear a sound from the corridor. Cautious steps, a door creaks. Alvar enters in his usual, shy way. He stops, he folds his hands. Looks at me across the room with mild eyes.

'Why are you still writing? I thought we'd finished?'

His eyes are unusually bright. I don't comment, I don't want to embarrass him.

'Yes,' I reply, 'but I have one important thing left to do.'

'What is it?'

He is intrigued

'I thought you might be interested,' I say. 'It's the post-mortem report.'

At this he goes white as a sheet.

'I don't know if I will be able to make sense of it,' he says, embarrassed. His grey eyes start to flicker, he shrugs helplessly.

'Then let me explain.'

I continue typing, my fingers run briskly across the keyboard. Alvar waits, I can hear his breathing.

'According to the pathologist Katrine Kjelland died from a cerebral haemorrhage,' I declare.

He gives me a frightened look.

'And what does that mean?'

'Bleeding in her brain,' I reply. 'What happens is that a vein bursts. It can occur in young people and can be caused by high blood pressure, or stress. In other words, she didn't die as a result of the pills you gave her, it was not a fatal dose, but they made her fall asleep. Thus you are not to blame for the death of Katrine Kjelland.'

Alvar cries out in relief. He buries his face in his hands, his knees look as if they might buckle.

'It that possible?'

'It says so here in black and white.'

The colour starts to return to his cheeks.

'But what did I give her then?' he asks quickly.

'Morphine,' I reply. 'She was probably experiencing some sort of blissful state when her heart stopped beating. And in her last moments someone wiped her brow with a warm cloth. She died on the sofa of a good friend,' I add. 'I might not be that lucky.'

He circles the floor. He clearly wants to shout for joy, but controls himself as always.

'But I drove off with her,' he recalls, 'that's unforgivable, what will people think?'

'I've got an old copy of the Penal Code here,' I say. 'If you like I can read it out to you.'

He nods silently. He waits.

'Section three hundred and forty-one. "Anyone who unlawfully or secretively either destroys the body of a deceased person or disposes of it so that it cannot be examined appropriately, or who refuses to inform the authorities of the whereabouts of a child or other incapacitated person they have in their care or who participates in so doing will be punished by a fine or up to six months' imprisonment."'

'Six months' imprisonment?'

He turns pale again.

'Let's hope they let you off with a fine,' I say. 'Now give people a chance.'

He nods again. Looks at me kindly as if he is seeing me for the first time.

'And what about you?' he asks. 'How are you doing? You've reached the end of the road. Are you happy?'

I shake my head. 'I haven't reached the end, Alvar, the worst is yet to come.'

'What's that?' he asks quickly.

'The book needs to reach an audience. I can barely find the courage. So I'll go over it a few more times. Adding, deleting a sentence here and there. And I still have to read the proofs, that's pure torture. Is that really all I did? I think, battling hard with myself, while I plan my next book. The book where I'll finally succeed once and for all.'

'Are you saying that you're disappointed with this one?' he asks nervously.

'Well,' I say, 'I'm not ecstatic. But that's the way life is. My dissatisfaction drives me to act, to write another book.'

I look up at him. I smile.

He nods. 'Do you wish me luck?'

'That goes without saying. You're on your own now. Trust those who will be judging you. Believe that they are compassionate people who'll understand.'

'I'll do my utmost,' he says. 'I want to thank you, you've been very generous.'

'You paid a high price,' I say, 'for the events you're about to face. But friendship is never free, you have to do your share.'

'It was worth it,' he says firmly. 'Besides, I'm wiser now.'

'How about Ole Krantz?' I ask. 'Have you spoken to him?'

'Yes. Benedict helped me explain. Krantz doesn't blame me and the job in the gallery is still mine.'

'What about the severed bridge?' I ask.

He smiles. He tilts his head. 'The bridge has been sold,' he says calmly.

'Is that right?' I say, giving him a big blue-eyed look of innocence. 'How do you feel about that?'

He juts out his chin. 'I don't need the bridge any more, not for anything. Because I have finally connected with another person. Benedict Josef Lind will be a friend for life.'

He walks quietly towards the door. I know that I'll never see him again and I'm filled with a sudden surge of grief. The door will never creak again, he'll never return to the room we shared for so long. Then he is gone and it goes very quiet. I switch off my computer, get up from my chair. I stand in the empty living room, left to my own devices, to a reality which is almost unbearable. Dear God, this silence, all I can hear is my own heart and I no longer have a destiny to cling to. My hands are empty. Who can I turn to, where can I go? I walk softly over to the window. I look out at the long queue of people still waiting on my drive. The woman with the dead child is still at the front. I watch her for a while, she doesn't move. She doesn't appear to have noticed me, she seems paralysed. I go out into the corridor, I put my shoes on, I open the front door. I walk down the drive, crunching the gravel. For a while I stand underneath the porch light studying them one by one. A couple of them look up at me hopefully. Some poke at the gravel with their shoes. They stand there with all their problems, all their guilt and shame. They stand there with hope of happiness and true love. I take the last few steps towards the woman with the child. I stop in front of her and give her a kind look.

'Hello. Do you want to come inside?'

She does not reply. Her eyes are apathetic. There is no doubt that her child has died, his small face is lightly marbled, his eyes are sunken.

'What happened?' I ask, trying to get her to look me in the eye. 'Did you find your child dead?'

Still no reply. Only silence, only her vacant eyes.

'I really want to help you,' I say, 'but you need to talk. If you don't talk, I won't be able to help you. Do you understand what I'm saying?'