Nemesis (57 page)

It was Christmas Eve and Christmas peace and goodwill settled over, well, at least, little Norway.

Rakel had chased Harry and Oleg out of the house and made Christmas lunch. When they returned, the whole house smelt of ribs. Olav Hole, Harry’s father, arrived with Sis in a taxi.

Sis was ecstatic about the house, the food, Oleg, everything. During the meal she and Rakel chatted away like best friends while old Olav and young Oleg sat opposite each other and exchanged monosyllables for the most part. But they thawed when it was time for presents and Oleg opened his large parcel with ‘from Olav to Oleg’ on. It was Jules Verne’s collected works. Open-mouthed, Oleg flicked through one of the books.

‘He was the one who wrote about the moon rocket that Harry read to you,’ Rakel said.

‘Those are the original illustrations,’ Harry said, pointing to the drawing of Captain Nemo standing by the flag at the South Pole and
he read aloud: ‘ “Farewell. My new empire begins with six months of darkness.” ’

‘These books were in my father’s bookcase,’ Olav said, as excited as Oleg.

‘That doesn’t matter!’ Oleg burst out.

Olav received the hug of thanks with a shy but warm smile.

When they had gone to bed and Rakel was asleep, Harry got up and went to the window. He thought of all the people who were no longer there: his mother, Birgitta, Rakel’s father, Ellen and Anna. And those who were there. Øystein in Oppsal, to whom Harry had given a new pair of shoes for Christmas, Raskol in Botsen and the two women in Oppsal who had been so kind as to invite Halvorsen to a late Christmas dinner since he had been on duty and wasn’t going home to Steinkjer this year.

Something had happened this evening, he wasn’t exactly sure what, but something had changed. He stood watching the lights in the town before he realised it had stopped snowing. Tracks. Those walking along the Akerselva tonight would leave tracks.

‘Was your wish granted?’ Rakel whispered when he was back in bed.

‘Wish?’ He put his arms round her.

‘It looked as if you were making a wish by the window. What was it?’

‘I have everything I could wish for,’ Harry said, kissing her on the forehead.

‘Tell me,’ she whispered, leaning back to see him properly. ‘Tell me your wish, Harry.’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Yes.’ She snuggled up closer to him.

He closed his eyes and the film began to roll, so slowly that he could see every image like a still. Tracks in the snow.

‘Peace,’ he lied.

H
ARRY LOOKED AT THE PHOTOGRAPH, AT THE WARM, WHITE
smile, the powerful jaws and the steel-blue eyes. Tom Waaler. Then he pushed the picture across the desk.

‘Take your time,’ he said. ‘And look carefully.’

Roy Kvinsvik seemed nervous. Harry leaned back in his office chair and looked around him. Halvorsen had hung up an Advent calendar on the wall over the filing cabinet. Christmas Day. Harry almost had the whole floor to himself. That was the best thing about holidays. He doubted he would hear Kvinsvik speaking in tongues as he had when he found him in the front row in the Philadelphian church, but you lived in hope.

Kvinsvik cleared his throat and Harry sat up straight.

Outside the window snowflakes gently fluttered down onto the empty streets.