The Wolves of Eternity, page 41
Peace be with her.
I hope all is well with you, Syvert, and that your two boys are thriving.
With love,
Asya
Dear Syvert,
I don’t know what to believe or think. Do you mean it? If you really mean it, I will come.
Asya
Sivertik, my own dear beloved!
I write this on the train in a carriage full of people and smells and sounds. It is only a few hours since we said goodbye at the station. I fell asleep immediately, completely exhausted after our two sleepless days and nights together! When I woke up I did not know quite where I was at first, but then everything came back to me, thoughts of you and us, and I was again uplifted with joy.
It is a wondrous feeling. It is as if I am protected from everything. Nothing can harm me. I am filled with light!
On one side of the carriage people are sitting or lying in the berths, eating or sleeping. On the other, the tables beneath the windows are fully occupied. It is so crowded in here that one should not be surprised to bump into the dangling bare foot of a sleeping passenger as one passes through the carriage. Next to me sits a family of four, the father playing a game of cards with his two sons while the mother nods off with her knitting in her hands.
The smell of you is still in my clothes. Had I been sixteen years old, I would surely have believed I would never wash them again. In fact, I almost feel like a sixteen-year-old, the same tremendous love of life that could come over me then (not that I knew what it was at the time!) has come over me now. And were we not rather like teenagers this time? I feared we might be thrown out of the restaurant the way we kept leaning across the table to kiss each other, not just once, but time and again. You electrified me, in case you didn’t know it.
I fell asleep again! The dusk is falling outside. In the endless cornfields, the threshing machines move slowly like boats, their headlamps shining now in the dimming light. Before I slept, I could see the dust as it clouded around them. Now all details are erased. And as the windows darken, life inside the carriage becomes more conspicuous. The two boys in the bunk next to me are sleeping, their parents sit beside each other without speaking. They are young, no more than in their twenties. As I write, you have begun your journey home. Soon you will be giving your sons the presents we bought. Thank you for bringing the photographs of them, it was such a joy to see what they look like! You are fortunate in having them, and it is only good that they are so different. Syvert so carefree and uncomplicated, Joar so sensitive that he must protect himself. They have each inherited a different side of you!
And now it hurts.
Not even the light inside me can stave away the pain.
I know it hurts you too.
Is there no other way we can be together?
There must be!
You must divorce, you say. You can’t live like that any more. But coming to live with me means that you will lose them.
Can you live with that?
Is it really what you want?
I know you don’t want to lose them.
My own feelings are firm. There is nothing I want more than to share my life with you. I doubt only on your behalf. You understand that.
Perhaps we could wait a year or two? You could talk to her, move to a place of your own. You’d be free then and things would be easier for me too, knowing that you were free – knowing that you were mine alone! – even if we still wouldn’t be living together, not even in the same country.
It’s too big a sacrifice, Syvert.
If you came now, we would risk everything coming apart, the loss you felt would eat away at you, would it not? And if everything came apart, would the damage not be irreparable?
Know that I will always wait for you.
Always, always.
Write soon, for God’s sake!
I long for you so much.
I love you with all my heart and all my soul.
Your Asya
Syvert, my dearest beloved man,
Something fantastic has happened, something that will change everything for good!
I shall tell you what it is when we meet!
I long for you, and I love you, everything about you.
Your Asya
I read the letters and read them again. It felt like a wind had blown through me, tearing up everything that wasn’t secured. I didn’t know what to believe, what to think.
Dad had been planning to leave us high and dry.
He wanted to be with her instead of us.
It was all there in writing.
I could forget about going to sleep.
I put the letters back in the cupboard and went downstairs. Everything was still and vacant.
Something fantastic that would change everything for good.
It could only have been a child.
But chances were she never had it. Dad had died shortly afterwards.
Did she know?
She must have written. There must have been letters, lots more than these.
Where were they?
They’d have been sent here. Mum must have opened them.
She wouldn’t have understood what they said. Could she have worked it out? Put two and two together?
I stood in front of the living-room window and looked out into the murk.
How terrible it was, everything.
Mum’s cancer. Dad’s betrayal.
I needed to talk to someone about it. Get it out of my system.
But who?
Dag?
Lisa, Lisa. Can I phone you at this hour?
I went into the hall and switched the light on, then the light in the kitchen to see what time it was.
Quarter past eleven.
It was impolite to phone anyone before ten in the morning and after ten at night.
Anyway, she was probably asleep.
Did I have a brother or a sister in Russia?
Born in 1977.
Nine years old now.
She wouldn’t have had it. No way.
How could she have been so in love with Dad?
She must have been really good-looking if he was ready to give everything up for her sake. A stunner.
Carefree and uncomplicated.
What the hell did she know?
What business did she have in my family? In my head?
Fucking cow.
And now Mum might be dying.
I put my shoes on and went outside. The air was chill against my bare arms.
He used to go about here.
Lived here most of his life, in fact.
Above the ridge the moon was a blur of yellow and almost full. The light it shed on the fields was faint. A reflection of a reflection.
I was just about to go over to the barn to see if her letters might be there somewhere, when the door opened behind me.
Joar was standing in his underpants, his hand on the door handle.
‘What are you doing out there? Is it Mum? Is she dead?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing,’ I said, moving towards him instantly. ‘I couldn’t sleep, that’s all, so I stepped out to get some air.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. No one’s rung, I haven’t spoken to anyone. Come on, let’s go back in.’
I closed the door behind us and put my arms around him. Instead of pulling away like he usually did, he held me.
I ran my hand through his hair.
‘Do you want some cocoa or something?’
He shook his head.
‘Couldn’t you sleep either?’ I said.
‘I fell asleep straight away,’ he said. ‘I woke when I heard the door.’
‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘No.’
‘Shall we go back to bed, then?’
‘Yes. But don’t go out again.’
‘I promise.’
I followed him up the stairs. He went into his room and got into bed while I stood looking at him.
‘Everything will be all right, you’ll see,’ I said.
‘It’s not exactly up to you.’
‘True,’ I said, and smiled. ‘We’ll talk to Mum in the morning, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Night night.’
‘Night night.’
I closed his door and went into my own room. There was nothing for it now but to lie down and hope for the best. It worked a treat, only I forgot to set the alarm and didn’t wake up until Joar knocked hard on my door.
‘I’ve got to go soon,’ he said from the landing. ‘Aren’t we going to phone Mum?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ I said, hurriedly pulling on my clothes that I’d dumped in a heap on the floor, before going downstairs to the kitchen where he was sitting waiting with his shoes and coat on.
‘Have I got time for a coffee?’ I said.
He shook his head.
‘Not even if I drive you to school?’
‘I like walking best.’
‘All right,’ I said, and went into the hall with him following on behind me, dialled the number of the hospital and was put through to Mum’s room.
‘Hello?’ she said in a faint voice.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Your elder son speaking. Syvert Løyning. On behalf of my brother and myself, I’m phoning to ask how you’re feeling.’
It gladdened me that I could sense her smiling.
‘I’m feeling fine,’ she said. ‘The doctors say the procedure went well.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘A bit, yes. But nothing to go on about.’
‘Oh, that’s good! Everything’s fine here. Joar’s eager for a word. Here he is,’ I said, and handed him the receiver. I stepped into the kitchen to get some coffee on the go and closed the door behind me, not wanting to listen in or inhibit him in any way.
They were on the phone at least ten minutes before they hung up and he came back in.
‘Sounds like she’s doing fine,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘Are you off now, then?’
He nodded again.
‘What do you want for dinner?’
He shrugged.
‘Don’t know. You choose.’
‘What are your three favourite dishes?’
‘Kebab, hamburger and pizza.’
‘In that order?’
He shrugged again.
‘See you later,’ he said, and went out.
I filled a cup halfway with coffee from the pot even before the water had fully run through, poured some milk up to the brim, though I didn’t normally take milk in my coffee, gulped down the lukewarm blend, splashed my face with water, pulled on the trousers from my suit, wriggled into the same shirt as the day before, squirted some washing-up liquid on my shoes and wiped them with the dishcloth before going out to the car with my suit jacket over my arm, the good shoes in my hand and my trainers on my feet. It was much better driving with them on, so I’d already decided the day before that was what I was going to do.
I was late. Needed to get a move on.
It wasn’t good, only my second day on the job.
Oh no! I’d forgotten to switch the coffee maker off!
But the pot would be full now. So the bottom wouldn’t get burnt, would it?
Sod it, then.
If I put my foot down until hitting the rush-hour traffic, I’d gain a couple of minutes. Or maybe I was running so late the tailbacks had already eased?
It was five past nine by the time I pulled up outside the premises. Changing my shoes in a hurry, I then checked my hair in the rear-view mirror, smoothing it flat at the back as best I could. It’d have to do. The gateway at the side of the building was open, so I went through, reasoning that if I went that way and straight round the back they wouldn’t know what time I’d got there.
Johansen was sitting on his chair smoking.
‘Morning,’ I said.
He looked up at me and gave a nod.
‘Thanks for showing me the ropes yesterday!’ I said as I sat down on the settee. ‘What time do we start today?’
‘Same time.’
‘Same place as well?’
He shook his head. Kristian came across the yard. The same suit, on the short side. He stopped in the doorway and looked at me.
‘We start on time here,’ he said. ‘Understood?’
‘I got stuck in traffic,’ I said. ‘And I was only five minutes late. The dead can’t be in that much of a hurry, can they?’
I laughed tentatively.
Kristian didn’t laugh at all.
‘I hear you did a good job yesterday. I’m pleased. Keep it up,’ he said, then turned and went back, a march across the cobbles, to his office.
Johansen got to his feet and I followed him out to the hearse, catching a glimpse of Kristian through the window, telephone held to his ear.
‘He was in a good mood,’ I said to Johansen after we got in.
‘Word of advice,’ he said, twisting round to look out the back as he started to reverse. ‘Don’t speak ill of your boss when talking to someone you don’t know. You’ve no idea how loyal I might be to him.’
‘I wasn’t speaking ill! Everyone’s entitled to be in a bad mood every now and then.’
Johansen gave a faint smile, threw the gear lever into first and we rolled slowly out onto the street. Just as the day before, people stared as we went past. I decided to be as quiet as Johansen. Asking questions all the time was hard work when all you got were single-syllable replies.
We crossed the bridge and carried on along the old main road that after a bit was lined with great chestnut trees, all in blossom. I’d always thought they looked like epaulettes from a distance, but now I found that conception silly. Not even the most self-applauding of dictators would pile such flowery towers on his shoulders.
Johansen slowed down as we approached a set of lights. The woman behind the wheel of a small car in the next lane threw a glance at us.
It felt like I’d dreamt those letters. As if they weren’t a part of the same reality I was in now.
They weren’t either. It had happened ten years ago.
It was all in the past.
‘Where are we going?’ I said as we headed along the main artery out of town, remembering then that I wasn’t going to ask him anything else.
‘A house,’ he said. ‘On one of the new estates.’
‘Right,’ I said.
Reading her letters, I’d formed a picture of her in my mind. I saw her as still youngish, with dark shoulder-length hair and delicate features that you hardly noticed on account of her eyes, which were immensely expressive. I realised the chances of her actually looking like that were minimal, or more likely non-existent, but every time I thought about her, that was the picture I got.
She hadn’t written anything about how they’d met. Only that she’d noticed him among a group of other people.
It was odd. He wasn’t the sort who turned heads.
And then a memory flashed back at me out of nowhere. We’d just got out of the car. It was the post-office car park. There was only Dad and me there. He walked ahead of me and didn’t notice the woman he passed on the way. I did, because she wheeled round and looked at him.
I remembered wondering why.
That must have been the reason it came back to me.
Why would a strange woman turn round to look at my dad like that?
I must have been about eight or nine. Too young to understand such things. Old enough to be puzzled.
Wait a minute.
He’d had a post-office box!
That was why we were there, to pick up his post. No one else I knew had a post-office box, they all got their letters delivered at home. He said it was to do with his job.
But it was because of her!
Mum must have cancelled it when he died. I’d never heard it mentioned since.
‘You’re quiet today,’ said Johansen. He gave me a quick glance, his big mitts resting on top of the steering wheel.
You’d be the one to know, I thought.
‘A bit tired, that’s all,’ I said. ‘Didn’t get to bed until late, and then I overslept.’
‘Out on the drink?’
‘No, it wasn’t that. Why, were you?’
He gave a laugh.
‘Can’t say I was.’
The strait came into view up ahead, and the sea it strove towards. Some cars were parked below the bridge, and by the anchorage blocks a few people were fishing.
Crossing over to the other side, we turned right and soon there were houses all around.
The road we followed wound its way up the hill. There was no one about, presumably the kids were all at school, the grown-ups at work. The house we were going to turned out to be nearly at the top. It was a big place, with a veranda running its width at the front, affording a panoramic view of the sea.
‘You’d need to be well heeled to live here,’ I said as we pulled up on the white gravel in front of the house.
‘Reassuring in a way, that death doesn’t care if you’re wealthy,’ said Johansen, engaging the handbrake and opening the door.
‘Don’t tell me you’re a socialist,’ I said as he got out.
He turned and put his finger to his lips.
He was right, but I was still a bit offended as I stood beside the hearse and watched him ring the doorbell and then wait, his big, heavy head bowed.
A woman aged about forty came to the door. Thin and pale, without make-up, eyes swollen from crying, she had on a pair of light blue Levi’s and a white T-shirt, and her hair was gathered in a tight bun.
Johansen bowed discreetly and shook her hand while saying something I didn’t catch. She smiled faintly and nodded a few times. After a moment, she stepped back into the hall while Johansen returned to the hearse and opened the rear door. He drew out the coffin as I stood there. I waited until the other end emerged into view before stepping forward, and together we lifted it out.
