The Caller (20 page)

Or so Johnny Beskow thought.

He rode to the Sparbo Dam. Parked the moped against a spruce, put his gloves inside his helmet. He walked ten steps along the dam wall, and sat down. The water roared and foamed on its way through the pipes and down into the valley. He sat there a long time waiting for the poison to take effect. Restlessly he roamed the forest trails, rode here and there and watched the time. After four hours he figured it was over. He set his course for home, rolled into the driveway and parked.

He stood there a while, listening.

The house had never been so quiet.

He imagined her lying in the bathroom.

On the floor, her face flat against the old yellow tiles. Maybe she had fallen next to the sofa, having attempted to reach it. Or maybe she had dragged herself into the bedroom and lain on her bed. Standing still in the hall, he could not hear a sound. From there he went into the bathroom, and from the bathroom he went into the lounge. Where she stood rummaging in a drawer of her writing desk. She looked up.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she shouted. ‘Why are you sneaking about like that? You look like a thief in your own house. For God’s sake, you scared me. Why do you stand there gawping like that? Have you seen a ghost or what?’

Alive and kicking, she gesticulated wildly with her hands. She had a pulse, she made sounds. She could think, cobble sentences together into bad thoughts – just as he had done. She could go on pouring her vodka. In his confusion Johnny was mute. She didn’t look sick at all. There was even a trace of colour in her cheeks.

He went into the kitchen, puzzled. The pan was on the stove, but it was empty. His mother had poured the stew into a large, blue Tupperware container with a lid. She came in.

‘Take what you want,’ she said. ‘I’ll put the rest in the freezer. We’ll eat it another time.’

Escaping to his room, he felt gloomy and disappointed, because he hadn’t been able to create a spectacle and hadn’t got rid of her once and for all, as he’d thought. He spent the entire evening on his bed pondering while Butch scampered around on the duvet. Apparently she hadn’t eaten enough of the poisonous stew, or hadn’t eaten any of it.

Night came, and he went to bed.

He heard his mother bustling about in her room. A logical thought struck him: maybe she had eaten, maybe even a good portion, but the rat poison worked very slowly. That’s what he’d read on the package – that the rats need several doses before they breathed their last. So maybe it would take the hyena a while to die. The thought of her pain lasting several days excited him. Poisoning was like a war, and there was a kind of logic to the way the small grains attacked. First they destroyed the liver and kidneys, then the lungs and the heart.

He wrapped the duvet snugly around him, a warm lair of down and cloth.

He tried to make plans for the following day. I’ll have to do something creative, he thought, while I wait for the poison to do its work. While I wait for the hyena to fall to her knees.

Little Theo Bosch sat attentively in front of the television, a bag of De-light crisps in his lap. With just 9 per cent fat, the crisps were approved by his mother, who was careful about such things. He had put a DVD in the machine and followed closely what happened on the screen. Watching Lars Monsen’s green canoe slice through the water, Theo thought he looked like a real mountain man with his tangle of hair and beard: fishing for trout, making up a campfire, sleeping under the open sky. If the wolf howled out there in the dark, Lars Monsen didn’t get scared, because it was just Good Old Greyleg gathering his flock. A fearless man, Lars Monsen wandered the wilderness with such confidence that Theo dreamed himself far away. After he’d watched two whole episodes, he leapt from the sofa and ran to find his mother. But she wasn’t in the kitchen or out in the garden. His father came in while he was searching for her.

‘She’s resting,’ he said. ‘She has a headache. That’s women for you. They need a room of their own where they can be in peace.’

Theo raced up to his parents’ bedroom on the first floor, where he found his mother lying on the queen-sized bed, her face towards the wall. It was stifling hot. She had removed all her clothes and had simply pulled the sheet over her. But the sheet had slid down, and her naked white rump glowed in the dark room.

Theo stood there, staring, a finger in his mouth.

Hannes tiptoed in. He leaned against the door. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘Her bottom looks like two soft buns.’

At that they laughed in the way of boys.

‘Can I hike to Snellevann?’ Theo asked. ‘By myself?’

Hannes Bosch furrowed his brow. He glanced down at his wife’s tempting behind, and then looked at his son. Theo was an obedient child with a certain intensity which often served him well.

‘To Snellevann. By yourself? Now? Do you mean right now?’

Theo nodded. He looked pleadingly at his father. His head was filled with images of the wilderness and so too was his heart. He could hear the song of the forest in the enormous spruces. He wanted to hear the birds sing, see the fish jump. Theo the explorer, that’s what he wanted to be.

‘I’ll take my lunch,’ he whispered. ‘You can help me pack my rucksack so I’ve got everything I need.’

Hannes Bosch cast a glance at his watch. It was still early. He put his hand on his son’s head. Theo wasn’t much more than a tiny tot, but he was a bright boy, and no sissy. To Snellevann, he thought, on his little legs. That would take him an hour. Then he’d probably sit at the water’s edge for twenty minutes before coming home; all in all, it’d take two hours and twenty minutes – a long time for a little boy. To Snellevann. All by himself. Hannes walked to the window and looked out. The weather was fine, and nightfall was a long way off. There was also a good deal of pedestrian traffic on the way to Snellevann. Landowners and farmers spent time in their fields seeing to their cows and sheep, putting out salt blocks, checking the fences. Not to mention hikers and cyclists, and maybe people picking berries. But Theo was just eight years old. On the other hand, it’s safer in the woods than almost anywhere else. They’d agreed on that long ago.

‘Your mum would probably tell you no,’ he whispered.

‘But we won’t ask her,’ Theo said cleverly, with a sideways glance at his father.

They tiptoed out of the bedroom.

Hannes rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘If you’re going out hiking, then you’ve got to plan ahead. Having a plan is important. Lars Monsen never goes off without planning first, right down to the smallest detail. Food. Equipment. Clothing. Everything.’

Theo nodded.

‘You’ve got to dress properly,’ Hannes said. ‘Don’t wear sandals. Find something else.’

‘Shorts,’ Theo said. ‘Because it’s hot. And trainers. An extra jumper in my rucksack. Food and water.’

‘And you’ve got to have a good knife,’ Hannes said. ‘You can’t go to the woods without one. I’ll let you borrow my hunting knife. But don’t tell your mum. You know how women get with knives. They don’t understand.’

Theo collected everything he needed. He was flushed and eager. When he became a famous explorer, like Lars Monsen, journalists would ask him about his very first expedition. Oh, that, he would say. I was just a boy. I hiked to Snellevann and back, and I was really proud of myself.

Hannes packed Theo’s lunch. While he did that, he prepared a few good arguments for when Wilma woke up to find that her little boy had gone off to Snellevann on his own. With a heavy hunting knife in his belt.

But for God’s sake, Wilma, he’s eight years old. You know how he is, with all his Lars Monsen ideas. He’s got it into his head he wants to be an explorer, and you’ll never be able to stop him. I think we should be proud and happy. Some kids can’t be bothered to get off the sofa. What did you say? He’ll get lost? He’s going to Snellevann, Wilma. He’s following the trail, which he’s done a hundred times before. No, the weather is fine, and he will be back in a couple of hours. Or I should say two and a half hours. Think about how proud he’ll be. Self-confidence is pretty important, Wilma, don’t you agree?

He put salami on a slice of bread.

I made sure he took his mobile phone. He’s just a dial away. You can call and check up on him. That is, if you want to ruin the whole experience for him.

So that his son would have some variety, he put Swiss sausage on the second slice and cheese on the third. He mixed blackcurrant squash and poured it in a Thermos. Theo came into the kitchen. He had retrieved his rucksack, and in it he had put his favourite toy, Optimus Prime.

‘Get a belt,’ Hannes said. ‘Where you can put the knife. It should always be easily accessible, you know. In case the Indians come,’ he winked.

Theo fetched a belt. He put on his trainers and tied the shoelaces in a double knot, and was so excited his cheeks flushed. There was something manly about him, something brave and grown-up.

‘I’ll walk you to the metal barrier,’ Hannes suggested.

‘Yup.’

They closed the door and locked it. Wandered down the main road. It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the barrier near Glenna. They stopped and exchanged a few words.

‘Put your jumper on if you get cold.’

‘I will, Papa,’ Theo said.

‘And don’t leave any rubbish behind. Put it in your rucksack after you’ve eaten.’

‘I will. I’ll clean up after me.’

‘If you use the knife, do so carefully. It’s sharp.’

‘I’ll be careful, Papa. I promise.’

Then Theo turned and walked on. He had inherited his father’s big feet, and in the enormous trainers, he reminded his father of a little tottering duck.

Hannes watched his small son until he disappeared round a bend. Then the boy was absorbed by the forest.

Wilma Bosch wasn’t merciful.

Though they were still attractive, the soft cheeks Hannes had admired had disappeared into a pair of bleached jeans. But he knew better than to put his claws on them, because now she was on the offensive.

‘How will he cope if something happens?’ she said.

‘What do you mean, “happens”? Nothing will happen in the woods, Wilma. There are only acorns and hares as far as you can see. What are you really afraid of?’

Wilma moved to the window facing the road. She had clogs on her feet, and they clopped against the wooden floor. Even though she couldn’t see Theo from there, it was her attempt to get closer to him.

‘You ask what could happen,’ she said. ‘A lot, Hannes. An eight-year-old boy is so helpless. He could slip on the rocks, then hit his head and fall in the water. There are snakes and they’re big this year, at least that’s what everyone who knows anything says. There are cows grazing, and moose. Sometimes they attack people,’ she said. ‘You know, when they have young.’

Hannes tried to digest what she’d said.

‘You’re afraid he’ll be afraid,’ he said. ‘Is that what this is all about?’

‘Yes. He’s just eight!’

‘But everyone’s afraid now and then. Maybe he’ll hear strange sounds in the trees, and maybe his heart will leap.

But so does my heart, and I’m thirty-eight. I could slip on the rocks too, hit my head and end up on life support. With no contact with the rest of the world. If we were to discuss all the things that
could
happen.’

Wilma fell into a chair so heavily that it moved a few centimetres. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I think all that Lars Monsen stuff is too much.’

She pouted. She had folded her hands in her lap, and Hannes noticed the remains of dark red nail varnish. It looked as though tiny drops of blood had trickled from her nails. He patted her arm lightly then reached into his pocket for his mobile. He punched in Theo’s number and waited. He pushed the speaker button so Wilma could hear.

‘Howdy, Theo,’ he said. ‘How far along are you?’

Wilma sat listening to the short conversation. She imagined, at that instant, her son on his way into the big forest.

‘You’re past Granfoss?’ Hannes said. ‘OK. Have you run into anyone? … No one? What about animals? … No, OK.… You’re not cold? … Good, good. Put on your jumper if it gets cloudy … You’re out of breath,’ he added. ‘Are you going up the hills over towards Myra?’

‘About halfway,’ Theo panted. ‘I may have to rest a bit.’

‘You don’t need to rush. You have the entire afternoon. Your mum wanted to know that all was well. You know how it is with women.’

Theo’s voice could be heard clearly through the mobile’s speaker. ‘All’s well.’

‘Can you repeat that?’ Hannes asked, smiling at Wilma.

‘All’s well.’

‘And you’re not afraid or anything? You haven’t heard any scary sounds in the woods?’

At that, Theo’s laughter rolled through the room. ‘No scary sounds, and I’m not afraid.’ His boy’s voice was soft and clear as a bell.

‘Could you call us when you reach the water?’

‘OK, captain.’

Hannes ended the conversation and put his mobile on the table.

‘I will tell you one thing,’ Wilma said. ‘Bears have been spotted as far south as Ravnefjell. It was in the paper.’

Hannes Bosch tugged at his hair. ‘Ravnefjell! He’s just going to Snellevann. Honestly, Wilma,’ he said and took her hands. ‘Are you afraid that Theo will run into a bear? You’re not quite yourself. Did you take too many painkillers?’

He couldn’t help but laugh, because now he thought she had completely lost it. She pulled her hands from his.

‘I hate it when he leaves the house,’ she admitted. ‘When he’s out of my control. It drives me crazy.’

Hannes touched her cheek. ‘I know,’ he whispered.

At that moment Hannes Bosch felt carefree. ‘It’s a dangerous world out there. People drop like flies. Let’s sit on the porch and drink a bottle of wine before the bear gets him.’

Theo stopped at St Olav’s Spring.

The water glinted, and was almost silver fresh.

The spring was marked with a small sign that outlined its brief history. His father had read it to him many times. He stood there for a while paying respect, because the water in the source was holy, and to him the water had its own special shine. St Olav was a holy man, Theo thought, and his spring was too. So if I drink from it I’ll also be holy. He drank big gulps of the fresh water, and he thought it tasted good. Some believed the water had healing powers, and he felt it too – that his energies were renewed.