The Hanging Girl (20 page)

“Are you okay, Assad? You look a bit bleary-eyed.”

“Just didn’t sleep too well last night. I had a call from an uncle, and there are big problems.”

“In Syria?”

He looked blankly into space. “He’s in Lebanon now, but . . .”

“Is there anything I can do, Assad?”

“No, Carl, there’s nothing we can do. Not you, anyway.”

Carl nodded. “If you need a few days off, we’ll work something out,” he said.

“That’s the last thing I need, thanks all the same. I think we just need to move on and into that situation room. Rose has news for us.”

It was the usual. Just as direct and present as Assad could be on his best days, he could be just as distant and unreachable in moments like this. Carl had no idea what was going on with him. If he mentioned the situation in Syria, Assad sidestepped the issue. And yet it was as if all the serious events down there didn’t really affect him. Actually, he never discussed Syria or other events in the Middle East. Sometimes a random word could open a wound and other times it was like water off a duck’s back.

Carl gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You know you can always come to me with anything, right?”

Rose stood waiting by the whiteboard, and Gordon was about to sit down when they came in. Funnily enough, it meant that they were suddenly exactly the same height.

“Relax” was the first thing Rose said when she saw Gordon’s expectant face. He’d probably hoped that there’d been a breakthrough and that the mind-numbingly boring job of making contact with all the old folk high school students would be rendered superfluous.

“You can’t get to Rome in a few hours, now, can you?” she concluded mistakenly, as she pulled some of Habersaat’s brochures with hearts, crystals, and radiant suns down from the wall.

“So far, I’ve only managed to get in touch with the people behind these three alternative offers, and all of them work full-time with their different treatments, which they’ve done for nineteen, twenty-five, and thirty-two years, respectively. But it was only Beate Vismut from Heart of the Mind, who mainly works with the symbiosis of body and nature, who could remember the young guy with the VW Kombi. She told me that she didn’t have anything to add to what Christian Habersaat had already pumped out of her.” Rose smiled. “And yet I still managed to squeeze something new out of her.”

“Good, Rose. Is it the guy’s name? A description? His background?” tried Carl.

“No, she didn’t remember the name, he possibly never mentioned it to her, and we never got to the rest. Beate Vismut doesn’t like to know anything about her clients’ past or data, which she explained by telling
me that she was born blind and therefore works on a totally different level to the seeing.”

“Is our best witness blind?” He shook his head. It was all too much.

“Yes and she only wants to
feel
her clients, as she puts it. But she did manage to give me an idea about what the man stood for.”

“Stood for?”

“Yes. Beate encourages her clients, or students, as she prefers to call them, to rid themselves of anything that can remove them from nature, and that’s quite a radical demand, let me tell you. Personally, for example, she won’t have her home heated, because she doesn’t like winter and summer blending together. Neither will she have nonorganic building materials, so she lives in a house built from straw bales, which she did long before it became fashionable.”

“She has a telephone.”

“Yes, and other things that can help her as a blind person. She’s still dependent on the world around her. But here it comes.”

The self-satisfaction radiated from Rose’s pale face. “The guy agreed with her about many things. He was also extremely preoccupied with nature as something sacred and healing, but they had discussions about the extent of self-sacrifice, she remembered. For example, he didn’t think that he could do without his VW Kombi because . . .” She smiled and took a long pause. “Because he had a great need to be free to travel to places where, through the ages, people had worshipped the sun, elements, and supernatural phenomena. And he couldn’t do that without a form of transport.”

“Okay, so now we know that it’s him with the VW Kom—”

“
And
 . . . ,” she interrupted, “because of that he’d spent the past few years travelling a lot around Europe with a few of his followers, among other places to Gotland, Ireland, and Bornholm. He sought out sacred places there, of which there are many on the island, and he’d been very interested in the rock carvings on Bornholm from the Bronze Age, traces of ships in Troldeskoven, the monoliths at Hjortebakken, and the cult sites at Rispebjerg and Knarhøj . . .”

Knarhøj? Where had Carl heard that name before?

“Yes, and
not
least . . . the Knights Templar myths from Østerlars Church. What do you say to that?”

“Great. So we’ve connected the VW, the man, and Alberte to each other,” said Assad.

“Yes, probably,” agreed Carl. “Good work, Rose, but what now? We’re no closer to knowing the man’s identity. We don’t know where he came from, or where he went afterward. All we know is he’s a man on the move, so now he could be anywhere, if he’s even alive. He might be on Malta or in Jerusalem—they had Knights Templar there. Maybe he’s sitting humming weird sounds at Stonehenge, in Nepal, or in the Inca city of Machu Picchu. We don’t know. Maybe he’s moved on from all this nonsense and is right now assistant chief in the Department of the Interior with ten years of service and a pension ahead of him.”

“Beate Vismut said that he was a real crystal, so I don’t think you should be worried about the Department of the Interior idea.”

“A real crystal, what on earth does she mean by that?”

“That he’d seen the true light and mirrored himself in it, and had probably never been able to live without it since.”

“God almighty, it gets more and more weird. And what does that mean?”

“If you ask her, she assumes that he’s still active in the game, and probably more than ever.”

October, November, and December 2013

Shirley was disappointed. Disappointed
with Paco Lopez, the hot Spaniard who’d promised her the world, and went home with her every night for a week to have sex and homemade food, and then finally pulled his worn engagement ring out of his pocket before saying good-bye and thank you. Disappointed with her employer, who fired her instead of the new cafeteria woman who’d only been there for three months. Disappointed with the diet that’d guaranteed her a weight loss of ten kilos but seemed to do almost the opposite, and disappointed with Wanda Phinn, who despite all her grand promises had never even favored her with so much as a simple postcard.

The first month she was a little concerned for her lapsed friend, but then that stopped just like everything else.

Such was her life.

She tried to forget her by telling herself that she’d just been a cow like everyone else, while trying to calculate how long she could last without work, with only her awful benefits and one thousand six hundred pounds in the bank.

Not exactly a positive future financial outlook, even though her standard of living had already been reduced to nada, as Paco always said, and nothing indicated that it could change.

“No, you’re too late for that job; someone got it yesterday” was the general answer she got when she did finally stumble across something.

So Shirley was standing on the edge of the most desperate and humiliating decision that an uneducated and moderately overweight
fortysomething could take: to be forced to move back to the apartment in Birmingham where she was born and where her old folks still lived.

She called her parents to test the water. What would they say to her coming home for a few months because she missed them so much?

Unfortunately it wasn’t reciprocated, so they’d obviously seen through her plan: Shirley wasn’t just fishing to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with them.

So there she was, stuck in a wretched apartment block in one of the most deprived areas of London, waiting for nothing, while the Christmas lights flickered in the shop windows and all the children were smiling.

Shirley thought that she should’ve done the same as Wanda because she must be happy where she was, seeing as she hadn’t heard from her. And the more Shirley thought about it, the more she pictured Wanda’s life on the mystical island, where Atu reigned, as a fairy tale come true.

Had Wanda had more money than her when she travelled? Not as far as Shirley knew. And had Wanda had an invitation to go over there? No, not even that.

So the question of why she couldn’t just do the same filled her thoughts, shutting out the reality of her miserable situation over the coming days and nights.

When Shirley thought about these essential questions, she sat by the table covered with the oilcloth next to the gas heater, shuffling her greasy playing cards so that they could give her answers. Her preferred game of solitaire at the moment wasn’t the easiest, but, on the other hand, it carried more weight if it worked.

Shirley decided that if she completed this game of solitaire, she’d seriously consider whether or not to leave. So when she
did
actually complete it, a whole new set of questions was set in motion. What now? Should she inform Wanda or the Nature Absorption Academy first? What was the most sensible approach? Just pack her bags and say good-bye to it all?

After spending half a weekend where she completed game after game, she subsequently decided that she
knew
that she would go, which left her only to answer the definitive question: to wait or go now?

And then it happened: She completed the seventh game in a row.

Now she knew for sure that she should leave her current life. And it had to be now.

Thoughts about how they’d receive her at the Nature Absorption Academy preoccupied Shirley for the entire journey. She was sure that the friendly people she had met in London would welcome her with open arms, but would Wanda? Wasn’t there more than a hint that their friendship was history?

Shirley could imagine Wanda’s reaction. Here she came from London, disturbing her routine with all her nonsense and chatter about the old days. No, Shirley didn’t harbor any grand illusions about that welcome, but that shouldn’t stop her. If Wanda could make the leap, then Shirley could, too. After all, she was the one who’d introduced Wanda to Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi’s heavenly universe. She shouldn’t forget that.

When she arrived, she took the bus from Kalmar train station out to the island as far as she could, travelling the rest of the way on foot.

When she finally arrived, she was greeted by the impressive sight of a cluster of newly built houses leaning out toward the sea.

Even from a distance the academy appeared magical with its many white buildings crowned with pyramid roofs with colored glass inlay, glistening solar cells on several buildings, and enormous windows. It was bigger than she’d expected. Much bigger. And from up on the road you got the impression that once you were here you didn’t need anything else. Shirley hadn’t seen much in life, and definitely nothing like this. It was as if the whole area quivered with energy. As if all sorts of currents glided through this landscape of exotic growth, work of human hand and mysterious signs.

The first thing that indicated what you had arrived at was a large enamel sign with the words:

NATURE ABSORPTION ACADEMY EBABBAR

A speckled tiled path led past it and up toward a few smaller houses and two pavilions joined together facing the water, with new
meticulously painted signs written in several languages:
The Academy’s Communal Heart.

There was quiet activity in the reception area, where people clothed in white appeared to glide across the floor in a state of inner peace as they nodded to her in a friendly manner.

She straightened her flower-patterned dress and smoothed down her blouse. She just needed to try to look decent amid all this stylish purity.

She thought that she could easily be happy here, as she stepped farther toward the door where a sign read:

ARRIVAL AND REGISTRATION
PIRJO A. DUMUZI

—

Malena was looking paler than the white lab coats worn by the nurses in the sterile-looking gynecological ward on the fourth floor of Kalmar Hospital, when Pirjo suddenly stood at the end of her bed.

Pirjo smiled to herself. Of course the woman had hoped that it would be Atu who came to show his compassion and how much he cared, but then, she obviously didn’t know him well enough.

“How are you?” asked Pirjo.

Malena turned her head to face the wall. “Better. They stopped the bleeding last night, so they’ll discharge me later today.”

“Thank goodness, that’s good news.”

A twitch of discomfort went through Malena’s body when Pirjo took her hand. She tried momentarily to pull away but Pirjo didn’t let her.

“What do you want?” Malena turned her head as the silence between them became more deafening. “What do you want to say, Pirjo? Have you come to gloat? Does this suit you just perfectly, is that it?”

Pirjo frowned in consideration, not too much and not too little. The game had begun.

“No, is that what you thought? You’re wrong, Malena; it’s not like that at all. I’m truly sorry that this has happened.” She let her head drop slightly, pressed her lips tightly together, and looked away, as if she was
concentrating on something else she had on her mind. She could sense that it confused Malena. Things were just as they should be.

Pirjo let go of her hand, breathing deeply a couple of times before turning her head once again to face the woman lying there.

“You need to get away, Malena. When you’re discharged, you need to get as damn far from here as you can, do you hear me?”

She pulled her purse out of her bag and produced a wad of notes. “Look! Here’s eight thousand euros. That should keep the wolf from the door for a few months. I’ve packed your things. They’re out in the corridor in your suitcase.”

It was hard to gauge what Malena’s face reflected, but it was probably a mixture of loathing and distrust.

“Okay. You’re really trying to get rid of me now, aren’t you, you stupid bitch. I hadn’t seen this coming despite it all. But do you really think you’ll get me to leave that easily?” she said as she pushed the wad away. “Atu’s mine, do you get it? He doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’re just his skivvy, bowing and scraping wherever he spits. He told me that himself. So get lost and take your ridiculous money with you, Pirjo. You’ll see me at the center in a couple of hours, back in the position I’ve fought my way up to. I can find my own way there.”

Sometimes in life, there are moments where you know deep down in your soul that just one misplaced frown or careless smile will have totally unforeseen consequences. So Pirjo concealed what she knew in her heart that Atu felt and had always felt for her. And her antivenom was to ignore Malena’s outpouring and maintain her totally fixed and worried expression. If this was going to work—and it
had
to—Malena needed to have complete faith in her in order to prepare for her world to crumble in a few moments.

“I know better than anyone how much Atu has felt for you, Malena. And I’ve been happy for both of you; you mustn’t think otherwise. Of course you’ve felt that I’m also very fond of Atu, but as the years have gone by, that’s changed and become something different for me than for other people, and that’s something I came to terms with a long time ago. But you need to understand that in my time with Atu I’ve seen more than
anyone else. There’s a dark side to him that I need to warn you about, and I’m worried it’ll come as a shock for you.”

The woman smiled. Everything that was enthralling about her radiated defiantly now. The dainty lips, all too white teeth, high cheekbones. “And what might that be, then?” she asked, full of distrust.

“It’s hard to talk about when you care for Atu as much as I do, but I’ll try and be direct. You, Malena, are the third woman whose pregnancy with Atu has ended in a miscarriage, and he’s both devastated and angry about it. Atu has no children, and he’s over forty now, and that’s a fact. Hasn’t it struck you as odd that he’s childless when we all know how many women would do anything for him? Maybe you think he doesn’t
want
children, but I can tell you that he does. There’s nothing he wants more. And now he feels let down and betrayed again. Yes, you heard me right, let down and betrayed.”

Pirjo squeezed her hands. “Atu sees your miscarriage as the opening to an abyss of negative energy, and he’s shaken up by it, really shaken up. He simply can’t tolerate it, I can tell you that much. I know through experience.”

The woman in the bed sneered at her. “Right, well, I think he can come and tell me that himself.”

Pirjo’s eyes were severe now. “Haven’t you understood what I’m saying, Malena? Then let me be totally clear: If you come back to the center, Atu will sacrifice you.”

Malena pulled herself up on her elbows, smiling mockingly. “Sacrifice me? Could you really not think of anything better, Pirjo?”

“He’ll sacrifice you to the sea, Malena. He’ll drown you, just like the other two who lost his offspring. If you stay here, you’ll be found bloated and naked on a beach far away from here, I guarantee you.”

She wrinkled her nose, but the words still hit home as hard as they were intended. She had sown both doubt and shock. And when doubt and shock gave rise to feelings of powerlessness and fear, it wouldn’t require much before the time was right for a final twist of the dagger.

“They found one of the girls, Claudia, right down on the Polish coast . . .”

Pirjo paused, as if she needed energy again to prepare herself for what she was about to say. “I don’t know what happened to the other girl, Malena, I just don’t know. But I don’t think they ever found her.”

Malena shook her head. Maybe it was just a reflex. Maybe she just didn’t want to hear more. But she was silent.

“I don’t think Atu felt he did anything wrong. He was certainly calm when he confided in me. How he’d sent the first woman back into the cycle of nature because she couldn’t fulfill their bodily mission. I tried to warn the second one—Lonny, her name was—but she wouldn’t listen. You have to listen to me, Malena, please?”

Wrinkles gathered between her eyes. She tried to rub them away, but they wouldn’t budge.

“It’s a big risk, you know, me sitting here telling you this. I’m worried Atu would do the same to me if he knew I was telling you. Do you understand, Malena? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She shook her head. But she did.

*   *   *

Following her successful mission, Pirjo drove back to the center and told Atu that Malena was recovering and would be discharged in a day or two. It gave the girl a head start.

Needless to say, Malena never turned up at the center and Atu was left wondering why. Why couldn’t he get any answers as to why she’d left the hospital, or where she’d gone? He tried to track her down for a few weeks through all sorts of contacts, but it was as if she’d just been swallowed up.

Pirjo offered authentic accounts of the types of depression miscarriage could lead to, and the irrational decisions that might be taken by a woman who’d experienced such a severe and unfortunate event. Atu listened, sad and disheartened, but eventually resigned himself to the situation like the pragmatist he was after all.

One morning, when he’d gone out early as usual to chant looking out to sea, Pirjo came to him. She brought warm tea and a damp cloth, and without so much as a word began to wash and massage him gently, before
slipping off his trousers and straddling him. So simple when the opportunity finally arose.

Perhaps the surprise aroused his desire, perhaps it was her scent, perhaps it was a recognition that he owed her as much. Whatever the reason, he allowed himself to be carried away and gave her what she wanted.

He looked her straight in the eye when he came, and Pirjo trembled. It wasn’t just an orgasm, it was something much deeper. Years of deprivation were released in the look she directed back at him. And something else, too.