child. Both had hoisted themselves up on their elbows, forming a protective barrier against the world, and she slept between them like a pea in a pod.
She breathed fast and easily.
There was no one like her.
‘You know what I’ll do when I get a hold of him?’ Karsten said.
He talked between clenched teeth. Lily didn’t want to hear it. She straightened the pink baby blanket, wanting it smooth and tight all the way round. She didn’t answer her husband’s question. Something evil had come out of the woods, and now something evil was growing inside the man she had married.
‘I will tear his arms off,’ Karsten said. ‘And his legs. He’s worth no more than an insect.’
Lily rolled on to her back. She stared at the ceiling and the glass bowl which covered the light bulb; she noticed dead flies in it.
‘Do you think it’s something we’ve forgotten?’ she whispered. ‘Something we’ve done, something we’ve said?’
Now Karsten rolled on to his back. The movement caused Margrete to sigh, and the bed creaked a little under his weight. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you asking whether we did something to deserve this?’
Lily bit her knuckle. The initial shock had abated. They were back at home. Margrete was in one piece, and healthy, and vibrantly alive. But now other thoughts appeared, thoughts she hadn’t been prepared for. Why right here, in our community? Why us, and our garden, and our child? Something so twisted could be no coincidence – that would be incomprehensible.
‘Not something to deserve it,’ she said. ‘But maybe we’ve done something that someone noticed.’
‘We live our life,’ Karsten said. ‘We do the same things everyone else does. We’re decent people.’
Lily tried to breathe evenly and calmly. If she could control her breathing then her heart would find peace, but she couldn’t manage it.
‘Maybe he stood there watching us,’ she whispered. ‘Have you thought about that? Maybe he hid behind a tree as I lay on the ground. I didn’t look that way at all. I didn’t think that far ahead.’ She propped herself up on her elbow again. ‘Did you see anything? Hear anything?’
Karsten replayed the paralysing seconds in his head. He lay listening to his own memories, searching for something which would put him on the right track. ‘Yes,’ he remembered, ‘I heard something. Something starting up in the woods. There’s a trail that runs to Askeland which the loggers use. It could have been a chainsaw.’
‘A chainsaw?’ she said, disappointed. ‘That doesn’t help us at all.’
Karsten reconsidered, and snapped his fingers. ‘Actually, no, it wasn’t a chainsaw. It might have been a moped.’
Chapter 5
The picture postcard which Sejer had found on his doormat was a small, cheap card with a glossy finish. The image of the wolverine fascinated him. On his bookshelf he kept thirteen volumes of Aschehoug and Gyldendal’s complete Norwegian encyclopedia from 1984, and he figured the wolverine would be listed with both an article and an illustration.
He found it on page 495.
Wolverine. Gulo gulo . Our largest species in the weasel family is also called, in some locations in the northern and western regions of Norway, a mountain cat. A loner, the wolverine has a short head and a tail that is 25–35 centimetres in length. Black-brown in colour with a yellowish stripe along its side, it’s about as tall as a gun dog and very muscular. The wolverine lives in mountainous regions, but researchers believe it was originally a forest-dweller.
The wolverine is a sly and sharp hunter. In winter it lives on reindeer; in summer it preys on sheep, in addition to smaller rodents. From time to time it will eat a hare or fox, a white grouse and a wood grouse. In February/March females produce on average a litter of two to three young. The den is often made in a snowdrift against a low mountain wall in rugged terrain. Their numbers, in 1964, were estimated at
She breathed fast and easily.
There was no one like her.
‘You know what I’ll do when I get a hold of him?’ Karsten said.
He talked between clenched teeth. Lily didn’t want to hear it. She straightened the pink baby blanket, wanting it smooth and tight all the way round. She didn’t answer her husband’s question. Something evil had come out of the woods, and now something evil was growing inside the man she had married.
‘I will tear his arms off,’ Karsten said. ‘And his legs. He’s worth no more than an insect.’
Lily rolled on to her back. She stared at the ceiling and the glass bowl which covered the light bulb; she noticed dead flies in it.
‘Do you think it’s something we’ve forgotten?’ she whispered. ‘Something we’ve done, something we’ve said?’
Now Karsten rolled on to his back. The movement caused Margrete to sigh, and the bed creaked a little under his weight. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you asking whether we did something to deserve this?’
Lily bit her knuckle. The initial shock had abated. They were back at home. Margrete was in one piece, and healthy, and vibrantly alive. But now other thoughts appeared, thoughts she hadn’t been prepared for. Why right here, in our community? Why us, and our garden, and our child? Something so twisted could be no coincidence – that would be incomprehensible.
‘Not something to deserve it,’ she said. ‘But maybe we’ve done something that someone noticed.’
‘We live our life,’ Karsten said. ‘We do the same things everyone else does. We’re decent people.’
Lily tried to breathe evenly and calmly. If she could control her breathing then her heart would find peace, but she couldn’t manage it.
‘Maybe he stood there watching us,’ she whispered. ‘Have you thought about that? Maybe he hid behind a tree as I lay on the ground. I didn’t look that way at all. I didn’t think that far ahead.’ She propped herself up on her elbow again. ‘Did you see anything? Hear anything?’
Karsten replayed the paralysing seconds in his head. He lay listening to his own memories, searching for something which would put him on the right track. ‘Yes,’ he remembered, ‘I heard something. Something starting up in the woods. There’s a trail that runs to Askeland which the loggers use. It could have been a chainsaw.’
‘A chainsaw?’ she said, disappointed. ‘That doesn’t help us at all.’
Karsten reconsidered, and snapped his fingers. ‘Actually, no, it wasn’t a chainsaw. It might have been a moped.’
Chapter 5
The picture postcard which Sejer had found on his doormat was a small, cheap card with a glossy finish. The image of the wolverine fascinated him. On his bookshelf he kept thirteen volumes of Aschehoug and Gyldendal’s complete Norwegian encyclopedia from 1984, and he figured the wolverine would be listed with both an article and an illustration.
He found it on page 495.
Wolverine. Gulo gulo . Our largest species in the weasel family is also called, in some locations in the northern and western regions of Norway, a mountain cat. A loner, the wolverine has a short head and a tail that is 25–35 centimetres in length. Black-brown in colour with a yellowish stripe along its side, it’s about as tall as a gun dog and very muscular. The wolverine lives in mountainous regions, but researchers believe it was originally a forest-dweller.
The wolverine is a sly and sharp hunter. In winter it lives on reindeer; in summer it preys on sheep, in addition to smaller rodents. From time to time it will eat a hare or fox, a white grouse and a wood grouse. In February/March females produce on average a litter of two to three young. The den is often made in a snowdrift against a low mountain wall in rugged terrain. Their numbers, in 1964, were estimated at
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