The Man in the Window Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked down at herself. She was wearing two old-fashioned brown shoes with heels and a string of artificial pearls which she had wound around her neck several times. Otherwise nothing.
        Reidar contemplated her from under half-lowered eyelids. When, eventually, he did move, the chair gave a loud, piercing creak. As if the sound were a signal, the woman stepped out of the dress onto the floor. She raised her hand and caressed her breasts. The skin on her upper arms was nubbled. 'What did you want to talk about?' she asked, crossing the floor with long strides.
        'Forgiveness,' came the quiet answer.
        She stood for a few seconds looking at the table, her mind elsewhere, as though the word was forcing its way inside her, until finally she scrambled up and lay face down on the white cloth. She supported herself on her elbows, took the glass out of his hand and sipped. At last she answered: 'We've talked about that before.'
        He nodded.
        The silence lingered until she passed back the glass and said: 'You and I should have gone to a concert together. Schubert.'
        'Where?' he asked.
        She paused.
        He regarded her with a blank expression.
        'Vienna?' she asked, looking up.
        He shook his head.
        'Salzburg?'
        He shook his head, his eyes closed.
        A smile formed on her lips. 'London?'
        He nodded.
        The woman lay listening to the music with closed eyes until, without undue haste, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
        'It's never easy to obtain forgiveness,' she said ruminatively.
        He cleared his throat.
        'It's a two-way thing,' she said.
        He didn't answer.
        They both listened to the music without speaking. After a while she got up onto her knees. The warm light from the ceiling light cast a dark, reddish almost, glow on her skin. He pushed the chair back a little and took in the view from the mirror.
        'Can you see?' she asked.
        'Almost.'
        She slid into a better position.
        'Perfect.'
        He sat observing her in the mirror. He did not move and did not say a word. After a long while she opened her eyes. Then he rose to his feet and whispered in her ear. 'What are you thinking about?'
        'Music,' she whispered back.
        'What kind of music?'
        'Schubert.'
        He wrapped both hands around her face. The blue, somewhat grainy eyelids lowered as he kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She bit her lower lip hard. Her breathing was heavy and drowned the sharp violin notes from the cassette player. For a few brief seconds he gazed at the ceiling. But when she later buried her face in his white shirt front, he lowered his head with affection against her soft shoulder and one solitary tear rolled down.
----
        

Chapter 6
        
    The Night Owl
        
        Outside the warehouse where this scene was unfolding, Richard Ekholt stood leaning against a wire fence and thinking that the window in the building's façade looked like a half-closed eye. The eyelid was a roller blind and beneath it there was a strip of light. His eyes hurt from staring, but he couldn't tear them away.
        Even though he was very cold, Richard Ekholt was not aware that he was freezing. He was wearing a taxi driver's uniform and nothing over it. The Oslo Taxis logo was sewn on his left sleeve at the top. The uniform was creased, the trousers unpressed and the soiled jacket lapels bore dark, long-term coffee, hot dog and ketchup stains. On his feet he was wearing brown shoes unsuitable for freezing temperatures. When he noticed the woman's silhouette through the white blind, he closed his eyes for two brief seconds. But the feeling that arose from having his suspicions confirmed was a different pain, different from the jealousy he had felt hitherto. What he experienced was a paralysing hollowness, which was not relieved by turning away.