The Cold Song (27 page)

She was irreplaceable, Jon. I don’t know if you can imagine what it feels like to have lost her. A
.

Fuck!

By the time Jon returned to the annex, Siri had lit candles and was fiddling with the tuner on the little portable radio, searching for some suitable music. He went to sit on the bed. He dreaded the moment when they would have to go to bed, couldn’t stop thinking about the slug he had found on the sheet of Milla’s mattress the night she disappeared, and the bed was so narrow, it was a long time since Siri and he had slept together. Maybe he should offer to sleep on the floor. He felt in his pocket to check whether his cell was in silent mode, he couldn’t have another text from Amanda coming in right now. He couldn’t tell Siri, what would he say?
Amanda Browne thinks I know something about Milla that I’m not telling, she sends text messages all the time, I think she’s lost her mind
.

Siri abandoned the radio and straightened up. Jon tried to think of something to say, something harmless and confidence-inspiring, but Siri beat him to it: “No one has stayed here since Milla. You think about that?”

He felt a prickling on the roof of his mouth. “No.”

“Were you by any chance in the annex, in here I mean, on the night she disappeared?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, I wasn’t in the annex. I knew she hadn’t come back, that she wasn’t here, so why would I be in the annex?”

Siri regarded him.

“Sometimes I wonder whether you lie about everything, Jon. You can’t help it. It just happens.”

Jon sighed. “What brought that on? What have I done now? Do you want to fight, is that it?”

“I only asked if you’d been here in the annex that night when she disappeared.”

“No, of course I wasn’t.”

“Was there something going on between you?”

Jon got to his feet and yelled. “No, damn it, now will you give it a fucking rest. What’s gotten into you?”

“I just thought you might have been a little besotted with her, little moon-pretty Milla, I mean, you like them young, don’t you?”

Jon stared at his wife and said quietly, “What do you want, Siri? Where are you going with this?”

Her cheeks were pink. She spoke softly, and what she said came from somewhere deep inside: “So I suppose you weren’t besotted with Paula either?”

Jon dropped down onto the bed.
Paula
. What was she talking about? Who the fuck is Paula? Did she mean
Paula
 …? But that was such a long time ago.

“What?” he stammered. “Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

“Ah, I bet I lost you,” Siri said. Her hand was shaking. “Maybe you thought I didn’t know about Paula?”

“But,” he broke in, “but … Christ.”

Siri took a step closer, planted herself in front of him, and with pink cheeks and pink-tipped nose proceeded to recite some words, he didn’t know what it was, a letter, something he had written and she had learned by heart, he wanted to get up and put his hand over her mouth and make her stop. This was just a huge misunderstanding. He scarcely remembered that letter. He scarcely remembered Paula. Fair-haired. Nice-looking. A bit on the plump side, though. And
a bit fumbly when it came to the actual fucking. She was all talk, really.

But this he obviously couldn’t say to his wife.

He and Paula had had a couple of unsuccessful sexual encounters after Siri and Jon’s trip to Gotland. First that night at a hotel in Örebro and then a couple of times after that, one of these at Paula’s house, in a child’s bedroom, he remembered lying on a narrow IKEA bed with her writhing on top of him. He remembered staring straight at three blue cardboard crowns decorated with glitter and fancy writing. Three crowns marking three birthdays of a certain Benjamin, ranged on a shelf over by the window. Benjamin age three, it said on one crown, Benjamin age four, it said on the second, Benjamin age five, it said on the third, and he wondered why she would want to fuck him in her child’s bedroom, why not in the marital bed—this woman who had boasted about living in an open marriage (he had found that exciting)—or on the sofa, or any fucking where but here, in Benjamin’s room, oh, it was awful.

But the first time they’d been together was at a hotel in Örebro. It had been difficult right from the start. With Paula everything had been difficult, that was why he had ended it. Or was it Paula who had ended it? At any rate he had been relieved to have her out of his life. He remembered how Leopold had rested his head on the edge of the bed and gazed up at him as he entered her from behind. He remembered how he pressed her head down hard into the pillow so she wouldn’t be distracted by the staring dog, and how he had motioned as discreetly as he could to Leopold, man to man as it were, to go away, but Leopold wasn’t a man, Leopold was a dog, and
Leopold would neither go away nor stop staring, he just stood there, with his head on the edge of the bed, his ears pricked up and that doleful doggy look in his eyes, and in the end Jon’d had to pull out of her, apologize profusely, and shut Leopold firmly in the bathroom.

Jon looked at Siri. She reminded him of a child who had just learned to read, flushed from excitement and exhaustion and without the ability to recognize punctuation marks yet.

She stood there bolt upright reciting the words he had written.

I think of how it would have been just you and me morning afternoon evening night and I think of everything you are and everything you can show me and all the things I want to do with you you ask if I’m unhappy if the thought of you makes me unhappy but just knowing you exist makes me happy I picture your face your hair your eyes your light shining but you know my situation maybe that’s what’s making me unhappy I think of you morning afternoon evening and night but I can’t be with you except in my thoughts because well you know
. Because
dot dot dot
.

Siri was trembling. “Okay,” she said. “Who is she?”

Paula Krohn liked his books, she was a
reader
. But he couldn’t tell Siri that either. It would sound too stupid. An enraptured reader. She had come up to him in a bar and said something about how wonderful his books were, and then she had whispered, “Do you know that you have an exceptional effect on women?”

Well, for God’s sake, what was he supposed to do? He had been on his way out but stayed awhile longer. They drank a
bottle of wine. Two maybe. She drank more than he did. The next day she sent him an e-mail in which she wrote that she had been
struck by their meeting
. She’d been
struck
. Those were her exact words. She had told him that she lived in an open marriage, she was, in other words, available, not to mention
struck
and quite pretty. Or at least he had thought she was quite pretty that first evening, and the more red wine he drank the prettier she became. And they had started exchanging e-mails and after a few weeks he and Leopold drove to Slite in Gotland to meet Siri and on the way down he called Paula and suggested that they meet in Örebro in a few days, when he and the dog would be on their way back to Oslo.

“Now maybe you could tell the truth,” Siri said.

She sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around herself to stop the trembling.

Jon chose his words with care, but couldn’t help noticing that, despite “choosing his words with care,” he sounded like a Linguaphone tape. And that Siri, too, sounded like a Linguaphone tape.
Hello, my name is Jon. What is your name? My name is Siri. Would you like something to drink? Yes, please, I would like a glass of cold water
.

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“What didn’t mean anything?”

“Paula. She didn’t mean anything.”

“Are you still seeing her?”

“No, no, no, Siri, it was one night, one single night, it was a long time ago. Years ago. That’s all it was. It didn’t mean anything. It was awful.”

“When?”

“You remember,” he said hesitantly, “when we went to Slite to see Sofia? We took Leopold with us, remember? So we decided that I would drive back and you would fly. You remember I stayed overnight in Örebro. I met her there. At the hotel in Örebro. She came down. We spent the night together. It was awful. The minute I saw her I knew it was a mistake. She was fat and she had a mustache.”

“How many times?”

“Once, I told you. It was a disaster.”

“And you had Leopold with you. He saw the whole thing?”

Jon sighed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“And you had sex just one time that whole long night? Is that what you’re saying? Lying next to each other all night in the same bed and you did it just once? You expect me to believe that?”

“Twice, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Why twice, if the first time was so awful? What was the point of doing it again?”

“It just happened. Siri, please. It didn’t mean anything.”

“And then?”

“And then what?”

“Did you fall asleep? Did you sleep there with her? Did you drive her back to Oslo the next day? Have you seen her again?”

“I didn’t sleep much. I drove her back. I wanted her to take the train, but she insisted on coming in the car with me. And no, I haven’t been with her since. She wanted to, but I wouldn’t.”

“So she sat next to you in the front seat, of our car, she sat in the front seat, with her fat ass and her mustache, in our car?”

“Yes, but it didn’t mean anything.”

“And when you wrote that letter?”

“What letter?”

“The letter I just read for you, the one I fucking know by heart, the one you were so careful to delete, like five years ago, the way you delete everything.”

“Oh, right, that letter.”

“Why did you write it?”

“I’m trying to remember … but I simply can’t … I can’t remember.”

“You wrote a love letter to another woman and you don’t remember why you did it.
Your hair your eyes your light shining
.” She screamed and flew at him. “
Light shining
, Jon!
Your light shines more!
”

He grabbed her wrists, shook his head. “Siri, please.”

She pulled away,
don’t touch me
, and said under her breath, “Did you write the letter before or after you met her in Örebro?”

“I don’t remember, Siri, I guess I just wanted to—”

“You just wanted to fuck her one more time?”

“No! Not that! I don’t remember.”

“
Your light
?”

“Light … what?”

“You wrote
your light
. You wrote
your hair, your eyes, your light
. Just to be sure I’m understanding you correctly: first I shone, then she shone, how much light are we actually talking about, Jon?”

“Cut it out, Siri!”

“I don’t ever want to hear you say the word
light
again.”

“Cut it out!”

“Her light, my light, can’t you be just a little more original?”

“It didn’t mean anything, Siri.”

“What didn’t mean anything?”

“None of it.”

“And where was I?”

“Where were you?”

“Yes, where was I?”

“Weren’t you in Oslo?”

“I mean, where was I in that letter?”

“Sorry, I’m not following you.”

“You wrote a letter to this Paula
as if I didn’t exist
.“

“It wasn’t that you didn’t exist. I … It didn’t mean anything!”

Siri started reciting again: “I
think of you morning afternoon evening and night but I can’t be with you except in my thoughts because well you know. Because dot dot dot
.” She edged up close to him and whispered, “What does
dot dot dot
mean? What comes after
dot dot dot? Because
what?”

“It was just something I wrote, Siri. Meaningless words.”

“Meaningless words?”

“Meaningless words.”

“How many women have you actually fucked Jon?”

“Just her. Just that once.”

“Five years ago?”

“That’s all.”

“Anybody else?”

“Absolutely not! Nobody else. That was the only time.”

“I don’t believe you. I believe there are others.”

“Please, Siri. Please.”

“And Milla?”

“What about Milla?”

“You didn’t go into the annex that night?”

“No.”

“Maybe just to check whether she had come back?”

“No.”

“To fuck her maybe?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“And that’s all? Nothing more?”

“More?”

“More to tell?”

“That thing with Paula—that was in another life.”

“Another life? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I wasn’t myself. I’ve told you everything. All I want is to be with you.”

AND YET AGAIN
Siri was at Mailund and yet again Jenny said, “I know this house. I know these walls and this room and the meadow and the woods behind the house. But sometimes I ask: Who lives here, and that big woman replies: Why you do, Jenny Brodal.”

Siri leaned over her mother and said, “Alma asked me to say hello!”

They were in the kitchen and Jenny fiddled with the food on her plate. She had eaten almost all of her omelet.

“Who’s Alma?” she said.

“You have two grandchildren,” Siri said. “Alma and Liv. And Alma asked me to say hello.”

Jenny nodded.

“And Liv says she’s going to draw you a picture.”

Jenny nodded and opened her mouth.

“Shall I say hello to Alma and Liv from you?”

Jenny picked up her plate. “Empty!” she said. And then she raised her eyes, looked at Siri, and lowered her voice. “I ate it all up.”

SIRI WALKED ACROSS
the meadow and through the woods to the lake. She sat on the shore. She tried to pray but got distracted, thought of other things, thought,
I’m not praying right
.

She was six and he was four. She was following him—they were on the forest path on their way to the lake—trying to keep up and shouting
Syver, Syver, you’ve got to stay here
and he skipped on ahead of her, in and out of the tree trunks, one minute he was there, the next he wasn’t. Big gray woolly hat, blue sweater that had been hers the year before, brown dungarees. It was early spring, Siri would be starting school in the fall.