Free I Can See in the Dark by Karin Fossum Page B

Shortly afterwards, he came out of the bathroom. He stood for a moment in the hallway, swaying, I could see him in the corner of my eye, because I’d got up and gone to the window. But he hadn’t realised this. He was standing there with something in his hand; he glanced quickly over his shoulder, a bowed and wary figure in the dimness of the hall. He’d picked up my wallet and was now turning it over. I usually left it on the sideboard out there once the bustle of the day was over. Of course he wasn’t sober, so he took a couple of off-balance, sideways steps. Then the unthinkable happened. It felt like a slap in the face. Suddenly, he opened my wallet and pulled out a couple of notes. They disappeared into his shirt pocket; it was all over in a matter of seconds.
    Dear old Arnfinn. A man I’d thought of as a friend. With his grubby fingers deep inside my wallet.
    In my consternation I think I must have regurgitated some gastric juice, because I had a sour taste in my mouth, and the room began to spin in front of my eyes. Then he replaced my wallet on the sideboard. He walked back perfectly calmly and sat down in his sofa corner. I could see the bulge the notes made in his shirt pocket. But he sat there as if nothing had happened. Just as if he were still the same dear old Arnfinn.
    My teeth were chattering with rage.
    My arms were dangling like two clubs of solid stone.
    ‘When I was little,’ Arnfinn began, in a voice that was exactly as normal because he didn’t realise what was happening right in front of him, that I was consumed with his treachery and my own fury, obsessed with the thought of the retribution I felt his mean theft deserved. ‘When I was little,’ he repeated, ‘there was a boy in my class, his name was Reidar. Was it Reidar? Yes. He wasn’t quite all there, if you know what I mean. One day when his parents were out, he cut the legs off the family’s budgie. With nail clippers. I was there, as a matter of fact, and I saw him do it. And I won’t forget that legless budgie. It only weighed a few grams. A tiny ball of yellow feathers.’
    Here Arnfinn paused to fortify himself with vodka. Afterwards, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and coughed up a bit of mucus from his throat.
    ‘When its legs came off,’ he went on, ‘it fell over on its side and died then and there. It was the shock, I should think. I remember the sound, as the bird’s small feet flicked through the air. There was a girl there too, she went into hysterics. Maybe she finds it difficult to sleep, too,’ said Arnfinn. ‘We human beings find excuses for most things when it comes to justifying our actions. And the way we live. And all that stuff.’
    He took another gulp.
    ‘Don’t we, eh, Riktor? We find an excuse?’
    He patted his shirt pocket. I suppose he wanted to make sure the money was still there. How much was it? I kept a couple of thousand kroner in cash, didn’t I? – yes, I thought so, a couple of thousand of hard-earned money. I couldn’t utter a word. Rage gripped my heart and affected my circulation. I couldn’t breathe. I felt powerless and white-faced, yet his words had conjured up a clear image of the legless bird, although the story was probably a lie, just as the story about the snake would have been a lie, the way Arnfinn’s whole person was one big lie, a drunken bluff. A coarse felon, a deceiver. I’d thoroughly misjudged him, it was more than I could bear. I opened my door to you, I reflected bitterly. I’ve poured vodka for you. I’ve replenished your hip flask every single time.
    He gazed a little uncertainly at me as I crossed the floor. Perhaps he caught something in my manner, something new and ominous, for he was suddenly on his guard.
    ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ he asked. ‘You look very pale.’
    I walked past him without a word.
    Across the room, past the sofa and out into the kitchen, propelled by something so explosive that I struggled to control my pulse and