Free The Elephant Keepers' Children by Peter Høeg Page A

consigning any remaining hopes of an acting career to the grave.
    â€œThorkild,” she exclaims. “Fancy seeing you here!”
    Thorlacius takes a seat, the count hovering behind his chair. Rickardt Three Lions is blessed with an open face of the kind that can be read by anyone exactly as though it were a children’s book. At this moment it says that he is afraid of what Tilte and I are up to, that he is rather self-conscious to find himself occupying the same room as such major playersas these, and that more generally he has absolutely no idea what any of this is about.
    â€œThis young man …” says the bishop to Thorlacius.
    Her voice drifts away as though she is searching through her memory for my name, only to find it has been erased by the time that heals all wounds.
    â€œThis young man has been admitted here to be treated for addiction. His sister …”
    Again she searches, and this time her memory comes up with something, perhaps because a couple of years is hardly sufficient to suppress the recollection that is Tilte.
    â€œâ€¦Â Dilde,” says the bishop. “His sister Dilde is here to pay him a visit.”
    The count emits a sound as though he were gargling mouthwash. Thorlacius sends him a look replete with professional psychiatric interest. Tilte and I send him a look replete with the threat of extensive physical harm. It’s enough to keep him quiet.
    Everyone is speaking in what they think are quiet voices, obviously out of consideration for me. It’s like they all assume my substance abuse has made me deaf, or at least hard of hearing.
    Thorlacius fixes his gaze upon me. It is the gaze of Nietzsche. I remember that he’s also a hypnotist and has had Mother and Father in hypnotherapy a few times. I should also mention now that of the group of three psychiatrists who conducted my parents’ examinations, it was the two others who declared them normal. Thorkild was in dissent.
    â€œIndeed,” he says. “Things are clearly amiss. Can you see it, too, Minna?”
    â€œGoodness, Thorkild,” his wife exclaims. “You’re right, it’s so very clear!”
    I find it romantic when married couples stay together for years and years. For instance, I’m very fond of the pair of storks on the roof of the rectory, the same pair that keep coming back. I think, too, that my mother and father have done well to stick it out for twenty years in each other’s company, especially when you know them and are their children and have to put up with them and therefore know how much it takes.
    But to stand by a man like Thorkild Thorlacius for any period of time must surely involve miracles of the same caliber as those in the New Testament. And not only does she stand by him, she kneels and considers him a demigod and a gift to humanity.
    â€œPersonality disorder,” says Thorlacius. “Inevitable. Family background like that. The girl’s stronger. Tough as boots.”
    Tilte sends him a look that bodes ill for his future.
    â€œI’m intending to pay a visit to the rectory,” says Anaflabia. “Perhaps it might interest you to come along, Thorkild? Cast a professional eye over the place.”
    There’s always a little pull inside when finally you get over the dunes and find yourself looking out across the sea. And only now does this entire conspiracy reveal itself to Basker, Tilte, and me in all its artfulness.
    Anaflabia Borderrud has traveled to Finø to hush up what she fears may turn into a new scandal involving our familyin a prominent role. And with her she has brought Thorkild Thorlacius, just as she did the last time, so that he may illuminate the psychological aspects. Together, they hope to sweep Father and Mother and Hans and Tilte and Basker and me under the carpet, and after that they will sit on it until they are certain no one is left breathing, which will take very little time indeed, since