Chapter 13

After getting good and sloshed at Mrs. Andresen’s, Gerd and Jonas made wavy tracks home. Nurket took one look at them and decided to stay out of the way. They went upstairs to nap and didn’t wake up until Bamse announced that it was his dinner time.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Gerd defrosted some meatloaf with jalapeño and boiled four potatoes. Not gourmet fare, but it was nourishing. They slowly began to recover.

The evening news was as dispiriting as always. War in Afghanistan, suicide bombers in Pakistan. Floods in China. Gerd brought out a sketch pad and started drawing rapid charcoal lines. Jonas was on the phone counseling one of his 12^th graders who had flunked the last assignment and was whining that his parents would flay him if he didn’t get into the University of Oslo.

When Jonas looked at what she was sketching, he was surprised. Not beautiful ladies in ball gowns, not young beaus on their knees offering posies. She had sketched a forest, a beech forest he could tell at a glance. He almost recognized the trees. “Skyteplassen?” he asked. She nodded.

A figure was hanging from a stout branch. His head was grotesquely out of alignment. She had been thinking of Gunnar Katte.

Jonas fervently wanted this war to be over – this and all wars. Not that he hadn’t had his share of brawls at an earlier age; he just didn’t like it. Jonas liked love, peace, literature, and sex, and not necessarily in that order.

“Come to bed with me,” he invited. He let Nurket out to do his business, closed – and locked – the front door, and deliberately walked around to every window and door to make sure they were fortressed. Gerd was still on the couch, sketch pad in hand. She smiled at him.

“I do so love you.”

“Then come to bed with me.”

“I want a shower first.”

Jonas went ahead of her into her incongruously luxurious bathroom there at the edge of nowhere. Warm water cables under the tiled floor, a huge Jacuzzi tub where even he could stretch his 6 ft length, a walk-in shower. He turned on the water to warm it up for her.

It was just getting to the point of steaming, when Gerd joined him. She was naked. Totally, without a stitch in Eva’s birthday suit. She brushed up against him, casually. “Did you think we were going to take a shower in our clothes?”

What does a reasonable man do when confronted with a smiling, naked lady? Shuck his clothes and join her, naturally. After a lot of unnecessary soap and shampoo, they made love gently. Jonas held her tight while she shuddered. She returned the favor. They let the rapidly cooling water wipe the traces of earthly love from their bodies, hearts joyful and at rest. “He’s my home,” thought Gerd as she let Jonas towel her dry and apply body lotion all over. They slept spoon-fashion, like Hansel and Gretel in the woods.

The next day was Einar Iversen’s funeral rites. Funerals are strange customs. Funerals are for the living; the dead are long gone. Gerd and Jonas took separate boats to town because his 11^th graders had a big test the next day.

10:30 in the morning on a grey and overcast Thursday in February. Jonas had tied up his boat at his dock on Fillene and Gerd had left hers in Vika. Jonas called taxi and met her by her boat. Together they took the taxi up to the Our Savior church on top of the hill.

Since Einar hadn’t left any other instructions and his sister was no help in making decisions, this was going to be a coffin-in-the-ground funeral. Gerd and Jonas walked into the church just as the choir began wailing. Gerd winced. Maybe she didn’t have an ear for music, but this was excruciating.

Thankfully, the service was short. The young minister hadn’t known Einar, who was not a church-going man, and no one had told him much. He mostly made it up. He had clearly been googling Einar’s name because he managed to mention all the newspaper references Gerd had also found. The six pall bearers were all unknown, young men.

A sizable group formed behind the coffin. Gerd knew at least half the crowd. Mrs. Andresen was there, perfectly outfitted in black with a jaunty hat and veil. She looked like Jackie Onassis. Jutta, Henrik, Nanna, Peder, and Anita Vadoma. Andeas and Eva Gundersen with their twin girls, who had had no trouble finding black clothing to wear to a funeral. Gerd nodded to the Østerås brothers.

They followed the coffin to its final resting place, which was a gaping hole dug by some kind of machinery. Two 2x4s were laid lengthwise across the hole. The pall bearers gratefully put their burden down on the planks. There were ropes under the planks, extending on both sides of the coffin-sized hole in the ground. Gerd didn’t think it was six feet deep; the earth was too frozen in February.

After some more yackayacka by the shivering minister, four of the pall bearers moved to the ropes while the remaining two started pulling on the planks. It worked so-so. At one point, it looked like they were going to dump the coffin end-first into the hole, put they put their muscles into it and righted it. It thunked on the bottom. The boys pulled their ropes out and hurried away for a cigarette.

Gerd stepped out. She hadn’t planned this. She had tulips in her hand, bought at great cost in February at Mamma Kine’s. Before the minister knew what hit him, she approached the open grave and slowly let the red tulips fall on the coffin. She turned.

“I didn’t know Einar well. I wish I had known him better. He takes his life, his loves, and his secrets with him to his eternal rest. Einar Iversen, I wish you peace.”

There was always a kaffeklatch after a funeral. People need to talk. The attendants hurried back to the church and assembled in the church basement. Gerd and Jonas stationed themselves by the coffee urn. The first to approach was Mrs. Mattias. She had a big man in an iron grip.

“Gerd, this is my son, Sigurd.”

“I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” Gerd said neutrally. The big boy scowled. His mother was not to be deterred.

“I know that people are saying that Mr. Iversen died because someone had put sand in his spare gas container. That’s not true. Tell her, Sigurd.”

If this hadn’t been a funeral, it would have been funny. Here was Gerd Ljoset, 1.68 in her stockinged feet, and in front of her was a giant of at least 2 meters. The giant cowered.

“Ms. Ljoset, I’m sorry. I’m the CEO (chief executive officer??) of South County Motorcycle Club. Another club, the Havnsheia Hell’s Angels, has been after us for more than a year. They have been trying to get to us by putting sand into our spare gas containers. About 2 weeks ago I was at the Esso station on Vågen to fill up some containers. I didn’t know they were already laced with sand. When I got home, I realized that 2 of the 3 were sanded, but the third was not. Old Iversen was tied up at the Esso station that day. I think it possible that he got one of the contaminated containers.”

My, but the boy spoke well. Gerd examined him in a whole new light.

“Thank you, ah, Sigurd,” she said. He nodded and steered his mother over to the cookies.

Jonas approached with a paper plate of store-bought cookies and a paper cup of Nescafe. “I’d rather die.”

Gerd noticed Dag Eigil Katte Jeltzen (good to give him his full name) in the back of the crowd. An older man was siding up to her. He was short and walked with a limp. What little was left of his hair was water-plastered across his scalp. Most of his teeth were missing. He stared up at Gerd.

“That bastard killed my wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“Him and his fine friends. Don’t cry for Einar, little girl. Einar Iversen was no war hero. He got what he deserved.”

With that, the little man limped away for some free coffee refills.

There appeared to be some kind of commotion by the stairs. First, two crutches appeared, followed by Joacim Corneliussen in full Coast Guard regalia. At his side, Nora Smestad, lately of the county hospital and the fifth of recognizable cerebral hemorrhages, dressed in subdued pigeon grey topped by a pill-box hat with a feather. Joacim and Nora made their slow way over to Jonas and Gerd. The red sea parted.

Gerd had been talking with Harald Jeltzen. He was apologizing over and over, for what Gerd was not quite sure. “Mr. Iversen was a godsend to us when I was little,” he was saying. “I think I owe him my life.”

His son. Dag Eigil, was hovering, sneering. “My grandmother accepted money from the man who killed her husband,” he said in a low voice. Never had Gerd heard so much hatred.

“You shut up, boy,” said his father with sudden spirit. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Just then, Joacim and Nora arrived at the coffee-and-cookies table.

Joacim greeted Harald courteously. He accepted a paper cup of Nescafe and a cookie. Nora declined. The little man, was that Frank Åge Samuelsen?, appeared at Joacim’s elbow.

“So, Frank Åge, are you well?”

“They murdered her. You know they did. Einar only got what he deserved,” the little man said maliciously.

Joacim looked down at him. “Let it rest, man,” he said. “We all made enormous errors. Let it go.”

Frank Åge smiled a crooked smile with few teeth. “Oh, no, I’ll never let it go,” he said, quietly. “Never. He was the last. You stole Gunnar from me. You will never have a good night’s sleep. I’ll always be there. You should have told, pilot Corneliussen.”

With this, the little hobo limped out. They stared after him. Dag Eigil began to laugh. “Not to worry, little girl,” he whispered to Gerd. “We’ll get them, every one.”

“Dag! You are completely out of line! This is a funeral.” This was his father, Harald Katte. Dag Eigil gave his father a contemptuous look and stalked away to the other side of the room.

Jutta Juve was standing just behind Gerd and Jonas. She saw an opening and introduced her daughter, Anne Grete, and her two grandchildren, Svein and Henriette. “They are going to come live with us on the island for a while,” she said, beaming with grandmotherly pride.

Gerd greeted the two serious children, aware that Harald Katte Jeltzen was still behind her. She introduced Jutta to Harald.

Polite murmurs. The first parries about “who do you know?” It turned out that Harald was a bookkeeper for the insurance company Gjensidige and that Jutta knew a secretary, Daisy, who worked in collections. Who else do you know?

Across the room, the small Gundersen family was circling the wagons. There were people everywhere, asking questions, locating everyone else on their mental GPSs and personal google maps.

Gerd desperately wanted to get out. Out of this airless basement with despair and heartbreak fogging every wall, out into her own fresh air, back to Nurket, to Bamse, to liberty, to self-determination. “All my life I have tried to cut the bonds,” Gerd thought “and here they are wrapping me up like a caterpillar in a silk cocoon. How did I get into this?”

Jonas saw her sinking. The dead were well cared for underground and the living could just go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned. He appeared at her side. “Let’s go home.”

With an effort, Gerd pulled herself out of her tailspin. “Yes,” was all she said and allowed him to find her shawls and coat, her gloves and her outside boots.

“Leaving so soon? Why, the party is just getting started!” It was Nora Smestad, grinning like a demented crone at Joacim’s side. He had the decency to look ashamed.

Gerd didn’t even reply. She was worn out. She got into the clothing Jonas held out, let him pull off her black pumps and put her boots on, like you’d do for a child.

He hadn’t called for a taxi and the daylight was rapidly waning. The temperature had dropped and ice was forming on the steep hill toward town. He held her arm as they carefully put one foot in front of the other, feeling their way. Twice Gerd slipped and he caught her. They had arrived at Hellebakken, the steepest part of the way down.

There was no traffic, no cars (not on this hill in winter), no people, nobody. Jonas stopped. “You know, I had an uncle long ago in Storesand,” he began. Gerd was surprised; he had never told her this before. “One Christmas when I was maybe 10 or so, we visited him. He lived at the bottom of this hill.” Gerd looked at him – what was he trying to say?

“Our Christmases didn’t involve trees or presents,” he continued. “I didn’t know why I was a sinner, but they said I was. The only fun I had was this,” and he proceeded to take his coat off and lay it on the ground to – obviously – use as a toboggan. “Will you slide into hell with me, my love?”

Gerd’s grin started slowly but it was soon ear-to-ear. “My knight in shining armor – or at least a really good sealskin coat – I’ll follow you anywhere.” She sat down behind him, grabbed good hold around his waist, and off they went. Stars whistled, doorsteps flew past, the ice was like a luge run at the Olympics. She was sure they would dash themselves senseless when they hit bottom and didn’t care. Jonas steered the coat right into a snowbank. Phew! Jonas, being in front, had landed first and she had piled on top of him. Gerd twisted and fought and tried to gain leverage, which was not easy as she was laughing like a loon. They finally got arms and legs sorted out and made it to their feet.

“Which house?” asked Jonas. His was closer, but Nurket and Bamse were alone on Lyholmen. “We’ll go home,” said Gerd.

Jonas made Gerd sit down like a tourist in her own boat and wrapped a wool blanket around her legs. He turned the key, pulled up the anchor, and loosened the painter. Lit the green and red running lights and steered slowly out the channel. They could make out lights from the houses on either side, but the water was dark as ink. Jonas moved into the middle of the channel.

The fading light was magical. God’s little joke was always to make the sky brighter just before he turned it off. The heavens were light blue, almost white, as they steered out past the lighthouse at Vågen. Then God said Good Night, and all went dark. By that time, though, they were past both Geiteholmen and Merket, and Jonas had sight of Gerd’s dock. He glided in just as there was no more to be seen.

Nurket had been waiting for them. He was lying on the floor at the entrance to the kitchen, eyes peeled on the front door. When they unlocked and entered, he rose and shook himself as if this was no big deal. His people were home: well, they came home every day. Only his unruly tail belied his aching heart.

“No more talk of war tonight.” Jonas laid down the law. Gerd heartily agreed. She wasn’t hungry but something needed to be made. “Lobster,” said Jonas.

“I don’t have any.”

“Yes, you do. Remember that monster that got caught in the net in August, totally illegal? You were going to throw him back in, I know, but the poor guy had lost a claw and how could he survive in the wild without one? I’m sure you gave him a merciful end.” Jonas grinned at her, conspiratorially. Lobsters frequently lost a claw in a lobster fight – in fact, they voluntarily let it go – because they knew another would grow. Jonas stomped down to her shed (no fear of the dark there), opened her box freezer, and found the lonely lobster at the bottom. “Come with me, old chum. Being eaten with melted butter and dill is a lot better than languishing here unseen.”

It was clearly Jonas’ time to cook. Gerd felt like she had been drained of all desires and just sat on the sofa, watching him. Bamse strutted over to allow himself to be petted. Nurket snored at her feet.

“Wake up sweetheart. Wake up and go to bed.” Jonas’ voice interrupted her dreamless oblivion. Gerd slowly came back to the physical world. The dining table was set; he had clearly gone to some trouble. She wobbled over. He had steamed the lobster with tons of dill (Gerd was a dill fanatic). On the table were dishes of lemon, sour cream (Gerd didn’t care for mayo), three kinds of pepper, and flatbread. It turned out she was a little tiny bit hungry after all.

Shellfish and red wine make a rock in your stomach. Gerd was nodding off over her dinner plate when there was another knock on the door. Jonas frowned and let in Tante Anita Vadoma. The gypsy was high in her today; she had gold chains flying around her neck and her eyes were outlined in kohl. She didn’t wait for an invitation.

“That Eigil is no good,“ she said without preamble. “You watch out for him. He’s just like his grandfather. They hanged him good. Stay away from him. He’ll burn himself out very soon.”

Gerd wanted to ask Anita a hundred things, but right then the innuendos, the wine, and the seafood got the better of her. All she could do was nod.

Gerd never knew how Jonas saw Anita out, how he let Nurket out to tinkle, how he locked and closed up the house and crab-walked her upstairs to bed. She was asleep before her body hit the Egyptian sheets.