Chapter 8

Gerd hadn’t slept well. Disturbing dreams, not quite nightmares, had chased her through the night. She woke in pitch darkness. Eyes open or closed, it was just as dark. Her useless mind was reciting German accusative prepositions. An, auf, hinter, bei ….. no, that one took the dative. She might as well get up; there was no rest to be had in bed.

Shuffling down the stairs, she saw the opened box on the dining table. It had yielded very little: newspaper clippings that made no sense, letters in Norwegian, German, some other language (Flemish?), and a small book where Einar had recorded his catch. Each day was dated in his fine script and noted seasonal catches with location and depth of each net. A treasure, really, but not relevant to his death. Five photographs. She had felt like a voyeur looking into Einar’s private things and had resolutely closed the box. Some other time. She stowed it in one of her rose-painted chests.

As Gerd was sipping her second cup of Americano, there was a tentative knock on the kitchen door. Nurket jumped up and down but didn’t growl. Two teenage girls stood outside, dressed in awkward combinations of leggings, Ugg boots, mini-skirts, and parkas. Peppi and Kaia, the Gundersen twins. The Gundersen family had moved to the island less than a year ago; this was their first winter. Andreas Gundersen was a CPA or something for an insurance company in town; his wife (Ellen? Else? No, Eva) stayed home and kept to herself. The Gundersens lived at the opposite end of the island from Gerd – way out on the eastern peninsula. She didn’t think they had bought the old house; it had stayed empty for years and was practically falling down. The girls took the daily ferry to town in time to get to school and back again at 3. Petronella and Cayenne were their names, they were fraternal twins. Peppi was the taller: gangly and skinny with bad skin and too much cheap make-up. Kaia was shorter and had wavy dark hair framing a little heart shaped face with sad eyes. They hadn’t said more than “hello” to Gerd the 9 months they had lived here.

“Come in, come in,” Gerd said more heartily than she felt. They entered her warm kitchen shyly. Peppi spied Nurket and instantly was on her knees petting him and telling him what a wonderful dog he was. Kaia stayed behind a bit, but when Bamse made his appearance in the kitchen, she began to thaw.

“Would you like some coffee?” Gerd had no idea why they were here, but she was sure they would get to it by and by. They nodded. She made a fresh pot, toasted some bread and put the jam out, and asked them to sit at the dining table.

She suddenly remembered it was Friday. “No school today?” she asked just like every aunt, mother, and grandmother must have asked a thousand teenagers. They shook their heads in unison. “Didn’t want to go,” mumbled Peppi. “Oh?” “There’s a German test today,” said Kaia as if that explained everything. And they obviously hadn’t studied and had decided to ditch school instead. Now they would have to find something to do until 3pm. Not easy on a nearly shut-down, small island in February. Hence Gerd’s house.

After some dragging minutes, Gerd had run out of things to say.

“You know, I need to go out and check my salmon nets this morning,” she said. If you want, you can stay here and keep Bamse and Nurket company.” They brightened at this.

“I don’t want you to open my computer, OK? I have a lot of files there that are important to me. But feel free to read anything you find on the shelves.”

That Gerd’s house had a lot of books was an understatement. Books flowed and fell from every horizontal surface, including three huge bookcases. English, Norwegian, French, Spanish, Gerd was an omnivore of books and languages. There would be no lack of reading material for a day of skipping school.

“I’ll be back in 2-3 hours,” she said. “Depends on what the nets have caught.” As the sun just broke through the clouds to the east, a ray of sunlight lit Kaia’s face. “Goodness, girl, that’s quite a shiner you have there.” In fact, the young girl’s right eye was swollen and nearly purple. Gerd hadn’t noticed before because Kaia kept her face turned away from the light.

“Fell down,” mumbled the blushing teenager. Gerd let it go. It would all come out some time, when the winds and currents were right. She filed the black eye away with her other suspicions and decided that she and Nurket really needed to take a lot more walks over there to the east side of the island.

Out at the nets, the haul of salmon was meager, but she got a surprise with a huge halibut caught incongruously in the net. This was unusual. Halibut was deep-water fish and would normally never swim this close to the surface. Gerd decided that the catch was too small to warrant the trip to Fiskebrygga. She would bring it home to clean and freeze it and give it away to those who knew how to cook ---- and even to those who didn’t, she thought generously of Nanna. Or maybe she’d smoke a couple of salmon fillets instead and present them as a thank-you to Peder and Nanna with some good beer and aquavit.

Coming home, her house was empty of teenagers. There was a note on the kitchen counter:  “Thanks for letting us stay here a while. I used your landline to make one call. A friend came over and picked us up. Please don’t tell dad.” It was signed Petronella.

No “don’t tell mom and dad” just “don’t tell dad.” Gerd read the note again, but it didn’t give any more information. She had brought the sled with today’s catch up from the dock to the big shed. Nurket danced out the door with her, entranced as always with life, the world, and this lovely white fluffy stuff everywhere.

Gerd as in the middle of cleaning the big halibut when her cell rang. She had put the big planks over two trestles, three 6x2 8 foot planks that she kept in the shed just for this purpose. She had gutted the fish and removed the head, tail, and the top and bottom fins and was just about to start cutting the thick slices of the glistening iridescent flesh when “Millom bakkar og berg utmed havet, heve nordmannen fenge sin heim” disturbed her zen concentration. Henkie – or Jutta. She tucked her phone under her chin to avoid getting scales all over it.

“Hei.”

“Hei Gerd.” It was Jutta. Jutta, bless her simple soul, did not beat around the bush. “What was in the box?”

“Come again?”

“Well, Elspeth is my cousin twice removed; did you know that? We went to middle school together. And she told me she had given you Einar’s box.”

The librarian had sworn her to silence. Much good that did. They used to say that the town was so small that they delivered the mail to where you slept last night. Gerd didn’t doubt it.

“Jutta, that box was probably from the war years or soon afterwards. Nothing there but some fading letters and old photos. And besides, it’s confidential,” lied Gerd. “A university researcher from Oslo had the library keep it and I’m just holding on to it until he gets back.”

It sounded lame even in her own ears. But it seemed to satisfy Jutta because she went onto entirely different topics. Jutta had had two children before marrying Henrik and had a third with him a few months after the wedding. She was worried about Anne Grete, her oldest.

“You know Gretta married that weasel up in Tromsø; I haven’t seen either her or my grandkids in several years and now she calls me and says it’s over and that she’s coming home,” Jutta wailed. “Herrejesus, Gerd, what will we do with three more people in the house?”

“Oh, pipe down, you’ll love it. You’ll bake up a storm, whip those kids into shape, and have everyone folding their hands at the dinner table within the month,” Gerd said confidently.

“Hmmmmm,” said Jutta.

“Look, I’m up to my elbows in fish slime. Could I call you back later? Do you want a few slices of halibut for dinner? I caught a monster.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. We’re having pizza,” said Jutta, who was not overly fond of fish.

“I’ll talk to you later, OK?”

“OK. I guess it will be good to see the kids again,” said Jutta and hung up.

Gerd finished cleaning the fish, cutting thick slices off the halibut. Then she froze whole the smallest of the salmons and filleted the 2 and 3 kilo ones. It didn’t take long. Thank goodness she had used up all her leftover mackerel from last fall, so there was plenty of space in the freezer. The last of Einar’s shrimp were in a box at the bottom; they would have those at a special memorial when the time was right.

By this time, it was noon. The light was good, but somehow Gerd didn’t have much desire to weave or paint. There was a small bay west of her Sandvika “spa,” where for some reason seaweed collected year-round. It was easy going with herself as horse pulling the sled. She decided to haul seaweed.

Seaweed was excellent fertilizer, but it was also full of salt. It needed to be brought up in the fall or, as now, over the snow on a sled. Then it could lie there on her sleeping garden plots and let the snow and rain leach all salt out of it until the spring thaw started the earth’s juices flowing again. Seaweed hauling was hard, muscle-exhausting therapy for troubled minds.

She was bringing up the fifth and final load when the light began to turn pink and ocher. Gerd couldn’t not notice colors and shadows; it was in her marrow. She looked out at the three plots she had fertilized: the berry bush garden, the herb garden, and her vegetable plot. She’d plant those Gudbrandsdal strawberries again, she thought, they were not too sweet and they held up perfectly as preserves.

Gerd had put the sled away and cleaned off the shovel and was treating herself to a warm shower in city water when Nurket gave a loud bark. It seemed the bark of a Bull Mastiff, not the bark of a 4–month old puppy that might be a Labrador. She ignored it and continued to deplete the entire tank of hot water.

“Oh, hold your horses, I’m coming,” she shouted to Nurket, who was going postal. She wound a towel around her hair and pulled on the blue chenille robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Who the hell would be here now?

Cranky and not at all wanting company, Gerd padded into the kitchen in her robe. An unfamiliar figure was standing outside her kitchen door. She yanked it open.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He – it was a man – didn’t seem too fazed by her grumpy tone.

“I’m so sorry. It seems I have come at an inopportune time.” He didn’t move, but grinned lightly at her.

“Who are you, what do you want, and I don’t want any,” said Gerd all in one breath.

“Ms. Ljoset, I am the person to whom you entrusted Einar Iversen’s body.” He was wryly formal.

“How did you know where I live?” Gerd felt invaded. She still didn’t invite him in and the February cold was stretching icy fingers up under her robe.

“Ms. Ljoset, you gave me your name and even your cell number. When I carried your groceries to your boat, I couldn’t help but notice the registration number. You are not exactly difficult to trace.”

Gerd hated that with a passion. She wasn’t trying to disappear (not now), but she absolutely did not want strangers in her haven. It was bad enough with the people she knew coming by at all hours.

“OK, you found me. Now go away.”

“Ms. Ljoset, could I please ask you a few questions?” he asked, not budging from her porch with all his width, height, and weight. For the first time in her life, Gerd wished she had a shotgun.

“Oh, for Christ sake, come in and close the door. As you can see, I‘m wet. I’ll put on some clothes,” she said, incongruously.

She left him to his own devices while she walked slowly up the central stairs to her bedroom, feeling his eyes on her legs with every step.

When she came down, he was ensconced on her sofa petting Nurket, who seemed to have no discrimination whatsoever when it came to humans. She pulled herself up to her full height of 1:68 and said “So, what do you want?”

“It was very sad about Mr. Iversen,” he started. Gerd remained silent.

“Can you tell me about how you found him?”

“No.”

The stranger, who was becoming less of a stranger with every minute, smiled at her in his slow way. “Ms. Ljoset, I must insist.”

“Insist all you want; who the hell are you?”

“Well, first of all I’m your friend. And I’m a detective with the Storesand police department. We believe there is something unusual about Mr. Iversen’s death.”

Shit. Gerd had nothing to say, so she didn’t. He changed tactics.

“My ex-wife has a Gerd Ljoset winter coat,” he said. Still she said nothing.

“It was one of yours from 3 years ago. The greens and pinks. God, but it is gorgeous. Unfortunately, she looks like a ferret in it. But the coat is still an object of beauty,” said this idiot who had ensconced himself on her sofa.

“I want you to go away,” said Gerd evenly. “I’ll talk to the police if there is a reason to do so, but I don’t want you here.”

He didn’t seem sad at this. Instead, he asked, “What do you know of Mr. Iversen’s history during the war?”

What war? People seemed to have no end of wars. The Korean war? The Vietnam war?

“I know nothing of Einar Iversen nor of any wars he might have been in.” Still, she did not offer him coffee or cookies, a serious breach of etiquette. Tough.

The big guy stood up. “Before I leave, may I see your current work?”

“Why?”

“I understand you think I’m a nosy bastard, but in addition to being that I am also one of your greatest admirers. I bought my wife that coat. It cost me half a year’s salary. But every time I see it, even if she is in it, I feel peace. May I?”

“No, you may not. Please leave,” Gerd was insistent.

The self-declared police detective didn’t budge. He eyed her. “You know, you’d do a whole lot better if you cooperated with us,” he drawled.

“Go away!”

He finally moved toward the door Gerd held open to the gathering February dark. As he moved past her, he accidentally dropped a hand down her back and grabbed her ass, pulling her close.

“I like them feisty,” he said, and squeezed, hard.

“What the devil is going on?” It was Jonas, breathless from school, town, and the quick ride out to Lyholmen. “Who the hell are you?”

“I might ask the same,” said the big man. “Who are you?”

“Get out of Gerd’s house,” Jonas stood his ground.

“I am Lieutenant Jeltsen, Storesand PD. I’m investigating a suspicious death, and it appears Ms. Ljoset has information she is reluctant to share. I recommend that you be cooperative.”

“I don’t give a shit what you are investigating. Leave,” said Jonas in measured tones.

“I’m not so sure Ms. Ljoset wants me to leave,” said the so-called detective. “Do you, my dear?”

Gerd blushed crimson. At this point, she hated all men, all they did to her, and most especially this intruder.

She said softly, “Just go. Go and never come back.”

The big man pushed himself past Jonas and onto the porch. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned.

“If you are hiding information, Ms. Ljoset, you will answer to the law. And I’m the law here,” he said as a parting shot as he put one foot in front of the other. He waved his cap lightly in salutation and disappeared.

Jonas stomped into Gerd’s kitchen.

“What the hell were you playing at with that imbecile?”

Gerd was taken aback. “I wasn’t playing anything,” she said lamely. “What are you talking about?”

“He seemed awful familiar with you,” Jonas shot back. “You seem to draw men like flies.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No, I haven’t. But I’ll tell you straight Gerd, I will have all of you or none at all.” Jonas was clearly in an inexplicable fury. Gerd started to get mad.

“Look, idiot. This guy forces his way in here, declares himself a police detective, and acts like he expects me to go all serf-like. I did not – I repeat not – invite him.”

“I won’t share you, Gerd.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Flashes of father and mother ordering her about and imposing their will on her made Gerd senseless. “I’ll do whateverthehell I want with anyone I want and it’s none of your business!”

Jonas looked at her, aghast. Ten different emotions flickered over his face in rapid succession. Without a word, he turned and ran down the snowy path, forgetting his skis. Gerd watched him go but didn’t follow him.

The door was open and remained open. She heard his motor start. “Not with a bang, but with a whimper,” her mind construed out of nothing. Still she didn’t move. The motor sound died. Gerd remained like a statue. When Jonas came bounding back up the path, she was still there, staring at nothing.

“Forgive me”

She couldn’t talk. Jonas went down on his knees on her porch.

“I don’t know what is going on. I don’t know if anything is going on. But I can’t lose you, Gerd. I love you.”

A smile began to form on her frozen face.

“Come in.” She led him to the couch, pushed him down. She stood, crossing her arms. Took a deep breath.

“I have no idea what you imagined, but whatever it was, it was insanity. I have one man at a time; I always have. This pendejo (she spoke Spanish when she was agitated) pushed his way in here, accused me of unnamed crimes, and leered at me. I do not – repeat not – accept blame as the cause of men’s desires.” Gerd was a statue.

One man at the time. Not him, necessarily, and not forever. Jonas felt his world beginning to shatter, brittily.

“Please.” It was all he could say.

“Please what?”

“Please keep me.” That wasn’t what he had intended to say, but his intentions were melting like snow in April.

Understanding was beginning to dawn. “Did you think I was two-timing you?”

He shouldn’t say yes, he really shouldn’t. “Yes,” he said, simply.

Gerd’s face was beginning to smile. Jealousy, that was what this was. The stupid man was jealous of some idiot.

“Jonas.” He only looked at her, hurting.

“Jonas, I did not invite him. I do not want him. I did not want him. I’ll never want him, or anyone else. You are my man; you are the only man I want in my life.”

Never had the angel chorus sounded as good. Jonas began to feel breath return to his body.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked. She still stood like a statue. She held out her hands.

Jonas slowly pulled himself upright. Moved towards her like a zombie. Stretched out wooden arms and tried to fold them around her. Gerd helped him, placing his hands on the small of her back.

“You need locks on your doors,” he said, apropos nothing.

“I have Nurket.” The canine in question had hid under the sofa while the war between his two humans was raging. Now he bellied himself out, tail tentatively wagging horizontally on the floor.

“I’ll make some tea,” Gerd decided. Tea, that was what the British did in times of trauma and distress. They made tea.

They hardly talked. Did mundane things like wash the tea cups, feed the enormous cat, and let the dog out for a final tinkle in the night. At last, Gerd remembered the box from the library. She went to the rose chest and got it out. Jonas looked on, incuriously.

She opened the box and placed the contents into three piles on the big dining room table. One pile for newspaper clippings, yellowed and brittle, one for what looked like letters, and a very small pile of photographs.

February 1939 was a brief notice of a shipwreck of French fishermen and the heroic rescue of said men by a young Joacim Corneliussen. From 1946, a list of qualified deep sea divers for Norges Redningsforbund (the Norwegian Ocean Rescue Society) included the name Einar Iversen. An un-dated, brief obituary mentioned that Gunnar Katte Jeltzen had been found in the woods, a suicide.

The letters were hand-written. One was almost entirely water-logged and nearly impossible to read. “Meine einzige Tochter. Hilfen Sie uns.” It made no sense. One letter was signed Frank Åge, and said “I will never forget. You will suffer for your iniquity in this world and the next.” Frank Åge Samuelsen? It was not an uncommon name. The photos showed a few people she recognized: Einar, Joacim, a young girl who might have been Nora Smestad 60 years ago. One grainy black-and-white photo seemed to show something dangling from a tree branch. Gerd couldn’t make it out. Another showed three men grinning at the camera, kings of the world: Einar and two others she wasn’t sure of. She’d have to match those against the Courier database, which functioned so-so.

Gerd and Jonas pored over the letters and photos for a long time without illumination. At last, they called it a night and spent the dark, cold February night in chaste company.