Unformed Landscape Page 3

  Kathrine stood in the apartment, on which they had already canceled the lease. In two weeks, at the end of January, she would have to go. The potted plants were all dry, and presumably past saving. The key to the mailbox lay on the kitchen table. When Kathrine opened the fridge, a sour smell wafted out. She emptied the rest of a milk carton into the sink, picked up a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and sat down in the living room. She opened the mail from the past days, some junk mail, a Christmas card from Christian in Boulogne, France. It was pretty there, he wrote, but he was going back to Aarhus in a couple of days. Then Kathrine read the letter from Thomas’s family, which they had copied to her here as well. She read it again.

  “Hated Kathrine, how long have you been playing your mean games with our brother/brother-in-law/son? Are two lawful husbands not enough for you, must you amuse yourself with other men too, so blinded by lust that they agree to play your games? You go hopping from one bed to another, just exactly the way you feel like, and as fancy takes you. You’re a deceitful snake. In bygone ages, people would stone harlots like you, but we, we pray for you, that God in His great mercy may forgive you your unchastity.”

  Kathrine read the letter from beginning to end, read the signatures, every name, every letter. They had all set their names to it—Thomas’s parents, his sister Veronica, and Einar, his brother-in-law. Kathrine was put in mind of death announcements in the newspapers, in which brothers, sisters, children, nieces, and nephews all took their leave of the deceased. She herself was mother, daughter, sister-in-law, and daughter-in-law. A divorced and remarried wife. Then she thought of Einar, the brother-in-law. Einar, of all people. Kathrine laughed, and was surprised at the sound of her laughter in the quiet apartment. It wasn’t her laugh at all. She laughed to hear herself laughing. Strange, she thought, that you cry alone, but never laugh. I’ve never laughed alone before.

  She felt certain that it was Einar who had written the letter. She remembered the evening he had kissed her goodbye on the mouth, the feeling of the tip of his tongue between his thin, dry lips, the smell of his breath when he talked to her, and got far too close to her. A smell she couldn’t describe, and the very thought of which still disgusted her today.

  She imagined Thomas reading the letter, back home with his parents. She thought of how he’d always brought the mail into the kitchen. He had insisted on being the one who always emptied the mailbox, even when Kathrine got home before he did. When he had moved in with her, he had made some joke, and taken the key to the mailbox off her key ring. He got the mail, took the big knife out of the kitchen drawer, and slashed open all the letters, one after another. He took them out of their envelopes, opened them out, and smoothed them down with his hand. He punched holes in them, and only then would he read them, one after another, and afterward he would file them away in his binders.

  Kathrine punched holes in the letter from Thomas’s family, pulled down the binder labeled “T. family” off the bookshelf, and filed the letter. She smiled as she thought Thomas would be satisfied with her work. But he would certainly have read the letter too, perhaps before it was sent, perhaps he had even helped write it. Only he hadn’t signed it.

  There was also a file marked “K. family.” Thomas had started it for Kathrine, even though she never got mail from her family. Her father had broken with his own family over some old incident sometime, and it was a wonder that they had showed up at his funeral. And her mother’s family had never been happy about her marriage, and contact was limited to birthday and Christmas cards, and the occasional telephone call.

  When Kathrine saw the file for the first time, she had laughed. Then she noticed it was one of Thomas’s little bits of malice, one of the innumerable bits of malice he perpetrated every day, when he took the two files and weighed them in his hands, “K. family” and “T. family.”

  Kathrine had detested Thomas’s family right from the start. The way they behaved to Thomas and Kathrine from the first day. As though they were already married. The off-color remarks during lunch and afterward, and the way they didn’t shut the door when they went to the bathroom, and wandered around the house in their underwear when Kathrine was visiting, even the first few visits. Look what a progressive family we are! And the way they talked about money the whole time. See how well off we are! And the feeling they tried to give her that Thomas was quite a catch for her. As a single mother. And with her background.

  Kathrine had grown up as an only child. Once, she’d taken Thomas back to her mother. They had spent a nice afternoon together, and gone ice fishing. But after that, Thomas had always found excuses, and her mother hadn’t minded that Thomas never came to visit again. Go to him, she said, what would you do here anyway, his parents’ house is so much bigger.

  They had visited his family continually. There was always something going on—holidays, a birthday, a summer party. They were continually in his parents’ big house, and Kathrine had forever had to listen to what a wonderful family it was, and how everyone stuck together, and how stupid and bourgeois all the other people in the village were.

  The big house had a sauna, and sometimes when Kathrine was visiting, the father had lit the furnace and said, right, now we’re all going to the sauna. At first Thomas hadn’t wanted to go, but then his father had said, before the Lord we are all the same, and had laughed, a strange, rather nervous laugh, and then they’d all gone in the sauna together. Kathrine had wrapped up in her towel, but when she went out to shower, Thomas’s father had come out straight after and had stood outside the shower until she was done. He had held the towel out for her, but she had grabbed it out of his hands, and quickly brushed past him, draping the towel round her hips. She felt certain he was watching her.

  Nothing in Creation is hidden from His eyes, Thomas’s father said later, when they were sitting in the sweating room, everything lies bare and open to the eyes of the One to whom we owe an account of ourselves and a reply. He laughed, and with the palm of his hand brushed some drops of sweat off his chest and belly, so that they flew across the room, and some landed on Kathrine’s neck.

  Afterward they drank tea, and Thomas’s father said, now you’re one of us, welcome to the bosom of the family.

  Kathrine’s girlfriends had congratulated her on their engagement, and her mother was happier than she’d been for a long time. She had liked Thomas right away, had permitted herself to be dazzled by him, just as Kathrine herself had been dazzled by him in the early days. He was good-looking, and was always in a good mood. He had been all over the world, and had an interesting job and a good salary. At first, Kathrine used to ask herself what she had done to find such a husband, and what he saw in her.

  Thomas had one of the highest grades in his year, and had a PhD in economics. He had been a champion swimmer as a boy, and had friends on every continent. He could speak five languages fluently, and had once had an offer to be the personal adviser to a cabinet minister in Oslo. He had devised a well-known computer game, and was a black belt in quite a rare form of martial arts. Twice a week he would run the ten kilometers to the airport and back. He had spent a few winters as a substitute skiing teacher in north Norway. Once, he’d gone on a tour with Crown Prince Hakon, and once spent the night in a ski hut on the Hardingervidda with Agnetha from ABBA. And not a word of it was true.

  But for Morten, Kathrine would probably never have found out. Morten was her oldest friend, her only real friend. They had known each other since school. Both of them said they’d known each other forever. At the time, everyone thought they would get together sometime, but then Kathrine had got the baby from Helge, and after the divorce, either she or else Morten had always been in a relationship, or some sort of affair. They had always missed each other, as they said from time to time when they had a beer or a coffee together. And Morten and Kathrine would have been a good-looking couple. He was dark, not too tall, and slender. As a child, he had always claimed to have a French grandmother. It wasn’t actually the case, but because of that, a
nd because he always kissed girls on both cheeks, they later all called him the Frenchman. Kathrine was pretty sure he had some Sami in him, as many in the village did. Norwegian, Swedish, Finnish, and Sami stock were all mixed together here, in some families there was also Russian or Chukchi. The borders had always been permeable, as the humans simply followed the reindeer herds, the fish migrations, which weren’t governed by boundaries. They came to the village because they wanted to work here for a couple of years, because the fish factory paid good money. It didn’t matter where you lived, it was cold all over and dark. It doesn’t matter, said Morten, I’ve lost touch with my family anyway.

  Kathrine and Morten saw each other often in the village, but after Kathrine married Thomas they never went out together. Thomas didn’t want Kathrine to be seen with other men. Not that he didn’t trust her, he said, but the village wasn’t the biggest, and he didn’t want his wife and his marriage to be the subject of gossip.

  “And least of all with the Frenchman.”

  “Why do you call him that? You don’t even know him.”

  “I’ve known plenty of French men,” grinned Thomas, “and plenty of French women, too.”

  Then, two weeks ago, Morten and Kathrine happened to bump into each other. Thomas and Kathrine and the boy had spent New Year with Einar and Veronica in Tromso. Thomas had taken a couple of days off work to go skiing with Einar. Kathrine flew back on New Year’s Day, because she had to work, and the boy had to go to school. That evening, she popped into the Elvekrog.

  For weeks and weeks it had been dark. Kathrine had never managed to get used to the darkness of winter, even though she had never known it any other way. In summer, she drew the light into herself, in winter she had the feeling she wasn’t alive, or just half-alive, and dreaming. When the sun shone, everything sparkled in its light, and was living and beautiful. Winter was just a long period of waiting.

  The bar was almost empty, only the Senegalese physiotherapist from the clinic was there as usual, drinking one beer after another. The floor was littered with rubbish from the New Year’s party the night before, with bits of paper chains and little colored cotton wool balls. Kathrine sat at a table in the corner and drank a beer. Then, just as she was about to go, in came Morten, and she stayed.

  Morten got two beers at the bar and joined Kathrine. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend, and was quickly on to the subject of love. Kathrine was already a bit tipsy, and over her third beer she was telling Morten that Thomas hadn’t slept with her now for almost a year. She knew that was a betrayal of Thomas, and she felt bad about it, and perhaps that was why she went on to tell Morten all about Thomas’s excuses, and that she suspected him of betraying her with one of the girls at the fish factory. She told how on their wedding night they had played with each other, as Thomas had referred to it, and when Morten asked what that was about, she told him.

  “What did you marry him for?” he asked.

  Then Kathrine called her mother, and asked her to keep the boy overnight. Where are you, asked her mother. Nowhere, said Kathrine.

  Later, Morten made a sort of declaration of love to her. They had both had quite a bit to drink, and it was past midnight. Morten asked if she fancied going back with him, and Kathrine said yes. He lived right up at the top of the village. They parted outside the Elvekrog, and took different routes, so that no one would see them together. As Kathrine came to the house she lived in, she almost went in. But then she walked past it.

  Morten came to the door. He was smiling. He held a bottle of wine in his hand. Kathrine went in. She took the bottle of wine out of his hand, set it down on the table, and kissed Morten on the mouth. They threw their arms around each other, and undressed each other. They went into the bedroom without letting go. Morten went in backward, then he thought he would carry Kathrine in, and he almost fell over in the process. She laughed because he was so awkward. He kissed her to stifle her laughter. Then they were both laughing and kissing and embracing. They made love, and lay together on the bed. Kathrine lay on Morten. She sat up and looked at him. She took his hands and kissed them.

  “Faire l’amour,” said Morten. Both said they had wanted it for a long time, ever since they could remember even, but Kathrine wasn’t sure that was true. She was a little embarrassed to see Morten naked after knowing him for so many years. Once, when he was holding her from behind, she whispered to him to talk dirty to her. He did his best, but he wasn’t altogether successful, but that didn’t matter either.

  “You’re not much of a Frenchman, are you,” she said. Then she cried a bit because she had a bad conscience. And when he asked her why, she said it was because she loved Thomas. And she wasn’t sure it wasn’t true.

  “Was I good?” she asked later.

  “Sweet Kathrine,” said Morten. “It’s not your fault.”

  In the morning, Kathrine felt ashamed of what had happened, and she couldn’t believe she had asked Morten to talk dirty to her. But he was very nice to her again. In the bathroom, he kissed her on the neck, and that made her cry a little bit more.

  She was already dressed. He was standing in his boxer shorts, making coffee. He was singing to himself, and she suddenly felt quite happy and thought she was quite justified in sleeping with him. They parted as friends, without any bad conscience, and without arranging anything for the future. Kathrine was careful not to let anyone see her leave the apartment. In the office, she was still thinking about Morten, because it had been a nice night.

  That evening she spent at her mother’s, and the following evening Thomas was back. He asked her what she had done while he’d been away. She said, not much, she had been tired still after the holiday. They sat in the living room, Thomas watched television, Kathrine read a book. He asked her if she had gone to bed early, and not stayed up reading, and she said, yes, very early, and smiled. Then she said how she had spent yesterday at her mother’s, and what they’d talked about, that they’d gone for a walk, what her mother had made to eat. She looked at Thomas. He wasn’t listening. He was sitting quietly on the sofa, and from the side, he looked older than he really was. He would never ask her again about those two days, that evening and that night, she thought, and that’s how simple it was. She was astonished how easy she had found it to lie to him, but she didn’t feel guilty. She wondered too whether Thomas had lied to her, ever. Once, Veronica had talked about Einar having gone on a ski tour with Prince Hakon as a substitute ski teacher. That’s funny, said Kathrine, Thomas did the same thing. Then Veronica had changed the subject, and Kathrine hadn’t thought about it anymore. Now she wondered whether Thomas had made up the story, or stolen Einar’s story. Or whether Einar had lied. Or both of them.

  She asked Thomas about his ski tour with the Crown Prince. He made an evasive reply, and finally asked with some irritation, when she didn’t let go of the matter, whether she doubted him.

  “What’s the name of the computer game you devised?” asked Kathrine. “And what are the languages you speak? Say something to me in French.”

  Soon after, Kathrine went up to bed. She heard the sound of the television for some time after that, the excited host on a sports show. Norway had won a couple of medals.

  The next day, she called Morten and arranged to have lunch with him in the fishermen’s refuge. She told him the story of the ski teachers, and Morten thought it could be true. The Prince did ski, and celebrities often took ski teachers with them, when they went on long trips. When she told him about Thomas’s black belt, he thought Thomas didn’t look that type, and when she said he’d been a champion swimmer when he was a boy, Morten said that should be easy enough to check. They kissed each other good-bye on the cheek, as ever, but this time Morten put his hand on Kathrine’s hip, and stroked her briefly. That afternoon, he called her in the office and said Thomas had never been a champion swimmer. And the martial arts school he claimed to have attended in Tromso had no record of his name. And he didn’t have a doctorate either.

  Kathri
ne thought about the many inconsistencies she had noticed in Thomas’s stories, for which she had never asked him to account, for which he had never offered to give her an account. In the days to come, she researched all she could, and checked every available detail of Thomas’s stories. And everything was a lie, everything was made up. On one of his running evenings, Kathrine followed Thomas. He ran along the main street. There had been a lot of snow that winter, and it lay in deep drifts. She followed him on her bicycle. She was afraid he might spot her, but he never looked round, he jogged on and seemed to be perfectly relaxed.

  Just back of the village, where the airfield used to be, Thomas went off the road and ran across the broad field. His parents had a little hut up there, like many of the village families, either here or somewhere else on the fjeld, and that was where Thomas was making for. Kathrine watched, and saw him disappear into the hut. She left her bicycle by the side of the road. A track made by many footprints led across the snow. When Kathrine approached the hut, she walked very slowly and cautiously. She couldn’t hear anything. There was light in the windows, and she looked inside, and saw Thomas sitting at the table on his own. He sat there motionlessly in his tracksuit, staring into space. Kathrine put her head down, waited, looked in at the window again. Thomas was sitting there, just like before. Then he got up, put some wood in the stove, got a beer out of a crate in the corner, and sat down again.

  The hut was furnished with old furniture that had been replaced in the family house and had been brought out here. They were used pieces from the 1970s, and the curtains were old and faded as well. There were black-and-white photographs on the walls, earlier generations of Thomas’s family. Serious-looking individuals in dark clothing, ships, the carcass of a whale on the ramp of an old port. Beside the doorway was an embroidered verse from the Bible. “Go ye home to the Lord, thy God, and hearken to His voice!”