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

light up those bloodshot eyes, I would help his trembling body to relax. I’ve never been a soft-hearted soul, but here was a man I could save. Anna’s brother drowned before my eyes, but now I could make a difference. I rose and went over to him, took the hip flask from my pocket and offered it with a smile and a friendly nod. The feeling of doing a good deed spread upwards from my toes, and suffused my whole body. He took it and studied it carefully, to see if it really was the hip flask he’d missed so sorely. He managed to remove the top after a bit of a struggle, but there was only a drop left in the flask, not sufficient to satisfy his need. Nevertheless, he went on putting the flask to his lips, as if hoping for some miracle that might fill it with vodka, providing he didn’t stop hoping.
    ‘You haven’t got a drink, by any chance?’ he asked feebly.
    The asking had cost him dear, he was now staring at the ground, but his need was too great, he had to bite the bullet and beg.
    ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve got a drink. I’ve got a bottle of vodka. And, you know, it could be for you.’
    I took hold of his arm and hauled him up. He was as unmanageable as a sack of potatoes. At that moment I caught his smell, a mixture of mildew and drunkenness. He hung heavily on my arm, and I was scared he’d fall on the path and lie there floundering. But he managed. Walking like a wounded soldier, heading for vodka and salvation. I was used to doing this, of course, walking and supporting someone on my arm, like the patients at Løkka, the few who were able to get about.
    ‘A drink,’ I reiterated. ‘To put you back together again.’
    He replied with a few snuffling noises. Keeping on the move was occupying all his efforts, but he was driven on by the thought of relief. As we walked, I tried to come to terms with what I was doing, and what my plan was, why I’d followed this sudden impulse to take him home with me. And treat him to my vodka. It must have had something to do with an intractable loneliness. I tried to recall the last time someone had sat on my sofa, but I couldn’t think of anyone, apart from a vacuum-cleaner salesman long ago, and he was only interested in demonstrating his fantastic machine. Which, by the way, I didn’t buy because it was far too expensive. Apart from him, a few Poles had come to the door with drawings, which they tried to sell, to help pay for their education here in Norway. But I never bought any of the drawings, either. To be honest, I was never very impressed with them, and I thought I could have done better myself, had I taken the trouble to sit down with a pencil and paper. There’d just never been the opportunity, but I suspected I might have a hidden talent in that department. I hauled and steered and supported Arnfinn along the paved path past
Woman Weeping
and the Dixie Café. We met no one on our shuffling progress, nor did we speak. We walked, ponderous and unsteady, a sorry sight in the gloaming, and it was as if both of us understood our goal: a drink and a bit of pleasant company.
    Several times he almost fell.
    Once, he lurched out into the road, and then almost slipped into the ditch, while I gripped his arm and tried to steer him in the right direction. The journey from the park to Jordahl, which usually takes half an hour, took us forty-five minutes. When at last he realised we’d arrived, he seemed unspeakably relieved, he clumped up the steps, all five of them, leaning heavily on the handrail. He stood clinging to it as I unlocked the door, then staggered into the hall, and on into my small, spartan living room. It felt odd bringing someone home with me. A stranger within my private domain, breathing my air, gazing at my things, my furniture, and experiencing my taste for meticulous order. For no one came to my house, and that was entirely my own fault. Now the habit was about to be broken, I had a guest. An alcoholic from the park by Lake Mester, but he was