Norwegian by Night by Derek B. Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

the boy’s ears.
    â€˜I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. This is the best I can do. I’m so sorry.’

Chapter 3
    Sigrid ØdegÃ¥rd has been a police officer with the Oslo Politidistrikt for just over eighteen years. She joined after completing her advanced studies in criminology at the University of Oslo. Her father convinced her to go there, rather than study farther north, because — in his view — ‘there will be more eligible men in the big city.’
    As so often happens in both police work and life, her father’s theory proved both true and irrelevant.
    â€˜The question, Papa, is the ratio of available men to those who are interested in me. Not just the number of available men.’ Sigrid made this point to her widowed father in 1989, before going to Oslo.
    Her father was a farmer from the countryside. Though not a formally educated man, he did understand numbers, as they came in handy for organising life on the farm. He was also a reader of history. He did not call himself a student, as he had no tutor, but he found reading pleasurable, took an interest in the worlds that have passed before this one, and he had a good memory. All this served him, Sigrid, and the animals rather well. He also had a fine mind for reason, and he and Sigrid found comfort there when emotions were too tender.
    â€˜If your argument holds,’ he had responded over a quiet dinner of salmon, boiled potatoes, and a bottle of beer, ‘then it is not a matter of ratios at all, but a statistic of likelihoods. What is the likelihood of there being a man sufficiently observant as to note your desirability and availability? And again, I stand by the claim that such a young man is more likely to be found in the big city.’
    â€˜It’s not such a big city,’ Sigrid said.
    Her father slid each section of pink meat off the subsequent section of pink meat to see how well prepared it was. They slid easily, and he said nothing.
    â€˜It is the biggest one available,’ he offered.
    â€˜Yes, well …’ she muttered, reaching for the butter.
    Sigrid’s older brother had moved to America on being offered a position selling agricultural machinery. It was a good offer, and their father had insisted he take it. Though he stayed in touch, Sigrid’s brother almost never came home. This was family now. This and the animals.
    â€˜I’ll grant you the point about the city, but there are still two problems,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh?’ Her father raised his voice just enough to suggest a question.
    â€˜The first is that I’m not pretty. I’m plain. The second is that it is near impossible to know if a Norwegian man is interested.’
    She had learned this by way of empirical observation and comparison.
    To wit, she had once met a British man named Miles. Miles was so forthcoming with his advances that the alcohol merely affected his aim rather than his behaviour.
    She had also met a German boy who was sweet and affectionate and clever, and whose only flaw was being German — which was unfair, and she knew it, and she felt bad about it, but Sigrid still didn’t want to spend every other Christmas in Hanover. To his credit, though, neither did he.
    Norwegian men, in contrast to the others, were problematic — even for Norwegian women, who presumably had the greatest motive to crack the code of their behaviour, if only for reasons of proximity.
    She explained. ‘They are polite. Occasionally witty. They dress like teenagers, no matter what their age, and will never say anything romantic unless it’s during a drunken confessional.’
    â€˜So get them drunk.’
    â€˜I don’t think that’s the first step in a lasting relationship, Papa.’
    â€˜Things can’t last unless they begin. Worry about duration after commencement.’
    Sigrid pouted, and her father’s shoulders dropped.
    â€˜Daughter, it’s not hard at all. You