When the Devil Holds the Candle by Karin Fossum Read Free Book Online

agitation.
    "Run, for God's sake, run!"
    "What about the baby!" shouted Andreas. He grabbed the handbag and ran after Zipp.
    "The stroller ran into a stone and tipped over! The baby fell out! Oh, fucking hell!"
    They threw themselves into the car and tore out of the lot, their tires screeching. Neither of them dared to look back. But they could still hear the roar of the waves, a loud thundering that rose and fell.
    "Shit! The baby was screaming its head off!"
    "Calm down, it went fine."
    "Fine? That baby could have drowned!"
    "He didn't drown!"
    "But he definitely hurt himself. Shit, you should have heard him screaming!"
    "It would have been worse if he hadn't."
    "Jesus Christ."
    "Cut out the Jesus crap!"
    The Golf roared along the road, sending up a shower of gravel and careening wildly. An ugly grinding sound came from the gearbox. Andreas had to hold on to the door handle. He ripped off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket. His curls came tumbling out.
    "She saw both of us. She saw the car. Do you have the handbag?"
    Zipp was stammering.
    "Do you think I'm an amateur?"
    "We'll have the police at the door by tonight."
    "No, we won't. She's too preoccupied with the baby. She'll forget about everything else."
    "Are you out of your mind?" shrieked Zipp, as he struggled to hold the steering wheel in his trembling hands.
    "I know what women are like. She'll be thanking God because the baby survived and she'll realize how unimportant the money is. Mothers have a whole new set of values in life. So shut up and drive!"
    He bent over the bag and rummaged inside it. Pulled out a baby bottle.
    "The milk's warm," he said in surprise. After that he took out a pacifier, a mosquito net for the stroller and finally a wallet. He tore it open. "Her name's Gina," he said.
    "Is there any money?" asked Zipp in confusion.
    "A few hundred-kroner notes. Four. Shit, Zipp, let me tell you, I'm a genius of cunning and strength! According to the Tyrell Corporation. Nexus 6 fighting model!"
    ***
    My mother was not really a mother, but, rather, a kind of corrective entity. That's why I'm still a well-behaved girl. I say "Yes, please" and "No, thank you." I have a firm handshake. Look people in the eye. Remember names. Remember little things, what people like and don't like; I notice how attractively they blush. I'm not so dangerous. I take good care of myself, I don't lack for anything. It's no sacrifice. A person can argue his way through life and insist on having his own way or on someone else having theirs, and live a life of pain. Why should I do that? Nothing is important to me, or nothing is important enough. I don't mind standing at the end of the line; I'm a patient person. If others are in a hurry, I let them go ahead of me. It amuses me. I laugh at them when they're not looking. Laugh at their life-or-death expressions. It's only on bad days that I cry. But I don't have many bad days—or I didn't.
    Sometimes I do cry, almost astonished at the crack that opens without warning. When I look at pictures from poor countries: children with flies on their lips and toothless old people, skin and bone, with scabs and sores, who have no water; they look at me reproachfully. Maybe part of the blame is mine. Somebody is to blame. But I've never done anything about it.
    I'm glad that Henry disappeared. I saw it coming. I saw his expression when I got undressed at night—not disgust, just a terrible embarrassment, and I didn't help him. That wasn't my job. Henry was supposed to help me. That's what the doctor said: Let your husband help you. But he couldn't do it. It's easier to live alone. And this way he won't have to deal with everything that happens. That's good. My son, Ingemar, never mentions his name. I tell him that he doesn't have to, only that he has to try to understand. He doesn't love me; I realize that. He doesn't hate me either, I've never thought that he did, but the only life I know I've dumped on to his shoulders. He's a decent person,