Gunder never went to the café, but Einar knew very well who he was. On rare occasions he would stop and buy a Krone strawberry ice cream, which if the weather was good he ate outside sitting by a plastic table. Einar knew Gunder's house, knew that it was about four kilometres from the centre of the village toward Randskog. Besides, all the farmers in the village bought their machinery from Gunder. He was just coming through the door now, his hand already in his inside pocket.
"Just wanted to know," he said self-consciously, and rather hurriedly considering this was Gunder, "how long would it take to get from here to the airport by car?"
"Gardermoen airport?" said Einar. "I'd say an hour and a half. If you're going abroad you need to be there one hour before departure. And if I were you I'd throw in another half-hour to be on the safe side."
He kept on rubbing a triangular ashtray.
"Morning flight?" he asked, curious.
Gunder picked out an ice cream from the freezer.
"10.15."
"You'll have to get up early then."
Einar turned his back and carried on working. He was neither friendly nor smiling, he looked like a much-misunderstood man and did not meet Gunder's gaze. "If I were you I'd leave by 7.00."
Gunder nodded and paid. Asking Einar was preferable to revealing his ignorance to the woman from SAS. Einar knew who Gunder was and would not want to embarrass him. On the other hand, everyone in the village would know about his journey this very same evening.
"You going far?" Einar asked, casually, wiping another ashtray.
"Very, very far," said Gunder lightly. He tore the wrapper off the ice cream and left. Ate it as he drove the last few kilometres home. That would have given Einar something to think about. That was quite all right with Gunder.
Marie was really excited. She wanted to jump into her car right away and come over. Her husband, Karsten, was away on business, and she was bored and wanted to hear everything. Gunder was reluctant because Marie was sharp and he did not like the thought of being found out. But she was unstoppable. An hour later she was on his doorstep. Gunder was busy tidying up. If he were to bring someone back with him the house had to be spotless.
Marie made coffee for them and heated waffles in the oven. She had bought crème fraîche and jam in a Tupperware box. Gunder was touched. They were close, but they never let on. He did not know if she was happy with Karsten, she never mentioned him: it was as though he did not exist. They had never had children. All the same, she was attractive. Dark and neat, as their mother had been. Small and round, but gentle and bright. Gunder believed she could have had anyone at all, but she had settled for Karsten. She found the book People of All Nations on the table and put it on her lap. It opened automatically on the picture of the Indian beauty. She looked up at her brother and laughed.
"Well… now I know why you want to go to India, Gunder. But this is an old book. I imagine she'll be around fifty now, probably wrinkled and ugly. Did you know that Indian women look fifteen till they're thirty? Then suddenly they grow old. It's the sun. Perhaps you ought to find yourself one who has been through the process already. Then you know what you're letting yourself in for."
She laughed so merrily that Gunder had to join in. He was not scared of wrinkles, even if Marie was. She had not a single one although she was forty-eight. He put crème fraîche on a waffle.
"I am mostly interested in the food and the culture," he said. "Culture. Music. That sort of thing."
"Yes, I believe it," Marie laughed. "When I next come to dinner I shall expect a casserole to make my eyes water. And there will be dragons all over the walls."
"I can't promise you that there won't be," he smiled. Then they were silent for a long time eating their waffles and drinking their coffee.
"Don't go round when you get there with your wallet sticking out of your back pocket," she said after a long pause. "Buy one of those little money belts. No, don't buy one, you can borrow one from me. It's quite plain, not in the least feminine."
"I can't walk around with a bag," Gunder said.
"Yes, you'll have to. A big city like that is teeming with pickpockets. Imagine a peasant like you alone in a city with twelve million people."
"I am not a peasant," said Gunder, hurt.
"Of course you're a peasant," Marie said. "You're a peasant if ever anyone was. And what's more, it shows. When you're out walking you can't just stroll around."
"Not stroll around?" He was baffled.
"You have to stride, as though you were going to an important meeting, and look preoccupied. You're a businessman on an important trip and, most importantly, you know Bombay like the back of your hand."
"Mumbai," he corrected her. "Mumbai like the back of my hand."
"You look people straight in the eye when they come towards you on the pavement. You walk straight, taking determined steps, and button your jacket so the money belt doesn't show."
"Can't wear a jacket there," he said. "It's 40°C at this time of year."
"You have to," Marie said. "You have to keep out of the sun." She licked a blob of crème fraîche from the corner of her mouth. "Otherwise you'll have to get yourself a tunic."
"A tunic?" Gunder chuckled.
"Where are you staying?" his sister went on.
"At a hotel, of course."
"Yes, but what type?"
"A nice one."
"But what's it called?"
"No idea," Gunder said. "I'll work it out when I get there."
Her eyes widened. "You haven't booked your hotel?"
"I know what to say," he said, a little offended now. He looked quickly at her, at her white forehead and the narrow brows, which she darkened with a brush.
"Tell me," she said, lapping up her coffee. "Tell me exactly what you're going to say. You come out of this vast, complex, sweltering, chaotic airport teeming with people and you look around for a taxi stand. Then some stranger comes up to you, grabs your shirt and babbles something incomprehensible while taking hold of your suitcase and heads off in the direction of a dodgy vehicle. And you are so worn out and sweaty and confused that you can hardly remember your own name, plus your watch is several hours behind the time. You are desperate for a cool shower. Tell me what you're going to say, Gunder. To this small, dark stranger."
He put his waffle down, speechless. Was she joking? Then he pulled himself together and, looking straight at his sister, said: "Would you please take me to a decent hotel?"
Marie nodded. "Very well! But before that. What do you do before that?"
"I've no idea," Gunder said.
"You find out how much it costs! Don't get into a taxi without negotiating the price beforehand. Ask inside the airport. Perhaps Lufthansa has an information desk there, they'll be on your side."
He shook his head and reasoned that in all likelihood she was just jealous. She had never been to India. Only Lanzarote and Crete, places like that. That was where all Norwegians and Swedes went and the waiters called out "Hey, Swedish girl" after her and she didn't like it. No, India was something else.
"What about a malaria vaccine?" she said. "Do you need one of those?"
"Don't know," he said.
"You have to call the doctor. You're not coming back here with malaria or TB or hepatitis or anything like that, I can tell you. And don't drink the tap water. Don't drink juice or eat fruit. Make sure the meat is thoroughly cooked. Stay away from ice cream, too, you who are so fond of ice cream, and that's fine, but just don't eat the ice cream in India."
"Am I allowed alcohol?" he said snappily.
"I suppose you are. But for God's sake don't get too drunk. Then you'd be in real trouble."