‘I’ve always thought you were so far ahead when it came to equality. Anti-racism. Gay rights.’
She suddenly leaned closer to the window, mumbling something that sounded like a calculation.
‘A thousand dollars? For those skis? I’ve got exactly the same ones, and they cost 450. I’m beginning to understand why the average wage is so high in this country.’
‘Something happened here when gays started having children,’ Johanne said thoughtfully, as if she’d suddenly been struck by a fresh insight. ‘Before that, most things were running fairly smoothly. But this business with children has caused a real backlash.’
The cloud cover had broken up. Over Grefsenkollen three stars appeared on a strip of black. The wind had increased since they left the restaurant, and the temperature must have fallen. Johanne put her hands together and blew warm air into her woollen gloves. The wind carried with it a damp chill, and she pushed her hands in her pockets with her gloves on.
‘More and more lesbians are having children,’ she went on. ‘At the beginning of this year a new gender-neutral law on marriage was brought in, guaranteeing the same rights to IVF as heterosexuals. In recent years gay men have also started on the same route, travelling to the US and using egg donors and surrogate mothers. All of which has led to…’
They set off again.
‘Do you know what they call those children?’ she said angrily. ‘Half-manufactured. Constructed children!’
Karen shrugged her shoulders.
‘History repeats itself,’ she said wearily. ‘There’s nothing new under the sun. When the first marriages between blacks and whites took place, some people claimed it went against God’s commandments. That it was against the will of God and nature and customs and against everything we were used to. Their children were also given a nickname: half-castes. Which sounds quite a lot like your half-manufactured.’
She took a deep breath.
‘It will pass, Johanne. In a few days a “half-caste” president will be inaugurated back home. Six years ago no one – but no one – would have thought that we would have a woman president, and now an African-American. It’s a pity about Helen Bentley, by the way. I was sorry she didn’t want to stand for a further term. I’ve nothing but praise for Obama, but deep down…’
It was half past eleven. A bus came chugging towards them. The driver was yawning as it passed, but he gave a start when a cat suddenly ran into the road, causing him to slam on the brakes.
‘Deep down I think it was an even greater victory to get a woman president in the White House,’ Karen said quietly, as if entrusting Johanne with a dangerous secret. ‘And when the most powerful leader in the world says she’s throwing in the towel for the sake of her family after only four years, I reserve the right not to believe her.’
Johanne tried to suppress a smile. She didn’t often feel the need to share the story of the dramatic events that took place in May 2005. The twenty-four hours she had spent with Helen Bentley in an apartment in Frogner, while the whole world assumed the American president was dead, had over the years become a locked-in memory which she rarely opened in order to examine it more closely. She had been instructed to keep quiet in the interests of the security of both Norway and the United States, and had kept all the pledges she had signed. Now, for the first time, she was tempted to break her word.
‘I’ve never heard of The 25’ers,’ she said instead. ‘Tell me more.’
They had reached Gullhaug Torg.
Karen moved her bag to the other shoulder. She opened her mouth a couple of times without saying anything, as if she didn’t really know what words to choose.
‘Rage,’ she said eventually. ‘While the rest of the hate groups grow strong on frenzy, prejudice and misdirected religious fervour, organizations like The 25’ers are built on holy rage. That’s something different. Something much more dangerous.’
They stopped on the bridge over the Akerselva and leaned against the railing. The water level was low, and beautiful ice sculptures had formed along the edges.
‘How… how do all these organizations finance their activities?’ asked Johanne.
‘It varies,’ Karen replied. ‘When it comes to the extreme church groups, they finance themselves just like any other faith community. Rich members and generous donations. And they’re not that expensive to run. The more militant groups also collect money from their members. But we think some of them are partly funded through serious crime.’
She paused and looked at a lovely arch of ice spanning three large rocks.
‘The Ku Klux Klan and the Aryan Nations, for example. While KKK has traditionally directed its hatred against African-Americans – and they’ve killed God knows how many over the years – the Aryan Nations base their existence on a pseudo-theological belief that it’s the Anglo-Saxons, not the Jews, who are God’s chosen people. They hate the blacks as well, of course, but for them it’s the Jews who are the real virus infecting the pure body of humanity. They rally an enormous amount of support in jails, something which has been a deliberate policy on the part of their leaders. Their money comes from…’
She turned to Johanne and held up one finger at a time on her left hand.
‘Fraud, larceny, narcotics, bank robberies.’
Four fingers stuck up in the air before her thumb joined them.
‘And murder. Professional murderers. There are actually those who provide that service.’
Johanne didn’t know much about the professional murder industry, and didn’t reply.
‘Someone orders a murder through an intermediary,’ Karen explained. ‘If the intended victim happens to be gay, you can hire a killer who thinks people like that should die anyway. If the victim is black you find an organization…’
She raised her shoulders to make the point.
‘You get the idea.’
A solitary duck had settled down for the night on the west bank of the river. It withdrew its beak from under its wing and stared at them in the hope that the two women on the bridge might have brought along some bread. When nothing happened it tucked its head down and became a round ball of feathers once again.
‘When it comes to The 25’ers, we know far too little about them,’ said Karen. ‘However, we know enough to conclude that they remind us of The Order, who sprang up in the eighties as a splinter group from the KKK and AN. They were going to start a revolution and bring down the American government. The most striking difference between them and these new groups is the level of cooperation between different religions. And unfortunately they’re not alone. For example, there’s another splinter group from-’
‘Stop,’ Johanne said with a smile, putting her arm around Karen’s shoulders. ‘I can’t cope with any more. I think we should say that’s enough talk of hatred for tonight. I want to hear about your children, your husband, your brother! Is he still such a ladies’ man?’
‘You bet! He’s on his third marriage!’
Johanne tucked her hand under Karen’s arm as they set off again.
‘Not far now,’ she said, guiding her off to the right. ‘Adam will be so pleased to see you.’
It was true. He would be pleased, however late it was.
By the time she had dealt with the children, her job, the house and the rest of the family, Johanne usually had no energy left. She and Adam sometimes went out to dinner, usually with old friends, but she always dreaded it. On very rare occasions they would invite someone round. It was always enjoyable, but took all of her strength for several days before and after. Adam, on the other hand, was good at pursuing his own interests as soon as he had an hour to spare. He devoted a lot of time to his grandson Amund, who had been a tiny baby when Adam’s grown-up daughter and wife died in a tragic accident. He also met friends. And he had recently started saying that he wanted to have a horse again – as if he had ten or twelve hours a week he didn’t know how to fill.