“Don’t do it, please!” she said, holding on to his arm.
“It is done, Charlene.”
He tore the letter in two, three, four pieces. She looked on in horror as he dropped the remnants into the trash.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was in the trash can collecting the fallen pieces, her hands covered in yolk and the thin, wet husk of an onion. She came back to the table and reassembled the sheets. A stain like a sunset.
They sat with the torn-up letter between them for some time.
“Please,” she said quietly. “It’s just to ask for more information.”
He had picked up a radio and was working the dials, though no sound was coming from its speaker.
“I need to,” she said. “I need to. .”
“What?” He turned on her.
“I need to—”
“What exactly do you need to do to our son?” He was shouting. She shrank back. She had never heard him shout before. “I would like you to tell me this, Charlene. I would very much like you to tell me this.”
His face was pink; she could see the whites of his eyes. He looked as though he wanted to kill her, to bash her brains out with his radio. She felt herself adjusting to a world that included such anger.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please. It’s just to find out information.”
“Information? What fucking information could you possibly want?”
“We don’t have to do anything. Just find out. I’ll feel so much better if I just find out.”
The radio suddenly sparked to life. A symphony materialized, much too loud. Charlene winced and put her hands over her ears.
“Kermin!” she yelled. “Shut it off!”
He twisted a knob, but the sound did not go away. An element of whining static was introduced into the whirlpool of woodwinds and strings.
“Kermin!”
The dial turned, and noise engulfed the signal. Static devouring the notes of music. A great wave coming toward them.
“Kermin!” She grabbed at the radio and stabbed wildly at the power button. “Turn it—”
The silence left behind was long and strange, as if the world had been emptied of all sound.
“You don’t have to do anything,” she said finally. “I’ll do it.”
“God gave us this. We did not choose,” he said. “He chose us. We raise him like this. That is our duty.”
“But maybe this letter is a sign—”
“We are not going to make him into some kind of freak, Charlene!”
“He’s already a freak,” she said quietly.
They stared at each other, wondering at the truth of her words.
“Don’t ever say this,” Kermin said quietly. “Don’t you ever say this about my son.”
• • •
SHE COULD NOT SLEEP. She lay in bed listening to the occasional hush of the passing motorist. Wondering where they were going at this hour. Wondering if they, too, could not sleep. At a certain point, she realized it was no use. She got up and made herself some peppermint tea. At the kitchen table, she wrote Brusa Tofte-Jebsen a letter. Dear Mr. Tofte-Jebsen, I am so glad that you. . and the rest. When she was finished and the envelope was sealed, she felt a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Three weeks went by before she received a cream-colored envelope covered in lithographed bear stamps.
24 June 1979
Dear Mrs. Radmanovic,
Greetings. I have spoken with Leif and everything has been arranged for your visit. Enclosed you will find three roundtrip airline tickets to Kirkenes. Don’t worry, Kirkenesferda has offered to cover the cost of your transport. Leif said he will meet you at the airport.
May I just say that I am so glad you are taking this chance. I am sure you will not be disappointed. Unfortunately, I will be unable to join you at the Bjørnens Hule but I will make sure to get a full report.
Kindest Regards,
Brusa Tofte-Jebsen
What had been merely a declaration of interest had apparently turned overnight into a trip to Norway. The departure date listed on the tickets was in two weeks. She still had no idea what went on at this place, but Brusa’s reply served as confirmation enough.
She was just beginning to get excited about the whole venture when, that same day, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, she found herself staring at a man who resembled something of a disheveled bellhop. He was wearing a burgundy suit and a strange, ill-fitting, fez-like cap that slumped awkwardly down the slope of his forehead, despite the chin strap meant to keep it in place. The man did not look excited in the least to be wearing such an outfit. Before she could say anything, he handed her an envelope and said, “Telegram,” then he walked away.
“Wait. What is this?” Charlene said, holding the envelope up. A shy but curious Radar was peeking out from behind her leg.
“It’s a telegram, honey,” the man declared, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world. Then he tromped down their steps and mounted his bicycle, which he had left lying across the sidewalk, leaving Charlene to stare in wonder.
“What’s a telly-gram?” Radar asked when they were back inside. “A letter?”
“It’s like a letter,” she said. “But it’s sent by machines.”
She would’ve thought it was all a dream if not for the envelope still in her hands. She brought it to her nose. The paper smelled of oily, metallic parts and oddly. . cinnamon. Telegrams were confusing documents. Their words had traveled great distances, and yet the physical paper had not. This cinnamon scent was Jersey-borne.
She opened the telegram in the kitchen.
Per Røed-Larsen. The name seemed oddly familiar.
“What dat machine say?” Radar asked.
“It said — well, I’m not sure what it said.” She flipped the telegram over, but there was nothing more.
• • •
THAT EVENING, while they were watching television, Charlene brought out the airplane tickets.
“I didn’t ask for these, I swear. I just asked for some more details,” she said. She sat down on the floor in front of his armchair.
He scrutinized the tickets for a long while, turning them over in his hands as if he were judging their authenticity.
“But isn’t that nice of them? They’re paying for us to come. It must be expensive.” She was readying herself for his explosion — to pounce on him in case he decided to try and tear up the tickets.
“I was in Norway once,” he said after a while.
“Yes,” she said, brightening. “It might be nice for you to go back.”
“I don’t need to go back,” he said.
She placed a hand on his foot. “Kermin.”
A silence.
“You really want this?” he said.
She nodded.
“Just to talk to them?”
“Just to talk.”
“And then you are okay?”
“And then I’ll be okay.”
“And then no more?”
“No more.” She shook her head. “After this, no more.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“All right.”
“All right what?”
“We can go.”
“Oh, Kermin!” She jumped up, hugging him, kissing his rough cheek. “We’re just going to find out, I swear. Nothing more. I’ll feel so much better then. And I was doing a little bit of reading. It’s supposed to be really nice in the summer. Land of the midnight sun and all that.”