No answer.
"My dear Zipp." Sejer lowered his voice to a whisper. "How are you going to get yourself out of this?"
"Out of what?"
"Whatever it is you've got yourself mixed up in. Would it be to your benefit if Andreas never turned up again?"
"No, God damn it!"
"I'm looking for a reason," Sejer said. "A reason why you won't tell the truth. As I said the last time, it had better be awfully good. Is it?"
Zipp wrung his hands. "Yes," he gasped. "It is. And I'm not going to say anything else! I want to go home! You've no right to keep me here."
"Like most departments, we have a little loophole." Zipp stared at him doubtfully.
"The time between 6 p.m. and when you went to the bar. How did you spend that time?"
"In the car. Cruising around. Looking at girls."
"You looked at girls," Sejer corrected him.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Then why did you hide the fact?"
"I don't remember."
And that's how things went on. Zipp was amazed at his own stubbornness. That he had so much willpower. That he could almost drive a man crazy, he would never have believed it. But the inspector had willpower too. They tugged and tugged, each at their own end of an invisible rope. Zipp alternated between sighing with exhaustion and inexplicably having the upper hand again. For the first time in his life he was fighting with someone. A sheer battle of wills. And it was strange, all the emotions that came and went. At times he even enjoyed it. Liked the man on the other side of the desk.
*
Now it was simply a matter of time. Soon the police would be at the door. I saw it in the young officer's face, he could smell something was going on in the house. His eyes, which raced around, taking everything in, were full of purpose. It was nice and warm in the cellar. I stood still and looked at Andreas. He really didn't lack for anything. I had taken good care of him. A thought occurred to me like a box on the ear: He would never have done the same for me.
"I'm leaving now," I whispered.
He tried to focus his eyes on something. It required a certain amount of effort. His gaze settled on the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"They'll soon be coming to get you, they were just here. The police. I'll leave the door unlocked. Are you listening to me?"
He closed his eyes. Didn't say anything. Wasn't even happy.
"After all that you've done!" I said, resigned. I squatted down on the steps. "Can't you explain who you are? Why you came here? So that I'll understand?"
"You wouldn't understand," he said. "No-one will."
"You're not giving me a chance. There's always an explanation. It makes it easier to bear." He sniffled a bit. "I'm no worse than anyone else."
I frowned. "I know plenty of people who would never force their way into the house of a woman who lives alone. With a knife and things like that. So don't trivialise matters, Andreas."
"I had to," he said. "I had revealed everything about myself. Had left it all behind at the cemetery. I had to find something . . . something to disguise myself with. Because he saw me as I really am. Zipp. He saw me. And suddenly there you were. I needed you."
"No. You chose me. I want to know why."
"I had to go on, don't you understand! Had to go into your house and come back out again – as something else."
"As a simple criminal?"
"No! I left that behind at the cemetery. I needed something new."
"I don't understand you. You talk such nonsense."
"You didn't call for help," he said in a low voice.
"You chose not to. Why?"
"It wasn't my choice! I've tried to understand it."
"No, someone like you can't choose. You just have to sit and wait. And then no-one comes. It makes you crazy, doesn't it, Irma?"
How could he be so shameless when I was finally going to get help for him? God knows, he would get plenty of help. Nursing and tending to him. Fair treatment. He was so young, after all. An insignificant sentence. His personal psychologist. I had to give him one last stab.
"The fact that you do have a choice has destroyed you, Andreas."
"I've never been able to choose."
"I have my own thoughts about that."
"There's a lot that you don't know."
"I'm going to leave you now. Maybe you've learned something. Leave people in peace."
"I've never bothered anybody," he murmured. I cleared my throat, trying to sound threatening.
"Not until now," he went on. "I don't give a shit if you believe me or not. I know who I am."
"Is that right? Is there anything worth knowing?"
"Yes," he muttered. "It took me a little time. But now I know."
I kept quiet, sighing. No-one is as wise as the young when they've just begun to understand.
"Where are you going?" he said.
"Out. But I have to get dressed first."
"But where are you going?"
"Away," I said vaguely.
"You don't have to do that," he sighed. "I'll take all the blame."
It took a moment for his words to sink in and I understood his meaning. That was too much for me. I stood up, shaking. "TAKE ALL THE BLAME?
ANDREAS – THERE'S SOMETHING IMPORTANT HERE THAT YOU'VE MISSED! YOU ARE TO BLAME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He blinked in horror at my outburst. There's more strength in old women than young boys know. They ought to watch out. I was still shaking, spreading my legs apart so as not to topple over from sheer outrage. Andreas started to cry. Tears and snot ran down his face. The room smelled of him, a cloying smell from the infected wound on his head. From his unwashed body. It smelled of mould and potatoes and burning dust from the heater, which glowed red. Oh, how he cried. It was necessary for me, right now before I left, to hear this. To take it with me. Then his sobs stopped.
"You're never going to call. You won't keep your word. You're a coward and crazy and a liar." I bit my lip so hard that tears came to my eyes.
"You asked why I chose you? It was because you're so ugly, Irma."
I started to shake.
"Ugly and fat. With your intestines hanging out. No-one could love somebody like you."
"You be quiet!" I shouted.
"I can see the veins through your stockings. They're the size of fucking grapes."
I was still standing there, wanting to crush him with my bare fists. He looked evil when he said that. I lost control, stood there flailing my arms around and looking ridiculous, I could feel it, but I couldn't stop the rage from coming. I had to destroy something, let loose, all of a sudden I had too much strength. A violent surplus that threatened to rip me to shreds. It turned into pain, it burned like fire, and I looked for something in the dark cellar, something I could use to crush and destroy, but I didn't see anything. Just old plastic furniture. The bin of potatoes. An old windowpane leaning against the wall. And a box of tools. It stood under the workbench. Open. I pulled out a hammer with a rubber handle. Went back and stood in front of him. And then it happened, as I stood there, wielding my power, demonstrating that I had the upper hand, that he'd better watch out. He laughed! And I snapped. I can bear most things: not being seen, not being heard, people bickering and banging things around. But not that. Not someone laughing. I lashed out. Hit hard. Struck somewhere on his white forehead, and his laughter was cut off, it stopped with a faint groan, and I struck again. The hammer hit the floor several times, white sparks flew up every time the steel hit the concrete, but I kept on hitting, sensed that what was under the hammer slowly lost its shape and grew soft. I caught a reflection of my own face in the old windowpane. He was right. I was ugly. So I kept on hitting until I had no strength left. It felt good. I was empty. My body gradually grew calm. I looked around with stinging eyes. Heard a tiny sigh. Whether it came from Andreas, a last sound from his lungs, or whether someone saw us, I don't know. Just let them try! For a long time I stood there with the hammer raised, staring into the shadows.