"Craven". And they would nod behind the counter and search the shelves. Not many people bought that brand. He sought attention wherever he went, but as soon as he got it, he rejected it. Zipp knew that he himself was not fussy, and had no specific preferences whatsoever. He couldn't really tell the difference, anyway, between a Prince and a Marlboro. Or between Coke and Pepsi. He had to look at the name on the label. He wondered if other people were lying, or whether they were actually more canny than he was. Maybe Andreas was lying. He wasn't altogether trustworthy. Something was lacking. He could never say: "One time last year" or "last Saturday" or "dammit, Zipp, guess what happened yesterday!" He never talked about anything in the past. Only about the present moment, or what was to come. And it wasn't because what had happened in the past was too awful to talk about; that wasn't it. And Zipp ought to know. They'd been hanging out together for eleven years. But had he ever heard Andreas say: "Do you remember that time?" No, that would never happen.
"In 2019," said Andreas, "we'll be 39 years old. Have you ever thought about that?"
Zipp shrugged. No, he hadn't, and he didn't feel like doing the arithmetic, but it was probably about right. Almost 40.
"What about it?"
Andreas studied the pavement ahead. "By then human beings will have colonised several of the planets. All the animals will be extinct. The air will be lethally polluted, and the first replicants will be living among us without our knowing."
"You've been watching too many videos," Zipp said. "We need money, man!"
Andreas read aloud what it said on a poster on a walclass="underline" "Saga Sun Trips. Clean air, crystal clear water. I know," he said. "Drive over to Furulund." He issued the order in a gentle manner, as if Zipp were a long way his junior. It did not occur to him that he might be contradicted, at least not with any seriousness.
"Furulund? Why there?"
"It's quiet out there."
"But what about the money, Andreas!"
"Just so," he said calmly.
Zipp made a U-turn, and Andreas pulled a comb out of his pocket. He started combing his unruly hair.
"Out to get the ladies?" Zipp teased. "Someone younger for a change?"
Andreas struggled with his curls. "Shut up and drive."
Zipp drove the Golf as fast as it would go, past Dynamite Industries and along the fjord. Andreas remained alert. After five minutes he told Zipp to slow down. A cyclist was coming in the other direction, a man on a racing bike. He had a touring rucksack on his back, he was wearing a helmet and cycling gloves, and he was moving at quite a speed. Andreas dismissed the man and stared through the windscreen. They were approaching a public park, which consisted of a decent swimming area, tables and benches and several large permanent barbeques which were always in use during the summer.
"Turn right," Andreas said.
"There's just a lousy kiosk down there, and it's closed for the autumn," Zipp objected.
"There are people here," Andreas said. "It's a tourist area. If we're lucky, we'll find an old lady with a handbag."
Zipp manoeuvred the car cautiously down
towards the sea.
"Slowly. We're strangers here, we're looking for something."
"Looking for what?"
Andreas shook his head in disbelief.
"We're going to stop someone and ask for directions."
"Who?"
"Whoever turns up," he said with a groan. His friend's simple-mindedness was unbearable.
"What a shitload of trouble it is to live in a society that charges 40 kroner for a pint. If it's going to be any fun tonight, we're going to need at least a thousand," Zipp said.
The ocean poured in over the shore. Greyishgreen, foaming, and ice-cold. They came to an old dilapidated clubhouse. Outside it, pieces of broken patio furniture had been piled into a heap, a midsummer bonfire that would never be lit. The summer had been very dry. They turned into the car park and surveyed the area. In the distance they saw a figure plodding along the shoreline. Andreas opened the glove compartment and took out a cap. He pulled it down over his forehead and tucked his curls underneath. Zipp grinned when he read the words on the blue fabric.
"'Holy Riders. On the Road for Jesus.' Shit, you're bad, Andreas!"
A strong wind was blowing. Andreas stuck one foot outside the car.
"A woman," he said. "With a pram. Excellent."
"Why?"
"Women get so helpless when they're pushing a pram."
He turned to look at Zipp. "Just think what's inside."
"What exactly are you planning to do?" Zipp was nervous. He couldn't very well object; they were friends, did everything together. But he often thought that one day they would cross a boundary too far. Andreas had his knife in his belt, under his shirt.
"First we have to see if she's got a handbag with her. If she lives nearby, she probably left it at home. Otherwise women always carry a handbag." They waited as the figure came closer slowly. She was pushing the pram along the beach, and the wheels were sinking into the soft sand. She was very tall, with a scarf round her head and a lightcoloured coat which flapped in the wind.
"She must be two metres tall!" said Zipp, who was 1.70 himself.
"Doesn't matter. Girls don't have much in the way of muscles."
The woman caught sight of the car. She leaned down to pat what lay inside the pram. They could see part of a blue quilt. Andreas strained his eyes.
"I see her handbag," he whispered. "It's on top of the blanket. That's great!"
"Why?"
"It's more difficult when they carry their handbags over their shoulders." He sat for a moment, squinting under the peak of his cap, going over his plan of attack. It wasn't a time for threats or violence, but for pure cunning.
"You stay here. Keep the engine running. Find something in the glove compartment. Pretend that you're sitting here looking at a map or something. I'll get out and ask for directions – to somewhere. The football field. I'll snatch the handbag and hightail it back."
"She'll get our registration number!"
"They usually don't. They get too damned scared."
Andreas got out and approached the woman.
She took stock of him and slowed her pace, casting an uneasy glance at the car.
Women are strange, thought Andreas. It's as if they can smell that something is up. Or maybe they just look at things in a different way from men. Because they have more enemies, maybe that's it. To be a woman and have to be on guard all the time, what a fucking strain that must be! She had actually started in the direction of the car park, but then she would have to pass the car. Suddenly she turned the pram around and set off in the opposite direction. The manoeuvre was pitifully obvious. He wondered where the idea came from. Whether on account of the foaming sea, because her path was blocked on one side, or maybe because of the child, the responsibility for someone other than herself. And because they were male. A sudden fear. In addition, the wind was fierce and the waves were slamming hard against the shore. No-one would hear her if she yelled. Andreas stopped, shook his head and stared after her. She turned around, wary. He reacted fast and made a helpless gesture with his hands. The light was white and harsh, making his face shine. She started up a path that rose steeply along a ridge above the sea. Possibly a way out. Zipp sat in the car and waited. He followed Andreas with his eyes, Andreas followed the woman. She quickened her pace, but then she heard his voice behind her and again she turned around. In spite of everything, most people found it difficult to ignore someone who was calling out in a friendly manner. And surely he couldn't be dangerous or anything like that! What a ridiculous idea! She had merely taken precautions, withdrawn from a potential danger. The baby in the pram had shown her so clearly how dangerous the world was. She hardly slept at night; when she fell asleep the child was erased from her consciousness, and she couldn't allow that to happen.