Tobias Iversen found another branch and began making yet another arrow while he waited for his brother to come back. He liked using the knife. Liked the way the blade sliced its way through the wood, liked how steadily he had to angle the knife between bark and wood in order not to dent the arrow. Tobias Iversen was good with his hands—it was in art and woodworking lessons where he received the most praise. He was only average in the other subjects, especially in math, but when it came to his hands, there he was gifted. And in Norwegian. Tobias Iversen loved reading. Up until now he had preferred fantasy and sci-fi, but last autumn they had gotten a cool, new Norwegian teacher, Emilie Isaksen, who laughed out loud and had lots of freckles; it was almost as if she were not a teacher but a really nice, grown-up girl whose lessons were incredible fun, so different from their last teacher, who had just— Come to think of it, Tobias couldn’t remember anything they had done during those lessons. Emilie had given him a long list of books she thought he ought to read. He had almost finished Lord of the Flies, one of her suggestions, and realized how much he was looking forward to going home so he could carry on reading in bed. Or at least the reading-in-bed part. He wasn’t very keen on being at home. On paper, Tobias Iversen was only thirteen years old, but he was much older inside, and he had experienced things that should never happen to children. He often thought of running away, packing what little he owned into his knapsack and heading out into the world, away from the dark house, but it was a pipe dream. Where would he go? He had saved up some money from birthdays and Christmas, but not enough to travel anywhere, and besides, he could not abandon his younger brother. Who would look after Torben, if not Tobias? He tried to think about something else, sliding the blade of the knife smoothly under the bark, and smiled contentedly to himself when he managed to slice off a long strip without breaking it.
Torben was keeping him waiting. Tobias glanced into the forest but didn’t worry unduly. His younger brother was an inquisitive little boy; he had probably just stumbled across an interesting mushroom or an anthill.
Why don’t we shoot the Christian girls?
Tobias had to laugh. Kids, so innocent, they knew nothing, they would say just about anything that came into their heads. It was the opposite in Tobias’s class or the school playground, where you had to watch every word or thought in case it didn’t fall in line with the majority. Tobias had seen it happen so many times. It was just like in Lord of the Flies. If you showed weakness, you were marked out as a victim instantly. Right now he was worried about PE; he was athletic, fortunately, could run quickly, jump long and high, and his soccer skills were good. The trouble was his gym clothes. A couple of new boys who had moved out here from Oslo had brought with them other ways, more money. It was all Adidas or Nike or Puma or Reebok now, and Tobias had had a few snide comments recently about his crappy shoes and shorts, his jogging pants, and the old T-shirts that didn’t have the right logo on them. Luckily, there was one thing that mattered more, and that was if girls liked you. If girls liked you, then no one cared about your gym clothes or how clever you were or what music you listened to, and girls liked Tobias Iversen. Not just because he was fit but because he was a really nice guy. Then it didn’t matter that his soccer boots had only one stripe and the soles had holes in them.
The Christian girls. The rumors had started the moment new people had moved into the old farm near Litjønna, which had been empty for a long time. They had done up the place, it looked completely different now, and everyone thought that was highly suspicious. Some of the locals believed that the newcomers belonged to Brunstad Christian Church, but that turned out to be wrong. Apparently they used to belong to Brunstad Christian Church but had decided that they didn’t agree with its doctrines, so they’d started their own religion, or whatever you would call it. All the locals thought they knew something, but no one really knew the full story, only that the children who lived there did not go to school and that it was very Christian and all about God and stuff. Tobias was pleased they’d come. He had figured out quite early on that whenever people made comments about his clothes or about poverty in general, all he had to do was turn the conversation to the Christian girls and presto, everyone forgot about designer labels. Once after PE he had even lied about having seen them, just to shut up the two new boys from Oslo, and it had worked. He made up a story about the girls wearing strange clothes and having almost-dead eyes and how they had chased him away when they spotted him. It was a dumb thing to do, obviously, because he didn’t know the Christian girls personally and had no opinion about them, but what else could he do?
Tobias put down the knife and looked at his watch. His brother had been gone for quite a while now, and he started to worry. Not that they had to get home—they had no curfew, no one noticed whether they were in or out. Tobias could only hope that there would be something in the fridge so that he could give his brother some dinner. He had taught himself most household tasks. He could change the sheets, use the washing machine, pack his brother’s school bag. He could manage most things, really, except buy food; he didn’t want to spend his own money on food, he didn’t think that was fair, but most of the time there was something in the kitchen cupboards, instant soup or a bit of bread and jam. They usually managed.
He stuck the arrow into the ground next to the tree stump and got up. If they were to have time to hunt bison up near Rundvann, they would have to get a move on. He liked having his brother in bed by nine o’clock, at least on school days. Both for his brother’s benefit and for his own, they shared the attic room, and he enjoyed the few hours he had to himself by the reading lamp once his brother had fallen asleep.
“Torben?” he called out.
Tobias started walking through the forest in the direction where the arrow and his brother had disappeared. The wind had increased slightly, and the leaves rustled around him. He wasn’t scared. He’d been out here alone many times and in stronger winds and worse weather; he loved how nature took over and shook everything around him, but his brother scared easily.
“Torben? Where are you?”
Once more he felt bad for the things he’d said about the Christian girls. He had lied, invented stories in the boys’ locker room. He decided to go on an expedition soon, like the boys in Lord of the Flies, who had no adults around. Sneak out, pack some provisions and his flashlight, make a trip up there. He knew the way. See for himself if it was true what they said about the new farm and the fence and everything else. Exciting and educational. Now he remembered the phrase his former Norwegian teacher had been so fond of: everything they were going to do was always exciting and educational, so they had to sit still and listen, but then it never was. It was never exciting, and it could not have been all that educational either, because he couldn’t recall anything from those lessons. Then he remembered something his grandfather had said once when they were out for a drive in the old red Volvo: that not everyone is suited to have children, that some people should never have become parents. It had struck a chord with Tobias. Perhaps it was the same with teachers. That some were not suited to it, and that explained their sad faces every time they entered the classroom.
His train of thought was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes in front of him. Suddenly his brother appeared out of nowhere with a strange look on his face and a large wet stain on his trousers.
“Torben? What’s wrong?”
His brother looked at him with empty eyes. “There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.”
Tobias put his arms around his brother and could feel how the little boy continued to tremble.
“Are you making this up, Torben?”
“No. She’s in there.”
“Please, would you show me?”
His brother looked up at him. “She doesn’t have any wings, but she’s definitely an angel.”
“Show me,” Tobias said gravely, and nudged his brother in front of him through the spruces.