19

Lukas was sitting in his usual place in the chapel, on the slightly raised chair close to the wall with a good view of the pulpit and the congregation. Pastor Simon had gone up in front of the altar but had yet to start speaking. It looked as if he were thinking about something important. Lukas and the rest of the congregation sat very still. You could have heard a pin drop in the large white room. Everyone waited with bated breath to hear what Pastor Simon had to say. The white-haired pastor was known for taking his time before preaching; it was about making contact with the Lord, opening the lines between God, himself, and the congregation, clearing the room of anything that might obstruct the celestial dialogue. The whole service was beautiful, angelic, almost meditative, Lukas thought as he sat very calmly with his hands folded in his lap.

Lukas loved listening to Pastor Simon. He had first heard him by chance twelve years ago at a campsite in Sørlandet. His foster parents had sent him on holiday with their neighbors; either they couldn’t afford to take Lukas with them or didn’t want to go on holiday with him themselves. Lukas could not remember where they themselves were going—to the Mediterranean, something like that. It no longer mattered. He had been fifteen years old and initially felt very uncomfortable at the campsite, as everyone else there was very old compared to him. It was not the first time he’d felt like an outsider; he’d felt that way his whole life. He had been moved in and out of foster care ever since Social Services had removed him from the place that was supposed to be his home, and he had never settled down. Not at school either. No difficulties with the subjects. The problem was the other pupils. And the teachers. Or maybe people in general. Lukas gazed in admiration at Pastor Simon, who was still standing with his eyes closed and both palms facing the sky. Lukas could feel the heat. The glowing heat and the soft, bright light that filled his body and made him feel safe. He remembered the first time he’d had this feeling, at that campsite in Sørlandet twelve years ago. Not to begin with; at first he had felt like a fish out of water, as if everyone around him knew a secret that excluded him. The insecurity and the restlessness had affected him badly, and as always when this happened, the voices in his head started telling him to do things, things he could not say out loud. But then, as if God himself had lit up the path for him, he had found his way to one of the smaller tents on the outskirts of the campsite. A beam of light directed him to the white tent, and a Whisperer encouraged him to go there, one of the voices that was not so loud, not like the Shouters, he hated them, but it was not one of them, it was a nice Whisperer, calling softly in this foreign language. “Sequere via ad caelum.” The kind voice in his ear and the compelling light drew him closer. “Sequere via ad caelum. Follow the path to heaven.” Not long afterward he found himself standing inside the tent, mesmerized by the voices and the warmth and the light. And there, on a podium in the center, was Pastor Simon, his eyes shining, his voice powerful, and ever since that day Lukas had been saved.

Lukas looked across the congregation, which was still waiting silently for the pastor’s sermon to begin. He recognized every face. Most had been members of the church for years, but none as long as Lukas. He had not returned to his foster parents that summer, and no one had seemed to mind. Twelve years later he had risen up the ranks, and though he had yet to turn twenty-seven, he was now Pastor Simon’s right-hand man. His second-in-command. He helped Pastor Simon with all his activities, be they private or church-related. As far as Lukas was concerned, working for Pastor Simon was his mission in life. There was nothing Lukas would not do for him. Life was nothing compared to Pastor Simon, and if it came to it one day, he would gladly die for him. Death was no longer death, not for Pastor Simon’s followers. It was just another step nearer to heaven. Lukas suppressed a small smile as the warmth and the beautiful light filled him again.

He had not heard the voices in his head for a while now. From time to time, sure, but not loud and not often, not like when he was younger, when the voices, especially the Shouters, had told him to do things he knew he should not do. Even though he tried to resist, it had been futile, and deep down he knew that the Shouters would never give up. He had to obey them. Get it over with. Hope for the best. It had occurred to Lukas that the Whisperers and the Shouters were like God and the devil. Pastor Simon had explained to him once how one could not exist without the other. That these two poles of the universe and eternity were inseparable. That you should not be scared, because the path of light would always guide you. Succumbing to the devil’s commands from time to time was not mortal sin; it constituted proof of God’s existence, proof that sometimes God spoke in the devil’s voice to test you. It was a trial. Even so, Lukas was pleased that the voices, especially the Shouters’ voices, did not visit him so often now.

Deo sic per diabolum.

The path to God is through the devil.

Lukas was well aware that this was not the official position of their church. It would not be well received by the amateurs. You had to be one of the initiated in order to understand. But the amateurs were only there to be used, like the people now sitting in front of him in reverent silence. The initiated were the people who mattered. Those who had understood what Pastor Simon really meant about the path toward the light. And Lukas was one of them.

Tonight was amateur night. Lukas could feel how much he was looking forward to the coming weekend, when they would return to the forest and meet up with the other initiated. Deep down, Lukas could not understand why Pastor Simon insisted on holding meetings for the amateurs anymore—after all, they had more important work to do—but he would obviously never contradict the pastor. The pastor was in contact with God and knew exactly what needed doing. Lux domus. Wait until the weekend. Lukas had to press his lips together again so as not to sigh with pleasure as the warmth and the light flowed through his body once more.

At last Pastor Simon opened his mouth, and God was in the room. The members of the congregation sat as if glued to their seats and let themselves be filled with bliss. Lukas had heard this sermon before—it was written for the amateurs; it was fine, but simple—and besides, his mind was on the upcoming weekend. Lux domus. Another step closer to heaven. He shut his eyes and let the pastor’s words fill him, and then soon afterward it was over and the pastor was standing by the exit. Grateful hands and bowed heads proceeded past him on their way out of the hall, and then Lukas and the pastor were alone again, just the two of them, in the large white space.

Lukas followed the pastor into his office and helped him out of his cassock. He turned away so as not to see the pastor in his underwear, then helped him put on the suit he normally wore. Poured him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. He said nothing until the pastor had sat down in his chair behind the huge desk and indicated that God had left the room and that they were permitted to speak again.

“Another name has come forward.” Lukas cleared his throat and produced the envelope he’d kept in his inside jacket pocket during the whole service.

“Ah?” The pastor looked up at him and took the envelope. It contained a single white sheet of paper. Lukas did not know what it said, only that it was a name. He did not know what name it was; that was for the pastor’s eyes only. His task was to collect the envelope and give it to the pastor. Not to open it. He was merely a messenger, like an angel.

As usual, the pastor said nothing. He read the name, folded the sheet, and locked the envelope in the safe under the small table by the window.

“Thank you, Lukas. Was there anything else?” The pastor looked up at him.

Lukas smiled back at the kind, luminous gaze. “No, nothing. Oh, yes, your brother is here.”

“Nils? He’s here now?”

Lukas nodded. “He came right before the service. I asked him to wait in the back garden.”

“Good, Lukas, good. You can tell him to come in now.”

Lukas bowed and went to fetch the visitor.

“Why did you keep me waiting so long? I told you it was important.”

Simon’s brother, Nils, was also a high-ranking member of the church. Lukas had met him for the first time in the tent on Sørlandet, but even though he had been with them just as long, Nils was not quite up there by the pastor’s side. Lukas knew that there had been some arguing and dissenting voices when he had been given the role of second-in-command; many people felt that place belonged to Nils, but, as always, no one challenged the pastor. After all, he was the one who had been entrusted with the key to heaven.

“You know it’s important for the pastor to help the amateurs. He’s ready for you now.”

“Lux domus,” the brother with the short hair muttered.

“Lux domus.” Lukas smiled and showed him the way.

The pastor rose when they entered. His guest bowed and went up to his older brother. Kissed his hand and both cheeks.

“Sit, sit, my brother,” the pastor said, and resumed his seat behind the desk.

Nils glanced briefly at Lukas.

“Would you like me to leave?” Lukas offered immediately.

“No, no, stay.”

The pastor gestured casually to indicate that Lukas should sit down. He was one of the initiated; there was no reason for him to leave the room.

Lukas thought he detected a certain amount of irritation from Nils at the decision, but he said nothing.

“How are you all up there?” the pastor asked when the three of them were seated.

“All is well,” his brother replied.

“And the fence?”

“More than halfway finished.”

“Will it be as high as we discussed?”

“Yes.” His brother nodded.

“So what’s the reason you’re no longer up there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here when you have work to do there?”

Nils glanced at Lukas again. He appeared to have something on his mind but did not dare say it while Lukas was in the room.

“The flock nearly lost a member,” he muttered at length with his head bowed; it looked as if he were ashamed.

“What do you mean, lost a member?”

“We had an accident with one of the younger members.”

“What do you mean by an accident?”

“Just an accident. A mistake. It has been taken care of.”

“Who was it?”

“Rakel.”

“Rakel the good one? My Rakel?”

The brother acknowledged this, his neck bowed even more. “She disappeared from us one night. But she’s back now.”

“So everything is all right?”

“Yes, everything is all right.”

“So I ask you again, my brother, why are you down here when you have work to do up there?”

Nils looked up at the pastor, his big brother. Even though Nils was a man well past fifty, he seemed almost like a little boy who had just been told off by his father. “You asked me to keep you updated.”

“As long as everything is all right, then everything is all right, is it not?”

Nils nodded obediently. “It might have been easier if we’d had a telephone,” he said tentatively after a small pause.

The pastor leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “Do you have any other suggestions? Any other opinions? Are you dissatisfied with what God has given you?”

“No, no . . . that’s not what I . . . I just wanted . . .”

Nils struggled to find the words, and his face grew red. The pastor shook his head briefly, and a strange silence spread across the room. It was not awkward for Lukas—he was always on the pastor’s side—but it was uncomfortable for the brother, and he deserved it. How dare he question the pastor’s orders? The brother stood, still keeping his eyes on the floor.

“You’ll be coming up on Saturday?”

“We’ll be there on Saturday.”

“Good. See you then.” The pastor’s brother dipped his head and left the room.

“Lux domus,” Lukas said when only he and the pastor were left. That was how he liked it best, just the two of them.

The pastor smiled and looked at him. “Do you think we have done the right thing?”

“Absolutely,” Lukas agreed.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” the pastor said, pressing his fingertips together again.

“There is something I have to tell you,” Lukas said.

“Yes?”

“You know that it’s my job to take care of you.”

“Is it, Lukas? Is it?” The pastor smiled.

Lukas blushed faintly. He knew the pastor so well. He knew his voice. He knew when he was being praised.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we might have a problem with the congregation.”

“You mean this one?”

“Yes, the amateurs.”

“And what is the problem?”

“Well, that’s up to you to decide. I’m only here to tell you what I see and to take care of you.”

“Yes, so you say, Lukas, and I appreciate that. What is it?”

Lukas coughed slightly before he continued. “One of our regular supporters has a somewhat unfortunate association.”

The pastor shook his head. “You’re speaking in tongues now, Lukas. Spit it out.”

“An elderly lady in a wheelchair, glasses, she usually sits at the back.”

“Hildur?”

Lukas nodded.

“What about her?”

“She’s the mother of Holger Munch.”

“Who?”

“Holger Munch. He’s a police officer.”

“Oh, is he? I did not know that.”

Lukas was somewhat taken aback, because he knew that the pastor had heard of Holger Munch, but he said nothing.

“Hildur is his mother,” he said again.

“And why would that present a problem for us?”

“I just wanted you to be aware.”

“Are you thinking about the contents of the envelope now?”

Lukas nodded cautiously.

“Thank you very much, Lukas, but I don’t think that we need to worry about Holger Munch. We have more important things to think about right now, don’t we?”

“Yes, we have.” Lukas quietly got up.

“Lux domus, my friend.” The pastor smiled amicably.

“Lux domus,” Lukas said, smiling back at him.

He bowed deeply and left the pastor’s office without saying anything else.