As Lukas rode his bicycle, he felt the lovely spring air on his face. He was in high spirits today; he had risen early, carried out his chores, morning prayer and housework. It was his responsibility to keep the chapel nice and tidy, an important job that he valued. To describe morning prayer as a chore was wrong. Morning prayer was a joy. Sometimes he would even start praying the moment he woke up, while he was still in bed, even though he really ought to get dressed and have his breakfast first. But he just couldn’t help himself. It felt so right. Talking to God. For that to be his first activity as soon as he had opened his eyes. He started every prayer by expressing gratitude. He thanked God for taking care of his nearest and dearest. For Pastor Simon. For everyone up in the forest. Occasionally he wondered if he ought to have included his former families in his thanks, but to be honest he could no longer remember their faces. His birth family who had given him up, his foster family who hadn’t cared about him all that much, he was not angry with any of them—why on earth would he be angry? Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do. It was a no-brainer as far as Lukas was concerned. If he had not grown up the way he had, he never would have ended up at the campsite in Sørlandet, never had the chance to be completely happy in union with God and Pastor Simon. Lukas grinned from ear to ear and trod harder on the bike pedals. Why would he be dissatisfied with anything? He had no cause. Life was wonderful. Perfect. He chuckled to himself and whispered a short prayer. A thank-you. Thank you, God, for the birds in the trees and this fine road. Thank you, God, for spring and all the other seasons. Thank you, God, for making me important, for finding Pastor Simon for me, because I wake up and fall asleep every day with joy in my heart. He said this last part out loud as he felt the warmth and the light course through his blood. The pastor was in direct contact with God; Lukas could bear witness to that himself, it was not nonsense. He had seen it happen several times. He had seen God in the room. Thank you, God, for purifying me. Thank you, God, for the beautiful wildflowers along the road. Thank you, God, for the Whisperers. Thank you, God, for the Shouters. Thank you, God, for making my life complete.
Lukas got off his bicycle, deployed the kickstand, and sat down on a rock. They met in various places, and this was one of them. Not that they’d met many times. This was perhaps the eighth time, wasn’t it? The woman came by car. The last time had been some weeks ago. Normally she would turn up, open the window, hand him the envelope, and drive off without saying anything. However, the last time had been different. She’d gotten out of the car, lit a cigarette, and chatted with him briefly, not about anything important, just about the weather and things like that. He did not know how old she was—thirty-five or thereabouts. She was always quite well dressed, with ankle boots and a coat or a smart jacket, and she wore bright red lipstick and had a lovely smile. She had long dark hair and a straight nose, and she always wore sunglasses whatever the weather. The woman was clearly not one of the initiated, Lukas had no doubt about that. You could tell from the way she dressed. Lipstick and ankle boots and sunglasses, even cigarettes. In the Bible she would have been a whore, but it was exactly as Pastor Simon had said: Sometimes the path to the light goes through silent darkness. Lukas felt that he and the woman balanced each other out, with her on one side, himself on the other. Both messengers. Brought together by God, for God. He got up and stretched his arms, kicked a pebble on the ground into the bushes. Hummed a little to himself. He’d started doing that recently. He did not sing out loud, just quietly to himself, a melodious chant. Eternity has already begun. He clearly remembered the first time Pastor Simon had said it. It was the third day of the Sørlandet camp, after Lukas had been saved and found God. Eternity has already begun. Lukas went on humming and looked up at the trees again. A nuthatch was fluffing its feathers. Farther in, he could hear a woodpecker hammering away. Last Saturday he had seen an owl up at the house in the forest. Lux domus. Many people did not like owls, they regarded them as birds of ill omen, but Lukas knew better. The weekend had been just as rewarding as he had expected, perhaps even better. Nils had done a good job in the forest. It really had become a paradise.
A car pulled up and stopped a short distance from him. It was not the same car as the last time, but it was her; he recognized her through the windshield. Her long dark hair, drawn back into a ponytail, lipstick, but no sunglasses this time. It looked as if she had no intention of getting out of the car today. She simply summoned him, opened the window, and stuck out the envelope. She scooted around a little nervously, as if something were wrong. As if she were in a hurry and just wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Lukas held out his hand for the envelope, and at that moment she turned to him, glanced at him briefly before turning away again.
Lukas’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were two different colors. One was brown. The other blue. Lukas had never seen anything like it in his whole life. He stood frozen holding the envelope, unable to utter a single word, and for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt a kind of terror creep over him, drops of something dark in his happy blood. The woman with the different-colored eyes closed the window and rejoined the traffic on Maridalsveien. Soon she was gone again, just as quickly as she had appeared.