Dreaming softens you and makes you unfit for daily work.
Henriette Heise (quoting Louise Bourgeois), Installation
I stood on the tree-lined promenade that runs along the fjord. The limes were coming into leaf. Evening light played on the gently rippling water. A tongue probed inside my sleeve, licking my wrist. Startled, I cried out.
‘He’s just being friendly.’ A man’s voice. Brandt, the doctor, my neighbour.
‘Now that’s news! I didn’t know you owned a dog.’ I only spoke after he had pulled his pet to heel.
‘I’m looking after him for my sister,’ Brandt said from beneath the trees.
‘So you’ve had guests too.’ I turned back to the fjord, disgusted by the wetness on my wrist. I didn’t want him to see me wipe it off.
‘Bess, I’m so sorry about Halland. Dreadful!’
‘Yes.’
‘I saw him.’
‘You were there? On the square?’
‘I saw you as well.’
My feet felt cold. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’
‘Have the police found anything?’
‘No.’
‘An old friend’s staying with me. He’s researching photographs in the museum archives. Perhaps you’ve seen him?’
‘We’ve said hello. He takes a lot of strolls for someone who’s meant to be busy.’
‘I’ve been thinking of having you round … How are you?’
The fjord had become a blend of blues and greens.
‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Funeral?’ The concept seemed beyond me.
‘Won’t there be one?’
I felt like saying, ‘How should I know?’ Stupid but true. I supposed there would be a funeral. But what was I meant to do? How did one go about getting people buried?
‘The detective’s been round, then?’ Brandt said.
‘Yes, he’s been round. If that’s what you want to call it. Do you know him?’
‘We’ve met.’
‘Who’s your friend, when he’s not spying on people?’
‘Sorry about that. He told me he’d seen Funder, that’s all. Surely you must agree that the whole thing’s most alarming.’ His eyes shone very blue.
‘You should get yourself a straw hat,’ I said, ‘being so chic and all.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t you remember when we had that argument?’ I asked.
‘We’ve never had an argument!’ he protested.
‘You shouted at me and said I should write books about something!’
‘We were drunk!’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I was.’
‘We disagreed about which battles are worth fighting.’
‘We did?’
‘You and Halland.’
‘We walk in the gloaming as we sleep,’ Brandt quoted.
He now stood close to me. He was real. He smelled sweet and sour.
‘I don’t sleep any longer,’ I said.
‘I think you can.’
The dog whimpered. Brandt unhooked its lead so it could run down to the water’s edge. The fjord glowed a dull green.