Helene Eriksen turned off the ignition, got out of her car and lit a cigarette. She zipped her quilted jacket right up to her neck. A meeting in a deserted road, under the cover of darkness, this late at night? She shouldn’t be doing this. She took a deep drag on her cigarette, watched the red tip light up her fingers and realized that she was shivering. From cold, possibly – October had arrived and brought with it a darkness normally associated with November or December – but that was not the only reason. She pulled down her sleeves and continued to peer down the empty road after the headlights she knew would soon appear.
‘Show me.’
Tongue out.
‘Good girl. Next.’
It was more than thirty years ago, and still it had not lost its power over her. She continued to wake up in the middle of the night, sheets drenched in sweat from the nightmare where she was back sleeping on the old sofa again, scared of where her brother had been, scared of the consequences. The fear of being punished by the women, if she said the wrong thing. Thought the wrong thoughts. She had been seven years old then, she was over forty now, yet it had never left her.
‘It’s not your fault.’
They were the first words he had said to her, the psychologist. She had been eleven years old, twelve maybe, she could not remember, only that his room had smelt strange, and she had struggled to speak.
‘It’s not your fault, Helene. I want you to begin with that. This is what you need to tell yourself: it was not your fault. Can you do this for me? Are you able to start with that?’
Helene Eriksen climbed on to the bonnet, pulled up her legs and sat in the darkness, her eyes taking in the landscape around her. The shadows of the trees started to take on strange shapes. She tossed aside the half-finished cigarette and got back behind the wheel. It was safer inside. She stuck the key in the ignition and turned it ninety degrees so that she could switch on the heater and the radio.
‘Show me.’
Tongue out.
‘Good boy. Next.’
She pressed a few buttons and found a radio station she liked, music to distract her mind. She turned up the sound and sat drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, while she peered out through the windscreen for the lights that would soon show up.
‘Do you think you can manage that, Helene?’
Their hair had been bleached. They had all worn the same clothes. Done everything the women told them. Always the same, day in and day out. School, yoga, housework, homework, pills, school, yoga, housework, homework, pills. Thirty years ago. How long would it retain its hold over her?
‘I know it’s difficult, but I’m here to help you.’
Helene Eriksen took out the packet from her pocket and lit another cigarette, although she did not really want one, rolled down the window so the smoke could escape, but closed it quickly; way too cold outside.
‘What are you thinking about, Helene?’
Twelve years old in a chair in Oslo in front of a strange man with a moustache.
‘It’s not your fault, do you understand that, Helene?’
She took another drag on her cigarette and turned up the volume of the radio again; she liked how the music filled the car.
Bankruptcy Auction. Market garden for sale.
She had been twenty-two years old and she had done what they wanted her to do. Got an education. Made something of herself.
Location: Hurumlandet. 28 hectares of land. Three greenhouses. In good condition, but in need of restoration.
She had caught the bus out there. And she had felt so certain afterwards; this was what she really wanted to do with her life.
Help others.
Helene turned off the radio, checked her watch and got out of the car again. She considered lighting another cigarette but decided there was no point, so she just stood with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, staring into the darkness.
‘What are you thinking about now, Helene?’
But she had to do something. She lit another cigarette.
More than thirty years ago? Surely she should be over it by now?
Helene Eriksen took another drag on her cigarette as the lights she had been waiting for suddenly appeared and the white van pulled up and stopped right next to her.
‘Hi, what’s up?’ the man behind the wheel said.
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard?’ Helene replied.
‘Heard what?’
‘Tell me you’re joking,’ Helene said, and went right up to him.
She could see him mulling it over, before he spoke.
‘Yes, but it has nothing to do with me.’
Helene really wanted to believe him. She would have given anything to be able to believe him, but she could not quite convince herself.
Her brother.
He had no clothes on.
He was completely naked, but his whole body was covered by … feathers?
‘They’re asking questions,’ she said, tightening her jacket around her.
‘About what?’
‘About everyone, everything.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Helene. Do you really think I did it?’
‘You were down there, weren’t you? In your cottage? All summer? You weren’t at home, were you? I just had to … ask you. I love you so much.’ She smiled weakly.
Her brother smiled and stuck his hand out of the open side window.
‘I love you too, Helene, but seriously? Why are we meeting in the middle of nowhere, late at night? There’s no need for that.’
She felt like an idiot now. She tightened her jacket even more as her brother smiled and held her hand through the open window.
‘No, I know, it’s just … You know, the feathers and everything.’
‘I finished with that a long time ago. Now go home and get some sleep, will you?’
Helene Eriksen felt his warm hand leave hers before he rolled up the window.
And then he was gone again, just as swiftly as he had appeared.