'This may seem a stupid thing to ask a brother, but would you say you knew him well?' Harry asked.
Trond reflected. 'No, it's not a stupid question. Yes, we grew up together. And yes, Lev was outgoing and funny, and everyone–boys as much as girls–wanted to know him. But actually Lev was a lone wolf. He once said to me he had never had any real pals, just fans and girlfriends. There was a lot I didn't know about Lev. Like when the Gausten brothers came to cause trouble. There were three of them and they were all older than Lev. I and the other local boys cleared off as soon as we saw them. But Lev stayed where he was. For five years, they beat him up. Then, one day, the oldest boy came on his own–Roger. We cleared off as usual. When I peered round the corner of the house I could see Roger lying on the ground with Lev on top. Lev had his knees on Roger's arms and was holding a stick. I went closer to see. Apart from the heavy breathing, not a sound came from either of them. That was when I saw that Lev had put the stick in Roger's eye socket.'
Beate shifted position in her chair.
'Lev was fully concentrated, as if he was doing something which required great precision and care. He seemed to be trying to prise out the eyeball. Roger was weeping blood; it ran from the eye, down his ear and dripped from the lobe onto the tarmac. It was so quiet you could hear the blood hitting the ground. Drip, drip, drip.'
'What did you do?' Beate asked.
'I threw up. I've never been able to stand the sight of blood; it makes me dizzy and feel unwell.' Trond shook his head. 'Lev let Roger go and came back home with me. Roger had his eye repaired, but we never saw the Gausten brothers on our patch again. I'll never forget the sight of Lev with the stick, though. It was at moments like that when I thought my big brother could occasionally become someone else, someone I didn't know, who dropped by on the odd unexpected visit. Unfortunately the visits became more and more frequent after that.'
'You said something about him trying to kill a man.'
'It was a Sunday morning. Lev had a screwdriver and a pencil with him, and cycled down to one of the footbridges over Ringveien. You know these bridges, don't you? They're a bit scary because you have to walk on square metal grids and look down on the tarmac seven metres below. As I said, it was Sunday morning, and there weren't many people about. He loosened the screws of one of the grids and left two screws on one side and the pencil in the corner under the grid. Then he waited. First of all, a lady came along, looking 'freshly fucked' as he put it. Well dressed, tousled hair, cursing and hobbling on a broken stiletto heel.' Trond laughed quietly. 'For a fifteen-year-old, Lev had a lot about him.' He lifted the cup to his mouth and looked out of the kitchen window in surprise; a dustbin lorry was parked in front of the rubbish bins behind the rotary driers. 'Is it Monday today?'
'No,' said Harry, who hadn't touched his cup. 'What happened to the girl?
'There are two lines of metal grids. She took the one to the left. Bad luck, Lev said. He said he would have preferred her rather than the guy. Then the man came. He walked on the right-hand side. Because of the pencil in the corner the loose grid was a bit higher than the others. Lev thought the man had seen the danger as he walked slower and slower, the nearer he came. Just as he was going to take the last step he seemed to freeze in the air.'
Trond slowly shook his head as he watched the lorry groaning and chewing up all the neighbours' refuse.
'As he put his foot down, the grid opened like a trapdoor. You know, like the ones they used in hangings. The man broke both legs as he hit the tarmac. Had it not been a Sunday morning he would have been run over straightaway. Bad luck, Lev called it.'
'Did he say that to the police, too?' Harry asked.
'The police, yes,' Trond said, gazing into his cup. 'They came two days later. I opened the door. They asked if the bike outside belonged to anyone in the house. I said yes. Turned out a witness had seen Lev cycling away from the footbridge and had given a description of the bike and a boy in a red jacket. So I showed them the quilted jacket Lev had been wearing.'
'You?' Harry said. 'You gave your own brother away?'
Trond sighed. 'I said it was my bike. And my jacket. Lev and I look very similar.'
'Why on earth did you do that?'
'I was just fourteen and too young for them to do anything. Lev would have ended up in the detention centre where Roger Gausten was.'
'But what did your mother and father say?'
'What could they say? Everyone who knew us knew that Lev had done it. He was the nutcase who pinched sweets and threw stones, while I was the good, kind little boy who did his homework and helped old ladies across the road. It was never talked about afterwards.'