The Dinosaur Feather(145)

“The next time I was at the library, I couldn’t help myself. I looked up the accident on a microfilm. I wanted to see a picture of your parents, read about the accident, mourn the terrible fate my boyfriend had suffered, wallow in it a bit, I suppose.” Vibe looked down. “I had almost given up when I found a newspaper clipping. ‘Tragic vacation mystery solved’ was the headline. ‘The five-year-old boy from Viborg, who miraculously survived the car crash that claimed the lives of his parents three days ago, has finally been identified and reunited with his grandparents.’ I stared at the photo that accompanied the article; the police had released it in an attempt to find out who you were. It had been taken in the hospital and it was like a bad joke. You were black and blue, swollen, and unrecognizable. With bandages around your head. The caption read: ‘Five-year-old Søren has finally been reunited with his family.’ I ran out of the library, terrified and furious. That night, I called you. Knud answered the telephone, and I told him what I knew. They had lied and they must tell you the truth. Knud asked to meet me the next day, by the embankment behind our school.

“He was sitting on a bench staring at the water in the moat when I got there. It was windy and I was cold. He hugged me. Elvira didn’t want Søren to know, he said. She was adamant that you had suffered enough and didn’t think you needed reminding of the tragedy, if you couldn’t remember anything yourself. If it ever surfaced some day, they would be there for you, explain it to you and support you. But until that happened, they would keep their mouths shut. Suppression is the body’s way of protecting you against the unbearable, was her opinion.

“Knud had serious doubts that this was the right thing to do, he told me, and I got the impression that it had driven a massive wedge between them. Knud was convinced that children were survivors; they healed quickly; they adapted and compensated like plants that wither in the shade and thrive in the sun. But Elvira said no. In the end, Knud reluctantly gave in, however, he did so in exchange for Elvira’s promise that if ever any scrap of your memory returned, they would put their cards on the table. That was the deal. They shook hands on it.

“‘Dear Vibe,’ Knud whispered to me. ‘Please don’t tell him. Leave it alone. We have peace at last.’ He beseeched me. I said I would think about it. Elvira knew nothing, neither did you, but in the days that followed, Knud looked at me, observed me, hoping and praying. All of a sudden telling you seemed pointless. You were seventeen years old and at high school. You were head of the student council, sporty, clever, popular, and easy-going. Why would I reveal a secret that appeared to have had no ill effect on you? I asked you about Peter and Kristine. You never wondered why; after all, I had just learned that your parents were really your grandparents, so you answered me willingly. You said, of course you thought about your parents from time to time, especially when Knud and Elvira mourned them at Christmas and on Kristine’s birthday in May, when Elvira and Knud would light a bonfire in the garden, even if it rained. You were supposed to look a lot like your dad, and it might have been fun to have a dad you looked like. But Knud and Elvira were the best parents you could wish for and, at this point, your eyes always grew tender and compelling. Think of all the fun we have, you said. And you did. The house was full of life.

“I met with Knud and told him my decision. He was relieved. My knowledge of your secret faded into the background. We left high school, we moved in together, life was easy. You applied to the police academy,” Vibe smiled, “and, at the time, I never wondered why you were so preoccupied with mysteries. We were good together; our relationship grew stronger. It wasn’t until I wanted to have children that the secret surfaced, when you simply said ‘no’ without any explanation. I forced you to dig deeper, but all I could deduce from your many excuses was that you were scared. Why would you be scared of having children? We were in our late twenties and we loved each other. Or, at least, I believed we did.” She glanced up at him. “And you clearly had the capacity for loving a child. You had been loved yourself and you were good with children, I had seen you with them. You can’t fake something like that. The only explanation that made sense was that the secret terrified you subconsciously. In your mind children were abandoned, lying alone in a room with a high ceiling and no one coming to get them . . . so no wonder you didn’t want children.

“For the second time I grew convinced that telling you the truth was the right thing to do,” she said. “Knud and I had lunch in town and he was clearly shocked when I brought up the accident again. At first, he didn’t want to talk about it; you promised, he said. But then I asked him if he had ever considered there might be a link between it and the fact that you didn’t want children. It made a deep impression on him. After all, he really wanted some great-grandchildren,” she smiled, and Søren felt a spot in his heart glow red-hot.