The Dinosaur Feather(146)

“And suddenly it made sense to both of us. There had to be a connection. When we parted that day, I felt confident, but very nervous. We had made a decision. I had no idea how you would react, or how furious you would be with Elvira and Knud, whether I should tell you that I already knew or pretend that I didn’t. . . . We had to plan it down to the last detail, I decided. Knud had promised to call once he had spoken to Elvira.

“Only he never called back. It was one of the worst weeks of my life. I grew more and more angry and desperate. I was so fed up with your stubborn, no-nonsense attitude and deeply hurt you wouldn’t even consider having children with me. I slept in the living room and every morning when I woke up, I wanted to rip your head off. Knud still hadn’t called, but it no longer mattered, I told myself.

“That Sunday we went to have lunch with them, as we always did, and that’s when I realized why Knud never called me. . . . That bloody illness,” Vibe burst out and stared blankly into space before she continued.

“The grotesque part was that I met John in the middle of it all. When Knud died, I was in love. I visited Knud two days before he died, when he was deteriorating rapidly, but he still had plenty to say. For the first time ever, he begged me directly.

“Please don’t tell him, Vibe. Let it rest. Give my boy peace. He’s hurting so much. Give him peace.” I held Knud’s hand and I was consumed with doubt. Perhaps he was right? You were only just coping; Knud was right, I had never seen you in such pain. Why would I hurt you even more? I was so confused: did silence equal peace? I still don’t know. But I just couldn’t do it. Defy Elvira’s wish, defy Knud who was about to die, and push you into an abyss where none of us could foresee the consequences.”

“Does John know?” Søren demanded.

“Yes, he does.”

Søren groaned.

“Why now?” he asked.

She waited a little. Folded her hands around her stomach.

“When you called today and said you wanted to talk to me about something important, I thought you might have found out. There’s not much on the Internet, but there’s a bit. Besides, the old microfilms are still available, in regional archives and at the central library. You might have become suspicious and searched the archive yourself. After all, you’re a detective,” she laughed. “Perhaps you had decided to investigate your family history, what did I know? But I prepared for the worst. And . . .” Her face crumpled. “Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined it would be something so awful. That you had a daughter and she died. You poor man,” she said suddenly. “You poor, poor man.” She uttered the words so tenderly, and when she embraced Søren he rested his head on her shoulder. She smelled warm and familiar, her huge belly was bursting with life and she stroked his hair for a long time. John came back. Søren got up and the two men had an awkward hug. Vibe felt uneasy about Søren going home.

“You can sleep on the couch,” she assured him.

But he wanted to go home. “I’m okay,” he said.


When Søren woke up Saturday morning, he was angry. He was angry while he ate his breakfast, angry while he showered. He was angry when he stopped off at Bellahøj police station to switch cars, and angry when he reached Herlev Church for Professor Helland’s funeral. He sat in the back row watching Anna, Professor Freeman, Mrs. Helland, and the other two hundred mourners. His anger didn’t abate until the service started. Helland’s coffin was covered with colorful flowers. The roar of the organ opened the floodgates of his thoughts and he almost calmed down during the sermon, watching the backs of Anna’s and Freeman’s heads, one more stubborn than the other.

Maja’s funeral had been the worst day of his life, he had thought at the time. He had arrived late on purpose and was the last to enter the church. A funeral could be pompous, or almost euphoric, or indifferent, but when the coffin was the size of a box of dates, it was a nightmare. Søren’s nightmare. No one knew who he was, and he didn’t think Bo had seen him. During the service, Søren had wanted to stand up and scream: “My daughter’s in that coffin. My daughter.” But he had said nothing. It had been the worst day of his life. Or so he had thought.

Søren attended the wake after Professor Helland’s funeral. It was held at a funeral home not far from the church. He stood in a corner, watching everyone, speaking to no one and reeking of police. Mrs. Helland was distant. She was steadily drinking wine, speaking to people, but never for very long, and Søren noticed her gaze flutter like a butterfly. Just before five o’clock she made her excuses and left. Her daughter, Nanna, stayed behind. People began to trickle home. Søren could hear Nanna apologize. Her eyes were red, but she seemed more self-composed than her mother. She tidied up a little, and around six an older man offered her a lift home. She said good-bye to the remaining mourners, shook hands and was hugged. Søren went to his car. He had only attended the wake because he was desperate. He had even brought handcuffs, ready to slam them on the wrists of anyone who looked suspicious. How ridiculous.