“I don’t know why you’re lying, but I know that you are. And, as long as you’re lying, don’t expect anything from me. Thanks for the tea.”
She didn’t realize how much she was shaking until she was outside in the street.
Anna caught the bus back to the university. She called Johannes, but it went straight to voicemail. When she reached the exit with Bellahøj police station and the bus turned into Frederikssundvej, she spotted Cecilie on the sidewalk. She was stooping and had covered her head with a scarf. When she looked up and saw the bus, she started to run. She didn’t see Anna. Despite the weather, she was wearing boots with stiletto heels and a beige jacket with a fur collar, which was fashionable, but not very warm.
Why were they so different? Why did Anna have a mother who often looked at her as though she were from another planet? Cecilie was now parallel to the window where Anna was sitting, two-thirds back in the bus. Her foot slipped, but she recovered her balance. She pushed her way onto the crowded bus and stood where Anna could observe her, unnoticed. Cecilie looked rough. She always wore red lipstick, but today her lips were cracked and devoid of color, and she looked as if she had been crying. Over Anna? Over Lily? Yet she hadn’t called. Jens had called. Seven times, since she had hung up on him. He was like the spy character from Stratego, willing to sound out the terrain, to die for the flag. Anna had ignored it and let the call go to voice mail.
Cecilie was clutching a strap. Anna was half-hidden by a night bus timetable, and if she moved her head she would be out of sight. She watched her mother and felt like crying. She missed her. When she had met Thomas, she had finally dared to separate from Cecilie. You can go now, Mom; you can get fat, bake cakes, but go, please. I have my own family now, I don’t need you anymore. Not in that way. She wanted Thomas to provide everything that had previously been Cecilie’s responsibility. Comfort, support, solidarity. For a short period, she convinced herself she had succeeded. Because she wanted it so desperately. Then her house of cards collapsed, and Anna fell flat on her face. And who picks you up when you’re down? Your mother.
Cecilie turned her head, and Anna could study her profile. She’s thinking about me, Anna thought. And yet she doesn’t call me; still she chooses to wait until I come to her. It was the game they always played. They got off at the same stop along with fifteen other passengers. Anna was among the last to leave. Cecilie didn’t look up but walked down Jagtvejen as quickly as her high-heeled boots would allow her. Anna stopped at the corner and looked at her mother as she disappeared.
At the university she met Professor Ewald in the corridor.
“Why don’t I give you a lift on Saturday?” the professor offered. “To the funeral, I mean. I could pick you up at twelve fifteen?” She looked cautiously at Anna; they had barely spoken since their minor run-in the other day.
“Yes, please,” Anna said. “I had actually decided not to go, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“I’m so glad,” Professor Ewald said, warmly.
“Any news?” Anna asked.
“No.” Professor Ewald shrugged. “Only that dreadful rumor.” Her eyes shone.
“What rumor?” Anna feigned ignorance.
“Rumor has it he was full of parasites, cysticerci from Taenia solium. That there were thousands of them in his tissue and that’s what caused his death.” Professor Ewald gave Anna a look of horror.
Anna gulped. Should she confirm it?
“Don’t listen to rumors,” she said and put her hand affectionately on Professor Ewald’s shoulder. Professor Ewald nodded.
Anna continued down the corridor. She wanted a word with the World’s Most Irritating Detective. Why on earth were those parasites a secret?
She was starving. She went through Johannes’s drawers and found some crackers. They were stale and sweet, but she ate the whole packet. Then she drank a glass of water, switched on her computer, checked her e-mails, proofread the conclusion of her dissertation for the umpteenth time, chewed a nail, scratched her head, and when she had finally run out of displacement activities, she called Ulla Bodelsen in Odense.
The telephone was answered on the fifth ring, when Anna was about to give up.
“Yes?”
“My name is Anna,” Anna said. Her heart was beating wildly.
“Hi.” The voice sounded friendly.
“I know this might sound weird,” she said quickly. “But I’m looking for a woman who used to be a health visitor in the Odense area about twenty-eight, twenty-nine years ago. I know that her name was Ulla Bodelsen, and . . . er . . . I found your number on the Internet.”