We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [173]
Klara leapt to her feet. She'd just remembered her boy. It was time for Albert to leave, but before he managed to stand up she'd disappeared through the door to the kitchen. He brought the chairs back inside and put them by the dining table, then waited in the parlor until she returned with Knud Erik.
"I've taken up far too much of your time," he said apologetically.
"But you haven't even had your coffee!" She led him to the table and pushed him down in one of the chairs. Her movements had acquired a new freedom. "Now you stay here while I make it." Pulling out a drawer of linens, she made up a bed for Knud Erik on the sofa and then left. The boy undressed and crept under the covers.
"Are we going fishing tomorrow morning?" he asked.
"No, not tomorrow. We can row to Langeholm and swim there, if you like."
But there was no reply. The boy was already asleep.
Klara appeared from the kitchen with a pot of coffee in her hand.
"It's been a long day."
She sat down in front of him and filled his cup. The lamp in the parlor had not yet been lit, and in the dusk her pale skin shone above the neck of her dress. They sat for a while in silence as the dark intensified around them. They could hear Knud Erik breathing from the sofa, in the undisturbed rhythm of sleep. Somewhere nearby a clock struck ten, deep and sonorous. In the growing darkness her features grew indistinct and began to swim before his eyes, as if making strange grimaces.
"Thank you for a lovely evening," he said, and got up.
She was as startled, as if she'd been suddenly wakened.
"Are you leaving now?"
Her face was a white spot in the dusk, and he couldn't read its expression. Was she tipsy? She'd drunk the first glass and he'd poured her a second. She'd had no more than that, but women have less tolerance for it than men. He felt a sudden misgiving about the whole situation. He wanted to get away.
She rose to her feet and accompanied him to the hall. But she didn't turn on the light, and she closed the parlor door behind them. His heart was hammering at the wall of his chest like a prisoner begging for release. Again he felt the sharp shooting pain in his head. Then he felt her. Her hands fumbled on his chest, apparently unaware of his pounding heart. Then, abruptly, she flung her arms around his neck.
"I need to say goodbye to you properly," she mumbled.
Her lips moved searchingly across his face until they found his mouth and pressed against it. The pounding of his heart grew stronger. A black wave surged inside him and rendered him helpless. He wanted to push her away, but he couldn't. She leaned into him with all her weight; he could feel the soft pressure of her breasts. Her hips rubbed against his. A moan escaped from her, like the prelude to a fit of tears.
"Ma" came a voice from the parlor.
She froze and held her breath.
"Ma, where are you?"
Klara gasped, then flinched.
"I'm here, in the hall."
"You sound so strange. Is anything wrong?"
"No, go back to sleep. It's late."
"What are you doing, Ma?"
"I'm saying goodbye to Captain Madsen."
"I want to say goodbye too."
They heard him shuffle across the floor. Then he stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette.
"Why isn't the light on?"
Klara found the switch and flicked it. Albert ran a hand through the boy's hair.
"Good night, son. I think your mother is right, it's time to turn in."
He turned to Klara but avoided looking at her face.
"Good night, Mrs. Friis, and thank you for a lovely evening."
He shook her hand. Her palm was hot and sweaty. Even this formal contact suddenly felt too intimate. He withdrew his hand and took his straw hat from the coat rack. Then he opened the door.
He heard it close behind him. Too agitated to go straight home, he headed toward the harbor. Turning into Havnegade, he saw a figure get up from the skipper's bench across from Sønderrenden.
"Good evening, Captain Madsen."
Albert nodded briefly from under his straw hat. He had no desire to strike up a conversation. But the other man caught up with him and began walking beside him along