We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [174]
"You're out late."
Albert recognized Herman's thickset shape.
"I don't believe I need to account to you for my movements," he said curtly.
"Nice clothes," said Herman, ignoring the hostility in Albert's voice. Albert increased his pace. Herman did the same. "You seem quite youthful tonight." He smirked, making no attempt to hide the falseness of this remark. Albert stopped abruptly and turned to face the young man.
"Tell me, what do you want from me?"
Herman flung out his hands. "Want from you? What do you mean? I don't want anything from you. I just thought I'd keep you company for a while. But perhaps you prefer to be alone?" Albert made no reply, but turned and continued along Havnegade. He passed the slipways and the shipyard. "Pleasant dreams!" Herman called out after him. "You could probably do with a good night's sleep after this evening's exertions."
Albert jumped, and tightened his grip on his walking stick. He briefly considered going back and punishing the scoundrel, but dropped the thought instantly. Those days were long gone. They were roughly the same height and breadth, he and Herman, but there was half a century between them. It wouldn't be an equal match. Not only would he lose the fight, he'd lose his dignity too. The realization knocked him flat. He might as well already be lying on the ground, bleeding.
He walked up the stone steps to the house in Prinsegade and let himself in. He entered the drawing room without switching on the light and sat down heavily on the sofa. How could that rogue know what had occurred at the widow's? Had he been spying on them, or was he just guessing? Was it so obvious what was going on? But the events of the evening had surprised even him. Had others seen things that he'd failed to spot himself?
Yes, he'd toyed with a few notions when he was getting ready for his dinner with her, he'd admit that much. But he realized too that he hadn't really wanted it enough. He'd entertained the possibility that something might happen. But now that it had, he suddenly felt exposed. If Herman could see it, then the whole town could. He had to stop it now. He understood what it was he'd felt in the hall, when Klara Friis surrendered to him. It was fear, fear of his routine life being knocked out of its orbit, fear of life's unpredictability, fear that everything he'd parted from in preparation for his twilight years would reclaim him. And Klara, he knew, had more strength than him. Just as Herman did. And for the same reason: they were young.
A panting embrace in a darkened hall, a street fight: those were the prerogatives of youth, not of age, and God help the old man who came too near youth and thought he could warm himself by its fire. The price for that was ridicule, and he'd have to pay.
The old should stick to their dying sun. This house, in which he'd built up and managed his business—this was the sun he circled. He shouldn't try to rebel against the laws of gravity that controlled life's end. During the war he'd earned a reputation for being strange. Now perhaps he was stuck with that reputation; well, he could live with that. But he didn't want to be thought of as a fool. To walk around the town fully dressed and yet appear naked to the world was a shame he couldn't bear.
The next day he slept late and didn't venture out. The following day he rowed to Sorekrogen, alone, to tend to his shrimp nets. They were full as always: almost ten pounds. He emptied the nets into the container of the boat well and sat contemplating the myriad tiny creatures. He remembered how proudly Knud Erik had walked home to his mother in Snaregade with his bucket full of them. He heaved the container back onto the rail and tipped it into the water. For a brief moment the shrimp swarmed in a brown cloud, then vanished.
Being on the water brought him no peace. He missed the boy. But there was something else, something stronger, tearing at him: an inner pressure that swelled the more he refused acknowledge it. It hadn't just been fear he'd felt when Klara had pressed herself against