We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [181]
No, he didn't believe the boy was the problem. Klara's anger was over something between the two of them, though for the life of him, he didn't know what. Or perhaps he himself was the problem. He both wanted her and didn't. She was a disruptive force in his life. Either way, she'd now rejected him. So wouldn't the wisest course of action be to let this rejection, however hurtful, stand?
Then what about the boy?
If only the two things could be kept separate. But they were hopelessly entangled now and he was the one responsible for that. His thoughts ran in circles, taking him nowhere. He drank his coffee and stared into the darkness.
His housekeeper entered and asked him when he'd like his dinner. He had no appetite and asked her to wait until eight o'clock. He put on his coat again and went back out into the November rain. A few minutes later he was standing opposite Mrs. Rasmussen's house in Teglgade. It was an age since he'd last been there. What did she think of him now? They'd been close, but he couldn't go back to her. She'd scrutinize him, and in that forthright way of hers, she'd target his sorest points. She'd do it with the best intentions, undoubtedly. But good intentions were of no use to him. He felt utterly lost.
He turned down Filosofgangen, then continued south along the harbor, and soon he found himself in front of Klara's house again. The light was on, but the windows were steamed up from the heating and he couldn't see inside. He continued his wandering. An hour later he was back there for the third time, furious with himself.
His longing kept drawing him back, but his fear drove him away again each time.
A period of waiting began. What was he waiting for? He didn't know. But he felt in his bones that his own death was drawing near. He looked at himself in the mirror, and where previously he'd found evidence of undiminished strength, he now saw only the ravages of time. He hadn't known what was lacking in his life until he met Knud Erik and Klara. Without them his old age was like Ithaca without Penelope and Telemachus. But with them? Could it even go on?
It seemed a countdown had started that couldn't be stopped.
He stopped going out while it was still light, for fear of meeting Knud Erik. He wouldn't know what to say to the boy. He'd be unable to handle seeing the lad's face light up. Or—far worse—seeing him turn away in disappointment.
But in the evenings, after a dinner that he mostly left untouched, his restlessness drove him out into the November darkness. We saw him wandering through the streets, icy drops of rain lashing his face.
He stood on Snaregade again, watching the lights glow in the windows of her house.
Then the waiting ended. One day Klara turned up outside his door and asked to come in. Her face displayed no joy at seeing him, but remained hard and closed, as if she'd made an important decision and was here to inform him of it. He helped her off with her coat and escorted her into the drawing room. She didn't look at him as she spoke, but stared down at her lap. Her voice was neutral, almost flat, as though she was reeling off something she'd memorized.
"I think we need to find a solution to what's happened between us," she began, and inhaled deeply. Only her uneven breathing betrayed any emotion. "We can't go on like this. You always visit us, Captain Madsen—I mean Albert. That's not right. I hear things and people stare and I'm well aware of what they're thinking. They think that I'm a kept woman, and I don't want people to think that of me."
She stopped. Her hands, which had lain unnaturally still in her lap during her speech, suddenly clenched.
"But, Klara, dearest..." He put out his own hand to touch her. She froze and then recoiled.
"Let me finish. It's no use saying they don't, because they do. I know more about what people think than you do, Captain Madsen." Still she didn't look up; instead, she focused her attention on her knuckles. "I can't live like that." She went on. "Henning's dead. I'm a widow. But Knud Erik and Edith need a father, and