We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [194]
"They can't all be frauds."
"Possibly not. But it's hard for ordinary people like us to tell the difference."
He looked down at his big hands. For a moment he listened to his own voice. It sounded humble. He wasn't used to talking like this. He spoke about his own defeat in a frank, even regretful tone. Who could say if it was false or not. He was the shooting star who'd crashed and repented and learned from his mistakes.
"I've become wiser," he pronounced, "since I allowed myself to be robbed. Why don't you just leave your money where it is? I imagine it's well invested."
"You don't understand," she said. "I have other plans."
But by the time they arrived at Copenhagen Central Railway Station, her confidence had deserted her. She took Herman's arm like a child grabbing its father's hand, terrified of becoming lost in the crowds. He'd sensed this fear when they boarded the train in Korsør: she'd tossed her head haughtily when she stepped onto the running board, but a shudder seemed to pass through her, hinting at a feral panic she couldn't control. She'd sat straight up on the seat opposite him and avoided looking out the window. Later, as they passed Slagelse, she'd snapped out of her trance and turned to look at the scenery, but she'd had to shut her eyes right away. For most of her life, her only landscape had been the flat meadows of Birkholm. To her, Marstal was "the city." But you could fit its whole market square, church, and high street beneath the vaulted roof of Copenhagen Station, where the buzz of countless travelers gathered into one great shouting echo.
***
The first place he took her was the vestibule of the stock exchange. He deliberately chose late afternoon, when the prices had been set for the day and the brutal circus known as the post-trading period had begun. His intention was quite simply to scare her off. He discovered he had a protective instinct, which, had he been at all interested in his own psychology, he might have described as selflessness. There was no need for her to be conned out of her money, as he'd been. Since he'd been unable to talk her out of the vague plans she was so hell-bent on carrying out, he'd make use of the deterrent power of example.
In the center of the vestibule was a roped-off area resembling a boxing ring. Inside, stockbrokers roared out their offers all at once.
From one end of the vestibule a man came walking toward them's with an odd, rolling swagger. Avoiding the swing of his bruising shoulders, the crowd parted to make way for him. He looked like an old sailor trying to keep his balance on a ship in a gale; his colleagues, who'd never stood on a deck, called him the Rolling Sidewalk.
He raised his bowler hat as he spotted Herman. They were old acquaintances. Herman returned the greeting with an inviting smile, and instantly the man stepped up to Herman and Klara.
"Ajax Hammerfeldt," he said, and took Klara's hand with an elegant gesture, pursed his lips, and planted a kiss on it.
The unfamiliar greeting startled her. She looked down and reddened, and forgot to introduce herself. So Herman did it for her, and added, "Mrs. Friis has just inherited a considerable fortune. She's in need of some good advice."
"Then you've come to the right man, my dear Mrs. Friis," the Rolling Sidewalk said, and raised his hat a second time, as though they were about to become very well acquainted. He threw a quick glance at Herman to secure his consent to what was about to happen: when no reaction came, he took it as acceptance and continued.
"The shipping industry is enjoying enormous progress," he said. "Have you heard about the ship with no funnel, Mrs. Friis?"
Klara shook her head, overwhelmed.
"The steamer succeeds the sailing ship. But the ship with no funnel will replace the steamer. That's the future, and you have the opportunity to be among the first to invest your money in it. You're young"—here he threw her a flattering glance, then added, in a tone that suggested that he was now presenting his decisive argument—"and the future belongs