Liss slowly crossed the pedestrian bridge to the bus terminal. Half turned. Couldn’t face the thought of spending the night at the house in Lørenskog. Headed back towards the railway station. Suddenly she caught sight of a figure over by a newspaper kiosk. He was thin and bony, with untidy black hair. She recognised him at once as the man who had turned up at Mailin’s office the first time she went there. He was wearing the same reefer jacket, with the anchor badge on the breast pocket. He was standing talking to a girl in a quilted jacket and dirty jeans.
Liss went straight up to him. – Do you recognise me?
The man glanced at her. There was a swollen scar on his forehead, beneath his fringe.
– Should I? he said, uninterested.
– I met you two days ago, at Mailin Bjerke’s office.
This time there was no sign of his previous unease.
– Dunno what you’re talking about.
But Liss had always had a better memory for faces than anything else.
– It was you. You stole something when you were there. What’s your name?
He turned his back and hurried away, the girl in the quilted jacket following. Liss ran after them.
– Why did you tear a page out of her appointments book?
– What the fuck are you talking about?
– I’ve told the police. They’re looking for you.
He stopped, took a step towards her. – If you say one more word to me, I will knock your teeth out.
He grabbed the girl by the hand and disappeared in the direction of the exit.
S
HE CALLED
V
ILJAM
. Someone shouted something in the background when he answered. He didn’t hear what she said and she had to repeat it.
– I’m at a seminar, he said apologetically. – I’ve only got a minute before the break’s over. What is this about Mailin’s car?
– I need to borrow it.
– Borrow the car? Is that all right?
– Why wouldn’t it be?
– I don’t know. It might be evidence … Sorry, Liss, I’m just not quite with it. I’m sure it’ll be all right. I’ve got a spare key. When do you need it?
She had no deadline.
– I’m going out to the cabin this afternoon. I can come down and pick up the key. There’s something else I’ve got to do first.
The man who opened the door looked to be in his forties, slightly built and thin on top, with a widow’s peak. Though it was still quite early in the day, he was wearing a suit and a white shirt, although it wasn’t buttoned at the collar.
– Liss Bjerke, I presume? he said with the hint of a lisp. When she confirmed her name, he let her in.
– I am Odd. His butler, he added with a little bow before heading down the carpeted corridor and opening a door. – Berger, your visitor has arrived.
Liss heard a rumbling response. The man who called himself Odd beckoned to her.
– Berger will see you in the living room.
She almost burst out laughing at the absurd formality of his speech, but managed to hold it in.
The room was large and well lit, with wide windows and a balcony looking out on to Løvenskiolds Street. A man she recognised from pictures in the newspapers and on TV sat behind a desk by the window, tapping with two fingers on a computer keyboard. In the flesh he looked older, the face yellowish and sunken.
– Sit down, he said without looking up.
She remained standing. Never liked being ordered to do something, especially not by elderly men.
Finally Berger gave her his attention. – Quite all right that you remain standing. He smiled as he let his gaze roam across her. – A woman like you should never sit down until she has been seen.
He pointed to a sofa against the other wall. – You don’t look like your sister, he announced. – Not in the least. Coffee?
He stood up, dominating the room. There was a brass bell on the desk; he picked it up, rang it. Almost immediately, Odd appeared in the doorway.
– Bring us some coffee, would you, said Berger.
Odd addressed himself to Liss.
– Latte? Espresso? Americano?
His lisp seemed more pronounced than when she had arrived, and she suspected it might be an affectation.
– Espresso, she answered. – Preferably double.
Again the little bow before he disappeared. It seemed even more ridiculous this time, and Liss began wondering what sort of performance she was witness to.
– He introduced himself as your butler, she said as she reluctantly took a seat.
– That is precisely what he is, Berger replied. – As a matter of fact, a graduate of the best training school for butlers in London. I don’t know how I would manage without the man.
– Must be good for your image, Liss remarked.
Berger limped across to a chair on the other side of his desk. – Of course. That is what I live off. A butler’s salary is not
so
large and the returns are very quick.
He fished out a packet of cigarettes, French Gauloises, offered her one and a light from a gold lighter with the initials EB engraved on it.
– A present from my sponsors, he smiled as he noticed her studying it. – The closest I come to grace in this life is the way my sponsors treat me. I live on grace. By grace.
The door opened soundlessly and Odd appeared again, carrying a tray on which stood a silver pot, cups, saucers, sugar and a small jug of milk. He had pulled on a pair of thin white gloves, and this time Liss couldn’t contain her slight outburst of laughter. No one asked what she was laughing at, and after pouring their coffees Odd withdrew once more, as silently as he had entered.
– I have, as you know, met your sister, said Berger. – But not on the evening when she was due to have come to the studio.
Liss had the feeling he said this to pre-empt her question.
He sat there, still observing her. – And now you want to know what has happened to Mailin. That is very natural. I gather you’ve just returned home from Amsterdam.
He exposed what looked like tiny and very white milk teeth. It gave his smile a childlike mischief that was in contrast to the worn face and large body.
– And
I
gather you defend child abuse, she responded as she dragged on the strong tobacco.
– Do I? he yawned. – My job is to provoke people, talk out loud about everything that outrages and fascinates them. I’m sure you’ve seen the sales figures for my show. No? The last show had a viewing audience of over nine hundred thousand. We’re full speed ahead for the magic one million. We have to close down our phone lines after every show, can’t handle the volume of calls. The Oslo papers alone had more than twenty-five pages on the last
Taboo
. But do we really need to talk about this? I so seldom receive visitors, and especially not strange women.
– What else is there to talk about?
– You, Liss Bjerke. That is much more interesting. A young woman travels to Amsterdam to study design but ends up spending much more of her time on assignments as a fashion model. Of a rather dubious nature, some of them, no doubt, at least by ordinary petit bourgeois standards. Let us speak of your party habits and your choice of lover boys.
She put the cup down so hard that the coffee splashed over into the saucer.
Who the hell told you that?
she wanted to ask, but managed to contain herself. Drove off the thought that even at that very moment someone was wandering around Oslo asking people how to find her.
Wouters,
the name flashed through her.
– Tell me about yourself, Liss, Berger encouraged her. – I love a good story.
She blinked several times, regained her self-possession. Had Mailin spoken to this guy about her? Mailin wasn’t like that. She looked over at him. The dyed black fringe hanging over his forehead emphasised rather than disguised how ravaged his face really was. But in the middle of what looked like a battlefield, the eyes behind the small square spectacles were mild and bright. She’d seen a few extracts from
Taboo
on the internet. Berger talked about children, about how, in a market-driven society like ours, it was inevitable that child sexuality would become a commodity too, like everything else. He talked about performance-enhancing drugs, how they were necessary if sport were to go on meeting our need to cultivate the superhuman. About the legalisation of heroin, a more interesting and cleaner stimulant than alcohol. Remarkably few people were killed by heroin. What killed people was its criminalisation and everything that led to it. Dirty needles. Dangerous sex. Murders as a result of unpaid debts.
– I love a good story, he repeated. – And I love them especially when they’re told by someone like you, even if my interest in young women is becoming increasingly academic. He sketched a gesture of frustration from his groin up towards his head. – More and more of it disappears up here, he sighed. – But that’s enough about that; tell me about yourself. In return, I give you my word you will get answers to all the questions you came here to ask.
This was not what she had come prepared for. For a moment she was so confused that she might even have sat in his lap like a little girl if he’d suggested it. Stay sharp, she warned herself, and spoke briefly about wanting to be a designer. This made him smile behind his cloud of Gauloises smoke, which in turn caused her to reel off something about trying out the modelling business: it meant nothing to her, but some people, she had no idea why, urged her to make a career out of it.
– Don’t pretend you don’t understand why, Berger admonished her. – You’ve known for a long time how your presence affects people. You’ve probably always known it.
– Not always, she blurted out. – I’m the typical ugly duckling that ended up in the wrong nest. At primary school no one wanted to have anything to do with me. Not at secondary school either.
– Yes, I can imagine that, he nodded.
She wanted to stop there, but ended up telling him more. About life in Amsterdam. The photo shoots. The parties. Was even about to mention Zako. At the last moment she managed to turn the conversation back.
– You were going to tell me about Mailin. How you met her.
Again the corners of the mouth lifted and the little white mouse’s teeth showed. He had noticed how obviously she changed the subject.
– I like Mailin, he said. – I like you both, as different as you are from each other.
– Why did you want to have her on
Taboo
?
He sat upright with a little grimace, as though he suffered from back pain.
– What I do, Liss, is something completely different from those endless reality shows, which people got sick to death of long ago. Something happens when I show up on the screen. My shows contain something uncontrollable, something that’s definitely not ‘nice’ and is even potentially dangerous. First and foremost I use myself, my life. My own history of abuse. Violence, sex, breakdowns. Then I invite a bunch of clowns along, people who will do anything at all to be seen on TV. In the beginning I was an untouchable; now it’s becoming acceptable for politicians and media parasites to be seen with me. It gives them cred. I can make fools of these guests, dress them down, say what I like. Doesn’t matter what I come up with, they’ll keep on smiling, happy to be cool, longing to be cool.
He gave a hollow laugh and started coughing.
– Other guests are invited because I want opposition, he continued once he had got his breath back. – I had read some of Mailin’s articles in the papers and got in touch with her. She’s every bit as intelligent as I thought she was. But different. No feminist preaching. It’s the world that concerns her, not ideologies.
– You’ve met her several times?
– Three times. She was here at my house a few weeks ago. We sat and talked about the show.
– I don’t believe you. Mailin would never allow herself to be used in support of the sort of things that you get up to.
Again he laughed.
– Well we never got the chance to find out. She wanted to turn the show into something other than I had planned. That’s fine. There would have been an edge. I like people to speak their minds. But then she never turned up.
– She got in touch with you.
– She called me the day before, he confirmed. – Said there was something she wanted to talk to me about. Practical things she wanted to get sorted out before the broadcast. She is irritatingly thorough. We arranged for me to call in at her office on the way to the studio. And I did.
– So you did meet her that evening?
– I got a text message that she’d been delayed. She sent me the code to the street door, asked me to wait in the waiting room. But as I say, she never arrived.
– And you just sat there?
– Hey, Liss, I’ve already explained all this to the police. If you ask me any more, I’ll begin to suspect that you’re working for them.
Beneath the teasing tone she sensed another that was sharper, like a warning. She stubbed out her cigarette, decided on a different approach.
– Do you believe we can manage without taboos?
He took a deep drag, held the smoke for a few moments before letting it drift out between his teeth with a whistling sound.
– We get rid of some, but then new ones appear. I try to destroy them a little quicker than they crop up again.
– Why?
– Because I am a revolutionary, a visionary, someone who wants to uncover something that is truer and purer than this culture of bullshit that is gradually choking us to death …
He looked at her seriously. Then he beamed.
– Don’t let me fool you. Naturally this has bugger-all to do with politics. I do what I’ve always enjoyed doing, provoking people. Do you see why I could no longer be a priest? When you give toys to children, most of them start playing with them. But some immediately want to take them apart, to see what’s inside. Afterwards they throw them away. That is the kind of child I am. I’ll never be any different. Luckily for me, I earn a helluva lot of money from this kind of stuff.
He laughed his hollow laugh.
– But now I’m thinking about quitting.