Norwegian by Night (22 page)

‘Kadri, we have things to do. Can we get on with it?'

‘Senka is dead.'

‘We know.'

‘The boy is missing.'

Burim, who slouches lower in his chair than Gjon, says, ‘We know this, too.'

‘Enver is looking for the boy. That means you're going to look for the boy.'

Burim pulls on his cigarette. ‘I don't know where the boy is.'

Kadri swallows the soft centre of the bun and says, ‘The centre is the best part, all sweet and sticky. You don't know what you're missing. Really. Look, shithead, if you knew where he was, I'd say, “Hey, shithead, where's the boy?” And you'd say, “Oh. He's right here in my pocket, with the lint and the chewing gum.” But you don't know, and I know you don't know, which is why I say you're going to look for him.'

Burim scowls and then says, ‘If Enver is following the couple to get to the old man, and the old man is with the boy, what do we do? It sounds like it's done.'

Kadri holds up a finger and says, ‘Because we may be wrong. Maybe the boy isn't with the old man. Maybe the old man isn't even connected to the people who own the flat. Maybe he is just some Norwegian pensioner who was standing on the street watching the car go by, and that's who Enver saw. Maybe the old man isn't going to meet up with the couple. Maybe Senka stashed the kid someplace else and then fooled us by running the other way. We don't know. We are … ' and he put his finger into his mouth, sucked on it, and then put it wet and glistening into the light breeze, ‘speculating'.

Gjon, who sips an espresso with a great deal of sugar, says, ‘If not the old man, who? Kid's about seven years old. Can't stay on his own. Maybe he's with the police?'

Kadri wipes his finger with a napkin. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. If they put a missing-person announcement on the news, I'll know there's still hope.'

‘Then who?'

Kadri doesn't look up. He just shrugs and casually says, ‘Maybe the Serbs.'

At this, Burim and Gjon both moan and wiggle in their seats.

‘Look,' says Kadri, licking his lips. ‘Senka was Serb. She has Serb friends. She doesn't want the boy going to Kosovo with Enver. She knew he'd come to take him away. Kosovo is free now. A new state. A new beginning. Time to start afresh. Take the boy back where he belongs. Reap the spoils of all our labour. As soon as Norway recognised Kosovo in March, it was all over — the universe was conspiring against her. So maybe she hides the boy with the Serbs for protection. It makes sense, no? And maybe now is a good time to get that box back, no?'

‘Why not just ask Zezake? Put him on this?'

Kadri becomes very serious. ‘Because Zezake is a killing machine. He's not Colombo. Are you even old enough to remember Colombo? Never mind. Point is, you use a knife for knife things. Now, we are reaching for a magnifying glass to play Sherlock. Not the same thing at all. No such thing as an all-purpose tool. This is what my father taught me.'

Burim and Gjon look at each other for support, for a way out, and then Burim says, ‘OK. It makes sense. But, what? I give a call to the Serbs?
Hey, you seen the boy? Mind if he comes back with his father to Kosovo now that we won the war? Meanwhile, sorry about your sister
.'

‘People know people,' Kadri says. ‘Start asking around. Just be discreet, OK?'

Burim and Gjon both nod. Then Gjon says, ‘How?'

Kadri sighs and rubs his face. ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?'

‘I think so, yes.'

‘Romeo and Juliet. Find a boy and girl from different sides who are fucking. Get the Serbian one to find out if the community is protecting the boy. In return, we don't tell their parents. And their parents don't kill them. Makes sense, no?'

Gjon, who is older than Burim and remembers the old country well, takes one of Kadri's cigarettes and lights it. He leans back in his chair and takes a long drag. ‘What about me?'

Kadri digs deep into his back molar to find something. He takes his finger out and looks at it, disappointed. ‘I wouldn't mind recovering the contents of the box.'

‘What's in it?' Gjon asks.

‘Things Senka collected from Kosovo. Things we don't want remembered. It's time to forgive and forget, you see. Not to wake sleeping beasts.'

Gjon says, ‘This could get out of hand very quickly. Like you said, people know people.'

Kadri nods. ‘There have been four hundred murders in Norway in the last ten years. That's forty or fifty a year, in a country of over four-and-a-half million. Which isn't high. The cops solved over 95 per cent of them very quickly. Over 80 per cent of them involve a man between thirty and forty years old killing a woman with a knife, and most of these people know each other. Enver strangled the girl. It's already out of hand. And they'll catch him if we don't help him. What we need to do now is make sure it plays out nice and smooth. Get the boy back. Get them over the border. Take a private boat to Estonia. From there, it's like sliding into a Ukrainian whore. If we can keep our noses out of any mess, we get to stay here,' and Kadri smiles. ‘With the sticky buns. And the fuzzy boots.'

Burim puckers his lips and sucks on his front teeth. He says, ‘Why did Enver kill her?'

Kadri's face goes very stern. He raises a finger, and his eyes are fierce. ‘Enver is a legend. He does what he wants. You don't question him. You do what he says, and remember that it is because of men like him you have a country now to call your own. You stay here with the fuzzy boots if you want. Or you go to Kosovo. But you have a choice because of Enver.

‘Besides, I already explained how the times were conspiring against her. She failed to negotiate with them. She met her fate. It could happen to any of us.'

Then he sits back in his chair and opens his palms.

‘I want to clean the mess. And as much as I love him, I wouldn't mind if Enver went away. You know the Norwegian police? They're a bunch of pussies. They don't carry guns, just like the English. But they stay after things for years and years, nagging and nagging. They're like herpes. You think you're rid of them, and then, when you're a little stressed out, boom! There they are. In the end, they catch all the killers. They exhaust their prey into submission.

‘So, we need to stick together. We band of brothers! Huh? Right? In twenty-four hours, this is all over.'

Kadri reaches even farther back into his mouth. He gets most of his hand in there. He comes out with a piece of dental floss. He holds it up.

‘Because victory, victory is wonderful!'

Gjon nods, but Burim says nothing.

Chapter 13

Burim gets off the metro at Tøyen centre and walks a few blocks to the apartment in the intense sunlight. He walks up five flights of stairs, pants a bit, and hears that the music in the hallway is coming from his own flat.

The music is old fashioned and airy, and the woman is singing in an operatic voice in English. As he turns the key and opens the door, he knows it can only mean one thing.

Adrijana bursts into the hallway, barefoot and in what must be a new shirt from Zara, and yells in English, ‘Pink Martini is coming to Oslo!'

Before Burim can reply, Adrijana says, ‘Take off your shoes.'

She kisses him on the cheek and walks back into the kitchen, where she's boiling some water for tea.

Burim takes off his shoes and puts them under the shoe rack in the hall, leaving his knapsack on a hook by the front door next to the umbrellas — one with smiley faces against a black background, and the other from the World Wildlife Fund in green with a panda bear on it.

‘Isn't it a little hot for tea?' Burim asks in lightly accented English.

‘Iced tea. You use English Breakfast with a bit of honey, and then put it right into the fridge.'

He sits on a pine chair from IKEA in the kitchen, and watches her go through the process.

‘We have a problem,' he says.

Burim watches her from behind, stirring the honey into the tea, as he slouches in the chair and puts his elbows on his knees. He scratches his shoulder and rubs his face.

Drawing a deep breath, he holds it for a moment and then, finding the courage, says, ‘I just saw Kadri.'

And then, like pushing a button, Adrijana does exactly what he expected her to do.

First, she turns around. Then she says, ‘You said you'd stay away from him.'

To which Burim has no choice but to say, ‘They called. And I couldn't say no.'

And then she gives him
Lecture Number 9
.

‘Kadri is dangerous. He's still part of that mob. He's a gangster, and he's crazy. You promised you'd stay away from all those people. They are not your friends. And if you get pulled into their world, especially now, you will fall down a well and you will never get out. And I'll leave you — I swear I will.'

Especially now
was new. Burim decided to try it.

‘Why especially now?'

‘Why? That's a good question. Let me see if I can think of the answer.' Since starting her law studies at the University of Oslo, Adrijana has become a more formidable prosecutor. She always had the talent to argue, but her studies have unlocked her potential by teaching her that reasoned argumentation is a weapon worth unleashing on the feeble.

Feigning a conceptual breakthrough with a wide-open mouth, she waves the wet teabag for emphasis, which sprays on Burim, ruining his T-shirt.

‘Oh, I know. Could it be that we now live together and our futures are permanently intertwined, and part of you being a man in this relationship involves making small compromises like … oh, I don't know … I do the laundry and, in return, you stay away from heroin-trafficking psychopaths and a dead Serbian woman three blocks from here?'

‘I'm not involved in any of that. You know that.'

‘No. What I know is that you said you're not and I've chosen to believe you. I don't really know what you're doing and what you're not doing.'

‘You know me.'

Adrijana softens a bit in her tone, but the focus remains the same.

‘And I know them, too. And I also read the newspaper. Please tell me they had nothing to do with that woman getting killed. Please tell me that.'

Burim opens his hands, and Adrijana slumps.

‘We should go to the police.'

‘Enver is my cousin. And I'm sure they already know.'

‘How do you know? You can't even read Norwegian. How do you know what the papers say?'

‘There's an English-language website. I looked.'

Adrijana shakes her head. ‘Why did you go?'

‘I'm afraid, OK? I need to know what they know.'

‘About what?'

‘About us!'

‘What about us?'

‘You're Serbian!'

‘I'm Norwegian.'

‘Oh, please. Not this again.'

Adrijana now raises her voice, as she does every time she is forced to defend her identity and those she identifies with.

‘I am Norwegian. I have a Norwegian passport. I've lived here since I was eight years old. I have Norwegian parents. I go to the university. It is my best language. I am not Serbian!'

And Burim raises his voice, too. He cannot believe that she can fail to see how little any of that matters.

‘You were born in Serbia. Your name is Serbian. You escaped during a war and were adopted here. Your mother tongue is Serbian. Your blood is Serbian.'

‘So what?' she yells.

‘It doesn't matter what you think you are,' shouts Burim. ‘It matters what
they
think you are!'

‘Who?'

‘All of them!'

And with that they both fall silent.

Pink Martini plays a glowing song of melancholy and remorse and, eventually, they look at each other. And then — the irony too rich to ignore — they smile.

She says, ‘I love you.'

And he says, ‘I love you, too.'

‘You may not see this, but I really am Norwegian. I trust them. If you think we're in some kind of danger because the crazies don't approve of our relationship, then I'm going to tell someone. I'll tell the police. Because the Norwegians won't tolerate that sort of thing. I can love whomever I want. You're a slob, and you smoke, and you keep terrible company.'

Burim frowns and looks up. ‘But.'

‘But what?'

‘You're supposed to list all my bad traits and then say, “But” and tell me all the reasons you love me.'

Adrijana pouts. ‘I've never heard that.'

She puts the tea in the refrigerator, and then readjusts a black-and-white postcard of a Flamenco dancer that slipped from its magnet.

Burim says, ‘I really am worried, though. Kadri said something that makes me think he knows about us. They're trying to find a little boy.'