The Missing. Part 10

I let the silence speak for me. Let it be my only reply. Then I end the call. I hold the phone in one hand, the ax in the other. I plow my way between the tree trunks. Apparently, Alex has understood nothing about who I am. Absolutely nothing.

33.

I rage my way through the woods. There's no other way to describe my progress. Dry branches jab at me, scratching my cheeks and forehead. Something warm is spilling from one eyebrow. My vision gets murkier instead of clearer; the shimmering before my eyes gets worse. When I finally emerge from the trees and come back out on the forest road, my whole body seems to be swaying, like I'm in the middle of an enormous, stormy ocean.

My legs carry me forward, and I let them take me, without knowing whether I'm heading in the right direction. And besides, what is the right direction? Something is coming toward me on the road. Something or someone. My hands tense painfully, and even though I can't really see the objects I'm holding, I know they're there-both are like extensions of my own body. The cell phone and the ax. At this moment, I've become one with them, clutching them tightly, vowing not to let them go, no matter what happens.

The beast coming toward me is dark and hairy. It moves quickly, agilely. I stop, thinking that it might not be real. To see something that doesn't exist, or not to be able to take in what actually does exist-maybe those are two sides of the same coin. Like what happened with Papa, that which escapes me. Is my memory failing? Why am I unable to correctly interpret what I see? The beast is close now, it comes right up to me, and I feel something soft and cold against the back of my hand. A dog's muzzle. Reality seizes hold, the veil is pulled aside, and suddenly I see clearly. Not looking outward, but inward. It's not a matter of a faulty memory or distorted experiences. What I'm missing is the will to acknowledge what happened to Papa. Who and what it has made me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and my eyes fill with tears.

I seem to see that the dog has taken a step back and is now licking his nose. Then he gives a loud bark, not sounding angry, but confused. Appealing to the person who comes walking up behind him.

"h.e.l.lo again," says the man from the brown house.

Alex's explanation for how he and Smilla left the island and made their way through the woods echoes in my mind. I turn to look from the s.h.a.ggy creature at my feet to the elderly man. I stare at him.

"You must have seen them when you were out walking your dog," I mutter, slurring my words. "You really did see them."

Something about my appearance seems to startle him. Then he calls the dog. A wave of nausea sweeps through me, followed by a strong pang in my abdomen. As if someone were sticking a knife into my guts. The pain makes me double over. I hear the man's voice, sounding both concerned and suspicious. Before I can answer, the stabbing pain comes again, and I almost fall to my knees. A thought races through my mind. The baby. I can't lose the baby. Not that too.

I force myself to straighten up and start forward. But the man is in the way. His features are hazy, his expression unreadable, but his voice now sounds very worried. Something lands on my shoulder, squeezing tight. Is that his hand? Is he trying to stop me? Trying to keep me here? Panic creeps over me, giving me renewed strength. Making me suddenly furious. Loud screams ring out across the road, spreading to the nearby woods. My throat is stinging, burning, and I realize the person screaming is me. Then it's there again, the hand, wanting to hold me in place. I lurch back to pull free as I raise my ax.

The wind subsides, the world stands still, and the only sound is the dog's pitiful yelping. The man steps aside. No, he doesn't step aside, he turns on his heel and leaves. He may even be running. Fleeing. Only when both he and his dog are gone do I realize that the man held out his hand not in a show of force but in self-defense. It wasn't intended to hold me there. It was to keep me away.

Somehow, I make it back to the cabin. Along the way my condition gets worse. The cramps in my stomach have faded, but now the pain has settled in the small of my back. Tugging and aching, with occasional stabs of pain. The pressure in my chest is so bad I can hardly breathe. I stagger over to the parked car outside the cabin and lean against it. The car isn't locked, so I open the door and fall into the driver's seat. My head feels like it's on fire. The shimmering before my eyes has changed to searing flashes of light. In this condition, I won't be able to drive more than a hundred feet. I'll end up in a ditch. Or crash into the mountainside.

What I need to do is make my way over to the highway and catch one of the buses that goes through Marhem. Just like Alex and Smilla did. I rub my forehead. I still can't really take it in. Slowly, I turn to look at the cabin. In my mind, I take an inventory of the suitcases, clothes, and toiletries inside. Everything that belongs to me, everything I'd need to take with me. Just thinking about it requires an enormous effort. Right now, I'm so exhausted that I can't even imagine getting out of this car. I have no energy. Another wave of vertigo swirls through, churning inside me, making the world twist and lose shape. I'll never manage it.

My belongings will have to stay here. There's no other option. But the cat. I should at least go get Tirith and bring him with me when I . . . The image of a little cross made from sticks cruelly interrupts my thoughts. A slender pink collar. Again I feel the impact of the black-clad girl's confession. I remember that Tirith isn't waiting for me in the cabin. That he's never coming back. That someone will have to tell Smilla. Smilla, who smells of apples and vanilla, who loves princesses and Barbie dolls. Smilla, who adores her father.

My face falls onto the steering wheel, pressing on the horn, which emits a single beep. There is something infinitely melancholy about that one-note sound. Both a sender and a receiver are required for a sound to have any meaning, but I'm the only one present to hear it. Out of context, the sound loses all meaning, becomes pointless. Just like me, just like my life so far.

My thoughts return to that last evening, to the sight of Smilla and Alex holding hands on their way to the dock. The jealousy and longing I felt at that moment are still with me. Could that be me in a few years? Holding a warm hand in mine, an eagerly chattering little person at my side? Or am I kidding myself? Am I allowing myself to be blinded by this new-old longing for closeness? The inheritance I carry. The inheritance my child will carry. Would that cloud everything? Would that destroy everything? Oh, Mama, tell me whether it was worth it. Would you make the same choice again?

At that instant, she calls me. I stare at my phone, which I'd tossed on the pa.s.senger seat next to me along with the ax. Mama? Mama! The last time we talked, I hung up on her. I haven't taken her calls for close to two days now. Haven't really talked to her in over twenty years. Not really. My temples are pounding. Everything I'd hoped for with Alex, everything I didn't get. I pick up the shiny little phone and answer without thinking.

"I don't want to be alone anymore."

34.

I'm still in Marhem, still in the cabin. I'm lying in bed with my clothes on and the covers pulled up to my chin. In fact, I've pulled the duvet from the other side of the bed on top of me. From his side. The man who will never again lie next to me. If you ever come near me again, I swear I'll kill you. I'm shivering and my teeth are chattering, but I nod emphatically. I really do mean it. It could happen. I have it in me. For all these years, I've fended off that thought, the one lurking in the shadows. I've tried to convince myself I'm not like that. But to no avail. Now I know.

In spite of the double layer of blankets, my body is shaking with cold. A throbbing headache is making the daylight hurt my eyes. I should get up and pull down the blinds, but I can't muster the energy. Mama, I think, hurry up. She reacted with such calm when I fell apart on the phone. She asked me where I was. After I'd explained and given her clear directions, she said: "Stay there. I'll come and get you."

"No, you won't. I waited so long, but you . . . you never came."

Thoughts and memories blended together in my agitated state. I saw myself sitting on the floor in my room, saw the uniformed officers come and go, saw Ruth come and go. And I saw the door to what had been Mama and Papa's bedroom. The door that remained closed for so long.

Mama was silent a second longer than necessary. Then there was something different about her voice. As if the outer layers had been peeled away.

"This time I'm coming. Right now. I promise."

And I knew she meant what she said. Taking action is my mother's forte. There has never been any doubt about that.

My eyelids flutter, and I realize I must have dozed off for a while. My joints ache, and my skin feels hot. I'm still in Marhem, alone, sick, and miserable. Tirith is dead. The search for Alex and Smilla is over. There's no reason for me to stay awake.

Filled with longing, I reach for the release that sleep brings. Allow myself to be swept away once more. I slip into a hazy s.p.a.ce, drifting in and out of restless slumber. I dream that I gave my mother the wrong directions, and she's driving around and around without ever arriving, without ever finding me.

A knock on the front door wakes me. At first I think it's part of my dream, but then I realize it's real. I'm suddenly wide awake. Mama! She's here. Everything's going to be fine.

I'm still weak, but at least my body obeys when I force myself to get out of bed and head toward the front hall. I have no choice. Mama doesn't have a key, and in spite of my miserable condition, I was very careful about locking the door when I came in. I remember having a sense of some approaching threat. As I shuffle to the door, I'm frowning. What sort of threat did I imagine? From where? From whom? I can't recall now. It escapes me.

I'm at the front door. I reach for the lock. I picture the person standing outside. My hands are shaking. Why? Why am I shaking? Because I'm sick, because I have a fever. Why else? I turn the lock and cautiously open the door.

"Mama?"

But it's not her. It's . . . I can hardly believe my eyes. It's my psychologist. The blond. The woman whose office I left years ago. The woman whose ominous words have been ringing in my ears these past few days. She's changed her hairstyle, and she's wearing different clothes, but I recognize her instantly. And I realize that I must be dreaming. This woman can't be standing here, on the steps to Alex's cabin. Not for real. The fact that she's holding an oar makes the whole thing even more absurd and dreamlike.

In a daze, I think there must be a reason for her to seek me out. She must have a message for me. Suddenly, I'm afraid I'll wake up before the dream version of the psychologist has time to tell me what she needs to say.

"You were right," I mumble. "Everything you said was right. But what now? What am I supposed to do now?"

She stares at me for a long time, opening her blue eyes wide and then narrowing them again.

"So it's you? It's you."

Then she raises the oar. Maybe this isn't a dream, I think. Maybe I'm delirious.

Then the psychologist emits a scream, shrill and piercing. Hysterical. I flinch. Because I know that voice, that scream. In a sudden moment of clarity, I'm carried back to the night we arrived in Marhem. The car outside. The one who stayed and the one who left. Smilla and the woman with the scream. Smilla and her mother. Smilla and Alex's wife.

I take a step back as something dark whistles through the air. It strikes my shoulder and the side of my head. I fall against the wall and throw out my hand, but in vain. I feel my body tumble to the floor. Then everything goes black.

35.

It begins and ends with Mother. To understand me and my story, you first have to understand that. In the beginning, Mother was my everything, and I was hers. I was the light of her life, that's what she always said. Her voice was as soft as a caress on my face. She used to hold me in her arms, pressing me close to her warm flesh, making me understand that with her I would always be safe. A faint lavender scent rose from her skin when she stroked my hair. She got up with me in the morning and made breakfast, she was there when I came home from school, she tucked me in at night. Every day, every night. She never let work, or her women friends, or any other distractions take her away from my side. I can't remember a single instance when she wasn't there when I needed her. Everything she did was for me. Never in my life has anyone loved me like she did.

When the hospital called to say she'd been in a car accident, I was home alone with Smilla. Alex had gone to Marhem on his own to finish a big project. At least, that's what he told me.

"It's serious," said the nurse who called.

At that moment, a chasm opened up under my feet, another inside my chest. Those first years after I'd moved away from home and left Mother's safe nest, I was a lost wanderer. I discovered that the world was an unpleasant and frightening place. I trained to be a psychologist, thinking that would help me to figure out why I felt like a cat adored in the summertime and then abandoned in the fall. But it was only after Smilla was born that the pieces fell back into place. I had a mission. Motherhood became my calling. And Mother became more than my safe haven. She became my role model, my guiding light.

I gripped the phone, afraid to ask.

"How serious?"

"Come as soon as you can."

Smilla didn't want to go anywhere without Tirith and her toys, so I got out the cat carrier and our biggest suitcase and let her pack whatever she liked. The August evening slipped into night, closing its darkening walls around us as we headed for Marhem. I drove much too fast the whole way. I could hardly see because of the tears streaming down my face. Mother's footprints were about to be washed from the surface of the earth. Her example, which I had unsuccessfully tried to emulate, was about to fade. Who would I be without her? How would I be able to go on or bear what had become of my life?

The car parked in front of the cabin belonged to another woman. I realized that at once. Though I'd previously looked the other way, I couldn't do it anymore. I hadn't warned Alex of our arrival. I didn't call his cell phone until we were already standing in the road outside. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to take him by surprise. When he came out, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Screamed as if I was on the verge of losing my mind. Or as if that had already happened. That's what Alex would say, of course. It wasn't like me to behave that way. Not at all like the wife he had molded. The one who knows to yield, accept, look the other way. I don't remember what I screamed; maybe there were no real words or phrases. Maybe it was just one long primal scream, emanating from my fear that Mother was about to be taken from me. The other woman-you? You really weren't important. Not then.

The hatred crept in later, at the hospital. For two days and two nights, I kept watch at Mother's bedside, holding her hand, bargaining with the higher powers. If only she was allowed to live, I would . . . what? I had nothing to offer in return. I wondered what Mother would want me to do, what sacrifice she would have found appropriate. But the only thing I could think of was Smilla. The only thing that meant anything, that Mother would have considered meaningful, was that I look after my daughter. It was for Smilla's sake that I had to be willing to sacrifice everything. I thought back to that moment when we arrived in Marhem, when Smilla dashed out of the car and threw herself into Alex's arms. How she buried her face in his chest as he lifted her up. As if she was seeking shelter, as if he was the one who could offer her that. Alex and the woman waiting inside the cabin. Our cabin.

Hatred took over my body, filling me completely, seething and surging under my skin. I didn't know what to do with all the darkness and violence, didn't know where or toward whom to direct all those feelings. Then Mother died. There are moments-moments of terrible torment-when I think it wasn't from her injuries. It was the hatred that killed her. The hatred spreading through my body like a poison. It must have radiated out of me, must have seeped out of my skin as I held her hand in mine.

When I got home from the hospital, Smilla and Alex were there. We spoke very little to each other. I have no real memory of anything we said. Everything was blurry and clamorous, both inside me and all around, as if all boundaries were about to dissolve. I stayed in the bedroom, with the blinds down. Mother had left me. She had never taught me how to cope with a life where she no longer existed. Day and night, light and darkness, everything flowed together. I simply lay there, as if anesthetized.

Alex left me alone. At some point, I dozed off and dreamed that he came in, bringing me a tray of sandwiches and tea, that he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his arms around me. Consoling me. But when I woke up, the room was empty.

When my vision cleared, I noticed an object on Alex's nightstand. His cell phone. For a long time, I lay there, motionless, staring at it. Then I sat up and reached out my hand. I searched through the list of recent calls, found what I a.s.sumed had to be your name and number. And I called you. When you picked up, I ended the call. I did that several times. Secretly, whenever Alex wouldn't notice, I called. I didn't say a word, just listened to your voice on the other end. I closed my eyes and pictured you in my mind, tried to figure out who you could be and what your intentions were. But then something unexpected happened. You started screaming, swearing at me. I put the phone back and fell asleep. When I woke up, I was alone in the bedroom, and Alex's phone was gone. That's when I decided I'd had enough. I got up, took off my bathrobe, and put on my clothes. Then I went into my daughter's room.

We were sitting on the floor of her bedroom when I felt his eyes on my back. My hand tensed slightly, but I kept stroking Smilla's hair. I didn't have to turn around to know he was there or what his expression would be.

He was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed.

"So, have you pulled yourself together?" he said. "Can we go on now?"

I knew he wasn't talking about Mother. He'd never been particularly fond of her. So I slowly nodded.

"I've been through this before," I told him.

Because I had. I spoke quietly, compliantly. The way he wanted me to. But I didn't look him in the eye, and I kept my back turned. It might have seemed like a silent protest-if I'd been that kind of woman. I clenched my jaw. He came back. That's what I tried to tell myself. This time too. He left Marhem, and here he is. That must mean something. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to come undone, fall apart.

Smilla was sitting on my lap holding the tablet. She was immersed in some sort of princess game. She was so focused on what she was doing that she didn't even notice Alex there. Otherwise, she probably would have jumped up to throw herself into his arms. I felt a pang of jealousy. You have to get through this, I told myself, for her sake. You have to do everything for your daughter, that's your commitment. The only thing of importance.

"Children," I said out loud. "When there are children in the picture, you have to carry on. Nothing else matters."

I don't know what made me suspicious. Was it a sudden movement behind me? Did Alex shift position as he stood there in the doorway? Was he sending out signals of restlessness or disapproval? Maybe it was simply his silence that finally made me turn around. Alex, who was never without a reply.

We looked at each other, and what I saw in his eyes made me carefully let go of Smilla and stand up. When there are children in the picture . . . An icy cold washed over me. I took a couple of steps closer and leaned forward, entreating him.

"Tell me it isn't true," I whispered. "Tell me she isn't pregnant."

For some reason, I noticed that Alex was holding his phone. I stared at it. A few minutes ago, before I felt his presence behind me in Smilla's room, I'd heard the door to the study open. Hadn't the door been shut for a long time? What had Alex been doing in there? Talking on the phone? Who was he talking to? The answer was obvious, but I refused to acknowledge it. Slowly, I turned my gaze back to the face belonging to the man I had once promised to love, in sickness and in health.

He was smiling at me. One of his eyelids started twitching. An outsider might interpret these tiny, rapid movements as nervousness. But I knew it was something else entirely. Excitement.

"I need to know," he said softly, "how far you're willing to go for my sake. For the sake of our family."

When I married Alex, I was forced to move far away from Mother. When Smilla arrived, I cut my hours to part-time. Gradually, I stopped working altogether. I didn't see any of my former colleagues; I made no new friends. And I never, ever challenged him anymore. I'd learned not to do that after several experiences during those first years with Alex had cost me dearly. My social life, my work, my independence-that's what I'd already given up. What did I have left? What remained? Nothing. Even my mother was no longer in my life. And yet Alex asked me that question, hinting there was more I could do. While he . . . once again . . . with some woman . . . And in Marhem, in our cabin.

I don't know how it happened, but suddenly I was heading for the hall and the front door. Alex followed. When I paused to get the car keys off the dresser, he grabbed my arm. He swung me around, pulling my body close to his. His chest pressed against me, his eyes locked on my lips. As if he were going to kiss me.

"Without me, you are nothing."

Those words . . . How many times had he flung them in my face? I'd lost count. I felt the same way I always did when he said that. The same, and yet somehow different.

I pulled away and ran out the door. I didn't ask permission. I didn't say where I was going or when I planned to come back. Even I didn't know. My mind had stopped thinking. Time ceased to exist. The car drove itself. Only when I saw the sign for the exit to Marhem did I realize that was where I'd been heading all along.

There was a car parked outside the cabin, the same one as before. Your car. I parked behind it, got out, and stood next to the arborvitae for a while. Over the course of only a few days, everything had been taken from me. Not just Mother, but also my family, my orderly life. Shivering, I stared at the log-cabin walls visible through the hedge, thinking that you were inside. The person who refused to allow me to have my little corner of the world in peace. The person who had broken into my life and without hesitation had shattered it completely. The feeling that something was about to come undone returned. Back in the car again, I called home. Smilla answered.

"Mama, where are you? When are you coming home?"

I could hear in her voice that she missed me. She needed me, longed for me. For her mother. What Smilla had been forced to endure over the past few days, everything I hadn't been able to protect her from . . . I needed to compensate for all that.

I don't know how or why. I only know that I suddenly felt as if I were standing several feet above the ground. As if I'd risen from the ruins and shaken off the dust, stronger than ever before. Much had been lost, but not everything. I was going to fight for what remained, fight for what I had left. For what was mine.

I told Smilla I loved her, that she was the light of my life. I explained that Mama had to take care of something, but when that was done, I'd come home. Then she and Papa and I would live happily ever after. Then I asked to speak to Alex. As soon as I heard his voice on the phone, I told him where I was.

"The answer to your question," I added, "is that I'm prepared to do whatever it takes, to go as far as necessary."

I listened to my own voice, heard myself speaking with a composure I didn't feel. Then I waited. It took a moment before Alex said anything. I heard a crackling and sc.r.a.ping, as if he were silently deliberating as he ran his fingertips over the phone.

"The cabin is insured," he said at last. "If anything should happen, if it should, for instance . . . burn down. Then we'd get a lot of money. That might be something to keep in mind."

My neck felt stiff as I turned my head to look back at the cabin. I was suddenly aware of it again, the chasm that my chest had become when Mother died. It opened once more, and hatred poured out. Finally, I knew where to direct that hatred. Toward whom.

"That project you went to Marhem to finish," I then said. "Maybe I can help you with it."

"Is that what you want?"

"If you do."

"You would do that for me?"

"For us."

I end the conversation and get out of the car again. I walk up to the cabin and try the door. It's locked. I look under the steps, but the key isn't there. There's no turning back. I can't lose my courage now. Without Alex and Smilla, I don't exist. Without them, I'm nothing, have nothing. My eyes are stinging. Maybe with tears. But I pull myself together. Crying is not what I want to do. What I really want is to break your neck.