Excerpts from
The Sardine Deception
By Leif Davidsen
There´s nothing wrong with my memory. The study of law demands nothing more than a sturdy seat of the pants and a good memory. I have both, and I passed with reasonable grades. The account of what happened is as I saw it. Nothing has been left out. Nothing has been added, within the limitations of the written word. None of us can escape a personal point of view, but I´ve tried to live up to the rule Charlotte followed as a journalist: tell the story straight, without beating around the bush, and be fair. Digressions belong to the realm of art, she used to say.
To get to the point.
They rang my doorbell around 9 o´clock on a cold February evening when the last snow still lay like excrement along the curb. The kids (we have two) were asleep, and I was smoking my pipe and reading. Peace had descended on the five-room apartment, insulated according to all the codes, where the temperature was the standard 20´C.
They stood knocking imaginary snow off their shoes when I opened the door.
"We´re police officers. May we come in for a moment?" asked the older of the two.
"It´s concerning your wife."
"Come in, come in. Let me take your coats.
They sat down on the sofa. Just on the edge. They said yes to my offer of a cup of coffee from the thermos and complimented me on the cozy living room, where order had been restored now that the kids were in bed. A few prints. Hardwood floor with a light-colored rug of pure wool. Framed pictures of friends, children, and the two of us.
The older man, who had introduced himself as Jorgensen, said I understand you´re a bachelor for the time being?" He immediately looked ill-at-ease.
"That´s right. My wife is on a leave of absence."
He hesitated, so I volunteered, "Charlotte is in Spain. She´s collecting material for a book about the democratization of the country. "
"Your wife has had an accident," said the younger man. And he continued with the same brutality on his face and in his voice: "She was in a bar this morning when a bomb exploded. I´m afraid she´s dead."
From Leif Davidsen: The Sardine Deception
Fjord Press 1986
http://www.fjordpress.com/
Translated by Tiina Nunnally & Steve Murray
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