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Authors: Andras Totisz
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and no one can see that far. The old man even showed his son encyclopedia articles and a telescope to prove his point. Ericsson was ten at the time. Now he's almost sixty, and has had enough adventure in his lifeâmore than he had asked for, really. His health is gone, but it's a miracle he's still alive anywayâhaving had so many close encounters with death. Yet despite all he's seen, as he pushes his forehead against the window now, he can still daydream.
     He hears the door open behind him, but he doesn't turn around right away. He throws a last glance at the garbage cans outside, and the sunshine dancing on the wall across the way.
     "Is that you, Arany?" he asks.
     "Yes, sir."
     The captain turns around and sees Arany, wearing a pair of worn jeans and an old, faded T-shirtânot a very soldierly sight. Why does it have to be him? Ericsson wonders. Then he decides that no one can predict God's reasons.
     "Congratulations," he says, as he walks toward Arany and offers his hand. The detective looks surprised and takes the captain's hand with an embarrassed smile. Ericsson feels the need to explain himself and it bothers him. "I didn't expect you to catch your attacker so soon. Nice job."
     Arany says nothing. He bites his lip and tries to follow the advice he got from Celia: Always think nice thoughts. He mustn't worry about what people might think if he doesn't answer a question or just mutters something unintelligible. He should imagine a beautiful landscape, a sundown over the sea, the forest in autumn or anything else he likes. He has to think calm, happy thoughts. Arany imagines Celia. He sees her in his mind's eye the way she was the last time they met, in the Edgar Institute. She looked nervous and tired.
     Ericsson steps behind his desk and sits down. As a short man he feels more selfconfident sitting. He leans his shovel-like palms on the table, but his bass voice lacks the usual threatening force.
     "You got a tip, didn't you?" He winks. "OK son, you don't have to lie to me. I read your report. Well done. Everyone else will buy it: That you thought it was a good idea to walk up and down all those goddamned staircases. But I don't buy it, son. You're not the kind, who'd just wander around because he can't think of anything better to do. You were tipped-off, weren't you?"
     He looks up at Arany with a hopeful expression. Arany feels like he's looking at a teenager who would like nothing better than to borrow his gun and play around with it. He has mercy on the captain.
     "Yes sir," he answers in his soldierly voice.
   Ericsson lets out a relieved sigh.
     "You've got to catch the bastard who killed Carl." He glances at Arany again, but this time he receives no answer. Arany stands straight, as if at attention, and stares into the place over Ericsson's head. "Catch him," the captain repeats softly. "I want the bastard dead. I know you'll catch him, son. If you need any help, you'll get it. You aren't alone in this. If you need something you just tell me. You'll get men, cars, search warrants, whatever you need. But â¦" he looks into Arany's eyes "that son-of-a-bitch won't be found not guilty by some fool jury this time. He won't make bail with stolen money and disappear."
     Arany wants to think of Celia. Or the sea, or a forest, or anything besides what the captain is saying. He looks at the small gallows standing on the desk. The little figure there swings slightly as it's hit by Ericsson's angry breath.
     They're silent. Someone laughs outside. It sounds incredibly far away to Arany. He looks into Ericsson's eyes. Into those tired, brown eyes with a few yellowish glittering speckles in them. Arany had never seen those speckles until
     He hears the door open behind him, but he doesn't turn around right away. He throws a last glance at the garbage cans outside, and the sunshine dancing on the wall across the way.
     "Is that you, Arany?" he asks.
     "Yes, sir."
     The captain turns around and sees Arany, wearing a pair of worn jeans and an old, faded T-shirtânot a very soldierly sight. Why does it have to be him? Ericsson wonders. Then he decides that no one can predict God's reasons.
     "Congratulations," he says, as he walks toward Arany and offers his hand. The detective looks surprised and takes the captain's hand with an embarrassed smile. Ericsson feels the need to explain himself and it bothers him. "I didn't expect you to catch your attacker so soon. Nice job."
     Arany says nothing. He bites his lip and tries to follow the advice he got from Celia: Always think nice thoughts. He mustn't worry about what people might think if he doesn't answer a question or just mutters something unintelligible. He should imagine a beautiful landscape, a sundown over the sea, the forest in autumn or anything else he likes. He has to think calm, happy thoughts. Arany imagines Celia. He sees her in his mind's eye the way she was the last time they met, in the Edgar Institute. She looked nervous and tired.
     Ericsson steps behind his desk and sits down. As a short man he feels more selfconfident sitting. He leans his shovel-like palms on the table, but his bass voice lacks the usual threatening force.
     "You got a tip, didn't you?" He winks. "OK son, you don't have to lie to me. I read your report. Well done. Everyone else will buy it: That you thought it was a good idea to walk up and down all those goddamned staircases. But I don't buy it, son. You're not the kind, who'd just wander around because he can't think of anything better to do. You were tipped-off, weren't you?"
     He looks up at Arany with a hopeful expression. Arany feels like he's looking at a teenager who would like nothing better than to borrow his gun and play around with it. He has mercy on the captain.
     "Yes sir," he answers in his soldierly voice.
   Ericsson lets out a relieved sigh.
     "You've got to catch the bastard who killed Carl." He glances at Arany again, but this time he receives no answer. Arany stands straight, as if at attention, and stares into the place over Ericsson's head. "Catch him," the captain repeats softly. "I want the bastard dead. I know you'll catch him, son. If you need any help, you'll get it. You aren't alone in this. If you need something you just tell me. You'll get men, cars, search warrants, whatever you need. But â¦" he looks into Arany's eyes "that son-of-a-bitch won't be found not guilty by some fool jury this time. He won't make bail with stolen money and disappear."
     Arany wants to think of Celia. Or the sea, or a forest, or anything besides what the captain is saying. He looks at the small gallows standing on the desk. The little figure there swings slightly as it's hit by Ericsson's angry breath.
     They're silent. Someone laughs outside. It sounds incredibly far away to Arany. He looks into Ericsson's eyes. Into those tired, brown eyes with a few yellowish glittering speckles in them. Arany had never seen those speckles until
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