Read Online Silence by Jan Costin Wagner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jan Costin Wagner
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people about Sanna and he had never really opened up to anyone, because it was no use. Because he felt he was unable to open up, and didn’t want to either, and it would do him no good. How could he talk to other people about feelings that at heart, and to this day, he himself couldn’t really understand?
As for the few who were close enough to him to try probing now and then, after a while he left them feeling they were talking to a brick wall. Because he had to indicate that such a conversation would soon come up against barriers that, with the best will in the world, he couldn’t cross. He would suffer a near-allergic reaction when they said things like: you have to look to the future, life must go on some time, it’s all in the past now, that’s what Sanna would have wanted.
He was indeed looking to the future and life was going on, and he knew what Sanna would have wanted much better than any clever counsellor. It wasn’t his problem if other people wouldn’t believe that, and if they thought looking to the future meant removing everything to do with Sanna from his life they were very much mistaken. He had removed nothing. That had been his first reaction; he had thought he couldn’t live in this house any longer, he had thought he must clear away everything that reminded him of Sanna from cupboards and drawers, but a moment came when he realized that no such plan would ever work.
He had put everything back in its old place, had spent a weekend restoring everything to the way it used to be when Sanna was alive, and when he sat there in the evening and looked around, he had known that was the right thing to do, and he would come to terms with her death, if he ever did, only in Sanna’s presence.
His best conversations had been with Kari Niemi, head of forensics. Niemi was in his mid thirties, only a little older than Kimmo himself. They’d never really had much to do with each other in the past, but Kimmo had appreciated Niemi’s very precise and careful work, and liked his unshakeable good humour, even if he also found it irritating.
Sundström told jokes without ever really laughing, and Kari Niemi was laughing all the time without, so far as Kimmo could remember, ever telling a joke. Behind Niemi’s eternal smile, in Joentaa’s opinion, there was a thoughtful, warm-hearted human being, and Kimmo could talk to him more easily than to anyone else about Sanna. Perhaps because apart from Sanna herself he had never met anyone with whom silence came so easily and who was so good at remaining silent himself. Conversations about Sanna, about her death, about his own life afterwards frequently consisted of silences.
Joentaa looked at the house. A sunny morning seemed about to dawn behind it, although it was only one thirty and still night. He pulled himself together, got out of the car and walked the short way to the house. He had had to fight off his drowsiness during the drive home, but now he felt wide awake again, and had a sense that he needed to think about several things at the same time. As if he still had something very important to clear up before morning came.
He went into the kitchen, poured cold milk into a glass, sat down in the living room and stared through the wide window at the lake.
They hadn’t found anything in that other lake, about an hour’s drive from here at the far end of Turku. Not yet; the divers would go on looking in the morning. Only recently Kimmo had been standing there on the bank of the other lake with Sundström and Grönholm, waiting for the divers to find the body of someone whose name they now knew. Presumably.
Kimmo put down his glass and realized what was keeping him awake. For the first time that day he found the time to think hard about what had happened. He’d have to talk to Ketola about it in the morning. Ketola might be able to help them. As usual.
A little while ago, when Grönholm mentioned the possibility of a joke, he had silently agreed. In one way a
As for the few who were close enough to him to try probing now and then, after a while he left them feeling they were talking to a brick wall. Because he had to indicate that such a conversation would soon come up against barriers that, with the best will in the world, he couldn’t cross. He would suffer a near-allergic reaction when they said things like: you have to look to the future, life must go on some time, it’s all in the past now, that’s what Sanna would have wanted.
He was indeed looking to the future and life was going on, and he knew what Sanna would have wanted much better than any clever counsellor. It wasn’t his problem if other people wouldn’t believe that, and if they thought looking to the future meant removing everything to do with Sanna from his life they were very much mistaken. He had removed nothing. That had been his first reaction; he had thought he couldn’t live in this house any longer, he had thought he must clear away everything that reminded him of Sanna from cupboards and drawers, but a moment came when he realized that no such plan would ever work.
He had put everything back in its old place, had spent a weekend restoring everything to the way it used to be when Sanna was alive, and when he sat there in the evening and looked around, he had known that was the right thing to do, and he would come to terms with her death, if he ever did, only in Sanna’s presence.
His best conversations had been with Kari Niemi, head of forensics. Niemi was in his mid thirties, only a little older than Kimmo himself. They’d never really had much to do with each other in the past, but Kimmo had appreciated Niemi’s very precise and careful work, and liked his unshakeable good humour, even if he also found it irritating.
Sundström told jokes without ever really laughing, and Kari Niemi was laughing all the time without, so far as Kimmo could remember, ever telling a joke. Behind Niemi’s eternal smile, in Joentaa’s opinion, there was a thoughtful, warm-hearted human being, and Kimmo could talk to him more easily than to anyone else about Sanna. Perhaps because apart from Sanna herself he had never met anyone with whom silence came so easily and who was so good at remaining silent himself. Conversations about Sanna, about her death, about his own life afterwards frequently consisted of silences.
Joentaa looked at the house. A sunny morning seemed about to dawn behind it, although it was only one thirty and still night. He pulled himself together, got out of the car and walked the short way to the house. He had had to fight off his drowsiness during the drive home, but now he felt wide awake again, and had a sense that he needed to think about several things at the same time. As if he still had something very important to clear up before morning came.
He went into the kitchen, poured cold milk into a glass, sat down in the living room and stared through the wide window at the lake.
They hadn’t found anything in that other lake, about an hour’s drive from here at the far end of Turku. Not yet; the divers would go on looking in the morning. Only recently Kimmo had been standing there on the bank of the other lake with Sundström and Grönholm, waiting for the divers to find the body of someone whose name they now knew. Presumably.
Kimmo put down his glass and realized what was keeping him awake. For the first time that day he found the time to think hard about what had happened. He’d have to talk to Ketola about it in the morning. Ketola might be able to help them. As usual.
A little while ago, when Grönholm mentioned the possibility of a joke, he had silently agreed. In one way a
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