'But you were up all night?'
He glanced at her.
'I thought I could hear that you were awake sometimes.'
'Of course I was awake. But I didn't want to disturb you. What did you find?'
'I got a feeling for how he used his computer. The stuff I couldn't open, all those closed doors, the high walls and cul-de-sacs he built up – it all indicates what lay behind it.'
'And what was that?'
Aron suddenly seemed to be uneasy.
'Fear. It was as if he'd erected every possible barrier to prevent anybody discovering what he had hidden in his computer. These disks are a safety valve, deep down in Henrik's private underworld. I know how I used to conceal the contents of my computer, but I never did it like this. It's very skilfully done. I'm a pretty good burglar, I can usually find loopholes if I really apply myself to it. But not in this case.'
Fear. It's coming back now. Nazrin talked about happiness. But Henrik himself talked about the last few weeks of his life in terms of fear. And Aron has discovered that straight away.
'The files that I can open don't contain anything of interest. He keeps track of his poor financial state, he is in contact with several Internet auction sites, mainly for books and films. I've spent all night banging my head against locked doors.'
'And you haven't come across anything unexpected?'
'I did find one thing, in fact. Something filed in the wrong place, in among the system files. I stumbled upon it by pure chance! Look!'
Louise leaned towards the screen. Aron pointed.
'A little file that has nothing to do with the system. The interesting thing is that he's made no attempt to hide it. There are no blocks at all.'
'Why do you think he did that?'
'There can only be one reason. Why does anybody leave one file accessible but hides all the rest?'
'Because he wanted it to be found?'
Aron nodded.
'That's one possibility, at least. The file reveals that Henrik has a flat in Barcelona. Did you know about that?'
'No.'
Louise thought about the letter 'B' that kept cropping up in Henrik's diaries. Could it stand for a city rather than a person?
'He has a little flat in a street that's called, believe it or not, "Christ's Cul-de-sac". It's in the very centre of Barcelona. He's noted down the name of the caretaker, Mrs Roig, and the amount of rent he pays. If I understand his notes correctly, he's had this flat for about five years, since December 1999. It looks as if he signed the contract on the final day of the last century. Was Henrik keen on rituals? New Year's Eve? Did he send messages over the sea in bottles? Was it important for him to sign a contract on a particular day?'
'I've never thought about that. But he does like to go back to places he's been to before.'
'That's something that splits humanity into two groups – those who hate going back, and those who love it. You know where I belong. What about you?'
Louise did not answer. She pulled the computer closer to her and read what it said on the screen. Aron went out to feed his birds. Instinctively, Louise worried that he might pull a fast one.
She put on her overcoat and followed him. The birds took off and fled to the safety of their trees. Louise and Aron stood side by side, gazing out to sea.
'One of these days I'll get to see an iceberg. I'm quite certain about that.'
'I couldn't care less about your icebergs. I'd like you to come to Barcelona with me, and help me to understand what happened to Henrik.'
He did not answer, but she knew that, this time, he would do as she wished.
'I'm going to the harbour, fishing,' he said eventually.
'Do that. But make sure you see somebody about looking after your trees while you're away.'
Two days later they left the red parrots behind and drove to Melbourne. Aron was wearing a crumpled brown suit. Louise had bought the tickets, but did not protest when Aron gave her the money. At a quarter past ten they boarded the Lufthansa flight that would take them to Barcelona, via Bangkok and Frankfurt.
They discussed what they would do when they got there. They did not have a key to the flat, and they had no idea of how the caretaker would react. What if she refused to allow them in? Did Sweden have a consulate in Barcelona? They were unable to foresee what might happen, but Louise insisted that they would have to ask questions. Keeping silent would neither allow them to make any progress, nor get them any closer to Henrik. They would have to continue searching for him among the shadows.
When Aron fell asleep with his head on her shoulder, she grew tense. But she did not move him.
They arrived in Barcelona twenty-seven hours later. In the evening of the third day since leaving the red parrots behind them, they found themselves standing outside the block of flats in the narrow alley that bore the name of Christ.
Aron took hold of her hand, and they went in together.
PART 2
The Lantern-Bearer
'Better to light a candle than to rant against darkness.'
Confucius
CHAPTER 9
The caretaker, Mrs Roig, lived on the ground floor to the left of the stairs. The light came on to the accompaniment of a rattling noise, presumably from the automatically timed switching-off device.
They had decided to tell the truth. Henrik was dead and they were his parents. Louise imagined the caretaker would look like the one she got to know when she spent six months in Paris in the mid-1970s. Powerfully built, an aggressive hairstyle, a few rotten teeth. A television set blaring away in the background, and a glimpse of what might have been her husband's naked feet resting on a table.
The door was opened by a woman of about twentyfive. Louise noticed that Aron gave a little start when he saw how good-looking she was. Aron spoke pigeon Spanish. He had spent six months, in Las Palmas in his younger days, working in various bars.
Mrs Roig's first name was Blanca, and she gave a friendly nod when Aron explained that he was Henrik's father, and the woman by his side was Henrik's mother.
Blanca smiled, but had no idea of what was coming next. Louise was horrified, thinking that Aron was saying everything in the wrong order. Aron realised his error, and turned to her for help: but Louise looked away.
'Henrik is dead,' he said. 'That's why we're here. To take a look at his flat and collect his belongings.'
Blanca appeared not to understand at first, as if Aron's halting Spanish had suddenly become totally incomprehensible.
'Henrik is dead,' he said again.
Blanca turned pale. She crossed her arms tightly.
'Is Henrik dead? What happened?'
Aron glanced at Louise again.
'A car accident.'
Louise was not prepared to let Henrik die in a car accident.
'He fell ill,' she said in English. 'Do you speak English?'
Blanca nodded.
'He fell ill and collapsed.'
Blanca took a step backwards and invited them in. The flat was small: two little rooms, an even smaller kitchen, and a plastic curtain in front of a tiny bathroom. To her surprise, Louise noted two large coloured posters with classical Greek motifs on one wall. Blanca seemed to live alone in the flat, Louise could see no trace of a man or any children. Blanca invited them to sit down. Louise could see that she was shaken. Had Henrik been a routine tenant, or something more than that? They were about the same age.
Blanca had tears in her eyes. It seemed to Louise that she was very like Nazrin – they could have been sisters. 'When was he last here, in his flat?'
'In August. He arrived late at night. I was asleep, and he was always very quiet. The next day he knocked on my door. He gave me some flower seeds. He always used to do that when he'd been off on his travels.'
'How long did he stay?'
'A week. Maybe ten days. I didn't see much of him. I don't know what he was up to, but whatever it was, he did it at night. He slept during the day.'
'So you have no
idea at all what he was doing?'
'He said he was writing newspaper articles. He was always short of time.'
Louise and Aron exchanged glances. Be careful now, Louise thought. Don't go barging in like a bull in a china shop.
'You're always short of time when you work for a newspaper. Do you know what he was writing about?'
'He used to say he was part of a resistance movement.'
'Is that the phrase he used?'
'I didn't really understand what he meant. But he said it was a bit like Spain during the Civil War, and the side he was on would have been fighting against Franco. But we didn't often talk about what he was doing. It was mostly practical matters. I did his washing for him. And the cleaning. He paid well.'
'Did he have plenty of money?'
Blanca frowned.
'You ought to know about that if you're his parents.'
Louise could see that she needed to intervene.
'He was at the age when young men don't tell their parents everything.'
'He never mentioned you at all, in fact. But I suppose I shouldn't have said that?'
'We were very close. He was our only child,' said Aron.
Louise was aghast, and wondered how he was able to lie so convincingly. Had Henrik inherited that ability from his father? Had he also been as convincing as that when he was not speaking the truth?
Blanca stood up and left the room. Louise was about to say something, but Aron shook his head and mouthed the word 'wait'. Blanca came back with a bunch of keys.
'He lived on the top floor.'
'Who did he rent the flat from?'
'A retired colonel who lives in Madrid. It's actually his wife's house, but Colonel Mendez sees to all the practical details.'
'Do you know how he found the flat?'
'No. He just turned up one day with a tenancy agreement. Before him the flat had been occupied by two problematic American students who spent most of their time playing very loud music and bringing home girls. I never liked them. Things were much better when Henrik came.'
Blanca led them out into the stairwell and opened the lift doors. Louise paused.
'Has anybody been here during the last few weeks, asking after him?'
'No.'
Louise was on edge. She could sense that something was wrong. The answer had come too quickly, and seemed too well rehearsed. Blanca Roig had been expecting that question. Somebody had been there, but she did not want to admit to it. Louise looked at Aron as they squeezed into the little lift, but he did not seem to have noticed anything.
The lift clattered its way up.
'Did Henrik often have visitors?'
'Never. Or at least, very rarely.'
'That sounds odd. Henrik always liked to be surrounded by people.'
'In that case he must have met them somewhere else, not here.'
'Did he receive many letters?' Aron asked.
The lift came to a stop. When Blanca unlocked the door to Henrik's flat, Louise noticed that there were three locks. At least one of them seemed to have been added recently.
Blanca opened the door and stepped to one side.
'His mail is on the kitchen table,' she said. 'I'll be downstairs if you need me. I still can't believe he's dead. You must be very upset. I'll never dare to have any children, I'd be too frightened they would die.'
She handed the keys to Aron. Louise felt slightly irritated: Aron always seemed to be the most important person in other people's eyes.
Blanca set off downstairs. They waited until they heard the sound of her door closing before entering the flat. Music could be heard from somewhere or other. The landing light switched itself off. Louise gave a start.
For the second time I'm about to enter a flat in which Henrik is lying dead. He's not here, he's in his grave. But he's here even so.
They stepped into the hall and closed the door behind them. It was a small, cramped flat that had originally been a part of the attic space. There was a skylight, exposed beams, a sloping ceiling. One room, a little kitchen, a bathroom with a toilet. They could see the whole of the flat from the hall.
The mail was on the kitchen table. Louise looked through the heap: several advertising leaflets, an electricity bill and an invitation to change to a different telephone company. Aron had gone into the main room, and was standing in the middle of the floor when she joined him. She saw the same as he could see: a room with naked walls, no decorations of any kind. A bed with a red cover, a desk, a computer and a shelf containing books and files. That was all.
Henrik lived here in secret. He didn't tell either of us about this flat. It seems that he'd inherited from Aron the ability to set up various hiding places.
They said nothing, merely wandered about the flat. Louise pulled back a curtain in front of a recess acting as a wardrobe. Shirts, trousers, a jacket, a basket of underwear, some shoes. She picked up a pair of heavy boots and held them up to the light. There was red soil on the rubber soles. Aron had sat down at the desk and opened the only drawer. She put the shoes back and went to peer over his shoulder. She felt a brief impulse to stroke his thinning hair. The drawer was empty.
Louise sat down on a stool at the side of the desk.
'Blanca wasn't telling the truth.'
Aron looked at her in surprise.
'When I asked if anybody had been here, she replied too quickly. It didn't feel right.'
'Why should she lie?'
'In the old days you used to say that you respected my intuition.'
'I said a lot of things in the old days that I wouldn't say now. I'm going to switch his computer on now.'
'Not yet! Wait! Can you imagine Henrik in this flat?'
Aron rotated his chair and looked around the room.
'Not really. But then, I hardly knew him. You're the one who can answer that question, not me.'
'We know for certain that he lived here. He's been renting this flat in secret for five years. But I can't imagine him being here.'
'Are you saying that it was a different Henrik who lived here?'
Louise nodded.
Aron had always found it easy to follow her train of thought. In the days when they had been close to each other, they used to play at guessing the other's reactions. Even if their love had died, they might still be able to play that game successfully.
'A different Henrik, one he wanted to keep hidden.'
'But why?'
'Aren't you the one best qualified to answer that question?'
Aron pulled a face.
'I was a drunken lout who ran away from everything and everybody, from responsibility for others, and most of all from myself. I can't imagine that Henrik could have been like that.'
'How do you know? He was your son, after all.'