and once again examined the almost bare grave, distractedly rearranging the sparse foliage.
"So the fact that she reacted the way she did, in spite of her tough character, means something?" asked Skarre.
"I'm not sure. I don't know what I'm getting at."
"How could anyone steal from a grave?"
"The fact that you can't comprehend it is a good sign," Sejer said, getting to his feet.
They started back to the car.
"Do you believe in God?" Skarre asked.
Sejer pursed his lips into an odd little pout. "Well, no, I don't think I do. I believe more in ... some kind of power," he said.
Skarre smiled.
"I've heard that sort of thing before. A power is more acceptable. Seems strange that it's so difficult for us to give it a name. But it's obvious that 'God' is an enormously loaded word. So where do you think this power is leading us?"
"I said power," Sejer said, "not will."
"So you believe in a power that has no will?"
"I didn't say that either. I simply call it a power; whether it's guided by a will or not is an open question."
"But a power with no will would be terribly depressing, don't you think?"
"You don't give up, do you! Is this a clumsy attempt at confessing your faith?"
"Yes," Skarre said.
"Jesus. The things a person doesn't know." Sejer pondered this unexpected revelation for a moment and then muttered, "I've never understood faith."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't understand what it takes to have it."
"It's just a matter of a certain attitude. You choose an attitude to life, which in time brings you benefits and joy. It gives you a sense of connection to the past and it lends a meaning to life and death that is intensely reassuring."
"Choose an attitude? Haven't you been saved?"
Skarre opened his mouth and let out a peal of laughter redolent of the coastland and skerries and salt water. "People make everything so complicated when it's actually very simple. You don't have to understand everything. The important thing is to feel. Understanding comes gradually."
"Then that's for me," Sejer said.
"I know what you're betting on," Skarre said, grinning. "You don't believe in God, but you can clearly imagine the Pearly Gates. And like most people, you hope that Saint Peter will be asleep over his books so that you can slip inside at an unguarded moment."
Sejer laughed heartily, from the very depths of his soul, and did something he would never have thought possible. He put his arm around Skarre's shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
They had reached their car. Skarre plucked off a leafy twig that had caught on the windshield.
"I would have bought another bird," Skarre said, "and had it properly attached to the headstone. If it was my child."
Sejer started up the old Peugeot and let the engine run as he sat in silence for a moment.
"I would too."
Halvor was still at his computer. He hadn't thought it would be easy, because his life had never been easy. It might take months, but that didn't frighten him. He was going over everything he could remember about what she had read or listened to, selecting titles at random, or a character's name from a book, or specific words or phrases that had been part of her vocabulary. Often he simply sat and stared at the screen. He didn't care about anything else any more, not TV or his CD player. He sat alone in the silence, spending most of his time in the past. Finding the password had become an excuse for staying in the past and avoiding the future. There was nothing to look forward to anyway. Only loneliness.
What he had shared with Annie was of course too good to last; he should have known that. He had often wondered where it was leading and how it would end.
His grandmother said nothing, although she did have her opinions; like that he should do something useful, such as mowing the little patch of lawn behind the house, raking the courtyard, and maybe cleaning up the shed. That was what most people did in the spring: threw out the rubbish from the winter. The flowerbed in front of the house needed weeding; she had been out there herself and noticed how the tulips were ailing, strangled by dandelions and weeds. Every time she mentioned it, he nodded distractedly, and then went back to what he was doing. Eventually she gave up, deciding that whatever he was working on must be terribly important. With much effort she managed to