The Redeemer Read Online Free Page A

creep and thawout.
    Something was trembling.
    At first he thought it was the ground, the city, the foundations. He put down the bag and delved into his pocket. His mobile phone was vibrating in his hand. The display showed Ragnhild's number. It was the third time today. He knew he could not put it off any longer; he would have to tell her. That he and Thea were getting engaged. When he had found the right words. He put the phone back in his pocket and avoided looking at his reflection. But he made up his mind. He would stop being a coward. He would be frank. Be a big soldier. For Thea in Gøteborggata. For his father in Thailand. For the Lord above.
    'Yes,' came the shout from the loudspeaker above the bells.
    'Oh, hi. This is Jon.'
    'Eh?'
    'Jon from the Salvation Army.'
    Jon waited.
    'What do you want?' the voice crackled.
    'I've got some food for you. I thought you might need—'
    'Got any cigarettes?'
    Jon swallowed and stamped his boots in the snow. 'No, I only had enough money for food this time.'
    'Shit.'
    It went quiet again.
    'Hello?' Jon shouted.
    'Yeah, yeah. I'm thinking.'
    'If you want, I'll come back later.'
    The mechanism buzzed and Jon quickly pushed open the door.
    Inside the stairwell there were newspapers, empty bottles and frozen yellow pools of urine. Thanks to the cold weather Jon did not have to inhale the pervasive, bitter-sweet stench that filled the hallway on milder days.
    He tried to walk without making much noise, but his footsteps reverberated on the stairs anyway. The woman standing in the doorway and waiting for him was ogling the bags. To avoid looking him in the eye, Jon thought. She had that same bloated, swollen face that came with many years of addiction, was overweight and wore a filthy white T-shirt under her dressing gown. A stale smell emanated from the door.
    Jon stopped on the landing and put down the bags. 'Is your husband in, too?'
    'Yes, he's in,' she said in mellifluous French.
    She was good-looking. High cheekbones and large, almond-shaped eyes. Narrow, bloodless lips. And well dressed. At any rate, the bit of her he could see through the crack in the door was well dressed.
    Instinctively, he adjusted his red neckerchief.
    The security lock between them was made of solid brass and attached to a heavy oak door without a nameplate. While standing outside the block in avenue Carnot waiting for the concierge to open the door, he had noticed that everything seemed new and expensive, the door furniture, the bells, the cylinder locks. And the fact that the pale yellow facade and the white shutters were covered in an unsightly, dirty layer of black pollution served to emphasise the established and solid nature of this district of Paris even more. Original oil paintings hung in the hallway.
    'What do you want?'
    The eyes and the intonation were neither friendly nor unfriendly, but contained perhaps a smidgeon of scepticism because of his terrible French pronunciation.
    'A message, madame .'
    She hesitated. But acted as expected in the end.
    'Alright. Could you wait here please, and I'll get him?'
    She shut the door and the lock fell into position with a well-oiled click. He stamped his feet. He ought to learn to speak better French. His mother had force-fed him English in the evenings, but she had never sorted out his French. He stared at the door. French knickers. French letter. Good-looking.
    He thought about Giorgi. Giorgi of the white smile was one year older than he was, so twenty-eight now. Was he still as good-looking? Blond and small and pretty like a girl? He had been in love with Giorgi, in the unprejudiced, unconditional way that only children can fall in love.
    He heard steps coming from inside. A man's steps. Someone fiddling with the lock. A blue connecting line between work and freedom, from here to soap and urine. The snow would come soon. He prepared himself.
    * * *
    The man's face appeared in the doorway.
    'What the fuck do you want?'
    Jon lifted the plastic bags and