I Can See in the Dark by Karin Fossum

better than nothing.
    ‘You mentioned something about a drink,’ said Arnfinn.
    He coughed, putting a hand up to his mouth. He had taken a seat on the sofa, pressed himself into the corner, his large hands lying motionless in his lap.
    ‘Yes.’ I said. ‘You’ll get your drink. But I’m not having any. I think it’s a dreadful habit and I don’t drink.’
    He laughed a little uncertainly at this. He tried to curb his violent trembling and peered about him as if searching for the bottle I’d been tempting him with. Perhaps they’re communing, I thought, on some special frequency. Perhaps the bottle is transmitting an almost imperceptible signal from the cupboard, and it’s striking Arnfinn’s aura.
    ‘We could play “You’re getting hot”,’ I suggested, and smiled agreeably.
    All of a sudden he looked shamefaced and stared down at his hands. His nails had dark edges, and there wasn’t much doubt that those hands had done their fair share of hard work.
    ‘Not playing,’ he mumbled reluctantly.
    He sat there with his windcheater on, refusing to take it off.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘I was just joking. You’re not a child. You’re unemployed, aren’t you? Are you on Social Security? I’m not trying to be rude, I’m simply interested. Are you on the dole, Arnfinn? You needn’t be afraid of divulging things to me, I’m a member of one of the caring professions. I’m used to all that. I mean, people needing help.’
    He shrugged his shoulders and turned away slightly, trying to get comfortable in the corner of the sofa. His gaze had begun to wander, as if he regretted coming and wanted to go again. Perhaps now he couldn’t quite grasp how he’d ended up in my living room. He felt his pocket again, but remembered that the hip flask was empty.
    ‘Is there something you want?’ he asked.
    I sat looking at him for a long time before I replied.
    ‘Company,’ I said simply. ‘Not many people come to this house. But I’ve always got a bottle in the cupboard,’ I added, ‘just in case. A case like yours. And it’s nice to have something to offer. Of course you’ll get a drink. I’m feeling generous. I don’t often feel that way, but you’ve caught me on a good day.’
    He managed a brave smile. His cheeks flushed with pleasure. Then I rose and went to the cupboard, fetched the bottle and glass. He heard the chink, and immediately it brought him to life; light shone at last in his sombre gaze. I held the bottle out to him and pointed to the label.
    ‘Perhaps this isn’t the sort you’re used to?’
    I set it on the table in front of him.
    He nodded eagerly and assured me that the brand was absolutely excellent, then he leant forward. His hands began creeping in the direction of the bottle, like a brace of starving animals. But he pulled himself together and straightened his back as if, from somewhere deep in his mind, where his reason lay, he realised I was playing a game, and that he would have to play along whether he wanted to or not. If he wanted his reward, the assuaging liquor. He smiled, showing yellow, somewhat worn teeth, clasped his hands in his lap and waited. So, I poured out some vodka for him, and he drank. He held the glass in both hands like a small child. The effect was like pouring oil into a machine that has ground to a halt. Immediately his head came up, and his eyes sparkled with new lustre, his hand became steady, it was a miracle.
    I let him sit in peace for a while and drink. I watched him as he raised the glass and put it to his lips.
    ‘What’s the situation?’ I asked, when I saw that he’d achieved a bit of equilibrium, and the warmth of the spirit had spread through his body. ‘Is there someone waiting for you at home? Have you got a family?’
    He made no reply to this, but drank more vodka. He was only focused on the glass. He’d already forgotten that I was sitting there, or so it seemed; only the intoxication was important now. At all costs he had to arrive at