The Jealousy Man and Other Stories
- Автор: Несбё Ю
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Alfred A. Knopf
- ISBN: 978-0-593-32100-3
- Переводчик: Robert Ferguson
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Jealousy Man and Other Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
A detective with a nose for jealousy is on the trail of a man suspected of murdering his twin; a bereaved father must decide whether vengeance has a place in the new world order after a pandemic brings about the collapse of society; a garbage man fresh off a bender tries to piece together what happened the night before; a hired assassin matches wits against his greatest adversary in a dangerous game for survival; and an instantly electric connection between passengers on a flight to London may spell romance, or something more sinister.
With Nesbø’s characteristic gift for outstanding atmosphere and gut-wrenching revelations, The Jealousy Man confirms that he is at the peak of his abilities.
‘Don’t let it get away, Ken.’
But Ken did let it get away. He had neither the strength nor the nerve to touch a snake again, still less one that had just shortened his lifespan down to twenty-seven years.
‘Damn!’ said his father.
‘You must be joking!’ said Ken. ‘You saw it as clearly as me and you know how to recognise every snake in the whole of this damned continent. Are you telling me you don’t know—’
‘Of course I know which snake it was,’ said his father, looking at Ken in a strange and enigmatic way. ‘And that’s why I said “Damn”. Hurry up and fetch the brown bag from the car.’
‘But shouldn’t we get back to—’
‘It was an Egyptian cobra. Our central nervous systems would be paralysed before we got halfway. Now do as I say.’
Ken’s brain tried desperately to assess the situation and the options. It couldn’t. He even poked the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, but that didn’t help either. So he did as his father told him.
‘Open it,’ his father said when Ken returned with the large brown buffalo-hide doctor’s bag. ‘Hurry.’
His body writhed; his mouth was open as though he couldn’t get enough air.
‘I’m feeling fine, Father, why—’
‘Because I was the one who got bitten first. It’s got five times as much poison as the second time. Which gives me about half an hour and you two and a half. What do you see?’
‘There are a lot of test tubes attached to the sides here.’
‘We always take supplies with us of the antidotes for bites we know we won’t have time to get back home for. The Egyptian cobra, can you see that one?’
Ken’s eyes raced over the names on the labels on the test tubes.
‘Here it is, Father.’
‘I need to take it at once. Hopefully I’ll still be alert enough to show you the way when we drive back to the farm so that we get there well before you start to have problems. The needles are in the bottom. You know what you’ve got to do, son.’
Ken looks across at his father. It’s clear he is no longer able to move. He just sits there, eyes half closed and watching his son. Then Ken concentrates on the needle again. Tries to ignore the nausea. Takes a deep breath. Knows that this is something he’ll remember to his dying day, the moment when he took things into his own hands and saved the life of the man he loved above all others. He places the point of the needle between the two bite holes, sees how the skin dips a little under the pressure, and then moves back out again once it’s been penetrated and the point enters Ken Abbott’s arm. It stings, and he breathes deeply through his nose as he pushes the plunger down. He watches the changing level of the yellow fluid until about two-thirds of it are left, and then pulls the plunger back up a tiny bit, removes the needle and repeats the procedure a little higher up the arm. A thought strikes him: so he won’t be joining the 27 Club after all. Quite the contrary; he’s going to be rich, happy and have a long life. All thanks to an injection. You could die of laughing.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asks cheerfully.
‘Sad,’ whispers his father. His chin is now down in his chest.
Ken withdraws the needle and uses a ball of cotton wool to dry the small bead of blood left behind by the injections. No nausea. No guilty conscience. Just sunshine and joy. In a word — the jackpot, at last.
‘Well, my dear Father. If it’s any comfort, that actually hurt quite a lot.’ Ken looks at his watch. ‘Comfort for the last few remaining minutes of your life.’
With a great effort the father lifts his head.
‘Why, Ken? In God’s name, why?’
Ken sits down beside his father and puts an arm around his shoulder.
‘Why? Why d’you think? Same reason I’ve been going around with that rifle just waiting for a situation to arise in which I could blame a hunting accident, a stray shot or whatever you call it. Money, Father. Money.’
Emerson’s head droops down again. ‘So that was why you came? For your inheritance?’
With his free hand Ken slaps his father on the back. A throbbing pain has now started spreading in the area around the bite and the needle marks in the other arm.
‘I read a depressing article about the age wave in the Guardian. You know the life expectancy of middle-class men between fifty and fifty-five who haven’t yet had a heart attack or got cancer? Ninety-two. I’ve got a few creditors who aren’t willing to wait that long, Father. But I think it will ease their minds considerably when I return as the sole heir and with your death certificate in my hand.’
‘You could have just asked for the money.’
‘A million pounds? Even I’m not that cheeky, Father.’
Ken gives a loud laugh. Instantly his laughter is answered from the other side of the river where a pack of grey-brown hyenas have arrived and are observing them with curiosity. Ken shivers.
‘Where did they come from?’
‘They can smell it,’ says Emerson.
‘Smell? Surely you haven’t begun to smell already.’
‘Death. They recognise the smell of it. I’ve seen it before.’
‘Well. They’re ugly, they’re stupid and they’re on the other side of the river. I hate them.’
‘That’s because they’re morally superior to us.’
Ken looks on in surprise as his father continues:
‘No freedom of choice, no morality, you’re probably thinking. But if freedom of choice means being able to force your nature, and morality is to will it, then why are we so unhappy?’
Emerson Abbott raises his head again and smiles sadly.
‘Well, it’s because we fool ourselves into thinking we could have done things differently. We think having souls gives us the ability to act in ways that are not just designed to benefit ourselves. But we can’t. And the proof is that we are here, we still exist. We eat our fathers and sons when we must, not from hate but out of love of life. And yet we think we’ll burn in hell for it. And maybe we will. That’s why the cobra which chooses to eat its own young is morally superior to us. It doesn’t feel a moment’s shame, because there is no sin, just the consuming will to live. Understand? You are your only redeemer. And redemption comes only when you do what you have to do to survive.’
Ken’s on the point of replying when a sudden pain in his chest causes him to lose his breath.
‘Something wrong?’ asks the father.
‘I...’
‘You have a pain in your chest,’ said his father. Suddenly his voice is normal again. ‘That’s how it starts.’
‘Starts? What...’
‘The Egyptian cobra. You do remember how we went through this?’
‘But...’
‘Nerve poison. First, burning pains around the site of the bite that gradually spread to the rest of the body. The skin around the bite becomes discoloured, the arms and legs swell up, and then comes a feeling of drowsiness. And then, towards the end: accelerating heart rate, discharges from the mouth and eyes, paralysis at the back of the throat making it difficult to speak or breathe before the advent of the final stage: the nerve poison paralyses the heart and lungs and you die. It can take hours and is extremely painful.’
‘Father!’
‘You sound surprised, son. Weren’t you paying attention in class?’
‘But you... you seem... better.’
‘No, you can’t have been paying attention,’ says the father with a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Or you would have noticed the difference between an Egyptian cobra and an African rock python.’