The Land of Dreams

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244 25 lance alternated between relief and uneasiness in the days following Nyland’s departure for Norway. On the one hand, a man had been arrested and his fingerprints were found on the baseball bat that presumably had bashed in the head of the young Norwegian . On the other hand, Andy Hansen’s initials had been found on that bat. Lance remembered quite clearly that Andy’s initials had been carved into the bat he’d had ever since they were kids. The same bat Lance had picked up from the ground of the schoolyard after the ambulance had driven off with Clayton Miller. Clayton, the boy everyone thought was a homosexual, just like Georg Lofthus. But how could his brother have managed to get the baseball bat to Grand Portage, and with Lenny Diver’s fingerprints on it? It didn’t seem very plausible. And Andy couldn’t be the only one in the world with the initials A. H. Besides, at the crime scene they’d found biological evidence that could only have come from an Indian. And this Lenny Diver had also lied about his alibi the first time the police had interviewed him. Andy couldn’t possibly be the one who killed the Norwegian. Lance had no doubt whatsoever that his brother had been up to something that wouldn’t bear the light of day. Otherwise he wouldn’t have lied so blatantly when everyone was listening, the way he’d done at the ranger station. But he didn’t murder that Norwegian canoeist. And the way the case had turned out, that was the only thing Lance cared about. THE LAND OF DREAMS 245 ......................... on friday evening he drove to Grand Portage to pick up his son. He was afraid Mary might say something about the fact that he’d gone to see her father. She probably hadn’t appreciated the way he’d shown up, unannounced and treading within the boundaries of her daily life. But nothing out of the ordinary happened. Mary kissed Jimmy when she said good-bye, gave her ex-husband a reserved smile, and then went back inside the house. At eight o’clock father and son were having a late dinner. From their places at the table, they had a view of the lake and the weekend traffic on Highway . Just below the house was Isak Hansen’s hardware store. That’s where our story starts, thought Lance. But he immediately corrected himself. Because there was a whole series of different stories that had led up to them sitting here and eating pizza on this evening. There were stories that started in a land where no one had ever seen a white man before. The land of the Ojibwe. And stories that started in Norway long ago. Lance liked to think about all of this. The complex interweaving of stories surrounding them gave him an even stronger sense of connection with his son. He looked at the boy, who was chewing on a mouthful of pizza. His cheeks were bulging. Hovering in the air between the table and his mouth was the glass of Sprite he was holding in his hand, ready to take a sip as soon as he swallowed enough pizza to make room for some soda. Lance had to laugh. Jimmy looked at him with big eyes. Then he noticed what he was doing, his cheeks bulging, the glass hovering, as if waiting impatiently for its turn. Lance saw the boy’s cheeks get even bigger, as if they might burst. Then Jimmy couldn’t stop himself. Out of his mouth sprayed chunks of pizza crust, pepperoni , peppers, and dissolved cheese. Some of the food landed on Lance’s plate. That made Jimmy laugh even harder. Lance looked down at his plate. “I think I’ve had plenty,” he said. “How about you?” “I’ll have some more.” Jimmy reached out his hand for the last piece of pizza. He was still laughing. Lance shook his head, amazed at the boy’s appetite. While Jimmy finished eating, Lance began clearing the table. Out in the kitchen, he rinsed his plate in the sink, thinking for a moment about how things had been just a few years earlier, when Vidar Sundstøl 246 all three of them had lived here. He wondered how much Jimmy recalled from those days. He was only four...