The Library of Shadows

5

Katherina sat down on the top step to the balcony and drew her legs up so that she could rest her chin on her knees. From here she had a view of the whole shop and, more importantly, the front door. Even though it was now a week since Luca's death, she still expected the door to open and the diminutive Italian to step into the bookshop with a contented look on his face, as if he were coming home instead of starting a work-day. For the past couple of years she'd had that feeling too when she pushed open the door and heard the bells welcoming her inside. The sound of those bells put her in a different frame of mind, a state of calm and peace, and she imagined the same had been true for Luca.

But now all that was going to change.

Her gaze fell on the section of railing that had been replaced. The carpenter, who was a friend of Iversen's, had done his best to match the tone of the wood with the old railing, but it was still obvious that repairs had recently been made. It would take a couple of years before the difference was no longer discernible.

Katherina couldn't hear the voices of Iversen and Luca's son from the basement any more, and she surmised they had withdrawn to the library. She'd heard about the son for the first time after Luca's death, and it was news that took her completely by surprise. After ten years in the bookshop and, she thought, a close friendship with both Iversen and Luca, the news had suddenly made her feel like an outsider. Iversen claimed that Luca had had his reasons for keeping the information secret – even Iversen didn't know what all the reasons were – but it had apparently had something to do with his wife's death.

At the funeral Katherina had had a chance to study the son closely. He looked like his father, though he was significantly taller than Luca had been. The facial features were the same, the dark eyes, thick eyebrows and almost black hair, all of which confirmed her assumption that Luca must have been an attractive man in his younger days.

Katherina was not the only one who was surprised to learn that Luca had a son. When Iversen presented the situation to the Bibliophile Society, the news was evidently as much of a shock to many of them as it was to her. The meeting had lasted a long time, and afterwards the only thing Iversen was willing to reveal was that they had decided to include the son. Katherina gathered this went against Iversen's own wishes, but she hadn't delved any more deeply into it.

Downstairs he was most likely in the process of discussing the whole matter. It was no easy task to explain how everything fitted together to an outsider, but Iversen was the best person to do it. She wondered which explanation he would use this time. Probably the one about the channel. A bit too technical for her taste. Katherina had been forced to come up with her own explanation until years later she finally found others who suffered from the same affliction – or gift, depending on how you looked at it, or rather at what moment you happened to ask her.

Iversen had a different perspective on these abilities because he was a transmitter. Katherina was a receiver. Two sides of the same coin, he would probably tell Jon, but for Katherina there was a significant difference that could not be explained by either reversing polarities or flipping coins. As Iversen was in the process of explaining, there were two types of Lectors: transmitters like himself, who could influence those who listened to a reading and were thus able to affect the listeners' perceptions of and attitudes towards the text.

The other type were receivers, like Katherina.

The first time she became aware of this, she was barely conscious. She had been in a car accident and was badly injured, as were her parents. For several days she lay under anaesthesia in a big hospital bed with her small, fragile body broken in pieces and held together with screws and plaster. It was in this state that she experienced someone reading aloud to her. Through the drug-induced fog she heard a clear voice telling a story about an unusually passive man who let his life go by without taking any real part in it or having any opinions about what was happening around him. Even though she was anaesthetized, she was still conscious enough to feel surprised. Partly she wondered who the calm voice belonged to, and partly she was amazed by the strange story, which she didn't understand at all. It wasn't funny or sweet or exciting, but the compelling force of the voice held her attention and led her through the tale.

When she was finally brought out of the anaesthesia, she had other things to think about. Her parents were in very bad shape and unable to visit her. She also had her own injuries, which only slowly began to heal under the thick layers of bandages – a subject that was off-limits for the relatives who visited her with teary eyes and quavering voices.

As she regained consciousness, she started hearing voices. Not the same voice that had read to her, but various voices that seemed almost to merge together, voices that tormented her during the day and kept her awake at night. Sometimes the voices were accompanied by glimpses of images, impressions that forced themselves on her, demanding her attention, only to vanish as suddenly as they had appeared. One day she asked the nurse if she could hear the rest of the story. She was longing for the sound of the calm voice that had kept her company when she was under anaesthesia. The nurse stared at her in surprise. No one had read anything to her. It was true that she had shared the room with an elderly man while she was unconscious, but he couldn't have been the one who read to her. He'd had his vocal cords removed because he had cancer of the throat.

Her family were very indulgent. They knew that being separated from her parents was naturally very hard on the girl, and the voices she claimed were tormenting her must be a delayed reaction to the trauma. Her mother's condition improved, and she was able to visit Katherina, but her father was still on a respirator, and it wasn't certain whether he would survive. Everyone treated Katherina with the greatest care and understanding, but as time passed and she was discharged from the hospital along with her mother, those around her began to think that her mind must have suffered permanent damage after all.

Physically she had escaped with scars on her legs and arms, as well as one in the centre of her chin, which gave it a tiny, masculine cleft in the otherwise so girlish face. The scar on her chin was a constant reminder of the accident to her, and she was often seen rubbing the spot with her index finger, with a remote look in her eyes.

Her distracted air only added to the family's concern and she was sent to a child psychologist, who had nothing to offer except to give her pills – a solution that seemed to keep the voices at bay but had the same effect on all other input.

For that reason she paid very little attention when her father was discharged, permanently confined to a wheelchair and so bitter at life that he spent most of his days behind the closed door of his office with no desire to speak to anyone.

She started roaming around, fleeing from her father's bursts of rage behind the closed door, and from the voices. There were places where they left her in peace. The woods and grassland of Amager Fжlled was one of these, and she seized every opportunity to bicycle out to that area where she could sit for hours, enjoying the silence. School was the worst place of all, and she soon began to skip classes and go out to the park instead.

Of course it was only a matter of time before her family became aware of her truancy. She then realized that her condition was not just affecting herself but was also hurting everyone around her. It was at that point that she decided to reconcile herself to the voices. Outwardly she would pretend they didn't exist, that she had been miraculously cured, but for her own part, she would start to listen. She wanted to find out what they wanted, clarify why she was the one they sought out, and whether she really was meant to be their victim. Up until then she had refused to listen to what they said, but now she had begun to suspect that they weren't speaking to her directly – it seemed more as if they were coming from a radio tuned to several different stations at once. Could it be that the voices were actually radio signals she was picking up?

Because she was dyslexic, more severely than most, the world of the alphabet was already foreign to her, and the connection between the incomprehensible symbols on the page and the voices she heard in her head when others read them evaded her for a long time. But one day on the bus she worked it out. She was sitting there staring out of the window and listening to a clear female voice telling a story about a girl with red plaits, freckles and such strength that she could lift a horse. It was an entertaining story, and at a particularly funny scene, Katherina couldn't help laughing – she laughed out loud, to the amazement of all her fellow passengers, except for one. In the very back of the bus, a boy was holding a book in his hands and laughing just as heartily as she was. Even from her seat in the bus Katherina could clearly recognize the girl with the plaits on the cover of the book. It was Pippi Longstocking.

The bells over the door in Libri di Luca rang, pulling Katherina out of her reverie. A man in his thirties, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, a corduroy jacket and carrying a worn leather bag over his shoulder, stood in the doorway. It was clear that he hadn't been to the shop before because he reacted the way most newcomers did: he looked around the room in surprise, paying special attention to the balcony, as if he'd never seen a bookshop on two levels before. Katherina had probably behaved in the same way when she first discovered Libri di Luca ten years earlier, but she was always a little annoyed by the bewilderment of new customers. Yes, it was an antiquarian bookshop. Yes, there was a balcony with rare books in glass cases. Yes, it was a fantastic place, so why don't you just see about buying a few books and then get lost? If it were up to her, Libri di Luca would be closed to customers.

The man in the horn-rimmed glasses caught sight of Katherina at the top of the stairs and immediately lowered his eyes, turning to close the door behind him. Afterwards he headed for the table where the newly arrived books were displayed.

Katherina stood up and slowly went down the steps.

The intruder was scanning the book covers.

'Swann'sWayJoysAndDaysJamesJoyceAbsalomAbsalomWilliamFaulknerBuddenbrooksTheGothicRenaissanceExLibrisJorgeLuis BorgesTheExpelledFiccionesTheDumasClubFranzKafkaItaloCalvino…'

The names of authors and titles on the books babbled chaotically in her head like the sound of a reel-to-reel tape recorder whirring at high speed. She clenched her teeth and continued over to the green leather chair behind the counter. The customer raised his eyes for a moment to nod at her in greeting, and the flow of voices stopped. Katherina nodded back and sat down in the chair.

'FootprintsInHeavenTheArtOfCryingGustaveFlaubertCharlesDickensTheCastleTheWoodenHorseCarlSchmittBennQHolm PoeticsAndCriticismFrankFшnsASeriousConversationJeffMatthewsLastSundayInOctober,' chirped the voices, and she leaned back and closed her eyes. Katherina couldn't completely shut out the voices, but she had learned to turn down the volume, mostly thanks to Luca and Iversen.

Ten years earlier she had been walking past Libri di Luca when a voice stopped her. It was late afternoon and raining, so she didn't feel like bicycling out to Amager Fжlled. Instead she was wandering around the Vesterbro district, heading for areas of silence – any place at all, if only she could have some peace for a moment. After discovering the connection between the voices and readers, she had tried to avoid places where it was worst, and on this day she had ended up on the street where Libri di Luca stood.

The voice that stopped her was one she immediately recognized. It was identical to the voice from the hospital, which had kept her company while she was unconscious. She looked around, but no one was near. As she approached the bookshop, the voice became clearer, and when she was close enough to look in the windows, she saw a group of about fifty people sitting on folding chairs in the front of the shop. At the counter stood a short, compact man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a Mediterranean fervour on his face. He was reading from a book he held in his rough hands, and doing so with such energy that his entire body was taking part in the reading.

Katherina cautiously opened the door, and even though the chiming of the bells drew attention to her, the reader didn't interrupt the story, merely sent a friendly glance in her direction. She sat down at the very back of the room and closed her eyes. Although the man behind the counter was an excellent reader, it wasn'this voice that she had come inside to hear. She shut it out by placing her hands over her ears and concentrating on the other voice, the one that she recognized from the hospital. That was how she sat there at the back of the room with her elbows propped on her knees, oblivious to all sights and sounds. Inside she was filled with the voice and the images the story evoked, scenes from the city where it was set, the miserable flats, the birds above the rooftops, the dust and filth of the streets. Even though it wasn't a happy story, she felt comforted, and if she hadn't been sitting there looking down at the floor, people would have been able to see the tears on her face.

Suddenly the whole thing was over. The reading came to an end, and everyone around her applauded. She removed her hands from her ears in time to hear that the story was calledThe Stranger. A discussion of the text ensued, but Katherina stayed where she was, with her eyes closed and her face turned towards the floor. People started to get up and wander about, and as they began studying the books on the shelves, the titles and author names and excerpts of the texts flowed towards Katherina. Voices and images forced themselves upon her in an ever-growing torrent, and she had to summon all her forces to stand up and stagger towards the door. The intensity seemed to increase when she got up, as if she were leaning into a strong wind, and it got harder and harder to focus on the exit. After only a few steps, she collapsed on the floor.

When she came to, the bookshop was empty except for the man who had been reading. With concern he asked her how she felt, and then introduced himself as Luca. He was sitting next to her on a folding chair. She was propped up in a soft leather chair behind the counter. The voices had disappeared along with the audience members, but she was so exhausted she couldn't get up.

Luca told her to relax and take all the time she needed. In a soothing voice he continued to chat about everyday things: the bookshop, the readings they had in the evenings, various books, even the weather, until he suddenly asked her how long she'd been hearing voices.

The question took her aback, and she forgot her vow never to mention it to anyone; she told him everything. Luca turned out to know an astonishing amount about her condition, asking her how strong the voices were, whether she was able to shut them out, when she had heard them for the first time and whether she knew anyone else with the same experiences. She answered as best she could, and for the first time she sensed that someone understood her, that she was being taken seriously. In his relaxed manner, which she would grow so fond of in the coming years, Luca explained that she was not the only one – at least half of the people who had been at the reading possessed the same abilities.

Katherina had never regarded it as an ability. For her it was the voices that sought her out, forcing her to pay attention; she was not the one who tuned into them. But that was also possible, Luca explained: she could tune into the channel that opened whenever people read, whether aloud or silently to themselves.

In a matter of fifteen minutes he taught her a technique that enabled her to turn down the volume of the voices so they no longer bothered her. Even though the technique would require practice, the effect was so extraordinary on her first attempt that Katherina burst into tears from sheer relief. Luca comforted her and invited her to drop by as often as she liked to improve her technique. Of course she could try muting the voices without his supervision, but he implored her never to try to amplify them or alter them in any other way until she'd had more practice. Katherina would later find out why.

The customer in Libri di Luca wasn't focusing. Among the small glimpses of images conjured up from the excerpts he was reading were pictures that had no relevance to the books. That was a residual effect of her powers. In addition to being able to hear the text that was being read, Katherina could often see the images it evoked in the reader. And if he or she happened to be thinking about all sorts of other things at the same time, they would pop up like brief sequences inserted into a film. That was a side effect that had required training, but over the years Luca had helped her with this as well, and she was now able to sense what an unfocused reader, such as the man with the horn-rimmed glasses, had on his mind.

Apparently he was supposed to meet a girl later in the day because pictures of the girl kept appearing along with an image of where they were supposed to meet (at the Town Hall Square), where they were going to have dinner (Mьhlhausen), plus his strongly erotic hopes for the rest of the evening. Katherina felt her cheeks flush.

It was by no means everyone that Katherina could read in this manner. Iversen claimed that it had to do with the individual's imagination, how clear the images were that came from the text and the person's subconscious; but it was also a matter of the reading style. People who skimmed the words produced a swift series of pictures which in the most extreme cases became a stylized cartoon that would flicker before her eyes. Other readers took their time – so much time that the images were razor-sharp and so saturated with information that she could go exploring in them, zooming down to the smallest details, as if in a spy photo from a satellite.

'I'll take these,' said a cautious voice, and Katherina opened her eyes. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses stood at the counter holding out two books towards her. He gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

'Eighty kroner,' said Katherina without looking at the paperbacks he had selected. They had already revealed themselves asThe Big Sleep andMoon Palace, which cost 30 and 50 kroner respectively. She stood up and found a bag under the counter while the customer rummaged through his pockets for the money. He paid and left the shop with a black plastic bag printed with the name 'Libri di Luca' in gold letters.

In some cases Katherina's Lector powers compensated for her dyslexia, and in many situations she was able to completely hide her handicap. For a while that was how she'd appeared to show 'noticeable improvement' in her reading classes in primary school. But when the teacher or other pupils weren't following along in the text, she would be cut off from the meaning of the letters. That had produced a setback at exam time.

Luca thought there was a connection between her dyslexia and her abilities as a Lector. During their practice sessions he quickly discovered that she had powerful talents, and in his opinion this was because of dyslexia, not in spite of it. So he tried to get her to regard her abilities as a gift and not a punishment, which was how she had previously thought of them. Even though he himself was a Lector, he was not a receiver and thus could not fully understand everything that Katherina had to endure.

She thought it must be even worse for her mentor's son, who was now being initiated into the secrets of the Lectors in the room beneath her. The scepticism she had felt when Luca explained things to her had soon disappeared, because she had already felt it in her own body. Here was an explanation, incredible though it might be, and yet it was an explanation she could accept. But she couldn't even imagine how it would all sound to someone who was a complete outsider. How would he react?

At that moment Katherina heard the stairs creak, and a few seconds later Iversen came into view. He was sweating and his face was a bit red, the way it always was whenever he got excited or upset by a discussion.

'He wants proof,' he said, out of breath. 'Could you give a demonstration?'