At first no one reacted. A few stragglers sat on white chairs at white tables, finishing their waffles and their coffee. As Elsa reached the Andersens she said something I did not hear. The brothers turned to face her. Paul Andersen began to stand. John Andersen too. Still the scene was calm. Elsa’s stride was purposeful, measured.

I called her name.

Her eyes met mine but would not settle on me. She replied in whispered words that I did not hear. Beside me a policeman got to his feet. At the food tent people turned to watch.

The brothers stood, arms folded across their chests. Elsa raised her right hand. I saw something dark and metallic.

Elsa’s left hand braced across her right.

“STOP.”

A policewoman shouldered her weapon. Two more officers began to stand. The policeman beside me reached for his pistol.

Elsa assumed a stance.

I saw Tvist pulling Vee toward him, trying to turn her, to shield her from whatever was coming, but Vee struggled in his arms.

The first gunshot. Paralyzingly loud. The shock of it rooted me to the ground.

In Tvist’s arms Vee froze, eyes wide. My own eyes flicked toward Elsa, her hands locked around the pistol, then to the rifle in the policewoman’s arms.

Not a blade of grass moved.

I seemed to hear Vee inhale, then pause, then inhale. Tvist’s hands clasped her shoulders. Around us everyone was upright. Everything was rigid; every muscle aquiver. My jaw was locked tight, braced for the second shot.

That same paralyzing intensity.

Elsa’s body barely reacted.

The gunshot whipcracked across the fjord, reflected off the hills beyond.

Vee screamed.

“Mum!”

I was running across the clearing toward my wife.

Elsa stood, hands raised high, fingers clenched around the pistol.

The Andersen brothers stared back at her, blank-faced.

Vee broke free from Tvist and stood, frozen, watching her mother.

Then the sinews in Elsa’s body seem to loosen. Paul Andersen took a step toward her.

“Throw down your gun.” The policewoman, her rifle inches from Elsa’s chest.

“Dad,” said Vee. “Dad, help her.”

I was almost at Elsa’s side.

A policeman stepped in front of me. “You will stay where you are.”

“Dad, we have to—”

“Viktoria.” Tvist stepped forward, tried to guide Vee away. Again she broke free.

“All of you,” shouted a uniformed policeman. “Stay where you are.”

Paul Andersen took another step toward Elsa.

“Drop your gun.” The policewoman again.

Only now did I see the blood pooling red on Paul Andersen’s white shirt. Only now did I see the tremoring of his hand as he reached to stanch the flow. Only now did I see the smoke that wisped from the barrel of Elsa’s Glock 17.

The pistol slid from her fingers. It glanced off her leg, landed on the path nearby.

Paul Andersen fell forward, crumpled to the ground.