That was a woman’s usual defense. Certain men let themselves be bullied by women’s tears. But not him. That was over. Now he was going to cut words mercilessly from his angry heart and throw an invisible knife between her and the boy. Searing, truthful words. In an instant the boy would see that he couldn’t be protected by his mother anymore. With one stroke the foundation of the boy’s life would shift for the better. In his mind he considered his tactics: start very calmly, friendly, decidedly; then with a sudden change in tone of voice, rise up onto the elevated, clean, liberating air of anger and power. When they were both at his mercy he would stop the onslaught and put the boy on his lap: Do you promise Daddy you will never lose anything anymore? Good, then we won’t mention that knife ever again! He looked up at the sky when he stepped off the bus: a blue spring sky. A cool breeze met him as he turned the corner and wandered down the street toward home. Without rushing, erect and confident.

He stopped short. The boy, with flushed cheeks, was running toward him. His eyes were radiant with joy:

‘Daddy,’ he yelled, panting, ‘we found the knife. I left it at Preben’s house!’

Caught off guard, he stared down at his son. His shoulders sank almost imperceptibly. Something inside him collapsed like a house of cards. He mechanically took the boy’s hand.

‘Well, that was good,’ he said flatly. His heart was pounding erratically, like after a long run. His legs felt heavy. His clear, incisive thoughts condensed suddenly into a dense, impenetrable thicket. Something toppled inside him with dizzying velocity, a hope, perhaps. Nothing was changed; maybe change wasn’t possible. Upstairs his wife was waiting. She would show him the knife with relief. As always, she and the boy would stand in the kitchen talking quietly, while he sat there waiting for the food, grumbling, lonely, irritated.

The boy peered up at him, concerned. He had to skip along to keep up with his father’s long strides.

‘Why don’t you look happy, Daddy?’ he asked anxiously.

He didn’t get an answer.

The Method