He dug a lighter out of his pocket, put it in his mouth and let out the gas. When it started to feel cold inside his mouth he took the lighter away, lit it and breathed out.
A burst of fire in front of his face. But he felt no happier. He was restless, got up and walked around. The dust whirled up around his feet.
What the hell can you do?
He paced around the small space, thinking it was a prison cell. You can’t get away. Have to make the best of it, bla bla. Blackeberg. He was going to get away from here, he was going to be…a sailor or something. Anything.
Swab the deck, go to Cuba, heave-ho.
A broom that was almost never used was leaned up against the wall. He took it and started to sweep. Dust flew up his nose. When he had been sweeping for a while he realised he had no dustpan. He swept the pile of dust under the couch.
Better to have a little shit in the corners than a clean hell.
He flipped through the pages of a porno, put it back. Wound his scarf around his neck and pulled it tight until his head felt like it was about to explode, released it. Got up and took a few steps on the rug. Sank to his knees, prayed to God.
Robban and Lasse came around half past five. When they walked in Tommy was relaxing in the armchair and looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Lasse was sucking on his lips, seemed nervous. Robban grinned and thumped Lasse on the back.
‘Lasse needs another tape.’
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
‘Why?’
‘Tell him, Lasse.’
Lasse snorted, didn’t dare look Tommy in the eyes.
‘Uh…there’s a guy at work.’
‘Who wants to buy?’
‘Mmm.’
Tommy shrugged, got up from his chair and picked the key to the safety room out of the stuffing. Robban looked disappointed, he must have been expecting some kind of amusing scene but Tommy didn’t care. Lasse could shout out ‘Stolen goods for sale!’ from the rooftops at his job for all he cared. It didn’t matter.
Tommy pushed Robban aside and walked out into the corridor, turned the key in the lock, pulled the heavy chain out of the wheels and threw it over to Robban. The chain fell through his hands, rattling to the floor.
‘What’s your problem? Are you high or what?’
Tommy shook his head, turned the wheel mechanism and pushed the door open. The fluorescent lighting inside was broken, but there was enough light from the corridor to see the boxes piled up along one wall. Tommy picked up a carton of cassette tapes and gave it to Lasse.
‘Have fun.’
Lasse looked uncertainly at Robban as if to get help interpreting Tommy’s behaviour. Robban made a face that could have meant anything, then turned to Tommy who was locking up.
‘Heard anything more from Staffan?’
‘Nope,’ Tommy clicked the lock together, sighed. ‘I’m going over there for dinner tomorrow. We’ll see.’
‘Dinner?’
‘Yes—why?’
‘No, nothing. Just thought cops ran on…gas or something.’
Lasse laughed out loud, glad the tension was broken.
‘Gas…’
He had lied to his mother. And been believed. Now he was stretched out on his bed, feeling sick to his stomach.
Oskar. That guy in the mirror. Who is he? A lot of things happened to him. Bad things. Good things. Strange things. But who is he? Jonny looks at him and sees Piggy whom he wants to beat up. Mum looks at him and sees her Little Darling whom she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to.
Eli looks at me and sees…what?
Oskar turned to the wall, to Eli. The two faces peeked out from between the trees in the wallpaper. His cheek was still swollen and tender, a crust had started to form on top of the wound. What would he tell Eli, if Eli came out tonight?
It was all connected. What he would tell her depended on what he was to her. Eli was new to him and therefore he had the opportunity to be someone else, say something different from what he said to other people.
What do you do anyway? To make people like you?
The clock on his desk read a quarter past seven. He looked into the leaves, tried to find new shapes, had found a little gnome with a pointy hat and an upside-down troll when he heard a knock on the wall.
Tap-tap-tap.
A careful sound. He tapped back.
Tap-tap-tap.
Waited. After a few seconds a new tap.
Tap-taptaptap-tap.
He filled in the two missing ones: tap-tap.
Waited. No further tapping.
He took down the paper with the Morse code, pulled on his jacket, said goodbye to his mum and walked down to the playground. He had only taken a few steps when the door to Eli’s building opened and she came out. She was wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans and a black sweatshirt with Star Wars written across it in silver letters.
At first he thought it was his own shirt; he had one just like it that he had been wearing a couple of days ago. It was in the laundry basket now. Had she gone out and bought one just like it to match his?
‘Hey there.’
Oskar opened his mouth to say the ‘Hi’ he had had prepared, closed his mouth. Opened it again to say ‘Hey there’ and said ‘Hi’ anyway.
Eli frowned.
‘What happened to your cheek?’
‘Phhh…I…fell.’
Oskar kept moving towards the playground. Eli followed. He walked past the jungle gym, sat down in a swing. Eli sat in the swing next to it. They swung back and forth in silence for a while.
‘Someone did that to you, didn’t they?’
Oskar kept swinging.
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘Some…friends.’
‘Friends?’
‘Some kids in my class.’
Oskar got the swing moving fast, picked up the thread.
‘Where do you go to school anyway?’
‘Oskar.’
‘Yes?’
‘Slow down a little.’
He slowed himself down with his feet, looked at the ground in front of him.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘You know what?’
She reached her hand out and grabbed his and he stopped completely, looked at her. Eli’s face was almost completely blacked out against the lighted windows behind her. Of course it was just his imagination but he thought her eyes were glowing. At any rate they were the only things he could see clearly in her face.
With her other hand she touched his wound and that strange thing happened. Someone else, someone much older, harder, became visible under her skin. A cold shiver ran down Oskar’s back, as if he had bitten into an ice cream.
‘Oskar. Don’t let them do it. Do you hear me? Don’t let them.’
‘…No.’
‘You have to strike back. You’ve never done that, have you?’
‘No.’
‘So start now. Hit them back. Hard.’
‘There’s three of them.’
‘Then you have to hit harder. Use a weapon.’
‘Yes.’
‘Stones, sticks. Hit them more than you really dare. Then they’ll stop.’
‘And if they keep hitting back?’
‘You have a knife.’
Oskar swallowed. At this moment, with Eli’s hand in his, with her face in front of him, everything seemed simple. But if they started doing worse things if he put up resistance, if they…
‘Yes, but what if they…’
‘Then I’ll help you.’
‘You? But you are…’
‘I can do it, Oskar. That…is something I can do.’
Eli squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, nodded. But Eli’s grip hardened, so hard it hurt a little.
How strong she is.
Eli loosened her grip and Oskar took out the page of code he had written out for her at school, smoothed out the folds and gave it to her. She wrinkled her forehead.
‘What’s this?’
/>
‘Let’s go over to the light.’
‘No, I can see fine. But what is it?’
‘The Morse code.’
‘Oh, right. I see. Awesome.’
Oskar giggled. She said it in such a…what was it called?…artificial way. The word somehow didn’t fit in her mouth.
‘I thought…we could like…talk through the wall to each other.’
Eli nodded. Looked like she was thinking of something to say. ‘That will be amusing,’ she said.
‘You mean fun?’
‘Yes. Fun. Fun.’
‘You’re a little strange, you know that?’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, but it’s OK.’
‘You’ll have to show me what to do, in that case. Not to be strange.’
‘Sure. Want to see something.’
Eli nodded.
Oskar showed her his special trick. He sat on the swing like before, kicked off. With each pump of his legs, with every arc a notch higher, something grew in his chest: freedom.
The illuminated apartment windows went past like multicoloured, glowing strands and he swung higher and higher. He didn’t always manage to do this trick, but now he was going to do it, because he was as light as a feather and could almost fly.
When the swing got so high that the chains loosened and started to jerk on the back swing he tensed his whole body. The swing went back one more time and then at the top of the next forward swing he let go of the chains, and pushed his legs forward, as high as they would go. The legs went around half a turn and he landed on his feet, bending over as far as he could so the swing wouldn’t hit him in the head, and when it had gone past he stood up and stretched out his arms. Perfect.
Eli applauded, shouted ‘Bravo!’
Oskar caught the swing, walked back with it and sat down. He was again grateful for the dark that hid a triumphant smile he couldn’t suppress, even though it pulled at his wound. Eli stopped clapping, but his smile was still there.
Things were going to be different from now on. Of course you couldn’t kill people by hacking up trees. He knew that.
Thursday
29 October
Håkan sat on the floor in the narrow hallway and listened to the splashing from the bathroom. His knees were pulled in tight, so his heels touched his buttocks, his chin rested on his knees. Jealousy was a fat, chalk-white snake in his chest. It writhed slowly, as pure as innocence and childishly plain.
Replaceable. He was replaceable.
Last night he had been lying in bed with the window cracked open. Listened to Eli saying goodbye to that Oskar. Their high voices, laughter. A lightness he could never achieve. His was the leaden seriousness, the demands, the desire.
He had thought his beloved was like him. He had looked into Eli’s eyes and seen an ancient person’s knowledge and indifference. At first it had frightened him: Samuel Beckett’s eyes in Audrey Hepburn’s face. Then it had reassured him.
It was the best of all possible worlds. The young, lithe body that brought beauty to his life, and at the same time lifted him from responsibility. He was not the one in charge. And he did not have to feel guilt for his desire; his beloved was older than he. No longer a child. At least he had thought so.
But since all this with Oskar had started something had changed. A…regression. Eli had started to behave more and more like the child her appearance made her out to be; had started to move her body in a loose-limbed and careless way, use childish expressions and words. Wanted to play. Hide the Key. A few nights ago they had played Hide the Key. Eli had become angry when Håkan had not shown the necessary enthusiasm for the game, then tried to tickle him to get him to laugh. He had relished Eli’s touch.
It was attractive, naturally. This joy, this…life. But also frightening, since it was so foreign to him. He was both hornier and more scared than he had ever been since meeting her.
Last night Håkan’s beloved had gone into his bedroom, locked the door and proceeded to lie there for half an hour tapping on the wall. When Håkan was allowed in he saw a piece of paper taped to the wall above his bed. The Morse code.
Later when he was lying there and trying to fall asleep, he had been tempted to tap his own message to Oskar, something about what Eli was. Instead he had copied the code onto a scrap of paper so he could decode what they said to each other in the future.
Håkan bent his head, rested his forehead on his knees. The splashing from the bathroom had stopped. He couldn’t go on like this. He was about to explode. From desire, from jealousy.
The bathroom lock turned and the door opened. Eli was standing in front of him. Completely naked. Pure.
‘Oh—you’re sitting out here.’
‘Yes. You’re beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Will you turn around for me?’
‘Why?’
‘Because…I want you to.’
‘No, why don’t you get up and move?’
‘Maybe I’ll say something, if you do this for me.’
Eli looked quizzically at Håkan. Then turned 180 degrees.
Saliva spurted into his mouth, he swallowed. Looked. A physical sensation as his eyes devoured what what was in front of them. The most beautiful thing there was in the world. An arm’s length away. An endless distance.
‘Are you…hungry?’
Eli turned around again.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll do it for you. But I want something in return.’
‘What is it?’
‘One night. All I want is one night.’
‘OK.’
‘I can have that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lie next to you? Touch you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I…’
‘No. Nothing more. But that. Yes.’
‘Then I’ll do it. Tonight.’
Eli crouched down next to him. Håkan’s palms burned. Wanted to caress. Couldn’t. But tonight.
Eli looked up and said, ‘Thanks. But what if someone…that picture in the paper…there are people who know you live here.’
‘I’ve thought of that.’
‘If someone comes here during the day when…I’m resting.’
‘I’ve thought of that, I said.’
‘How?’
Håkan took Eli’s hand, got up and went out into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and took out an old jam jar with a twist-on lid. The jar was half-filled with a clear liquid. He explained what he had planned to do.
Eli vehemently objected. ‘You can’t.’
‘I can. Do you understand now how much I care about you?’
When Håkan was ready to leave he put the jam jar into the bag with the rest of his equipment. Eli had gotten dressed and was waiting for him in the hall. Eli leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. Håkan blinked and looked at Eli’s face for a long time.
I’m lost.
Then he went to work.
Morgan was slurping his way through Four Small Dishes, one by one, mostly ignoring the small bowl of rice by his side. Lacke leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘Mind if I take the rice?’
‘Hell, no. Want some sauce?’
‘Just a little soy.’
Larry looked up over his copy of Expressen, made a face when Lacke took the bowl of rice, poured soy sauce over it with a glug-glug-glug and started to eat as if he had never seen food before. Larry motioned at the deep fried shrimp that were heaped on Morgan’s plate.
‘You could offer to share, you know.’
‘Oh, sure. Sorry. You want a shrimp or something?’
‘No, my stomach can’t take it. But Lacke.’
‘You want a shrimp, Lacke?’
Lacke nodded and held out his bowl of rice. Morgan put two fried shrimp in the bowl with a grandiose flourish. Offered a little more. Lacke thanked him and dug in.
Morgan grunted and shook his head. Lacke had not been himself since Jocke disappeared. He had been hard up before but now h
e was drinking more and didn’t have anything left over for food. It was strange, this whole business with Jocke, but there was no reason for despair. Jocke had been missing for four days now and who really knew? He could have met a chick and gone to Tahiti, anything. He would turn up eventually.
Larry put down the paper, pushed his glasses up onto his head, rubbed his eyes and said, ‘Do you know where the nearest nuclear shelter is?’
Morgan guffawed. ‘What, are you planning to hibernate or something?’
‘No, but this submarine. Hypothetically speaking, what if there was a full-scale invasion?’
‘You’re welcome to come over and use ours. I was down there a few years ago and checked it out when a guy from some defence something was there to run an inventory check. Gas masks, canned food, ping pong table, the whole deal. It’s all there.’
‘Ping pong table?’
‘Sure, you know. When the Russians land we just say “Stop and take cover boys, put down your AK-47s, we’re going to determine this thing with a ping pong match instead.” Then the generals go after each other by serving screwballs.’
‘Do the Russians even know how to play table tennis?’
‘Nope. So we got this thing all sewn up. Maybe we’ll even regain control of the Baltic territories.’
Lacke wiped his mouth on his napkin with exaggerated care and said, ‘It’s all pretty strange.’
Morgan lit up a John Silver. ‘What is?’
‘This thing with Jocke. He would always tell us when he was going somewhere. You know. Even if he was just going to go see his brother on Väddö island it was like a big event. Started talking about it a week before—what he was planning to bring, what they were going to do.’
Larry put a hand on Lacke’s shoulder.
‘You’re talking about him in the past tense.’
‘What? Oh, yeah. Anyway, I really think something’s happened to him. I really think so.’
Morgan downed a big mouthful of beer, burped. ‘You think he’s dead.’
Lacke shrugged, looked beseechingly at Larry who was studying the pattern printed on the paper napkins.
Morgan shook his head.
‘No way. We would have heard something. The cops said they would call you if they heard anything. Not that I trust cops but… you’d think we’d hear something.’
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