‘Do you appreciate what I’m dealing with?’ laughed Jenny. She pretended to put her fingers down her throat.
‘But I think I’m going to faint,’ said Louise. She covered her eyes with her hand in shame. ‘Did he seriously do that? Velvet? What did you do then?’
Jenny laughed lovingly when she thought about Marcel’s error. ‘I stroked him over the cheek. Said that I loved him,’ she said.
‘Exactly, exactly,’ said Louise in recognition.
‘And then I asked him to go back with the curtains and to swap them for some white linen ones.’
‘Quite, yes.’ Louise nodded approvingly, visibly assured that this was exactly what every sensible wife or girlfriend would have done in Jenny’s place.
It was quite simply that Marcel didn’t get it, thought Jenny. He didn’t appreciate that all manufactured products – saucepans, paperclips, rugs, vases – were part of a greater whole, almost an inanimate ecosystem, and that one thoughtless knickknack could perturb this whole system. Like when the ‘killer’ Spanish slugs came to Sweden and caused an imbalance in thousands of gardens. They had their place, of course, but in the Spanish forests, not in Swedish gardens. In the same way, an Orrefors bowl, in the right setting, lived in harmony with its surroundings, but in the wrong place could develop into a killer slug and completely take over, become aggressive and outright harmful. But then there were objects which were of no use whatsoever, those which did not fit in anywhere, performed no function, contributed no beauty, which were just in the way, the interior design world’s cockroaches. Like green velvet curtains, for example. But Marcel didn’t get this. In Belgium, where he came from, it was as if a vase was just a vase and a rug just a rug. And curtains, yes, they were presumably just for blocking out light from the window. Unlike Marcel, Louise understood the real point, every aspect of the aesthetic ecology and Jenny had now left a mark, used Marcel to give Louise at least a fleeting glimpse of her full ability.
‘That’s how it should look,’ said Louise when My poured the new coffee into their cups, darker this time.
Louise had something to relate too, Jenny could feel it, as she had that look a woman gets when she is thinking about her unenlightened man, her useless but innocent man. It was a half amused, half distressed look and she seemed to be considering the ethics in talking about something that risked being highly mocking. It was a question of loyalty – did hers lie with her man or with the candidate? Oh sod it, her eyes said, I’ll tell the story, I do love him after all.
‘My guy…’ she said and overcame her last hint of resistance, ‘my guy thought that macramé was a kind of food.’
Jenny almost spat out her coffee. ‘A kind of food?’ Louise laughed derisively. ‘We’ve all got our velvet curtains to battle with you know!’
‘Haha!’
‘Haha!’
Their eyes met and they exchanged the mutual warmth reserved for those who share a common burden, a common background. It was an almost romantic moment. How freeing it was to share these painful experiences and be able to laugh at them! Jenny’s eyes were moist. She’d done it! She had united with Louise against Marcel’s bad taste and taken some important points. Cheap points, perhaps, but Marcel shouldn’t have anything against that, that was something he could surely offer. It was after all Jenny’s career this was relating to, it was serious stuff. And now Louise had responded to the gesture by opening up herself. She also had an aesthetic illiterate at home, she too carried that grief. They were not alone in their travails, they had each other.
It was Louise’s opinion that mattered, she didn’t need to be an engineer to work that out. She just needed to be friendly to My, smile to her a bit, say something kind now and then. But Louise, she was the one to impress.
A new tone crept in between them, one with common cadence and they could excitedly agree on the modern home’s design challenges. This was Jenny’s domain, the conversation took place on her home turf, she moved easily between embroideries and lampshades and the fact that she was there for a job interview felt more like an excuse to have a cup of coffee together. They occupied this heady atmosphere for at least twenty minutes. My added the occasional chipper comment, but only received a passing response. Louise and Jenny had found each other, My was just a spectator.
‘What you need to know is that we have customers and then we have customers,’ said Louise.
‘Really?’
‘The odd man comes in,’ said Louise. ‘Even if I couldn’t identify their gender by any other means, I’d know them by their lost gaze. By the uncertain smile. We don’t use up any energy on them, it would be wasted. However much we’d like to help, we’re not running a charity, we just don’t have time.’
‘True.’
‘Yesterday a man came in wearing trousers with side pockets. You know, the khaki ones, functional. He came to the till with a Kähler vase. I have to say that I felt offended. What was he going to do with a Kähler vase? Eat it? Was this not an offence towards both myself and Kähler? Did he even know what a vase is for?’
‘What happened?’
‘I told him that it wasn’t for sale.’
‘Wow, what did he do then?’
‘He protested. But I ignored him. Started fiddling with some stuff. ‘Look, the door’s over there,’ I said. He gave up after a while. It just felt right. Another customer came over to me afterwards and thanked me for my courage. For not just being out to make money. I could have made a hundred kronor’s profit on the vase, but I need to think about my reputation as well.’
That was a real sign of strength, thought Jenny, daring to put your foot down. They say that all that is needed for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. That was what made Nazi Germany possible, a number of ordinary people who didn’t stand up, just did their duty, carried on living as usual. The Swedish sold iron ore to the Germans, it was just business, no harm in that. Right? Louise was the kind of person they needed in the thirties, who dared stand up for her principles instead of playing along. Not that the man with the side pockets was necessarily a Nazi, but it was true that aesthetics were connected with beauty and beauty was connected with goodness. There are limits to that which one could be a part of, both ethically and aesthetically. It would hardly make him happier, having a Kähler vase in his man cave, no it would just cause confusion. Jenny understood how Louise thought. There had to be an element of mutual respect. You keep to your kind and I’ll keep to mine. Wear those side pockets, but don’t try and force me into them – that’s how Louise must have felt. She became greater in Jenny’s eyes. Rosa Parks, thought Jenny, it was just like Rosa Parks. She refused to fall in line.
‘No, I’m no Rosa Parks,’ protested Louise. ‘I just want to retain a kind of dignity, you know?’
‘Absolutely.’
Louise looked at the clock. ‘My, go and get ready for opening.’
‘Yes.’ My went out into the shop.
‘We need to finish up. It’s been lovely,’ said Louise.
‘Really has,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m very interested.’
‘I just wanted to show you one thing,’ said Louise. She opened one of the kitchen cupboards and took out a mug that she put on the table. The mug had a Moomin design.
‘These things. We believe that these will be our next best seller.’
‘Really?’
Jenny was astonished. She had always thought Moomin stuff was for the ignorant, something for all the Marcels out there. Didn’t Marcel actually have one of these when they moved in together? In Jenny’s world, Moomins were just a vaguely threatening character from the children’s TV program. It was all so unclear. What sort of creature were they anyway, were they animals? No, trolls? And what was it about? She had fragmental memories of melancholic creatures accompanied by a distant Finland-Swedish narrator, whose voice ate its way into the psyche, took over dreams, brought on cold sweats. That these characters should become fashionable porcelain products seemed so peculiar. Were they not
aimed at the same group of people who wore Hello Kitty clothes? That was what these adults did in Japan, wasn’t it? But Louise seemed completely serious.
‘If I had to choose one product which I think is absolutely the most classy in our range, I’d say that it’s this one,’ she said and pointed repeatedly at the mug.
Jenny looked at it. It was really garish. But it was a strong brand, the Moomin, you had to give them that. One had to acknowledge that it had an aura that could be considered distinctly Nordic and Nordic was really right. Finnish design had a legitimate reputation out in the world and what could be more Finnish than the Moomins? Maybe, when she thought about it, it actually was quite elegant, if she just changed her perspective a little. Maybe it would look good in her kitchen after all? You had to be able to change your point of view, that was a really important ability. Pride cannot replace of a genuine understanding of taste. She now saw the mug in a new light. It was actually really, really hip. The big hat on that big troll, what was he called again? Moomin Papa? She tilted her head to one side and studied it. Louise had clearly seen something in it and she was a full blown professional, so it must be really elegant. Actually.
‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘I have to say that it’s a stroke of genius to take these on. It’s right on the money!’
Silence, complete silence. Louise looked expressionlessly at Jenny. Then she started to giggle. She pointed at Jenny. ‘You get that I’m joking, right? This thing? Are we supposed to sell these?’
Jenny felt her chest cramp but she quickly caught herself. ‘Haha! Of course I get it! I was joking too. A Moomin mug! How would that work? Like, goodbye to the shop!’ She made her hand into the shape of an aeroplane and whistled a crash landing.
Louise smiled sidelong at Jenny. They looked at one another, staring as if it was a competition. Keep the charade up now, Jenny, keep the charade up, she thought.
‘I don’t believe you. Do you, My? My?’ She shouted out into the shop.
‘What’s that?’ said My and looked into the kitchen.
‘I think that Jenny likes the Moomin mug, don’t you think so?’
‘Yes! She loves the Moomin mug,’ said My.
‘Do you Jenny? Do you love this mug?’ asked Louise.
It was so confusing for Jenny. She had in other words been right from the start, Moomins were totally wrong. She knew that! She had just temporarily taken leave of her senses, that can happen to anyone, especially in a high pressure situation like this one. It was so clumsy!
‘Of course I don’t love it. I think it’s hideous!’ said Jenny.
‘Come and sit down, My,’ said Louise.
My sat down.
Louise looked at My. ‘What do you say My?’
My took her chance to come back in out of the cold, to win back her sister’s confidence. ‘I totally believe that Jenny likes Moomins, you can see it on her!’ she said.
Both of them looked at Jenny with contempt.
‘I think you’re right,’ said Louise.
Jenny’s heart raced. ‘No! The mug is awful, I think so too!’
No reaction.
‘That guy with the side pockets,’ continued Jenny, ‘haha, what a joke! Or what! Give him the mug! Maybe he’ll want it. When he goes camping somewhere… that clown. What a loser!’
She looked pleadingly at Louise and My, but neither of them was listening to her any more. The clock struck ten and the first customer came in through the door. Louise reached a hand out to Jenny.
‘Thank you for coming. We’ll call you.’
Head and heart
If there was one thing Sebastian Lund knew, it was that you could get a long way on pure talent. He was living proof. Or, rather, really it was not so much about a specific talent as something more fundamental, more accurately the mother of all talents – intelligence. Sebastian was quite simply outrageously clever. It wasn’t something he made a big deal out of. He didn’t know anything else of course and for a long time thought that everyone was the same, that they understood and figured things out in exactly the same manner as himself. During his boyhood, his intelligence felt completely natural. It was only first at middle school that he fully realised that he was smarter than all the others, much smarter. It was at this point that his peers were knocked out by this realisation. It was then that they started making an effort to appear sharper when in his presence, then that they started to be nervous about embarrassing themselves in front of him, about being found out by his intelligent, penetrating gaze. It was also then that they began staying away from him, as no one wanted to be annihilated by such a supreme intellect. In the beginning, he was upset by his schoolmates’ distancing, but his clever mother enlightened him as to the cause of their aversion: jealousy. The fact that they laughed at him as soon as he said anything was just a sign that they didn’t understand him.
He himself did not make a big deal out of it and of course did not judge anyone else, just because he or she was not as gifted as he was. He had not done anything to deserve it, he had just managed to be born with an extremely high IQ. Everyone does their best on the basis of their own circumstances, he said, and patted his classmates encouragingly on the shoulder. So he yawned his way through high school and sixth form, under-stimulated and overachieving. He was, in other words, worn down by school; not because he’d been studying too hard, but on the contrary, because school was not enough of a challenge. Just like most geniuses, he was often misunderstood and many took his disinterest for some kind of attention disorder. How they were wrong! His school fatigue in the meantime meant that he did not succeed in living up to his peers’ expectations of going on to tertiary education – what could university teach him that he did not already know – and thereafter he instead made decisions about his future based purely on desire. He successfully taught himself about various subjects on the internet. A bit of psychology, a bit of philosophy, a bit of law. Lots of videos. Documentaries. Everything stuck. Trying to learn did not exist for Sebastian, he just learned. His brain was a sponge that sucked in everything new.
One of his many strengths was the ability to read other people. He didn’t really need any theories to build his skills onto, they were just there, intuitively. If you scratched your face while talking, it was a sign that you were lying – he knew things like this. He knew man’s soul inside out, could gauge its depth and height and breadth. After having survived on odd jobs for a while, at the age of twenty-five it was clear that he should be working with people. There were many out there who did not have the same luck of the draw as he did, those whose insufficient intelligence led them astray. They ended up addicts, ended up lost. Perhaps became criminals, alienated. He had no formal education in sociology, but he had seen and heard enough on the internet to meet the requirements that would be asked of him. Therefore he applied for a position at the social services, decided that he had the competences required to be a social worker and wrote that on his CV. It wasn’t lying, it was one hundred percent true in every sense, other than on paper. And if there was one thing that was deceptive it was papers – qualifications, formalities. Anyone could obtain a qualification, but learning? No, that was another question entirely.
Maria Gomez was very welcoming. She had a warm expression, exuded consideration. She was the right woman in the right place, Sebastian could see that as soon as he met her. She was the one who would employ him.
In a way, it was ridiculous that he was the one to now be judged by someone else. He smiled to himself when he thought about how she would be deciding on his adequacy, as if she had authority over him. How the real balance of power lay was clear already from the handshake, but he would naturally play along. Roleplay, so much in society came down to roleplay and formalities, always these formalities. But intelligence wasn’t everything in this life and she clearly had other qualities. Gomez explained briefly what the job involved, which methods they used, the place that the social services occupied in the municipality, what the biggest challenges were. Sebastia
n nodded patiently, even if all of it was far too familiar to awaken his interest. He could do this. Disability support this and social benefits that. He tried subtly to hurry her explanation along by emitting a short, affirmative humming sound while nodding his head. He made an effort to keep looking at her, but her descriptive, kindly voice was just too monotonous. He kept drifting away to something more interesting, like the patterned wallpaper. Was the pattern rhododendrons? Get to the point, get to the point, he thought.
‘Can I say something?’ he said when she had finally gone quiet. He smiled indulgently.
‘Sure?’ she said.
‘A tip for if you are working with people is to try and listen, to get a feeling. What is going on in this person’s head? How can I get them to reach their inner potential? Do you follow?’
Gomez chewed on a piece of gum, he noticed this now. It must have been lying dormant in her cheek while she gave her speech. She nodded. ‘That’s good, listen, of course,’ she said.
He continued. ‘So one doesn’t put words into the other’s mouth, but allows him or her to form their own argument.’
‘Absolutely,’ she said.
Did she really understand what he was saying? It could be smart to illustrate it all with an example.
‘So let’s say you meet a person who drinks too much. You have to have a discussion with this person about his lifestyle. I say his, it could just as easily be a woman. But whatever. He knows of course, because all addicts do, he knows that he drinks too much. Your role in this is not to tell him that he drinks too much.’
‘No.’
‘Because then he’ll push back, understand? Then you’d lose him immediately, Maria.’ Sebastian clicked his fingers to illustrate what he meant. He continued.
‘That’s not what he wants to hear and that is not what he needs to hear.’
‘No, true.’
‘What you need to do is to ask open questions which lead him at last to acknowledge to himself that he drinks too much. You draw out that which is lying in his subconscious, you make it conscious, so to speak. Then he will come to realise himself that he actually needs to stop drinking.’
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