Irina nodded. ‘Smooth finish. Got it.’
There are different ways of having an impact on the world. Politics was one of them. But music, it touched some deeper humanity. And anyway, music opened doors to politics. Just look at Bono, who was received by presidents and popes. But in spite of all of Irina’s intelligent thoughts about politics, she was an artist not a politician. An artist who defended freedom, justice and peace, yes, but an artist all the same. It was art which had the ability to reach deep inside, it was art which got the whole of society to change. The Berlin Wall, it didn’t fall from Ronald Reagan’s shouting and pleading, no, it was only after the singer David Hasselhoff took the mic that East and West Germany could be reunited. ‘Looking for Freedom,’ ‘We Are the World,’ ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas,’ the list could go on – real change never comes from outside or from above, it comes from within, from the heart. No one could yet know what impact Irina’s music would have on world history, but it would without any doubt make the world at least just a little bit brighter.
‘And here we have the assembly. If you look up, you’ll see our vacuum lift,’ said Sundman and pointed at a device that was hanging down from the ceiling. It looked like a large hoover pipe with suckers on the end. ‘That’s to avoid heavy lifting. Lots of things are automated, but we’ll never get by without human beings. Thank goodness, I should maybe add.’
‘Yes, lucky,’ said Irina.
They stopped at the assembly line. Another track came to her again. She heard the melody in her head.
A minor, C, G.
A minor, C, G.
Scuzzy guitars, a bit like Hendrix. No gimmicks, just rock, proper rock. Irina was swaying a little in time when a woman came up and stood by what was clearly her spot on the assembly line.
‘Hey there!’ the woman said. She looked at least fifty, had highlights in her hair and a chiselled, almost manly face.
‘This is Agneta,’ said Sundman. ‘She has been with us longer than anyone. When was it you started? Eighty-eight?’
‘Eighty-six,’ said Agneta and looked at Irina. ‘The idea was that I would just stay here for a year.’
When she smiled Irina saw that she was missing a tooth from her lower jaw.
‘Not everyone knows this, but Agneta had a completely different career back then,’ said Sundman. ‘Tell Irina.’
‘Oh,’ laughed Agneta. ‘Don’t remind me about the indiscretions of my youth.’
Sundman turned to Irina. ‘Agneta was close to making the big time in the eighties,’ he said.
‘The big time?’ said Irina.
‘I had naïve dreams back then.’
‘Don’t be so shy,’ said Sundman. ‘Stikkan Anderson wanted you! You were compared with Joplin.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Agneta. ‘Nothing came of it. And just as well, because I’m happy where I am.’
‘What happened?’ said Irina.
‘Oh, what happened? Life! Life happened, Irina!’ Agneta looked directly at Irina. ‘Life happens to all of us. Sooner or later. Thirty years, it goes by in a moment, I’m telling you. I still feel like I’m twenty-five.’
She laughed and coughed, marked by the solariums and cigarettes. What a waste, thought Irina and felt a vague feeling of disgust which she quickly supressed.
‘Agneta is the one who has a handle on this place. What she doesn’t know, isn’t worth knowing,’ said Sundman.
‘If you say so,’ said Agneta and cough-laughed again.
Irina and Sundman walked on, through a door and into a large open space where a number of pallets lay ready, loaded with large boxes.
‘That’s where the goods go out,’ he said and pointed towards a warehouse door. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s usually completely full here by three o’clock.’
‘Yes.’
Irina felt how some lines of lyrics were beginning to take form:
Standing on the concrete floor. Going through the magic door.
Could there be something there? Slightly mystical. What is this door and why is it magic? And how can you stand on a floor and at the same time go through a door, was that not a contradiction? It was an opening line that definitely left you wanting more. That was her signature, starting with something cryptic or paradoxical, only to then tie it all together with a thread that cast light over the whole song. She was a master at it, allowing the listener to hang loose, invent their own associations. In everyone’s life there are floors, in everyone’s life there are doors, some of them are magic.
They went round the whole factory, Irina got to try some lockers, they went past Agneta again who waved and then they went into the office area. Sundman opened the door to his own office and let Irina go in first.
‘What a nice setup,’ Irina said and looked around. She now had to up the acting a notch. She shouldn’t need to hang around here too long. She pointed at a photograph of a woman which stood on the desk. ‘Is this your mum?’
‘That’s my wife,’ said Sundman.
‘Oh right. Nice.’
‘Thank you. Take a seat here.’
They sat down.
‘Some people just look older, that’s how it is,’ said Irina.
‘Yes, we all age at a different speed,’ Sundman said calmly and picked up a notepad that he had in his lap.
‘But she doesn’t have an illness or anything, that makes her age extra quickly? I saw a documentary where there are some people who age, like, five times faster than others. There’s nothing up like that?’
‘No, she’s pretty sprightly, I have to say. But thank you for your concern.’
He was unbearably calm, thought Irina and answered her questions with genuine warmth.
‘Why have you applied for this job?’ asked Sundman.
‘I was fired from my last job and need a new one. And this seems interesting, like.’
‘And that was three years ago?’
‘That I got fired? Sounds about right.’
Standing on the concrete floor, going through the magic door. I’m not a bore, I want to soar.
Now things were happening, Irina felt it. English was almost as natural to her as Swedish. Or even more natural, it just rolled off the tongue better, for fuck’s sake. Damn, right? There were certain things you just couldn’t express in Swedish, shit, like.
‘We are very quality orientated here,’ said Sundman. ‘What is quality focus for you?’
‘Let’s see now. Quality. Which one is that again? There’s quality and then there’s what’s it called? Quantity?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which is which? I always get them mixed up,’ said Irina.
‘Quality is if something is good or not. Quantity is to do with amounts,’ said Sundman.
‘Exactly, yes. Yep, that one then!’
‘Which one?’
‘What you said. That quality is if something is good or not. So that’s what quality focus is then, I reckon. When it’s simply good, focus on that. Quality focus, focus on quality.’
‘Ok,’ said Sundman. He wrote on the notepad. ‘What are your ambitions for the future?’
‘Are you writing down what I’m saying?’ asked Irina.
‘Yes, here and there.’
‘So smart. So that you’ll remember, right?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Awesome. Right, my ambitions…’ said Irina. She squinted, grabbed the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘Sorry. I’m just so hungover. Say it again, I’m listening now.’ She looked up at him.
‘Well, I was wondering what your ambitions are,’ said Sundman.
‘Ambitions, that’s it, yes,’ said Irina. ‘My head is just pounding.’ She closed her eyes and held up a hand as if to stop him from disturbing her, as if the slightest breeze would make her puke. She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. ‘Wait.’
‘Was it a big night?’ asked Sundman carefully, without any sign of reproach in his voice.
Irina nodded, still with he
r eyes closed. ‘Quite, yes. It was my birthday.’ In through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘Oh, congrats! Was it a big party then?’
‘No, just me.’
Sundman nodded. ‘Are you ok to continue?’
‘Yep. It usually goes away quite quickly, it just comes on suddenly sometimes.’
‘I know that it can be tough,’ said Sundman. ‘Take the time you need.’
Irina took the time she needed. A minute or so. A minute of controlled breathing in and out with closed eyes. Sundman didn’t seem to be in a hurry, he sat calmly and watched. He was disturbingly patient.
‘Now,’ she said at last. ‘Right, you asked about ambitions. I was thinking about being the boss in the long term.’
‘Oh yes, the boss? That’s a good goal to have. I should say that there are good career possibilities here. What would you say is good leadership?’
Irina stretched, ostensibly no longer hungover. ‘If I can put it like this… I have younger siblings and that has made me a natural leader. I know how to bring people into line. If you’ve shown them who’s in charge early on then you avoid any problems with recalcitrance later on. Once bitten, twice shy, that’s my motto.’
‘You mean that it’s important to create clear boundaries?’
‘Clear boundaries, yes, that’s an important part of it. But it’s about always handing out the right dose of punishment.’
‘What are your thoughts on that?’
‘It’s no astrophysics. Pavlov already showed that it’s just a matter of conditioning.’
‘The thing with the dogs?’
‘Yes, exactly. And we are basically animals. But it isn’t just punishment that is important, you need to reward as well. ‘Good job, you can have another biscuit, clever pooch.’ Encourage good behaviour, punish bad. Immediately. Cows don’t go near the electrified fence you know, they have learned not to. But the punishment has to come straight away so that they really connect their actions with it. That’s how they learn.’
Sundman wrote something down. ‘So why do you want to be the boss?’
‘As I said, I’m a natural leader. People do what I tell them to.’
‘They do what you tell them to?’
‘They do what I tell them. When I use my harsh voice, everybody does what I tell them to.’
‘Is that leadership for you? Being obeyed?’ Sundman clearly wouldn’t let himself be provoked. Every question was asked with a genuine tone of interest.
‘No, of course not just that. The main thing is getting people to do what you want, but at the same time getting them to believe that it’s also what they want. Maybe even getting them to think that they were the ones taking the initiative in the first place. That requires a slightly deeper psychology,’ she said and made it sound like it was a little above his level.
‘Can you give an example?’
Irina thought. The new track was still pumping away somewhere in the back of her head, it would be called ‘Concrete Floor’ and that was what she really wanted to be focused on but she needed to be present in the interview. And this Sundman was sly, he didn’t seem to put much weight on the fact that she was clearly pathological in some way. Instead of provoking him, she felt herself provoked, by his calmness.
‘An example,’ repeated Sundman. ‘Give an example of how you can help employees to feel a part of things.’
‘Well, so long as you’re the boss, you can come up with your own methods,’ said Irina.
Sundman laughed. ‘That’s true. I also wanted to ask you, as you are such a natural leader, how your relationships are with your own managers? Do you manage to follow orders?’
‘So what, you don’t think I’d be able to do that?’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘Yeah, and I’m wondering why you are asking. Do you think that I seem like someone who can’t follow orders? Is that what you think? Do you seriously think that I’m some sort of idiot?’
Irina felt a little bad for Sundman. He was so kind that it pinched at her to be so mean, but she was obliged to get him to doubt in her abilities. She knew exactly when that moment came in an interview, the moment when the interviewer completely lost interest in her. She had been there many times. Sometimes it happened after a couple of minutes, sometimes after ten. But she had still not reached that level with Sundman. It wasn’t personal, but she was forced to be irritating.
‘I am sure that you are capable of following orders,’ said Sundman. ‘Let me ask this then: what are your expectations of this role?’
Irina gave him a look as if she was reluctantly accepting his words as an apology. She sighed.
‘I expect the work to feel meaningful.’
Sundman brightened up. ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
‘Really mean what?’
‘When you say that you want the job to feel meaningful, that’s the real Irina Pevitsa talking, right? I thought that it was hilarious when you were joking, but it’s interesting to hear you being serious too.’
‘Joking? About what?’
‘Haha! The thing about punishing employees, I thought that was funny. Irony. Totally my kind of humour. We could have a lot of fun working together here. And I absolutely believe that you will think that it’s meaningful.’
‘You’re making a mistake! I wasn’t joking. This is how I am. Authoritarian, megalomaniacal. That’s me in a nutshell.’
‘You really are funny!’ said Sundman. ‘You can go far with humour. I’m convinced that you’ll do damn well here.’
‘Thanks.’
Irina was sweating. What was the guy talking about? His kindness was close to choking her, she couldn’t puncture his inflated optimism. Was she about to lose control of this situation? If she was offered the job, she would be forced to accept. No more benefits, no more time for creating. That couldn’t happen.
‘What are you interested in learning?’ asked Sundman.
There was a knock at the door. It was Agneta.
‘Hey!’ she whispered carefully. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m off now.’
‘That’s fine, Agneta. You don’t need to tell me, you know that I trust you.’
‘I still wanted to.’
‘I appreciate it.’
Agneta smiled to Irina and gave her a thumbs up. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered and closed the door.
Irina’s heart was beating out of her chest. Agneta’s face, her toothless smile, it disturbed her so much. Once upon a time, she too had been promising, but life had happened. Life. Irina didn’t want it. Life, that was no life at all. Being offered the job just wasn’t an option. Was she going to be here in thirty years, toothless and dreamless, telling new staff about how she once almost wrote a hit single, how she was almost world famous, how Bob Dylan almost called her up to say thanks, how she almost… No. She would find a way of getting Sundman to cross her off his list.
‘Guess what?’ she said. ‘I can stand on my hands. I’ll show you!’
‘You really don’t have to,’ said Sundman.
Irina had already got up. ‘Yes, it’s no problem, check this out.’
She checked that the floor in front of her was clear. Took a deep breath, bent over forwards and spread her palms out on the floor, at the same time as she lifted one leg kind of backwards and upwards. With a grunt she got the other foot off the floor but immediately fell forwards with a thud.
‘Damn it. It normally works. I just need to relax for a moment. Give me a second.’
‘I believe you, sit down again and we can talk about salaries.’
Salary? Irina was terrified. This could mean the end for her as an artist, before she had even begun. Earmuffs, work gloves, disillusionment at an assembly line. No! In a moment of pure panic she thought that a failed cartwheel might make him change his mind.
‘Check this out first,’ Irina said.
She blew on the palms of her hands, clapped them hard and rubbed them together. Then she slapped her thigh
s, like a high jumper. A few deep breaths. Focus. ‘Come on now,’ she said quietly, as if she was trying to beat her own personal best. She then stretched her arms up and let her whole body fall hands first towards the floor.
Then it went black.
A sharp pain in the leg was the last thing she remembered when she woke up. She hurt all over, but especially in the knee. Two paramedics stood bent over her.
‘She’s woken up,’ said one of them.
‘Good morning,’ said the other one and smiled to Irina.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘You’ve dislocated your kneecap. It’s not serious, but we’ll take you with us so we can get a look at your head to make sure you aren’t concussed.’
‘She’s focusing well, she just seems to have fainted. That can happen with the pain. Irina, can you hear me ok?’
Irina nodded.
Sundman stood with his hands in his pockets and looked at her. He looked ashamed.
‘There was a proper crack. I should really have pushed the chairs in before you cartwheeled. I’m sorry. We need to think more about health and safety here. I’ll deal with it. We’ll of course do everything we can do compensate you for this.’
‘No problem,’ said Irina.
The paramedic had rolled a gurney in.
‘We’ll lift you up now, ok? One, two, three!’
Sundman walked next to the gurney as Irina was wheeled out.
‘I’ll call and see how you are doing, so you can start here in your own time. They think you should be able to get going already in a week.’
Slow cooker Saturdays
It was an advert in the local paper which got my interest, a small box with a mobile number. “Translator needed. French to Swedish.” So I called Renate Schmidt. She ran a small translation agency and had recently received requests for translations from French, a language she didn’t yet cover in-house, she explained. It wasn’t a full-time position, of course, it would lead to the odd commission now and then and I needed more to do.
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