Unspoken ak-2

by Mari Jungstedt

  “Hi, there,” Grenfors greeted Johan. “That was a good report yesterday. Great that we’ve got the story now. It feels like it’s going to get bigger. We’ll have to wait and see how it develops. Meanwhile… something else has come up.”

  The editor shuffled through the documents and newspapers that were heaped in a big, messy pile on the table.

  “The police seized a record amount of Rohypnol in Kapellskar this morning. Could you look into it?”

  Oh, right, look into it, thought Johan. That sounded easy enough, but he knew what Grenfors expected. A substantial story that he could use at the top of the broadcast, containing information that was a Regional News exclusive. He had strong doubts that it was a record amount. He had lost count of all the drug busts that had been made over the past year.

  “Isn’t National News doing the story?” he asked wearily. He had been hoping to go home early.

  “Sure, but you know how they are. They do their report and we do ours. Besides, you have better contacts than all their reporters put together.”

  “Okay.”

  Johan went back to his desk. Before he got started, he called Niklas Appelqvist in Grabo.

  He answered at once. Yes, he had kept in touch with the girl for a short time. He might still have her last name and phone number somewhere. He recalled only that her first name was Elin and she lived in Uppsala. He promised to call back as soon as possible. Before Johan could pick up the receiver to call the Customs Agency, the phone rang. He heard his mother’s voice.

  “Hi, my dear boy. How are you? How was it on Gotland?”

  “It was fine.”

  “Did you see Emma?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

  He was close to his mother, and by this time she knew almost everything about his complicated relationship with Emma. She listened and offered advice without expecting that he would follow it. She never judged him, and he appreciated that.

  Johan’s relationship with his mother had deepened after his father died of cancer almost two years ago now. There were four brothers, but Johan was the oldest, and he was closest to his mother. They had a need for each other. During the past year his mother had needed him more, and they had spent a great deal of time together, talking about his father and how life had changed. Especially for her, of course. She now lived alone in the big house in the suburb of Bromma. He had tried to persuade her to move so that she wouldn’t have to take care of all the practical matters by herself. Her sons did help out quite a bit, but they also had their own lives.

  She had now recovered from the worst of her grief. She had even started seeing a man who belonged to the same bowling club. He was a widower, and she seemed to enjoy his company. Whether there was anything romantic going on between them she had never mentioned, and Johan didn’t want to ask. The fact that his mother was seeing this man took a lot of the pressure off because he no longer had to worry as much about her being alone.

  Fanny was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the reflection of her face in the window. She was alone. Her mother was at work, as usual. The neighbors across the courtyard had hung up their Advent stars already. In another month it would be Christmas Eve. Yet another Christmas alone with her mother. Other people got together with family and friends to celebrate with Christmas trees and presents. The coziest thing of all must be to sit around a big table and eat Christmas dinner together. A warm apartment, candles, and good company. But she and her mother had only each other. And Spot, of course. They never went to visit relatives. Fanny had begun to realize why. The relatives were afraid that her mother would either get drunk or have one of her outbursts. She was so unpredictable that no one could ever relax when she was around. They never knew what might happen. If someone said or did something that her mother took as a criticism, the rest of the evening would be ruined. That’s why she and her mother were always alone. Not even her maternal grandmother was around anymore; she was senile and lived in a retirement home.

  They never bought a real tree for Christmas, either. They just set up a dreary-looking plastic tree on the table, as if they were a couple of old retired people. They usually ate Christmas dinner in front of the TV. Store-bought meatballs, beet salad, and ready-made Jansson’s Temptation, the traditional casserole of herring, potatoes, and onions in a cream sauce. All they had to do was heat it up in the microwave. Her mother would drink aquavit and wine and get more and more tipsy as the evening wore on. There was always some movie on TV that she wanted to see, but before long she would fall asleep on the sofa. Fanny would have to take Spot out for his evening walk. She hated Christmas. The fact that it was also her birthday didn’t make matters any better. She was going to turn fifteen-that meant she was practically grown up. She felt like a child in an adult’s body. She didn’t want to get any older; she had nothing to look forward to. She leaned her head on her hands, inhaling the scent of her newly washed hair. In some strange way she found that comforting. She looked down at the curve of her breasts. They had caused all the problems; her body had ruined everything. If she hadn’t gotten older, this whole thing would never have happened. Her body was a weapon that could be used both against others and against herself.

  And him. Now she mostly felt sick whenever she thought of him. His sweaty hands would paw at her, wanting to get under her clothes; he whimpered and whined like a baby. He wanted to do all sorts of strange things with her, and she didn’t dare protest. She felt disgusted with herself, revolted. He told her that now they were both involved, and she had to keep quiet about what they did together. He talked as if they shared a secret agreement, a pact. But that’s not how it was. Deep in her heart, she knew that. He said that he needed her, that she was important to him, and he gave her presents, which she had a hard time resisting. And that made her feel guilty. She was equally at fault, and she had only herself to blame. But now she didn’t want to go on. She wanted to get away from him, but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine how to do that. In her day-dreams she wished that someone would come around the corner and rescue her from everything. But no one ever showed up. She wondered what her father would say if he knew.

  She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Spot followed and looked up at her with his sweet eyes. She took out the green box of razor blades and sat down on the toilet seat. Carefully she took out a blade and held it between her fingers. Tears welled up, hot and salty, and rolled down her cheeks to land on her lap. She held out one hand and studied her fingers. What use was this hand? The blue veins ran from her wrist and into her palm filled with her blood, which pumped through her body. How meaningless. Why was she born? To take care of her mother? So that some disgusting old man could paw at her?

  She looked at Spot, and that was enough to make him wag his tail hesitantly. You’re the only one who likes me, she thought. But I can’t keep on living just for the sake of my dog.

  She took a firm grip on the razor blade and pressed it against her leg, almost level with her kneecap. She wanted to watch it pierce her skin. She pressed harder and harder. It hurt. At the same time, it felt good, almost liberating. All her fear and pain collected there, in her leg instead of in her whole body. In one place. Finally the blood began to flow, running down her leg and onto the floor.

  He saw Emma at once, as soon as she came through the door. He watched her for several seconds while she looked around. The restaurant was small, intimate, and very crowded. He was sitting in a corner at the back, and it was hard to see him from the entrance. Then she noticed him, and her face lit up. To think it was possible to be so beautiful. She was wearing a moss green jacket, and her hair was wet from the rain. It was unusual to see her in a restaurant in Stockholm, and he liked it.

  They kissed. Her lips tasted of salty licorice, and she laughed into his mouth.

  “What a day! I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I didn’t hear a thing they said. All I wanted was to get out of there. The course I was taking had absolutely nothing to s
ay to me.”

  “Were the speakers boring?”

  He could feel that his whole face was smiling.

  She threw out her hands. “I’m sure they were brilliant, inspiring, and super-charismatic. Everybody else was very pleased. But for me, none of that mattered. I just sat there thinking about you and longing to get away.”

  Their hands met across the table, and Johan couldn’t get his fill of looking at her.

  This is how it should always be, he thought. On the ring finger of her left hand her wedding band gleamed, a reminder that he only had her on loan. Just as their food arrived, her cell phone rang. Johan could tell at once that it was her husband, Olle, calling.

  “It was good,” she said. “Interesting speakers. Mmm. I’m sitting here having a glass of wine with Viveka. Mmm. We’re leaving soon. The banquet doesn’t start until eight.”

  She glanced at Johan. Then she got a worried look on her face.

  “What? He does? That’s too bad. When did it start? Hmm. How high is his temperature? Oh no. Try to get him to drink some fluids… Is he throwing up, too? How typical that he should get sick when I’m not home. Aren’t you supposed to play a match early tomorrow morning? Uh-huh. Okay. You and Sara aren’t sick, too, are you? If he keeps on like that, you should probably give him some fluid-replacement mixture. Do we have any in the house? Hmm. I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

  “That was Olle,” she explained unnecessarily. “Filip has the stomach flu. He’s been throwing up all afternoon.”

  She took a sip of her wine and looked out the window. Just a quick glance, but enough for Johan to realize that everything was much more complicated than he wanted to believe. She had children that she shared with her husband and she always would. He had watched her as she talked on the phone, and he understood how much of an outsider he was. What did he know about childhood illnesses? He didn’t even know Emma’s children. They had no relationship to him.

  After dinner he wanted to show her around. It had stopped raining, and they strolled down to Hornstull beach, past Reimersholme, and out to Langholmen. Even though it was dark, they walked across the Bridge of Sighs, along the path past the old Malarvarvet, and over to the other side. The lights from Gamla Stan, the city hall, and Norr Malarstrand were reflected in the water.

  They sat down on a bench.

  “Stockholm is so damn beautiful,” said Emma with a sigh. “The water makes it seem like it’s not a big city, even though there are so many people. I could see myself living here.”

  “You could?”

  “Yes. I’m always so jealous when you tell me about everything going on here. All the people, the theater, the cultural events. It makes me really think about what I’m missing when I’m on Gotland. It’s nice there, but nothing ever happens. And just the idea that I could be anonymous. I could sit here in a cafe and no one would recognize me. Just blend in with everyone else. Watch people and be entertained. And I don’t really think the traffic is so bad. It must be the water,” she said, looking out across the dark mirror of Riddarfjarden.

  “Yes, I love this city. I always will.”

  “And yet you would be willing to move to Gotland?” she said, looking at him.

  “For your sake, I would do anything. Anything at all.”

  When they went back to his apartment and got into bed like an ordinary married couple, Johan was struck by a feeling of unreality mixed with joy. They should be able to go to bed like this every night.

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24

  Saturday started out with snow mixed with rain, a strong wind, and the temperature hovering just above freezing. Knutas and his children had made breakfast and put a bouquet of flowers on the table next to Lina’s place. Each of them was holding one of her birthday presents, and they had cleared their throats to make sure that their creaky morning voices would be able to handle the birthday song. On their way upstairs they started singing “Happy Birthday,” each of them in a different key.

  Lina sat up in bed, still dazed with sleep, her red hair in a cloud around her head. She gave them a big smile and looked with delight at the presents. She was childishly excited about receiving gifts and started with the ones from Petra and Nils: a book, nail polish, and a calendar with cute firefighters holding kittens. Lina had been in love once before, with a firefighter. The children liked to tease her about her weakness for men in uniforms. She saved the present from her husband for last. Knutas watched his wife with anticipation. He’d had trouble coming up with something, but then a brilliant idea had occurred to him. There was one thing that he knew she really wanted. In spite of countless diets and halfhearted attempts to start exercising, she hadn’t managed to lose any weight. Consequently, he had filled a box with everything that might help her out: a year’s membership to Gym 1 in Visby, a jump rope and weights for exercising at home, and an introductory package to Weight Watchers.

  When Lina realized what his present was, her expression darkened and red blotches appeared on her throat. Slowly she raised her head and met her husband’s eyes.

  “What’s all this supposed to mean?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “What do you mean?” he stammered uncertainly and then began listing all the advantages of his gift. “You wanted to slim down, so here’s everything you need. If you don’t have time to go to the gym, you can work out at home, and Weight Watchers has a meeting for new members on Tuesday at Save School. Plus you get a personal trainer for the first five times at the gym, so you’ll learn how to use the machines correctly.”

  Knutas pointed eagerly at the brochure that was attached to the gift card.

  “So you think I’m fat? That I’m not attractive anymore? Is that why you’re giving me all these things? Because you want me to be more buff?”

  Lina sat bolt upright in bed, and her voice rose to a falsetto. Startled, the children looked from one parent to the other.

  “But you’re always talking about wanting to lose weight. I just wanted to help you out.”

  “And you think this is the sort of thing that I’d want for my birthday? To be reminded how fat I am? Can’t you at least let me enjoy my day?”

  Now she was shouting and she had tears in her eyes. The children decided to leave the room.

  Knutas lost his temper.

  “What the hell is this? First you go on and on about weighing too much, and then when I give you things to help you lose a few pounds, you get mad. What the hell is that all about?”

  He stomped downstairs and started banging the breakfast dishes around. Then he shouted to Lina, “Just ignore the whole thing. I’ll take everything back. Forget all about it!”

  He called to the children, “Here’s breakfast, for anyone who wants it!”

  “And what about you? Have you ever taken a look at yourself?” Lina yelled from upstairs. “I could buy you an arm exerciser for Christmas. And maybe some Viagra-that wouldn’t hurt!”

  Knutas didn’t bother to reply. He could hear Lina still muttering angrily to herself upstairs. Sometimes he got really fed up with her hot temper.

  The children came downstairs and ate their cornflakes in silence. Knutas spilled coffee on the tablecloth, but he didn’t care. He looked at Petra and Nils. All three of them shook their heads in agreement. None of them could understand Lina’s reaction.

  “Go upstairs and talk to Mamma,” said Petra after a while. “This is her birthday, after all.”

  Knutas sighed but followed his daughter’s advice. Fifteen minutes later he had persuaded his wife that she wasn’t at all fat, that he loved her just the way she was, and that she wasn’t the slightest bit overweight. No, she wasn’t.

  She was afraid of him. It started when he discovered the cuts.

  They had done it again, in their secret place. The sexual act was a torment for her. Pain and disgust in a violent combination. It was as if she took pleasure in punishing herself. When he was done and lay next to her, gasping, he took hold of her wrist.

  “What’s this?” he said
, sitting up on the sofa.

  “Nothing.”

  She pulled her hand away.

  He grabbed both of her hands and held them out.

  “Were you trying to kill yourself?”

  “No,” she said, ashamed. “I just cut myself a little.”

  “What the hell for? Are you crazy?”

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  She tried to pull her hands away, but she couldn’t.

  “Did you cut yourself just for fun?”

  “No, it’s just something that I do. I’ve done it for years. I can’t stop.”

  “Are you out of your mind!”

  “Maybe I am.”

  She tried to laugh it off, but the laugh got caught in her throat. Fear was blocking the way.

  “You can’t keep doing this-you know that, don’t you? What if someone finds out? Your mother or a teacher at school or someone else? Then they’ll start asking a lot of questions. And you might not be able to keep quiet about us. They can manipulate you and coax you into talking. They might call in a bunch of psychologists and shit!”

  His voice had gotten so loud that he was shouting. Saliva flew from his lips. He suddenly seemed dangerous, unpredictable. She drew the blanket tightly around her and watched him anxiously.

  “No one is going to notice,” she objected quietly.

  “That’s what you think. It’s just a matter of time before someone sees those cuts. I forbid you to do it again. Do you hear me?”

  He fixed his eyes on her. They were dark with anger.

  “Okay, I promise. I’ll stop.”

  He shook his head and went into the bathroom. She stayed on the sofa, unable to move as her panic grew. When he came back he had calmed down. He sat down next to her and stroked her arm.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” he said in a gentle voice. “You might really hurt yourself. I’m worried about you. Don’t you realize that?”

  “Yes,” she said. Tears were stinging her eyes.

  “Now, now, honey,” he consoled her. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I was shocked when I saw those cuts, and I’m afraid of losing you. So I don’t want to see any more of this, okay?”