‘Well, there’s personal integrity to consider.’
‘But you couldn’t care less about the integrity of patriots. You write bad stuff about us all the time – lots of lies, too.’
The words came out as a knee-jerk response. There was no aggressive edge to them. Annika managed to smile.
‘Well, since you’re in the know, enlighten me.’
‘About everything?’
‘Take it from the top. How did the staff of Summer Frolic at the Castle get hold of you?’
Hannah Persson twirled a lock of hair between her thumb and her middle finger.
‘They e-mailed our website,’ she said. ‘I’m in charge of the site, so I wrote back. They wanted one of our people to have a debate with an anarchist on TV, at least that’s what they wrote. It turned out that they had invited two radical feminist anarchists, the worst kind …’
‘How was the atmosphere when you go there?’
‘Everyone was pretty stressed-out. They were wet, too – it rained like nobody’s business. They put some make-up on me, only not on my cheeks, they wanted the tattoo to show.’
The young Nazi grinned, a satisfied little girl’s smile.
‘And that pop star was there, John Essex. I saw him up at the castle, in a room on the second floor.’
‘What were you doing up there?’
Hannah Persson’s face turned bright red.
‘Checking out the place, that’s all.’
Annika nodded. The girl had probably been looking for something to steal.
‘Was it exciting to be on TV?’
The girl shrugged.
‘I should have known,’ she said. ‘There weren’t looking for a democratic debate, they just wanted us to get in a fight. And those dykes attacked me, look …’
Hannah tilted her head up, showing her chin. Annika politely inspected the partially healed scratch.
‘It got real rowdy. People came running from all over, they had to stop taping and everything.’
As far as Annika could tell, the girl seemed pretty pleased about that.
‘When were you done?’
‘Like around 8:30. Everyone else left, only I wasn’t supposed to leave at the same time as the anarchists. Later on no one seemed to care that I was still around.’
‘Did everyone else leave?’
‘Not the pop star. The band and the rest of the guys left, but he had his sights on Michelle Carlsson, so he stayed. On the top floor they served food and drinks, awesome food. I ate loads of it.’
‘Did everyone else eat a lot too?’
‘Some people did. The cameramen and the sound engineers sat together at one of the tables; they ate for a long time and then they split. One of them stayed on, a chunky guy in a plaid shirt. He sat around watching TV in one of the wings later on, and it really bugged him that everyone was so loud that he couldn’t hear what they were saying on his stupid old show …’
‘Did you see Michelle Carlsson?’
‘Of course I did. She was there, but she didn’t eat a thing, all she did was drink. She was flaky and super-touchy and kept picking fights.’
‘Who did she fight with?’
‘First of all with Anne, one of the girls who worked on the show. They argued about money, salaries, about who deserved to earn the most. If it’s right to make a lot of money on the stock market, boring stuff. It was like they were talking about themselves, only not. Finally, the girl got really pissed off and started yelling at Michelle, saying she was greedy. For a while there, I thought they were going to start fighting.’
The little Nazi kept twirling her hair, a faraway look in her eyes. The silence was filled with a growing sense of that troubled evening; it seemed to move right into the room.
‘That bitch of a reporter was there too, you know. She was drunk while they taped the shows and she kept calling Michelle “our little scatterbrain”. I saw Michelle go up to her and kind of hiss something at her.’
Hannah Persson got up, walked a few steps away from the mattress, peered out from under her bangs and mimicked Michelle:
‘“You’re a fat, alcoholic has-been, who lives off that high-and-mighty family of yours!”’
She stood straight and went on:
‘The bitch went crazy and chucked a bottle of wine at Michelle, aiming for her head and missing it by just a centimetre or so. Then she tossed back three drinks in a row and passed out on the couch.’
‘What did Michelle do?’ Annika asked, enthralled by the unfolding spectacle and picturing the scene in the dining room.
‘She left the room and the pop star went with her. They went to the lounge in the wing where everyone was staying and made out in an easy chair. Then everyone else came in and the old guy wanted to watch TV. Michelle and the pop star took off somewhere. The old guy complained so much that everyone got irritated and we went back to the castle.’
‘When did you show people that gun of yours?’
The girl shot Annika an evasive look.
‘I guess it was then,’ she said. ‘I went to my car and brought it in and let everyone hold it. They were really interested. I tried to tell them about the patriots, but they didn’t listen. Then the staff came in and said they were going to lock up the castle, so we went over to the Stables instead.’
‘Just who are we talking about?’
Hannah shrugged.
‘I don’t know – a group of guys and girls, there were six of us, maybe eight. Everyone was pretty wasted. Michelle was in the worst shape, she kept shouting things and laughing really loud, and even started crying a few times. Up at the castle, one of the women, the one with the fancy titled name, she bawled her out, saying that everything in Michelle’s life revolved around her career, that she was so stuck-up and insensitive, and then she said …’
In her mind’s eye, Annika pictured the Stables: Mariana and Michelle, both drunk and overworked.
‘“I was here before you,”’ Hannah said, now portraying Mariana von Berlitz. ‘“You always luck out even though you don’t know a darn thing, and to top it off, you demand respect. The only thing you’re good at is pushing people around, and people let you do it because of your visibility. But actually you’re nothing but a cardboard cut-out, all surface flash and no substance. The rest of us supply the contents, fill you with significance, and you just use us.”’
‘What did Michelle say?’
‘That the other girl didn’t have a clue, that she would never understand what a rough time she had and how pressured she was. The girl said something else and Michelle started screaming that she was a jealous vindictive nobody who could go fuck herself.’
The Nazi miss grinned at the thought.
‘How did the rest of the group react?’
‘That other girl, Anne, she agreed with Mariana.’
She adopted Anne’s expression:
‘“I taught you everything when we started out doing The Women’s Sofa, but when they made you the host, I no longer existed. You used me up and threw me away. I can’t forgive you for that.”’
‘Didn’t anyone defend Michelle?’
‘That blonde girl, the one on Broken Promises, she did.’
‘Bambi Rosenberg.’
‘Exactly. Do you watch her show?’
Annika shook her head.
‘I used to see it all the time, but now I don’t have a TV set. I think Bambi’s a really good actress.’
And an Aryan too, Annika thought, but didn’t say so out loud.
‘Bambi stuck up for her, but later on all she did was cry.’
Hannah Persson sat back down again, slumping slightly, a distant light in her eyes. Annika waited; she detected a shadow play in the girl’s eyes.
‘I think Bambi had borrowed something from Michelle, money or something kind of major. “There’s no way I can pay you back,” Bambi said to her. “Then I guess you’ll have to sell,” Michelle snapped back. They fought about whatever it was, screaming “you greedy bitch” and
stuff like that. Then Bambi ran out of the room.’
The Nazi girl sat up straight.
‘And the tall guy with the greying hair,’ she said. ‘He defended Michelle too, only that was later on, when she had taken off and they went to look for her …’
‘When did she take off?’
‘After that lunatic trashed the dining room. Everyone was so darn upset, they sat around in groups, grumbling. And they drank, and drank. Almost like the patriots …’
Hannah grinned again.
‘Who had the gun?’ Annika asked.
The corners of the girl’s mouth turned down and she bit her lower lip as she considered the question.
‘I saw it outside the Stables,’ she said. ‘That manager guy had it.’
Annika felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and had to force herself to keep her voice steady.
‘When was that, and what did he do with it?’
‘He stood out there in the rain, by the dining-room window, looking in.’
‘What about the gun?’
The young Nazi raised her eyebrows indulgently.
‘It happens to be a revolver, you know. He was holding it, but then the girl with the fancy name came up and took it away from him. Then she went indoors and talked to some people and a while later the manager guy went inside and trashed the place.’
Finally getting a clear picture of the evening, Annika looked at the girl.
‘What about the car? What was that all about?’
‘They came to pick up the pop star, he was so wasted.’
‘You said that the others went to look for Michelle. Why was that?’
‘They were all talking in the kitchen in one of the wings,’ Hannah Persson said. ‘The fat lady, what’s her name?’
‘Karin. She’s the producer.’
‘She was telling this story about when Michelle was up for the job as a talk-show host. They were going to screen-test Michelle and Anne, and one of them would get the job. The problem was that Anne showed up an hour late, so she didn’t have time to prepare or to be made up.’
Annika nodded. She remembered how frustrated and furious Anne had been, how she had cried and cursed about the idiot who had told her the wrong time.
‘But that couldn’t have anything to do with Michelle, could it?’
‘Oh, yes, it did,’ Hannah said. ‘That night, the fat lady told Anne what had happened. Michelle was the one who had put the note with the wrong time in Anne’s mail compartment, and the lady said she had done it on purpose, just to eliminate Anne from the running. Anne went crazy, she started crying and screaming that she was going to strangle that little cunt …’
Hannah Persson burst into a fit of nervous giggles. Annika stared at her.
‘Did Anne say that?’
The girl nodded.
‘Every one of them had a bone to pick with Michelle, they were all upset about something. So they went looking for her. And they found her in the end …’
Once the spectre of Michelle Carlsson’s death emerged in the two young women’s minds, a cloud of silence descended on the official headquarters of the Nazi Party of Katrineholm. The shadows grew longer in the corners, and Annika shuddered. The walls closed in and it felt as though the swastikas scratched her skin. A car accelerated outside the boarded-up windows, passing right behind her head and making the concrete vibrate.
Suddenly she felt overwhelmed. She couldn’t stay another second.
‘Is it okay if I write an article about you in tomorrow’s paper?’ Annika asked as she rose and picked up her bag.
Hannah Persson’s widening eyes reflected her loneliness.
‘Are you leaving?’
‘I’ve got to go home. I have two little kids,’ Annika said, missing them so much suddenly that it was like being stabbed in the chest.
‘Um, will you be coming back?’ the Nazi girl asked.
Her face was as open as a child’s and her eyes were clear and trusting. In the poor light, her skin appeared to shimmer.
‘No,’ Annika replied quietly. ‘Probably not.’
Hannah Persson stood up and her eyes changed, becoming narrow and dark.
‘Why did you come here?’
Annika took a step closer to the young woman and looked her in the eye.
‘You don’t need to live like this,’ she said. ‘You could have a job and a real place of your own if you just––’
‘Don’t you tell me what to do!’
The girl’s shout was deafening. Annika backed away, banging her heel on the threshold of the door, perplexed by the aggression of the outburst. Hannah Persson had bared her teeth again; the predator was back.
‘I have the right to live wherever I damn well please, and I’m entitled to my opinions. You can stuff your fucking lectures! Go away! Beat it!’
Hannah picked up a book from the stack of Nazi propaganda and hurled it at Annika’s head.
Annika ducked. She managed to open the door, stagger down the hall and escape upstairs. The music was unleashed again, stalking her: fight the system, fight the system … She slammed the front door, turning the bass line into distant vibrations in the concrete. For a few seconds, she remained standing in the street, catching her breath. Faint light seeped through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.
She’ll do whatever she wants to do, Annika thought. She is responsible for herself, just like I’m responsible for myself.
A few drops of rain landed on the back of her neck. She hunched her shoulders and turned her back on the place. Slowly, she started to head for the station, her mind filled with conflicting impressions.
Hannah Persson’s destructive course, so obviously self-inflicted in other people’s eyes, was such a basic part of her personality. How could she be so blind to her own inherent potential? Why did she end up on the wrong side of accepted society? What kind of experiences were so shattering that they could lead a person to choose to become an outsider?
Annika coughed and steeled herself for the next item.
Anne Snapphane had missed the opportunity of a lifetime and Michelle was to blame. What responses had been triggered by this awareness? Her spontaneous reaction had been to shout that she would strangle Michelle. How intense was her need for revenge? Strong enough to act on her words, to pick up a weapon and fire it?
Annika shuddered and walked faster. It just wasn’t possible, absolutely not. She closed her eyes and let the impact of each step radiate throughout her body.
Not Anne, it was impossible.
The limits and taboos that human beings live by change over time and from culture to culture, but killing out of envy or for revenge was invariably forbidden.
Anne would never do it, Annika thought, like an incantation.
Her cellphone rang and Annika paused, sure that it was Anne, that telepathy had prompted her to call.
Puzzled, she saw that the number on the glowing display wasn’t one that she recognized.
‘Hello? Is that you, Annika? It’s me, Bosse.’
She stared at the street where there were no shadows, frantically searching her memory.
‘Who?’
‘Bosse – I work for the competition. How are you?’
She inhaled sharply and felt a rush of blood to her face. Anne was suddenly light years away from her thoughts.
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, weak at the knees. ‘Everything’s great. How about you?’
‘A few of us are going out after work to grab a beer and I wondered … if you wanted to come along?’
Annika stopped breathing. Her mouth was open but nothing came out.
What she wanted to shout was ‘Yes! Yes! I want to drink beer and laugh and be acknowledged; I want to discuss the headlines and Michelle Carlsson and the clowns on Studio 69; I want to listen to time-worn media anecdotes and accounts of the state of the world; I want to look into eyes that give me warmth in return, I want to sit close to someone, I want to be a part of it all. I want to have f
un!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said curtly. ‘I have to go home.’
She swallowed hard. Something warm flowed through her body, blazing alive.
‘I see …’
The voice on the other end couldn’t conceal its disappointment.
Annika pressed her lips together hard, holding back the joy she felt.
‘Oh well,’ Bosse said, trying to laugh. ‘That’s life. Some other time, maybe?’
She closed her eyes and felt the tears coming on.
‘I don’t think so,’ she whispered.
‘You don’t … It was just … You sounded so pleased when you answered.’
An oppressive silence mushroomed between them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Okay. Take care.’
Annika clicked off her cellphone.
She kept her gaze fixed on the road. It was straight and narrow. The scattered raindrops turned into a shower. She would be soaked by the time she reached the train.
Annika pulled up the hood of her jacket and ran.
Exhausted, Thomas sank down at the kitchen table with a brandy and a magazine. His head was buzzing with thoughts and voices. He gulped down the liquor to quiet them.
South Korea, the Fourth International Next-Generation Leaders’ Forum. Holy shit. He’d been chosen to be a leader of the next generation.
The crass voice in his head protested immediately. Sung-Yoon just wanted to talk about old times, that was all.
He opened his magazine and rubbed his eyes. The English words were hopping like bunnies.
2-12 September. He would be going – just let Annika try stopping him.
Irritated, he turned the page and tried to read the next article.
‘I’m scared.’
Thomas looked up and saw the little boy standing in the doorway, clutching his blanket and his teddy and sucking on a finger.
A tremendous sense of resignation wound itself around him.
‘Come on, son,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to go to bed now. We’ve already talked about this.’
‘But I’m scared.’
For a brief second, Thomas struggled with his fatigue and gave up.
‘I’ve tucked you in three times now, Kalle. Go back to bed. Go on.’
Then he made a great show of going back to reading his magazine.
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