Shadow

by Karin Alvtegen

  During those last days. When all that remained was to hurt him.

  ‘Do you remember what I said there in the woodshed? That I would kill you if I found out you had lied?’

  Nothing more needed to be said. He could read the truth in Axel’s face.

  ‘You fucking pig!’

  ‘It was only that one time in Västerås. I beg you to forgive me, Torgny. She said that you weren’t a couple, that you were just friends. If I’d known she was lying I would never have touched her.’

  Axel stood up.

  ‘It didn’t mean a thing, Torgny. We drank too much, it just happened.’

  It was after Västerås that everything had started going wrong. After Västerås that Halina’s illness returned. It had been the beginning of the end.

  It didn’t mean a thing, Torgny.

  He was breathing hard.

  Afterwards, during all the years he was forced to relive over and over again what followed, he often thought that it was at this moment he had gone off the rails. When the truth about the betrayal punched a hole in his innermost being and evil was released.

  ‘It was only once, that was the only time, I swear.’

  Just one wish.

  ‘What are you going to do now, Axel, with the truth about Shadow splashed across the arts pages all over the world? What hole are you going to crawl into then?’

  He could hear his own voice, muffled and toneless, as if it were someone else’s. Something had taken possession of him. Something that had knotted his fists and fixed his gaze on the man who had ruined his life. The man who had taken Halina and the boy away from him.

  Axel must have noticed the change. With a calmer expression he sat down and assumed the same pose as before the revelation. Hands clasped on the desktop, he stared at Torgny, with a new feeling of determination. His excuses had been in vain, and it was clear that he was now thinking of trying a new tactic.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to say this, but you give me no choice.’

  He paused for a second before he went on.

  ‘You can’t prove a thing.’

  ‘What do I have to prove?’

  ‘What you claim about Shadow.’

  Torgny snorted.

  ‘So it’s not enough for you that I know? You can live with this as long as nobody else knows?’

  ‘What choice do you think I have?’

  ‘You fucking hypocrite.’

  ‘I’ve admitted that I made a mistake. What more do you want?’

  ‘I take it you’re going to persist in taking all the praise for her masterpiece?’

  ‘I was on the shortlist for the Nobel Prize long before Shadow. You know as well as I do that it wasn’t the only book that won me the prize, the award was based just as much on my other books.’

  ‘Your own books, you mean?’

  ‘As I said, you can’t prove a thing.’

  Torgny didn’t move a muscle. He was thinking of Halina’s sense of inferiority after the degradation in Treblinka, which made her incapable of allowing herself to be loved. For the rest of his life he would be forced to watch Axel in the spotlight, cloaked in honour and fame, and know that the one who should have stood there was Halina. He would have to witness the obsequious flattery of the cultural establishment and watch Axel bow and scrape over the suffering that she had managed to transform into magnificent art.

  The lie came as a matter of course, and he hadn’t even planned it. The same toneless voice came out of his mouth.

  ‘I have her notes at home. All the letters she received during her research. The rough draft, the whole outline. In her handwriting.’

  That did the trick. But Torgny knew that Axel was right. There was no way to get to him. Nobody would believe Torgny without proof. Even if they did manage to find Halina. If what Axel said was true, perhaps she would even deny the truth and choose Axel once again. Like water off the back of a well-fattened goose the scandal would slide off him, and Torgny would be left to bear the shame of his tawdry accusation.

  Torgny felt it glowing white-hot inside him. The desire to destroy Axel. To make him suffer the same pain he had caused. Nothing else was important. He was prepared to do anything to achieve it. If he couldn’t get at Axel’s body of work, then he’d have to destroy his life. The blackness was so powerful it scared him. He fumbled for something that might stop him, but everything had vanished in the darkness. And from a distant place he heard the voice which would set the diabolical plan in motion.

  Where did it come from? He didn’t know.

  ‘If it’s my silence you want to buy, there is one way. It depends on what you’re willing to sacrifice.’

  Axel sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘There’s a saying: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘You took my woman away from me.’

  ‘Torgny, it was one time, and I didn’t even know she was yours. Is that what this is all about? A single transgression?’

  Tonelessly the voice droned on.

  ‘Once doesn’t matter, twice is a habit. Isn’t that what they say?’

  Uncomprehending, Axel threw out his arms, and Torgny went on.

  ‘One time is enough for me too.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What is it you want?’

  ‘To be paid in kind.’

  Axel’s frown testified to his confusion, until it was slowly erased.

  ‘Is it Alice you’re talking about?’ Axel snorted. ‘I don’t think she’s particularly interested, but be my guest and give it a try.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Alice.’

  Axel’s smile disappeared.

  Torgny’s body felt heavy, positioned between reason and will. He stood perfectly still and allowed the darkness to engulf him. The instant before taking the step towards his own ruin.

  ‘I’m talking about your daughter.’

  Axel leapt up from his chair.

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  To have the power to destroy. To have the power to ruin Axel’s life by whatever means he could.

  ‘It’s up to you. How much is your reputation worth?’

  ‘Annika has absolutely nothing to do with this, absolutely nothing. How can you even suggest something so…’ He was momentarily speechless. ‘What do you think of me anyway? Do you understand what you’re saying? It was Halina who seduced me, if that makes it any better. Why should my daughter be punished for something I did? She’s only fifteen years old! Fifteen! I believed a lot about you, Torgny, but this! How low are you prepared to sink?’

  Torgny smiled.

  ‘That’s exactly what you have to ask yourself, Axel. How low are you prepared to sink? You’ve already gone pretty deep.’

  Axel’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  ‘I can assure you that I wish I’d never used that manuscript, but I can’t undo what is done, no matter how much I may want to. Isn’t it revenge enough for you to know what an advantage you have over me, to live knowing that you might some day expose me? You know very well what would happen if… I can’t imagine that even you, Torgny, would wish such misfortune on me.’

  If what was raging inside Torgny were visible on his face, it would have made Axel take back those final words.

  ‘Halina said that I could do whatever I liked with the manuscript, so by what right do you come here with this vile ultimatum? Besides, I rewrote a lot of it. You would have done exactly the same thing in my situation.’

  ‘Would I?’

  ‘It’s easy for you to stand there now, all righteous and sincere, but I know you, Torgny. You would have done exactly the same thing.’

  ‘But I didn’t. That’s the difference.’

  Axel sank into his chair again, opening his palms as if that might make Torgny listen to reason.

  ‘Torgny, let’s discuss this like two reasonable men. I deserve your contempt, I accept that. I’ve also offered you half the prize money. Go home a
nd think about it. You’re much too worked up now to think rationally. I intend to forget what you proposed just now and forgive you. Go home and think about whether the money is enough to make you want to keep quiet.’

  ‘I don’t want Halina’s money.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, man!’

  Axel pounded his hand on the desk. Torgny smiled. Swearing didn’t sit well with Axel’s urbane manner.

  ‘You decide. It’s up to you. This time as well.’

  Axel shook his head in disgust.

  ‘You can’t mean what you’re saying!’

  ‘Choose now, Mr Nobel Prize winner. My offer expires in one minute.’ Torgny raised his arm and looked at his watch.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not thinking clearly.’

  ‘Forty-five seconds.’

  Axel got up. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Thirty seconds.’

  Axel closed his eyes.

  Torgny felt empty inside. The enjoyable malicious pleasure had dissolved in the dense darkness.

  ‘You’re going to regret this, Torgny, when you come to your senses.’

  ‘Ten seconds.’

  Axel sank back in his chair.

  The second hand completed its fateful circle and Torgny lowered his arm.

  “Well now, Axel, it pleases me that you managed to scrape together a tiny ounce of honour from some forgotten corner.’

  Axel leant forward with his head in his hands. Torgny moved towards the door. He had just put his hand on the doorknob when he was stopped by Axel’s voice.

  ‘Wait.’

  Something in the dark sneered. Torgny turned round. Axel had got up from his chair, and what was burning in his eyes was a worthy rival to what was ravaging Torgny.

  ‘You leave me no choice. I hope you realise that.’

  ‘One always has a choice, Axel. After that it’s a whole other matter as to what takes priority.’

  Axel looked away. He was breathing heavily.

  ‘How do you intend to proceed?’ His whispered tones were scarcely audible.

  ‘Let me worry about that. Just see to it that she’s alone here tonight.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Take your wife to the cinema or something, and make sure that Gerda stays away. I’ll wait here in your office until you all leave. And don’t forget to bring me that whisky you offered me.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  Torgny smiled.

  ‘How does it feel, Axel? Be sure to remember how it feels.’

  Axel stood leaning forward with his hands flat on the desk, a shadow of his former self. Torgny’s revenge was complete. All that remained was to carry it out.

  With a voice that had lost all its resonance, Axel ended the conversation, slowly emphasising each and every syllable.

  ‘If so much as a rumour ever comes out that anyone but myself was involved with Shadow, I will hold you personally responsible and make public what you did here today. If I go down, you will go down with me. I also want your promise that you will for ever stay out of my sight. And my last hope is that you will end up in hell, where you have always belonged.’

  Torgny sank down onto on his unmade bed. For thirty years he had endured in the darkness which after that day had never left him.

  How could he have done it? He didn’t know. Only that the darkness had blinded him. For thirty years he had searched, but he had never succeeded in finding any excuse. For a while he had pretended. Kept the outer surface polished and denied any blame.

  But even a bell’s invisible crack is revealed by a dull peal.

  Had the evil always been inside him, as a natural com ponent of his being? Or was it an intruder that had taken over when everything was stolen from him? When all that remained to him was the ability to shatter in order to retaliate.

  Too late he realised that he had directed his revenge at himself. That what he had shown himself to be capable of had chained him to a shame too heavy to bear.

  Axel’s last hope had been granted.

  The rest of Torgny’s life had become an effort to live as the brute he had proven himself to be. All intentions produce results in the end, if only one makes a real effort. And that he had done.

  And he had succeeded beyond all expectations.

  29

  I t is early morning. Already before I wake I know that I am happy.

  ‘George,’ she whispers, and her lips graze my ear. ‘The spring has come, I can smell it through the window. Come!’

  Sonja takes my hand and wants to pull me along to everything that is waiting. I open my eyes and she laughs.

  If the gods can feel envy, I should be careful.

  Don’t take this away from me, I pray silently.

  But never so that she hears.

  We pack the basket and go down to the water. Spread out our blanket and eat breakfast. The boy has left his cap at home and rolls around in what had been brown and dead, places where the green has now awakened to life. I lift him onto my shoulders and gallop through the springtime air till he almost chokes with laughter. She is sitting on the blanket and laughing. A little dot far off in a red dress.

  Afterwards he sits on her lap and eats biscuits. I serve coffee in mismatched cups. The boy catches sight of something that only children can see and walks off a little way from us. She keeps a watchful eye on him.

  I lack nothing, I think. She is well again and I lack nothing.

  But after I have thought this thought, it sits down between us on the blanket.

  The thing we never talk about.

  She takes my hand as if she too sees the unwelcome guest. As so many times before, she replies before I even ask.

  ‘I never fell,’ she says. ‘I just sank.’

  ‘I am here with you.’

  I stroke her cheek.

  ‘It is through you that I breathe. It is with your legs that I walk. Do not leave me, George.’

  ‘I will not leave you.’

  She looks at the boy.

  ‘Man and woman can make promises to each other. They know what the words mean, that they apply to here and now, and can always be renegotiated.’

  ‘Not mine.’

  She takes my hand in hers.

  ‘A child believes in the words. I believed my mother when she said that she would never leave me. How can one promise a child something when one does not know if the promise can be kept?’

  She looks at the boy again.

  ‘I love him. Why is that not enough?’

  Kristoffer put down Torgny’s book. He was still in bed, although it was already afternoon. He had been reading excerpts from The Wind Whispers Your Name, sometimes just lying still and staring at the ceiling. The text was only bearable in small portions. His hidden world – for all those years it had been available at the library.

  Unwillingly he tried to adjust his identity. From half and hopeful to whole and meaningless. For three years he had fought to be deserving of justice, believing that the world was ordered so that goodness would be rewarded. He had tried to set a good example, elevating himself above the average and doing his best to make the world better. Decided who his ancestors ought to be and took pains to live up to them. He had come to terms with his alcoholism, battled his demons, unaware of its hiding place in his own gene pool.

  The truth that had sneered behind his back.

  Keep fighting, you little fool, soon enough you’ll be knocked to the ground.

  His megalomania must have provoked the universe. His belief that some people were naturally superior because of their genes. And obviously if that was the case, he was one of them. A gigantic finger had finally landed on his head and pressed him down like a drawing-pin.

  He raised the book to his face and inhaled the odour. It stank of cigarette smoke and old dust. His mother had been loved. It was some consolation to know that. Sometimes the words indicated that he had been too, but it was harder to
believe, since he had already lived through the end of the story. The reality did not mesh well with what Torgny had imagined.

  The injustice he had been subjected to could not be forgiven. Her illness was not sufficient excuse. Someone must have seen how things were, someone who could have chosen to intervene and prevented thirty-five wasted years of uncertainty. Four months had passed between the day they had left Torgny and the day she abandoned him. Many people must have encountered them during that time and realised how ill she was.

  No one had come to their rescue.

  He heard the letter-box rattle and the post dropping onto the hall floor, but he didn’t have the energy to get up. The sound of the postman’s footsteps faded away. He turned his head and looked at his computer. Not even his play seemed important any more. The people he most wanted to impress would never be sitting in the audience.

  His eyes went to the cognac bottle.

  With a heavy sigh he got up and tightened his dressing gown around him. He saw the post lying on the doormat but let it be. Instead he sat down at his desk. For a long moment he sat there with his hands in his lap, then he opened his laptop.

  He heard the sound of an incoming e-mail.

  Finally a sign of life from Jesper.

  He opened it but found only a web link. He clicked on it and the page started to download. It took an unusually long time, and he drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited, then dialled Jesper’s number. This time the voicemail didn’t even pick up. All he got was an odd flat tone as if he’d dialled incorrectly.

  On the screen the page was finally loaded. He went out into the hall and poked his foot at the pile of mail. A flyer from a takeaway restaurant, a bank statement and a handwritten letter. He picked up the letter and went back to his desk. Kristoffer clicked on play and the video started. An image of Jesper sitting in his flat. Kristoffer recognised the wallpaper in the background.

  ‘My name is Jesper Falk. Thank you for watching this video and confirming my hypothesis that most people have forgotten what obligations are involved when one is born as a human being.’

  Kristoffer put down the letter and leaned back. It was good to see him – something reliable amid all that had changed.