by Anna Jansson
Maria called home and Linda answered.
“You can’t come now because we’re going to camp outside! We’re going to sleep in a tent in the garden; we got permission from Marianne. It’s really cozy and Marianne is going to sleep in a tent too and guard so no ghosts come.”
“May I speak with her?” Maria waited and heard Linda run downstairs to the other apartment.
“Yes, I thought perhaps you would like an evening out. Tomas will be home soon and the children really want to camp out. I hope it’s okay with you—just don’t forget to leave the ball by midnight,” she laughed.
“I must say I’m a little surprised. What does Malte’s dad say about this? I should probably call Jonathan and ask him first.”
“He stopped by here today, and yes, actually it was his idea.”
Two hours later Jonathan and Maria were at the Bister Hare in the cellar under the Freemasons Lodge at the St. Nikolai cloister ruins. The restaurant had a medieval theme, with a menu of grilled lamb, root vegetables, baked potatoes, strawberry salsa, and a chickpea stew that was very good.
“So they let you leave the hospital,” said Maria.
“The tests showed that I wasn’t carrying the infection. You can’t hold personnel hostage. And if we couldn’t rely on the protective equipment, no one would dare to work.”
At first they thought about sitting in the lovely garden, where a gigantic walnut tree shaded the tables, but it was a bit chilly so they chose to be seated in the cellar, where at one time the monks who worked on the construction of the cloister lived. Still lived there, according to the waitress. One monk remained.
“He walks around down here and sees that everything is in order. If a door is suddenly open, if the light goes out or is turned on you only need to say, ‘Hi, I know you’re there.’”
They sat down at the long table and each ordered a beer, which was served in ceramic tankards. The many candles in the holders on the walls and the oil lamps on the tables spread a warm glow under the white arches and were reflected like little white torches in Jonathan’s glasses. They made small talk about the children for a while before Maria dared to ask how Nina was doing.
“You know, it feels very strange not to lie about her alcohol dependency when you’ve been telling lies and making excuses for so many years. Nina is still in the hospital. She has pneumonia. Vomited and got it down in her lungs when she was lying on her back. She might have died.”
“That’s terrible.” Maria saw the pain reflected in his face. He said nothing for a while, just looked at her with an unfathomable expression. Maria got a feeling that she was being judged. Should she have said something else? Asked more questions, or stayed quiet? She wished he would dare confide in her.
“It’s worse for Malte. It makes me feel so bad and I get so angry. He thinks that’s what mothers are like. He has nothing to compare her with. It’s the norm to have a mother who stays in bed half the day and then suddenly rises from the dead and promises water parks and slides and computer games and new toys, and then nothing comes of what she promises. Then it changes again in a few hours. She’s hung-over and irritated and snaps at him and everything he does is wrong. If she had a job to go to maybe it would have been different, but that’s not how it is.” Jonathan inhaled in a long, trembling breath and clenched his teeth. Maria placed her hand on his. She said nothing now either. There were no suitable words.
A couple sat down at the other end of the long table. They kissed and their hands sought each other under the table. Their cheeks were glowing and eyes shining and they only saw each other. Jonathan could not keep from smiling at them.
“It’s been so long since Nina and I sat like that.” He placed his hand over Maria’s and she did not pull away. He looked her in the eyes very seriously. “It would have been a relief for me if Nina had died. I know you think I shouldn’t say that. That I shouldn’t feel that. But I do. She makes my life hell and I would not stay a minute longer if it wasn’t because I’m afraid of not getting sole custody of Malte.”
“She should get help.”
“She doesn’t want help. She doesn’t think she has a problem. It’s like it’s my problem. I’m the one who betrayed her and for that reason she has to drink herself into a stupor. There’s no treatment center on Gotland either. The closest one is on the mainland. I’ve tried to talk with her, but she refuses to listen. If she’s committed involuntarily that’s a label that would give me an advantage in a custody dispute. She would not understand that I want to help her and she doesn’t want to give me a trump card. We’ve ended up in trench warfare where every action is strategic. We hurt each other consciously even though neither of us wants to. I know it sounds sick, but that’s the way it is.”
“How does she think you’ve betrayed her?”
Jonathan heaved a deep sigh, released Maria’s hand and leaned back, as if he needed distance and space to be able to think clearly.
“I was unfaithful. A couple of years ago I was at a course on the mainland with the infectious disease clinic. It happened one time. Nina and I hadn’t had sex in over two years. I can’t help it, but it disgusts me that she has to get drunk to feel desire. I don’t want to touch her then and so there’s nothing. She found out that I’d been unfaithful from a girlfriend, who heard it from another girlfriend. I was a coward and said it wasn’t true. That we just sat in the hotel room and talked. But it was more than that—it wasn’t the idea that it would happen, nothing planned. Both of us were starving. We could feel it already when we were dancing. We couldn’t get enough of each other and the others started looking and commenting, so we decided to have a drink in my room and then … To be honest I would have done it again without hesitating. It was worth it.”
“Do you still see each other?” Maria could not keep from asking, even though it really wasn’t her business. Not at all. She wanted to know anyway. It was in the air somehow, an incipient feeling that something might happen. The start of something that could be? Maria dismissed the thought. He was married, after all! And she should know better than to mindlessly lose her self-control and let herself be fooled by a man who just admitted that he had been unfaithful because his wife didn’t understand him. Classic and rotten! Intelligent women don’t fall for such simple tricks. Yet Maria had asked to know more, appealed to his guilty conscience and longing for absolution. Please, dear, tell me that all other women are unappreciative and ugly and untalented and that I am the only one who understands you.
“Do you still see that woman?”
“Why are you smiling so strangely? Did I say something funny? No, we don’t have any contact at all. She didn’t want to. There was nothing between us before; we were just co-workers … and nothing after. It was just right then, that moment, and I’m glad it happened. Do you think I’m awful?”
“No.” What else could she say when he made himself so vulnerable? Life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to. There are seldom any simple answers to complicated questions. Who has the right to judge someone who longs for love and takes what’s offered?
“How about you, though? Is there a man in your life?” He looked at her with interest when he noticed that the question embarrassed her a little.
Maria took a sip of beer and thought. It would be so simple to say: Yes, his name is Emil and he’s ten years old. “There was someone, but nothing came of it. He couldn’t wait and then … something happened. He asked me to give him confidential information about an investigation I was working on but I refused, and we haven’t seen each other since. His name is Per.”
“But you think about him? He still means something to you?” Jonathan smiled and screwed up one eye and looked sly. “Am I wrong?”
“Yes, I’ve decided to forget him. There’s no point. He’s not coming back.” Maria got up to go to the restroom. She warmed her hands a moment by the fire and when she came back the intimate mood was broken. Another group had sat down at the other end of the long table and the sound lev
el was pretty high.
“Do you know what I was just thinking about?” he said once she sat down again. “That homing pigeon that came to Ruben Nilsson’s pigeon loft was carrying bird flu in a mutant form and it was from Belarus. Previously gallinaceous birds spread bird flu, not pigeons. What I think is that someone may have prepared it, infected it intentionally. Do you understand where I’m going with this? Right before I met you at Osterport I heard the news that the murdered man found by that restroom in Klintehamn was from Belarus. Isn’t that a little strange?”
“I didn’t know that Ruben Nilsson was infected by a pigeon. I thought wild geese had infected his birds. How do you know it was a pigeon from Belarus?” Maria leaned forward to hear better and Jonathan grazed her cheek with his fingers when he answered.
“He took the pigeon’s ring to the library and asked a librarian for help finding out where it came from through the homing pigeon association website. It was from Biaroza in Belarus. What you ought to check on is whether Sergei, or whatever his name was, was infected with bird flu. Do you know if anyone asked the medical examiner that question?”
“My God, I don’t believe it. I mean, no one was thinking about bird flu then! The newspapers were full of scary stories about multi-resistant TB and infected daycare children. This is how you protect yourself and your family—the whole list! The warning about bird flu came later. I don’t think that’s been checked.”
“When you know I’d be very eager to hear the answer. Maybe we’re working on the same puzzle, and then it will be beneficial to see each other’s pieces. Are you in charge of the investigation of the murder of Sandra Hagg?”
“Yes, do you know anything about her?” Maria saw the change in his facial expression when she asked the question. This was important to him.
“She worked for a while with us at the infectious disease clinic.”
An idea occurred to Maria. She felt that Jonathan was observing her while she tried to put it into words.
“What is it?” he asked.
“That time when you were on a course, for your job. The woman you spent the night with. Was it Sandra Hagg?”
“No, but I liked her a lot.”
“Do you know a medical journalist named Tobias Westberg?”
“Yes, why do you ask? Does he have anything to do with the investigation of Sandra’s murder? You look strange, you don’t think that Tobias … I can’t imagine that he would have killed her. Not a chance. He’s not aggressive at all. We did our military service together. He had a hard time following orders, he always wanted to discuss and analyze and argue about things. He drove the officers crazy, but he was just very gentle and friendly. He went by the nickname Hamster.”
“Why that name? I’ve seen a photo of him; he’s fairly thin. Did he collect things?”
“No, he got the mumps. It wasn’t really that funny. He had a bad case of meningitis. That cut short his military service. But I wouldn’t have wanted to trade places with him. Once I brought him flowers and his girlfriend was there. Yrsa, her name was. She was a kind of dream girl with long blonde hair and innocent blue eyes that everyone just sighed after. Naturally pretty—a bit like you.” He smiled when he saw Maria grimace. She was not very good at accepting compliments.
They got up and went out into the garden to look at the fire-eaters and listen to the jesters’ music. The gate to the St. Nikolai cloister ruin was slightly ajar. They were drawn in by the magnificent sunset that was framed by the tall window arches. Solemnly they walked along the path and felt how powerfully history spoke to them from the time before the plague and plundering expeditions, when the cloister was living and magnificent.
“During the time of the plague it was believed that the infection was due to bad air. The doctors had a protective outfit with a mask that looked like a long bird beak and in the beak aromatic substances were stored that were thought to purify the air. When you see pictures of that old get-up it’s like seeing the bird flu personified.”
Maria said that she could picture it and Jonathan was about to continue when they heard the sound of the gate closing behind them. A key was turned in the lock. They tried to call and pound on the wooden gate, but the sound was drowned out by the music outside.
“I can wrap my coat around you, and we can stay here tonight,” Jonathan quickly suggested, putting his arm around her. Maria shook her head. The idea was enticing, but not uncomplicated.
“There must be a way to get out,” she said. “It’s lower on the east side, if you just get under the barbed wire.” She started walking down the path. He did not let go of her shoulders and when she turned toward him she was in his arms. He placed his cheek against hers, sought her mouth, and gave her a kiss. She did not respond to it, but instead stared at him with eyes wide open and lips drawn in. He started to laugh. She looked pretty funny.
“If we move a bench here and help each other we can get up to the window. If the barbed wire could be clipped off it should be possible to get between and jump down on the street, it’s not very high.” She was talking quickly and forcefully. This couldn’t happen. She felt the longing in her body, making her an easy prey to touch. How long had it been since someone touched her like that? He’s married! And this is going to do me harm, she thought over and over again like a mantra. I don’t want a complicated life, I don’t want to be betrayed, I don’t have the energy for another guy, not now. Think about Nina, she needs him more than ever. We have to get out of here, now!
“If you really think it’s necessary. I have a Swiss army knife. Although I think it’s a shame. I like being locked in with you. I can’t really think of anyone I’d rather be locked in with. Don’t you think it’s a little cozy? We’re both victims of chance; no one is guilty. It’s a golden opportunity, isn’t it?”
“If we move one of the benches here it will be easier to climb out.”
Once outside the walls Maria was about to call for a taxi when Jonathan took her in his arms in farewell and thanked her for a nice evening. She noticed that he sniffed her hair and that his hands were gliding slowly down her back. She stood completely still, unable to resist the caress. It felt marvelous.
“You smell right,” he said.
“What do you mean, right?” she laughed and let go.
“It has something to do with pheromones. Do you want to come home with me … I mean … I would really like it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I like you, Jonathan, and I’d like to see you again. But you’re married and you have a wife who needs you and a Malte who loves both his mom and his dad.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that—I thought we might play Scrabble or have a cup of coffee or something. You didn’t think otherwise, I hope.” He laughed teasingly and helped her into the taxi. “If you change your mind right now it will be cheaper than going to Klinte and changing your mind halfway there.”
“Maybe another time, Jonathan.” She felt strong and full of self-discipline as she said that, but even before the taxi pulled away in her fantasies she was in his arms, locked in the ruins where no eyes or ears could reach them. His caress along her back lingered like a longing in her skin and gave her no peace.
That night she lay for a long time in bed, listening to the rain. It was like weeping, uncontrolled and inconsolable, and toward morning it was like quiet sobbing in the drops from the trees. I am not single. A single person has chosen to take care of herself and live in freedom. I’m really just alone, she thought.
Chapter 31
The windshield wipers swept aside the rain in big, drowsy waves. Over the rooftops was a heavy blanket of clouds. Hartman was worried. Marianne had tried to reach her doctor the entire day before without success.
“She has a lung transplant and she’s on medication that suppresses her immune defenses. She ought to be in a category that gets vaccine and antiviral medicine first,” he said indignantly to Maria as they carpooled to the police station in Visby. “It seems like those with the greate
st need for care are taking a back seat to what the politicians call social benefit. The question is whether there will be any medication left when everyone in important positions and those who can buy it have theirs. We’ve talked about taking out a loan. It won’t be easy, because we already have a mortgage on the house. But I don’t think we can wait. I would never forgive myself if Marianne got sick and we could have avoided it. Whatever the cost.”
“That business of social benefit is debatable. If Marianne wasn’t taking care of my Linda, I wouldn’t be able to work. Everything is connected. Who’s important and who’s less important? You should know how grateful I am to you and Marianne. I don’t know what I would have done with Linda otherwise, when she doesn’t want to be with her dad.”
“The feeling is mutual. Marianne hasn’t been so happy for years.” He gave her a warm smile and suddenly became serious again. “I think it may be dangerous to get people’s hopes up about how quickly it will be possible to get help. In the TV interview it sounded like all you had to do was go and pick up the medicine. People will go crazy when that’s not the case. You know, personally I feel that I’m prepared to fight to get medicine for her. Physically fight so that the vaccine won’t run out and there won’t be any left when it’s her turn. I feel that the barrier that keeps you from running amok is so fragile, only a little superficial veneer actually. If it really came down to that, I think I’d kill so that she could live. We’re so frighteningly primitive when it comes to basics.”
“I suppose. I actually think it’s strange that people stay as calm as they do. It’s as if the seriousness of it all doesn’t really sink in. It still feels like this is something happening far away when you see it on TV and listen to the radio reports every hour. As if this concerned other people, just another report from a crisis area somewhere in the world. Maybe we’ve become desensitized from constantly bringing all the misery of the world right into our living rooms.”