Clinch

by Martin Holmén

  Alongside me stands a potted plant as tall as a man, with narrow, pointed leaves. It’s been a long while since it was watered, and the leaves are dusty. Under the stairs, a closed door presumably leads into the kitchen. The sounds are coming from the open door to my left. Above it, a large, rectangular mark can be seen on the wall, as if there was recently a painting hanging there.

  I should wait until the Skansen fireworks on the Djurgården side really get going. I steal forwards and press myself to the wall. I take the cigar out of my mouth and push my hat back with my forefinger. The billiard balls cannon together again.

  ‘I don’t understand how you can dislike the music, Father?’

  Father? I chuckle. I remember that lisping man’s voice all too well. There’s a sudden crackling noise. Someone stops the music in the middle of a saxophone solo. I hear the radio humming to life and warming up almost immediately. I go around the corner with the pistol at the ready.

  I sweep the sights of the Husqvarna across the room. The bead passes over the large billiard table and soon finds its way to old man Steiner, sitting in a dinner jacket in a leather sofa placed centrally in the room. For a few moments I’m confused, and I point the gun at the marble statue of yet another naked young man, positioned beside a crackling fireplace. Then I move it back to Steiner.

  He’s wearing gold-rimmed spectacles and his hair has thinned a bit since Olsson’s photograph was taken. In front of him is a low table with an ashtray and a punch carafe and a few cups, and, underneath, another Persian rug. The table is flanked by two ox-blood-coloured leather armchairs. By the window to the left gleams a black grand piano, grinning at me with its row of gap teeth.

  Leonard, holding a vinyl record in his hands, is standing in the background by a gramophone table. On the wall behind him hang two crossed halberds. Just like Steiner, he’s wearing a white dinner jacket.

  There’s no sign of Doris, and not Dixie either. Presumably they’re out painting the town red.

  ‘Kvist?’

  Steiner’s voice is low, but tinged with an irritating shrillness. He struggles out of the sofa to perch on the edge of it. His uniform line of white teeth gleams against his pale pink lower lip. I nod.

  ‘We heard you’d been released; we were wondering whether you’d do us the honour.’

  I take a few steps into the room until I am only a few metres from Steiner. Leonard doesn’t move.

  ‘Can we offer you some punch? Or maybe a Havana?’ Steiner lifts the lid of a cigar case in wine-red leather, and offers it to me. I shake my head and take a puff on my Meteor. He takes one himself and puts the case on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Leo and I were just discussing what music to play. Are you also fond of Negro music?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’re a man of judgement, Kvist! I understand we have similar tastes in more respect than one.’ He chuckles.

  I move quickly across the floor, lean across the table, and crack the handle of the pistol against his scalp so that his double chins wobble. It’s not a particularly hard blow and it only opens a small wound, but Steiner yells like a castrated boar. He touches his forehead and makes a right carry-on.

  Leonard comes charging, and I go back to my original position to regain full control of the situation. A small stream of blood runs down Steiner’s forehead and drips onto his white dinner jacket. He takes off his spectacles and tries to stand up.

  ‘Sit!’ I roar. ‘You as well!’

  I point the Husqvarna at Leonard. He throws himself into the sofa, his silk handkerchief gleaming when he takes it out of his breast pocket and presses it to Steiner’s forehead. Increasing numbers of fireworks are going off.

  ‘That’s him all over!’ yells Leonard. ‘He had a pop at me as well!’

  Then he titters, and a broad grin fixes itself on his face, the same grin that annoyed the hell out of me in the park. I can feel my trigger finger twitching, but I manage to control myself. I realise that something’s not adding up. No one laughs into the barrel of a gun.

  ‘Kid, I think you’re not quite right in the head, are you?’

  Steiner puts his arm around Leonard’s shoulders. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Leonard.’

  The boy’s grin widens further, his tittering gets hysterical.

  ‘Did you hear what your father said, you hooligan!’

  ‘Shut up!’

  I take another step back. The floor gives off reflections from the bursting rockets. I point my Husqvarna at Steiner. The blood is slowly running down his forehead, changing course by his eyebrow, disappearing behind the sideburns and dripping down over his shoulder. He hides his fear well; he has more hair on his chest than I would have thought. I smile at him and cock my gun. At this range I should even be able to send the swine to the other side with my left hand.

  Suddenly a round, cold piece of metal is pressed against my right ear. A barrel. Steiner smiles with satisfaction and Leonard shrieks delightedly and slaps his hands together a few times. I deliberate, make a quick decision, and lower my Husqvarna.

  ‘Drop it!’ Steiner’s voice is even deeper now.

  My pistol hits the parquet floor.

  ‘You see, this is a question of primary evolution. The world belongs to those who are strong, Kvist. Someone’s going to die here tonight but it’s not likely to be me.’ He chuckles and shakes his head.

  The barrel is removed from my skull bone and Doris appears. She’s wearing a deep green evening dress with a little train. In one hand she’s holding her high-heeled shoes, while in the other she grips a large-calibre revolver with a short barrel. She gives the Husqvarna a kick, but it stops by the edge of the rug a metre or so in front of me. A silver snake bracelet coils itself around her pistol-wielding arm. Her face looks entirely dead. The pupils of her chestnut brown eyes have almost completely disappeared. She seems to be staring at my chest. The radio plays string music to the rhythm of a waltz. My head aches and nausea courses through my body like a cold wind.

  Her make-up is well done. Her collarbones protrude from under her shoulder straps. A string of big pearls dangles across her bare back from the clasp of the necklace around her neck, like an extension of her knotty vertebrae. She isn’t wearing a brassiere. As she backs away to join the others, she turns away from me for a moment. I debate to myself whether I have time to tackle her, but, as if reading my mind, she quickly turns round and moves into a protected spot behind the sofa. She puts on her shoes, then fluffs her hair before straightening up. A rocket goes off right above our heads, rattling the windows.

  ‘I thought we’d have to telephone you,’ Steiner says to his wife with a chuckle. I don’t understand what he’s driving at.

  ‘Can I hold the pistol, Mother?’ Leonard jumps up and down in the sofa.

  Steiner smiles. ‘It’s probably best to let your mother take care of that detail. She’s the better shot.’ He lights his Havana, gives another smile.

  ‘Oh, Father!’

  It’s my turn to chuckle. I throw the cigar end on the floor and step on it. Steiner flinches.

  ‘You can drop the New Year’s farce. I’ve already worked out you’re not the kid’s father.’

  Leonard sucks in his lower lip. Doris looks away. She’s holding the revolver level with her hips. Steiner removes the handkerchief from his forehead and laughs.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve worked that out, have you, Kvist.’ He puts his hand on Leonard’s thigh. On his ring-finger gleams a large signet ring with some sort of coat of arms and red stones. ‘But without a doubt I’m like a father to him.’

  Doris looks at the floor. A drop of sweat runs down my back. I’m cold. Steiner turns his eyes to Leonard.

  ‘Isn’t that so, my boy?’

  ‘It is, Father,’ Leonard says obediently, with a nod.

  I stare at Doris. She closes her eyes for a moment. Her jaw muscles grind away under her skin every bit as intensely as when I took her on the floor in the flat on Roslagsgatan. I inch forwards. Ste
iner pats Leonard’s thigh a few times and gets up slightly laboriously, losing his footing at one point and supporting himself on Leonard’s shoulder.

  ‘You understand this,’ says Steiner, as he goes over to the statue by the crackling fireplace. From outside comes the distant sound of a car going past. ‘Both you and I share a fascination for young men’s bodies.’ He caresses the stomach of the statue.

  ‘Don’t try to involve me in your dirty story.’

  ‘What’s the difference? The Greeks had a word for the love of boys. Are you an art lover, Kvist? This is Apollo.’ Steiner takes his hand off the statue.

  ‘I hardly think the Greeks went to bed with their own sons.’

  ‘I never said I was his father, I said I was like a father to him. Strictly speaking he’s my brother-in-law. But let’s talk about something more amusing. Look at this work of art. Although we’ve had to sell off most of the collection, I’d like to think of myself as a bit of a connoisseur.’ He puffs at his Havana.

  ‘And there I was thinking you were nothing but scum.’

  ‘Silence!’ Little droplets of saliva spurt from Steiner’s shiny lips as he cries out.

  I take another step towards the pistol.

  ‘You’re in my house, when I speak, you listen!’

  Steiner wipes his handkerchief across his forehead. The blood is smearing over his skin. He closes his eyes, breathing heavily. He calms himself.

  ‘As I said, I’m a bit of an art connoisseur. Do you know the story of Apollo the lizard slayer?’

  ‘Let me guess: did he kill a lizard?’

  A mournful smile flickers over Doris’s mouth. Her pistol hand is swaying slightly. She closes her eyes again.

  ‘Tell him, Father!’ Leonard cries in a high-pitched voice, and Steiner nods placidly.

  ‘Apollo, Zeus’s son, was a lover of both boys and girls. In spite of his slenderness, he was the one who managed to slay Python, the giant snake. Dynamism has always been a virtue I admire.’

  ‘Was that why you sent Herberger to do your dirty work?’

  ‘No!’ The sofa creaks when Leonard almost starts jumping on it. ‘I did it myself! I did it all myself! Just like Apollo, father!’

  Steiner chuckles and nods. Doris’s eyes open wide. In seconds, she has put her full repertoire of thespian emotions on display. Her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘How did that happen?’

  I fix Doris with my eyes. The armchair to my right groans under Steiner’s weight when he pinches his front creases and sits down.

  ‘Possibly Leo acted slightly too rashly. The family wasn’t in quite so much trouble. He’s always been a passionate lad.’ Steiner laughs.

  Leonard grins in that way of his and looks right at me. He has the same brown eyes as his sister. Then he lisps: ‘At first my father was going to hire some rough brute to do it. That was how your name came up. But one has to be able to stand up for oneself. I wanted to show Father. But I’m not stupid, I realised someone else would have to take the blame for it.’

  ‘And that was me, then.’

  Leonard titters. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Doris puts her hand over her mouth.

  ‘I forged that letter, and the same night you got it I drove around until I saw you standing about outside Zetterberg’s house. I knew you wouldn’t say no, there was so much money on offer. It wasn’t exactly difficult getting you to come for a drive either. And you said I’m retarded, but I’m not, am I, Father?’

  Leonard smiles, showing the gap between his front teeth. Doris struggles for breath and meets my eyes for the first time that night, so that, for an instant, it’s as if we’re staring into the very depths of each other.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve stared down my opponents. It’s a part of the game, and I don’t yield an inch. If you as much as glance in another direction you’re already defeated, and you may as well throw in the towel right away. I don’t look away this time either – I have nothing to lose. I notice that I’ve been holding my breath, then straining for air. Doris cocks her pistol, her hand trembling violently.

  Leonard leans back in the sofa and lays his arm across the back, briefly inspecting the state of his nails on his other hand; his trousers make a swishing sound as he crosses his legs.

  ‘Why did you hit me up there in the park?’

  ‘Because you’re a rich nutcase,’ I answer truthfully.

  ‘That’s what you think.’ Leonard shakes his head slightly. ‘When I woke up, I went and beat him to death. It wasn’t difficult. I did it myself, Mum! It wasn’t Herberger who did it, it was me!’

  ‘Yes, you’ll have to forgive us, my treasure,’ Steiner interjects. ‘I thought it would be for the best to keep quiet about Leo’s doings and put the blame on Herberger. I suspected that it would prove too much for your nerves, and that you might not be able to fully play your own part, if you knew what your little brother had done.’

  ‘You sent her to me so I’d lead you to Sonja?’

  Doris’s mouth is like a straight line. Steiner smiles, then sucks on his Havana.

  Leonard looks at Doris as if expecting praise. She puts her right hand on his shoulder. Inhaling deeply, her modest-sized bust stretches the green velvet of her dress. The boy refocuses straight ahead. The crackling of the wood fire is subsumed into the explosions of the New Year rockets, their red and yellow bursts reflecting in the window-glass at the back of the room. On the radio, someone mumbles that midnight is only ten minutes away. Steiner nods and hums, while the blood continues dripping onto his shoulder.

  ‘As I said, someone’s going to die here tonight, but it won’t be me,’ he goes on, briefly removing his spectacles to mop his forehead. ‘The world is not made that way. It’s for the strong, for the dynamic. It eats those who are weak.’

  ‘And who’s doing the dirty work this time? Does the director have what it takes, or will he let his bum-boy do it again?’

  Steiner looks startled, and for a moment he lets his gaze wander around the room, before perching on the edge of his seat.

  ‘I want to do it!’ Leonard raises his hand like an urchin in a school bench. ‘He hit me! I want to do it!’

  For a few moments the room is absolutely silent, apart from the crackling fire and the radio’s mumbling. A pair of tears paint streaks of black mascara down Doris’s cheeks. Her larynx moves as she tries to swallow her pain. As if wanting the smell of her brother one last time, she leans over him, closes her eyes and inhales through her nose.

  Then, without the slightest trembling of her hand, she puts the muzzle of the revolver against his neck and shoots him, as if putting down a dangerous dog.

  The crack of the gun deadens the ears. A gush of blood slaps out of the boy’s mouth over the table. He topples forwards very hard, hits the table and falls back into the sofa. Microscopic droplets fill the vacancy where he sat like a fine, reddish mist. A stench of burnt hair fills the room. I lower my guard. A pair of teeth gleam like white opals in the gunk on the table.

  Steiner shakes his head, and the fat around his throat starts trembling. His eyes dart between us, while croaking sounds rise from the back of his throat. Slowly, Doris lowers her revolver and straightens her back. She bites her lower lip, and her mascara leaves another sooty smudge when she mops her tears with the back of her right hand.

  I have backed away a half-metre. A thin line of smoke coils up from behind the table and rejoins the cloud of gunpowder smoke hovering above the sofa. Leonard’s foot makes a few jerking motions. Steiner holds out his hands, his cigar pointing down between his fingers, cupping his palms as if he’s carrying water in them.

  ‘Doris?’ He keeps shaking his head. ‘Doris?’ he whispers.

  His wife goes round the sofa and table and stands opposite him. Steiner puts his hands on the ends of the armrests. Doris lifts the revolver and cocks it, making the well-oiled drum spin by one sixth of a turn with a soft click. The blood from Leonard’s head is running along the edge of the rug. Doris takes a
im at her husband from the hip, but she seems to be looking right through him.

  ‘Doris,’ says Steiner in a firmer tone. ‘You’d better think bloody good and hard now! When I picked you up you weren’t much more than a drug addict, remember that!’

  The armchair creaks as he leans back, splaying his legs wide. One hand is still leaning on the armrest, while the other leaves sticky red marks as he fumbles over the pockets of his dinner jacket.

  ‘Have I not been a good husband to you? Did I ever deny you anything? Irrespective of the price tag?’ He grunts and glares at her, beads of sweat glistening over his face. The edge of the rug guides Leonard’s blood under his armchair, from where it emerges between his legs on the other side. Steiner’s breathing becomes laboured, and he raises his voice.

  ‘Wasn’t I lenient about your little habits and vices? Didn’t I look the other way when you ran all over town with all sorts of riff-raff and behaved like a damned whore?’

  Now Doris opens her mouth for the first time. She still doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and the dark words issue slowly from her mouth: ‘You only married me because of my poor little brother.’

  For a moment, everything is utterly silent apart from the mumbling of the radio. Steiner lunges to get onto his feet, and I throw myself forwards to stop him, but another shot cuts the silence to pieces. The muzzle spits its tongue of fire across the room.

  I back away. Steiner’s eyes distend and he slowly sinks back into the armchair, while fumbling with his spectacles, which have slipped off his nose. A patch of blood on his stomach grows across his white shirt, so dark that it’s difficult to make out against his black silk sash. He nods drowsily and drops his cigar, which goes out with a fizzle when it falls into the blood on the floor. His chin sinks down over his chest. My ears are ringing.

  ‘I meant nothing to you,’ Doris whispers in a low voice, scarcely audible through the high-pitched whining in my ears. The snake bracelet around her wrist slips down when she lowers her revolver. Though her voice is wavering, she stands firm and straight-backed, with her heels dug into the rug. ‘Creep!’