by Anna Jansson
“Cuddly Skåne Girl”—he hadn’t even found out her real name. She was presumably an experienced Web charmer. Total discretion. He was usually just as careful himself. His newest moniker, “Doctor M,” was coined after a couple of beers and was actually not very well considered, but it would have to do for the time being. The biggest problem for the evening would be consistently sticking to a Skåne dialect. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to say he was from Skåne, too. It was a dilemma that occupied him until the morning hours, when he’d come up with the solution: he was an American living in Skåne! He rehearsed an American accent; in the best-case scenario, an American might be to the lady’s taste. This was part of the game. Guessing your way to her secret wishes and then fulfilling them.
With Cuddly Skåne Girl he guessed that a “tragic fate” might open doors to the paradise of kindness and sympathy. But that had also taken considerable contemplation. The result of his mental efforts: he was an American country singer with an incurable disease. After a few hours of searching on various browsers he decided on an incurable congenital disease, somewhat diffusely spread around his body. A few months left to live. Nothing contagious. To be on the safe side he thought up a Latin name. Strabismus. That immediately made it sound more authentic. Strabismus. Heavy! He already felt a dull enervation in his back muscles and a diffuse ache behind his forehead. His vision was getting hazy. Soon he would no longer exist on this beautiful Earth, but in his music he would live on. And even if he could not sing his songs for her—tragically enough the illness had settled in his vocal cords—he had sent her his poetry in an email.
Chapter 13
The beautiful turn-of-the-century wooden structure of the Warfsholm Guest House was on the far side of the pedestrian bridge over Klinte Bay. During the era of the lime magnates in Sweden, there had been an old lime oven and a boatyard on the cape.
At this moment the yellow building with its charming tower and big white porch was bathed in warm evening sun, as if no evil existed in the world. Yet this was where tonight’s gathering would be held to talk about the unpleasantness that had shaken the whole community, to discuss the bird flu and the children being confined at the Klinte School by the police. They had seen the pictures, the men in uniform, the dogs, and the blue-white tape cordoning off the area. Rumors were flourishing. It was said that the cook, Berit Hoas, was dead and that she had been infected by her neighbor, Ruben, the old man with the homing pigeons. There must be something to that, because Ruben’s place was cordoned off, too, and men dressed like extraterrestrials were in the process of killing the pigeons at the homes of other homing pigeon owners in Klintehamn and its environs. The rumors also said that Bengtsson’s poultry farm was in danger, as well as the turkey farm in Fröjel.
Maria Wern let her gaze drift out the frosted windowpanes toward the sea and tried to calm her agitated breathing and the rapid beating of her heart. Breathe deep. The place quickly filled with people. The carefully restored fin-de-siècle decor with its sheer lace curtains and pink geraniums was inherently festive, but this evening there was anything but a party atmosphere in the room.
The mood among the children’s parents was tense as disease control officer Åsa Gahnström took the podium and explained that the evening concert with the visiting ballad singer had been cancelled in order to allow this important meeting regarding the possible bird flu.
The evening lamb grilling was not cancelled however, Maria noted. Appetizing aromas seeped in from the bar, where the door to the veranda stood open. Maria could see an old jukebox next to the bar.
Just then a flashbulb went off and then another and another, until the photographers and journalists who’d shown up despite the fact that the meeting was private were asked nicely but firmly to leave.
A woman with a mop of bushy hair stood up in the front row and shouted, “We demand to bring our children home!” A murmur of approving voices ran through the crowd. Three men in the middle row also stood up and the murmur took on a threatening tone.
The disease control officer seemed to be trying to hide behind the lectern, holding onto it the way a drowning person holds onto a plank. From her seat Maria could see that the woman’s legs were shaking. She was seized with empathy. They could at least listen. Maria gathered her courage and said in a loud voice, “I think we should listen to what she has to say. We have a lot of questions. If we listen we may get answers. Then I hope we’ll get the chance to discuss this afterward.”
Åsa Gahnström shot her a look of gratitude and started her statement with words she had considered and weighed for the past hour.
“I want the best for your children.” Someone began to protest but was hushed. “This evening I have received a preliminary response from the Institute for Communicable Disease Control in Solna, which indicates that we are dealing with the bird flu. The cook who served the children’s food was infected with the bird flu, and your children are now being held for observation. They will have access to Tamiflu, a medicine that inhibits viral infections. To be on the safe side the children are being kept apart from each other in separate rooms. If anyone has to leave the room, they will wear breathing protection so as not to infect another child or become infected. Personnel specially trained in the treatment of infectious diseases will take care of them. We will check the children’s body temperature four times a day, and blood tests will be taken on each child to see whether they have been infected.”
“Why can’t they just come home?” the woman in the first row shouted. “You have no right to keep them there!” She removed her sunglasses and turned around to get support, but was silenced.
“If we allow the children to leave the premises, we will no longer have control over who may be carrying the infection,” continued the officer. “Bird flu is a dangerous disease. The children’s siblings or other members of the family could be infected. It is important to limit the number of infected patients early on so that healthcare resources are sufficient—both for patients who are already in the hospitals and for those who will become ill from the flu. Your children will get the best possible care.”
“So why can’t the whole family get medicine? Why can’t you give out medicine to the whole population of Gotland?” the woman continued, taking it upon herself to be the spokesperson for the parents.
Åsa Gahnström briefly considered telling the truth: because we do not have enough effective medicine for everyone. But she refrained, considering the risk that the statement would lead to chaos. An agitated mob can be incredibly dangerous, particularly when life-and-death commodities are being threatened.
“That might lead to more people getting infected, more than we will be able to treat. And the longer a large group takes the medicine, the more likely its efficacy will diminish. We hope that within the course of a week we will be able to declare those individuals we have under observation healthy and the danger will blow over.”
She also didn’t mention that Tamiflu, like most medications, has side effects. She did not intend to bring that up, especially not the alarming reports about mental symptoms and suicide.
“We won’t get to see our kids for a whole week?” a familiar voice called out from the back of the hall and Maria turned around. It was Krister. They must have missed each other as they came in. “It’s actually my turn to take care of my boy this week and I thought we’d go to Gotska Sandön together. This is terrible! First I have to go through a horrible divorce and only get to see my son every other weekend and a few short weeks in the summer, and now this. It’s tough enough going through something like that without this adding to it.”
Maria felt her face turning bright red, the redness spreading down her neck. Did he have to talk about the terms of the divorce and complain out loud in front of people who didn’t have anything to do with it? They had resolved most of it in mutual understanding. Typical Krister to be so theatrical. Why couldn’t he just be quiet like normal people? Had he always acted that way? So dense, and with
such a distressing lack of boundaries? He must have, but then she had felt a sense of loyalty toward him. Now she wished he was on the other side of the globe.
“That’s exactly what I want to discuss.” Åsa Gahnström allowed herself a little smile. “I plan to make sure that all the children have a phone, a cell phone, or is it better if you can reach them by computer? It’s important, both for them and for you, that you’re in touch. We need to work together to motivate the children to stay in their rooms and put their breathing protection on when it’s needed. It’s not an easy task, but together I think we can manage it.”
Maria Wern saw how the disease control officer breathed out. A carefully prepared move. Now she had solid ground under her feet and the parents could participate and make decisions in a question of secondary significance: telephone or email contact. The woman knew what she was doing. A strategist to her fingertips. Soon they could discuss the phone or computer options, but first there were other matters that were more urgent.
“What if there are infected persons we don’t know about? Considering that, shouldn’t everyone on the island be given Tamiflu for preventive purposes?” It was the thought that had pursued Maria into the night’s uneasy slumber. What if there were cases that had not yet been discovered?
“We’re in the process of reviewing that. It’s not good to medicate unnecessarily, so my basic approach is that only those who have been in contact with an infected person will be given Tamiflu at the present time. If there is an uncontrolled spread of infection, that decision may be revisited. But one thing is certain: if there is infection outside the barriers, your children are protected in the best possible way.”
An irritated frown appeared on the disease control officer’s forehead. She did not like answering that question. Maria Wern assumed there was something she did not want to tell them, part of the story she was leaving out. But Maria knew the meeting wasn’t the place for provocative questions. Perhaps she could speak with Jonathan Eriksson at the information line about that instead of risking a popular uprising at the parents meeting. Yes, it would probably be wise to go that route.
When the meeting ended two hours later, Maria was in a hurry to get home to Linda. She was already tired of her dad and the camper vacation and demanded to return earlier than they had agreed. Which meant that it was Maria, not Krister, who had had to arrange childcare for the evening meeting. While Maria was at the meeting, Linda had stayed behind with Marianne Hartman. She’d been happy enough, picking out a Pippi Longstocking movie and a big bag of mixed candy for the night, both of which were presumably finished long ago.
Maria had been overly optimistic when she estimated the time of her return home. From the beginning, it was obvious that it would drag out, and after the meeting she had exchanged a few words with Krister. Brief and polite, as if they had just met and not lived together for ten years. He thought the whole thing was overblown.
“It’s like we’re going back a hundred years in time when a doctor’s word was law,” he said. “We’re living in the twenty-first century, not 1900. Patients should be informed and grant consent.”
“Yes,” Maria had countered, “but a virus doesn’t take your consent into consideration. It has a life of its own. I think the disease control officer seems competent. We should probably trust that she’s doing what’s wisest, no matter how much I want to bring Emil home immediately.”
Both agreed that although they were worried about him and wanted him home, it seemed like Emil was doing fine. It may have been the only thing they had really agreed on in the past few months, which had otherwise been filled with minor conflicts and border disputes about the children’s upbringing and living arrangements. The extent of their conversation had devolved to: “Don't call me in the evening after ten o’clock,” and “Don’t let the kids drink all the soda they want when they’re with you.”
“Do you miss me sometimes?” he asked as they were leaving. Maria was about to turn right toward the bridge and Krister was going straight into the parking lot. She stopped in her tracks and he pressed himself against her back and took hold of her arm in a caressing gesture.
“Only when I can’t get the pickle jar open,” she answered with a laugh, and he said that he would be glad to come and help.
Then he lost control—as usual. Why did he have to destroy the fragile cooperation they had nevertheless managed to achieve?
“Couldn’t we get together and have sex? I mean, a little no-strings sex without commitment. No promises. I know what turns you on, Maria, I can still smell your scent …”
“Oh, Jesus. It’s over, Krister; can’t you get that into your head? Leave me alone!”
As expected, the added TV news broadcast at ten thirty almost exclusively concerned the epidemic that had struck Gotland. The man found murdered in Värsände in Klintehamn was mentioned only briefly, the police were appealing to the general public for leads. Linda had heard the earlier broadcast and had a hard time settling down. She had heard Marianne and Tomas talking about something terrible that had happened and she’d surmised that her brother, Emil, was somehow involved.
“Why did the police put Emil in jail?” Linda asked when Maria went into her room to tuck her in.
“He’s not in jail. They’re watching to make sure everyone is safe.”
“My Helmer frog is sad.”
“Does he miss Emil?”
Suddenly Maria could barely hold back the tears that were forming under her eyelids. Only with Linda’s questions did the situation become frighteningly concrete and unmanageable. My child! What if the disease control officer was wrong? What if the medicine didn’t help and Emil was right there at the source of infection?
“You know, I miss Emil too, but I think he’ll be coming home next weekend and then we’ll think of something fun. We can go to the Viking village in Tofta so you can try living like a Viking for a day and grind flour and bake bread and throw an ax and spin thread. I think that would be fun.”
“Only if Emil goes along. Otherwise it’s boring for Helmer Bryd. You know, Mommy, Mr. Hartman bought cherries and gave them to me, but I didn’t want to eat them because the birds had eaten them. I said that Helmer’s allergic. It’s super disgusting that the birds pecked the cherries. Who wants to eat something that someone else has licked? Maybe they have that flu and then they look for worms. Yuck! There was a worm in one cherry. It looked out and shook its head. It was saying, ‘Don’t eat me up, don’t eat me up’”
Then she sang in a pretty little voice: “Nobody likes me, nobody cares, just ’cause I eat worms. Bite off the head. Suck out the slime. Throw the little skin away.”
And within a few more minutes she had fallen asleep among the stuffed animals on the bed.
When Maria finally sank into the living room couch, she again encountered the face of the disease control officer—this time on the TV screen. She was sitting across the table from the Minister of Public Health, a representative from Social Services, and several local politicians.
The local politicians assembled in Almedalen had held an extra meeting during the evening to discuss the ramifications of the bird flu, including which individuals in the community should have primary access to Tamiflu.
The plan that the emergency management agency and Social Services prepared was severely criticized because it was so diffuse and lacked detail.
How can you pit groups against each other because there isn’t enough medicine? Why should individuals over the age of sixty-five get medicine but not schoolchildren or children in daycare? They’re clearly in an environment where the infection is easily transmitted—why aren’t they a priority?
“First of all those who have been infected must get help,” explained Åsa Gahnström. “Second are those who have been exposed to infection and those who have reduced immune defenses, have heart and lung disease, are elderly, or are medically fragile in some way.”
But each politician’s list looked different. First of all cabinet member
s, parliament, county council and municipal officials, and civil servants needed access to medication. Then there were first responders at hospitals and ambulance personnel, followed by those who worked in public utilities: electricity, water supply, and garbage pick-up. Workers who produce and transport foodstuffs also needed access to the medication.
“During the Spanish Flu, the majority of those who died were between the ages twenty and forty. Will bird flu affect the same demographic?” the program host asked, turning toward Gahnström.
“As it appears now, we believe we have the situation under control. If we manage to hold this line consistently, the risk is slight for further contagion in the community. There is no cause for alarm right now,” assured the disease control officer.
Maria could see redness spreading over Åsa Gahnström’s cheeks. She was clearly under pressure.
“How do you think teachers and childcare personnel will respond when they learn you don’t consider their work to be important?” the program host asked, looking challengingly at the disease control officer and the minister of public health. “How about the janitors, and the journalists on radio, TV, and newspapers? How will people find out what is happening if no one reports on it? What about the security guards—who will prevent break-ins at health centers and grocery stores if things get really bad? Is there any group in society that shouldn’t be prioritized? People in the arts? The unemployed? Homeless people? Asylum seekers? Anyone with an annual income below the poverty line? Such low-paid work can hardly be very important, can it? Who will be singled out to not receive help?”
The host paused and said sternly, “Is there even enough medicine for everyone? I, along with the Swedish people, demand an answer to this question. How prepared are we?”
The disease control officer’s face reddened up to her hairline. “We are well-prepared and in the long term everyone will have access to medication, should that be necessary. In the present situation, we want to be careful about overuse of medicine, considering the risk of developing resistance. So a general prophylactic treatment is not appropriate as long as we have the situation under control.”