MW01 - Strange Bird

by Anna Jansson

  All too suddenly, at far too high a speed, Hans Moberg realized he was about to miss the approach and turned the steering wheel sharply. A red car was coming toward him. He saw it during the fraction of a second before the crash smashed the world into smithereens. I’m dying, was Hans Moberg’s last conscious thought.

  When he woke up he saw a steel-gray sky between all the faces leaning over him. The sound of sirens came and went in waves. Someone was touching his shoulder, asking how he felt, but he was unable to answer. Sirens; were the police on their way? How the hell would he get himself out of this? They would ask him who he was and then he was screwed. Really, totally screwed. Unless he did what that pianist who lost his memory did. How long did he get by?—six months or several months anyway before the truth came out.

  “Does it hurt?” asked a woman in a white coat. He stared at her and made an indefinable gesture with his head. Neither yes nor no—best not to even understand body language. “Can you move your arms and legs? Can you try to raise your left leg now?” He stared into her beautiful blue eyes. The mouth was so soft and inviting in shape. It was almost superhuman not to kiss her when she was so close, so accessible, and her voice so friendly. He raised his head a little. Oh, dagnabbit, how his back hurt. He fell back and closed his eyes. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Hans Moberg mumbled a string of consonants and looked perplexed. He didn’t really know if you had a language when you lost your memory or if that went away too.

  “Is there anyone here who knows who he is?” a male voice asked. Moby turned his head a little and saw that it was a uniformed policeman. Now it was crucial to play his cards right.

  “That’s my buddy. I said it was Moby, although he’s cut off his hair. How ya doin’, Moby?” Mayonnaise’s face came very close as he crouched down.

  “What’s his name, did you say?” The policeman was there again, leaning over to hear better.

  “Hans Moberg,” Mayonnaise said helpfully. “Listen, that’s not a good-looking haircut. What’s the name of your stylist? I’d stay away from him in the future, if I were you.”

  Chapter 34

  Maria was back from questioning Lennie Hellström and was on her way out again when her colleagues informed her that Hans Moberg had been arrested at the Tofta campground. Unfortunately he was in no shape for interrogation. He was probably just blind drunk, but to be on the safe side he would be seen by a doctor to rule out a concussion or injury to any vital organs. Maria breathed a sigh of relief and told reception that she was gone for the day. The questioning of Lennie Hellström had tried her patience. He was touchy and arrogant, and Maria was grateful that she did not have to meet with him privately. He had been at work the past two nights and could show a personalized time schedule. There was no way he could have managed the forty kilometers to Kappelshamn and back between any of his guard rounds, as long as he had followed the schedule. Finn, the security manager at Vigoris Health Center, had been asked to come in with a list of the times when Lennie used his access card.

  “He’s going to mess with me if he gets a chance, just to get me locked up,” Lennie shouted after them in the stairwell. For the time being Hartman assigned a trainee to follow up on the matter.

  Jonathan was holding an umbrella, waiting for her at the entrance to the police headquarters. She struggled to keep up with his long strides, but she didn’t dare hold onto his arm. It would seem too intimate, and perhaps embarrass him if they were to see anyone. They spent some time discussing where to eat and decided to walk down to Strandgatan. Jonathan argued that the restaurant Lindgården had the best food, but Maria did not want to go there with him. Lindgården had too many memories—it was there she’d spent one magical evening with Per Arvidsson, and where he asked her what her dreams were for her life. The underlying question had been: Do you want to share them with me? But Maria started digging in her handbag to avoid answering his question, and then laughed it off. What did it help to regret it later? What was done was done and that moment never came back, but the memories were there, out in the enchanted garden under the lanterns. It felt wrong somehow to go there with someone else.

  “Then there’s Burmeister, Dubbe, or that medieval bar, Clematis. I hope we’ll get in. They have a rule about two meters between tables and one group per table, so it fills up pretty fast.”

  They passed the outdoor torches at Clematis and saw the nose of a stuffed wild boar. On the walls, torches were glowing and a big fire was lit in the cellar room. Jonathan told her that the restaurant was located in an old storehouse from the thirteenth century.

  “There was a ghost here named Hertvig. He was slain by his own brother when he was twenty-one years old. His wife’s name was Maria, like you; she died in childbirth in 1383. I sat here one evening by the fire and heard his story. His message to the people of today was: don’t get accustomed to evil, act while there’s still time. And he was very worried that even in our time there are rich and poor.”

  “Why did he have to stay on earth as a ghost?” Maria asked when they were shown to the table closest to the hearth. A fire felt nice. The evening was raw and cold.

  “Who knows—maybe to learn to forgive. It can’t be easy to reconcile with a brother who has literally stabbed you in the back. It may take seven hundred years or so.”

  They ordered a jug of wine and a medieval plate consisting of bread, apples, nuts, candied rose petals, smoked leg of mutton, sausage, cheese, browned cabbage, lamb cutlets, spareribs, and pear toffee. They were just about to dig in with their fingers when a jester opened the door wide and declared in a loud voice:

  “A shadow settled over the people when the trombone sounded over the city in the year of the plague 1351. Inner shivering and heat, drooping eyes and vertigo, unquenchable thirst and shortness of breath afflicted you, you haughty city. But that was not enough. Black boils that sprouted like goose eggs in your armpits, jaws, and groin. Your speech became muddled, your gait staggering, but there were yet more pestilences to behold. Blood shooting from your lungs, blood in your excrement and urine. So did the plague afflict you when the dragon, the devil, was unleashed upon the earth. Circulus vitiosus; the terror unleashed madness, madness increased the terror. But did you pay heed? I see through walls, through walls of stone your slimy way of life, how you measure with crooked yardsticks and weigh with false scales. Woe unto thee, thou impenitent city, when I fetch thy soul for examination. Woe unto thee on the Day of Judgment when you shall be weighed on my scale and your debauchery shall be apparent. For evil still breeds in your alleyways, it still flies on dark wings and spreads its infected droppings among your proud cloisters and rich men’s houses, and its beak will not leave you without sores …”

  “That’s enough now, Christoffer, come and have a beer with us instead.” Maria took hold of his cap with bells and pulled his face to hers. “Stop! I said. You’re horrible.”

  “I know. My friends call me the Plague.” He guardedly greeted Jonathan. “And who is this pale creature you’ve taken pity on? He looks like he’s been sitting with his nose in a parchment scroll since the time of Magnus Ladulås. I’ll make a bet that his manliness is no more impressive than an angle worm.” Christoffer demonstrated with his little finger in front of Jonathan’s nose. “I know you have a good heart, Maria, but one cannot constantly practice charity, sometimes one must divert oneself. If you will accompany me to my humble room I shall make you the happiest woman in Visby. No, don’t thank me. The pleasure will be all mine.”

  “Who the hell is this?” said Jonathan with consternation, as the color rose in his face. “Do you have anything against my giving him a smack on the jaw?”

  “Give him a smack on the jaw, he deserves it. How are things with Mona and Olov?” Maria asked in a friendly conversational tone, and Christoffer sat on her lap unselfconsciously and helped himself from her plate. He was not very tall and with his overly long shirtsleeves and fool’s cap with bells he looked like a baby in Maria’s arms.


  He continued talking with half a lamb cutlet sticking out of his mouth. Jonathan looked like the god of thunder himself, but they ignored him.

  “Mona is so happy with Henrik and that makes me a little jealous. I don’t get the love I deserve even from my mother.”

  “You compensate in other areas, don’t you?” Maria laughed. “Anything new in town? Police officers are always curious about what’s going on.”

  Christoffer suddenly became serious.

  “When the Black Death was raging they looked for scapegoats. It was the Jews’ fault—it was said they poisoned wells. History repeats itself. Two restaurants had their windows broken this evening. As soon as it got dark a gang in black cowls came with cudgels and attacked restaurants and food stores owned by immigrants. They’re out of their minds. The rumor says that the infection came from an immigrant who was found dead in Värsände and that the restaurants are buying infected poultry from their home countries. There’s an uproar in the alleys. I took a punch when I was passing by and asked what was going on, and even more punches when I got hold of a garden hose and sprayed water on them. I was being too kind. If it had been boiling oil there wouldn’t have been as much fussing afterward.”

  “What are you saying? Did this really happen or only in your sick brain, Christoffer?” Maria took hold of his arm.

  “I swear by both my balls and my mother’s sacred embroidered cross-stitch pillows that it’s the truth. I was just talking with a newspaper reporter. He said they’ve received a stack of really sick letters to the editor the past few days. That is, nothing you’d want on the breakfast table if you want to eat in peace and quiet.”

  “What do they say?” Maria suddenly felt completely sober.

  “That immigrants are making money under the table and buying their way ahead in line to get medicine and that the infection is going to go on as long as we allow them inside our borders. Plus proposals for measures of a bloodier type, a variety of medieval methods of torture.”

  “But that’s terrible.” Jonathan got up. “The risk is that more people will be injured and die in riots than from the disease itself. I can’t just sit here and eat; I have to go see what’s happening. But why don’t you stay and exchange memories?”

  “Jonathan, wait, we have to pay.” Maria considered herself invited to dinner and made a quick calculation, would the money in her wallet be enough? What got into him?

  “Payment? A worldly matter for such a great duke as the Pale One. Maria, don’t tell me you’ve become attached to this character. He looks so boring. Take me instead, or Olov, or enter a convent. Anything at all would be better than having to look at that maggot naked.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Maria summoned the waitress. Jonathan was already outside and by the time she had paid he was out of sight. Maria felt deeply worried by what Christoffer had said. Smoke was visible in the distance and the sound of sirens cut through the town. Maria glimpsed Jonathan far ahead and she had to run to catch up with him. One of the low buildings on Norra Kyrkogatan was completely on fire. The fire department was on the scene.

  “What’s going on?” Jonathan asked a man standing in the circle of onlookers.

  “They’re infected. Their child was at the soccer camp. The whole family is probably infected. Men in black cowls came and set fire to their house. I don’t know where they went. When the police and fire department came they disappeared into the crowd. They said they were going to purify the area. You have to take matters in your own hands when the authorities don’t act!”

  “What are you saying?” Maria felt herself feeling really afraid. One of Emil’s friends, Andrei, lived in the house.

  “I’m a doctor, is there anything I can do?” Jonathan turned to one of the firemen.

  “No, just keep out of the way so the vehicles can get through.”

  They finally caught a glimpse of the boy and his parents disappearing in an ambulance to the hospital. They had probably inhaled smoke.

  “Well, what do we do now? This evening didn’t turn out quite like I’d hoped.” Jonathan put his arm around Maria and helped her past the agitated crowd. “It all feels like a bad dream. So unreal.” They passed a store where all the windows were broken and the owner was trying to cover the gaping holes with cardboard. The street in front of the building was full of glass.

  “Like a nightmare you just want to wake up from. Are people completely out of their minds? I mean, they could just as well have set fire to our house in Klinte.”

  “Yes, it’s like a bad dream. Today alone I’ve talked with four doctors who were threatened because they couldn’t prescribe Tamivir until the priority arrangements are ready and the pharmacies accept their prescriptions. Everyone in my family has called asking about medicine—I’ve never felt so liked! Everyone wants medicine. Damn it, I’m tired and mad! It would have felt good to thrash your buddy, by the way, but not really fair since he’s so short.”

  “Forgive me, Jonathan. I haven’t seen Christoffer in a long time and I was just happy to see him again.”

  “Were you ever, I mean … did you …?”

  “Been in a relationship with Christoffer?” Maria laughed out loud. “That’s not possible. Christoffer doesn’t have relationships, he loves all women fairly and exactly the same, and by that I mean all.”

  Maria was to catch a ride home with Hartman and he had promised to call her when he was ready to go. She and Jonathan wandered through the narrow streets up toward the main square looking at the destruction. Broken windows in a store that sold specialty foods from Italy and in a shop whose owner was from Iraq—Maria had been in there to buy olives not long ago. With a shiver she was reminded of Kristallnacht. The rain had stopped and the moon was shining brightly, reflected in the thousands of glass shards. They talked about what they were seeing and what it might mean for the immediate future, before the conversation turned to the bird flu and Jonathan’s work situation.

  “One of the biggest problems right now is getting hold of personnel who are willing to work with those who are ill. Fewer and fewer people are coming to work. Although this morning something happened that was rather moving. A retired nurse in her nineties suddenly appeared in my office, reporting for duty. She had the Spanish flu as an infant and survived. I’m not afraid, she said. Evidently I’m not infected; I’m immune. And if I were to pick up a bug I’ll be dying soon anyway. I can be with the children and talk with them. I’m not good for much more than that. But I’m not afraid of death and not afraid to answer their questions. I’ve done it before.”

  “Amazing! She has a mission to fulfill. There was something you wanted to talk about with me, Jonathan, and … well, you’ll have to try to forgive Christoffer. He’s into live-action role play and has a hard time separating that from reality. It more or less takes over when he’s been at camp. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “Apparently he has a complex about his earthworm. What an insult! Do you want to go get a drink somewhere?” Jonathan looked at his watch; it was just past eight. They decided on a nightcap and a saffron pancake at the Monk’s Cellar. It was almost empty. People were probably afraid to go out. They chose a table for two close to the window facing Lilla Torggränd.

  “There was something you wanted to tell me,” said Maria, sipping her Calvados. The saffron pancake, served with whipped cream and mulberry jam, was not bad.

  “Yes, there’s something that struck me when I studied how the infection spread in the beginning. Everyone who was in the same taxi as the infected driver got sick. Everyone except Reine Hammar. He also went home with Maria Berg and she died later. Once I’d realized that I couldn’t keep from finding out why. There was a test tube with blood from Reine that had not yet been sent for analysis. It must have been left behind in the refrigerator. I asked the lab to analyze whether he had antibodies against the virus. Don’t know why I thought that, because it seemed pretty far-fetched.”

  “But he did, right?” Maria held her glass, waiting for an
answer.

  “Yes, and I can’t help wondering how that was possible.”

  “What do you think?” asked Maria, leaning forward to hear his reply. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and gave her a provocative smile as she looked at him with a serious frown.

  “There are two alternatives: either he’s had the disease or else he was already vaccinated when he was exposed.”

  “The strange thing is that the painting salesman also had antibodies,” said Maria. “What do you think that means?”

  Chapter 35

  At 4:23 a.m. a hard thud on the steps woke Maria, followed by a series of similar bouncing sounds, although a little quieter. Hartman’s cat. She tried to shoo it away, but it meowed insistently and stubbornly. Maria got hold of it in the darkness and carried it downstairs and closed the door. Then she fell into a superficial slumber where she was searching for Emil in a big building with endless corridors. The empty rooms echoed. He was nowhere to be found. At one point she caught a glimpse of him through a window, he waved, on his way to school … on his way to eternity. His smile made her cry. I’m going to be with Zebastian today.

  When the alarm clock went off an hour later she had forgotten the cat. Quickly she threw her legs over the side of the bed so as not to fall back asleep, and stepped on something soft and damp. When she turned on the light she could see it was a dead seagull. The head was bitten off and its feathers were ruffled and bloody. Her scream woke Linda, who started crying, and Hartman came rushing up in just his pajamas to see what was going on.