The Sandman

by Kepler, Lars

  ‘Go and sit on the sofa,’ Saga repeats.

  She’s walking slowly on the machine. The palm leaves are swaying. Bernie crawls over, tilts his head and looks up at her.

  ‘Anything, I’ll obey you,’ he says. ‘If your breasts are getting sweaty, I can wipe—’

  ‘Go and sit on the sofa,’ Jurek says in a detached voice.

  Bernie crawls away instantly and lies down on the floor in front of the sofa. Saga has to lower the speed of the machine slightly. She forces herself not to look at the swaying palm leaf and tries not to think about the microphone and transmitter.

  Jurek is standing motionless, watching her. He wipes his mouth, then rubs his hand through his short, metal-grey hair.

  ‘We can get out of the hospital together,’ he says calmly.

  ‘I don’t know if I want to,’ she replies honestly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven’t really got anything left outside.’

  ‘Left?’ he repeats quietly. ‘Going back is never an option … not to anything, but there are better places than this.’

  ‘And probably some worse.’

  He looks genuinely surprised and turns away with a sigh.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asks.

  ‘I just sighed, because it occurred to me that I can actually remember a worse place,’ he says, gazing at her with a dreamy look in his eyes. ‘The air was filled with the hum from high-voltage electricity wires … the roads were wrecked by big diggers … and the tracks full of red, clayey water, up to your waist … but I could still open my mouth and breathe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That worse places might be preferable to better ones …’

  ‘You’re thinking about your childhood?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he whispers.

  Saga stops the running machine, leans forward and hangs over the handles. Her cheeks are flushed, as if she’d run ten kilometres. She knows she ought to continue the conversation, without seeming too eager, and get him to reveal more.

  ‘So now … have you got a hiding place, or are you going to find a new one?’ she asks, without looking at him.

  The question is far too direct, she realises that at once, and forces her face upwards, forces herself to meet his gaze.

  ‘I can give you an entire city if you like,’ he replies seriously.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Take your pick.’

  Saga shakes her head with a smile, but suddenly remembers a place she hasn’t thought of for many years.

  ‘When I think about other places … I only ever think about my grandfather’s house,’ she says. ‘I had a swing in a tree … I don’t know, but I still like swings.’

  ‘Can’t you go there?’

  ‘No,’ she replies, and gets off the running machine.

  119

  In the attic flat at Rörstrandsgatan 19, the members of Athena Promacho are listening to the conversation between Jurek Walter and Saga Bauer.

  Johan Jönson is sitting at his computer in a grey tracksuit top. Corinne is at her desk, transcribing the whole conversation onto her laptop. Nathan Pollock has drawn ten flowers in the margin of his notebook, and has written down the words ‘high-voltage electricity wires, big diggers, red clay’.

  Joona is merely standing by the speaker, feeling a cold shiver run up his spine as Saga talks about her grandfather. She mustn’t let Jurek inside her head, he thinks. Susanne Hjälm’s image flits through his memory. Her dirty face and the terrified look in her eyes down there in the cellar.

  ‘Why can’t you go there if you want to?’ he hears Jurek ask.

  ‘It’s my dad’s house now,’ Saga Bauer replies.

  ‘And you haven’t seen him for a while?’

  ‘I haven’t wanted to,’ she says.

  ‘If he’s alive, he’s waiting for you to give him another chance,’ Jurek says.

  ‘No,’ she replies.

  ‘Obviously that depends on what happened, but—’

  ‘I was little, I don’t remember much,’ she explains. ‘But I know I used to call him all the time, promising I’d never be a nuisance again if he’d come home … I’d sleep in my own bed and sit nicely at the table and … I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jurek says, but his words are almost drowned out by a rattling sound.

  There’s a whining noise, then the rhythmic thud of the running machine.

  120

  Jurek is walking on the running machine. He looks stronger again. His strides are long and forceful, but his pale face is calm.

  ‘You’re disappointed in your father because he didn’t come home,’ he says.

  ‘I remember all those times I called him … I mean, I needed him.’

  ‘But your mother … where was she?’

  Saga pauses, and thinks to herself that she’s saying too much now, but at the same time she has to respond to his openness. It’s an exchange, otherwise the conversation will become superficial again. It’s time for her to say something personal, but as long as she sticks to the truth, she’ll be on secure territory.

  ‘Mum wasn’t well when I was little … I only really remember the end,’ Saga replies.

  ‘She died?’

  ‘Cancer … she had a malignant brain tumour.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Saga remembers the tears trickling into her mouth, the smell of the phone, her hot ear, the light coming through the grimy kitchen window.

  Maybe it’s because of the medication, her nerves, or just Jurek’s penetrating gaze. She hasn’t talked about this for years. She doesn’t really know why she’s doing so now.

  ‘It was just that Dad … he couldn’t deal with her illness. He couldn’t bear to be at home.’

  ‘I can understand why you’re angry.’

  ‘I was far too little to look after Mum … I tried to help her with her medication, I tried to comfort her … she would get headaches in the evenings, and just lie in her bedroom crying.’

  Bernie crawls over and tries to sniff between Saga’s legs. She shoves him away and he rolls straight into the artificial palm.

  ‘I want to escape too,’ he says. ‘I’ll come with you, I can bite —’

  ‘Shut up,’ she interrupts.

  Jurek turns round and looks at Bernie, who’s sitting there grinning and peering up at Saga.

  ‘Am I going to have to put you down?’ Jurek asks him.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Bernie whispers, and gets up from the floor.

  Jurek starts walking on the machine again. Bernie goes and sits on the sofa and watches television.

  ‘I’m going to need your help,’ Jurek says.

  Saga doesn’t answer, but can’t help thinking that she’d be lying if she says she wants to escape. She wants to stay here until Felicia has been found.

  ‘I think human beings are more tied to their families than any other creature,’ Jurek goes on. ‘We do everything we can to stave off separation.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You were only a small child, but you took care of your mother …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could she even feed herself?’

  ‘Most of the time … but towards the end she had no appetite,’ Saga says, truthfully.

  ‘Did she have an operation?’

  ‘I think she only had chemotherapy.’

  ‘In tablet form?’

  ‘Yes, I used to help her every day …’

  Bernie is sitting on the sofa, but keeps glancing at them. Every now and then he carefully touches the bandage over his nose.

  ‘What did the pills look like?’ Jurek asks, and speeds up slightly.

  ‘Like normal pills,’ she replies quickly.

  She feels suddenly uneasy. Why is he asking about the drugs? There’s no reason for it. Maybe he’s testing her? Her pulse-rate increases as she repeats to herself that it isn’t a problem, because she’s only telling the truth.

  ‘Can you describe them
?’ he goes on calmly.

  Saga opens her mouth to say that it was far too long ago, but all of a sudden she remembers the white pills among the long, brown strands of the shag-pile rug. She had knocked the jar over and was crawling around next to the bed, picking the pills up.

  The memory is quite vivid.

  She had gathered the pills in her cupped hand, and blew the fluff from the rug off them. In her hand she had been holding something like ten little round pills. On one side they bore the impression of two letters in a square.

  ‘White, round,’ she says. ‘With letters on one side … KO … I’ve no idea why I remember that.’

  121

  Jurek turns the running machine off, then stands there smiling to himself for a long while as he catches his breath.

  ‘You say you gave your mother cytostatic medication, chemotherapy … But you didn’t …’

  ‘Yes I did,’ she says.

  ‘The medicine you describe is codeine phosphate,’ he says.

  ‘Painkillers?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes, you don’t prescribe codeine for cancer, only strong opiates, like morphine and Ketogan.’

  ‘But I can remember the pills exactly … there was a groove on one side …’

  ‘Yes,’ he says bluntly.

  ‘Mum said …’

  She falls silent and her heart is beating so hard she’s scared it shows on her face. Joona warned me, she thinks. He told me not to talk about my parents.

  She gulps and looks down at the worn floor.

  It doesn’t matter, she thinks, and walks off towards her room.

  It just happened, she said a bit too much, but she stuck to the truth the whole time.

  She hadn’t had a choice. Not answering his questions would have been far too evasive. It was a necessary exchange, but she isn’t going to say any more now.

  ‘Wait,’ Jurek says, very gently.

  She stops, but doesn’t turn round.

  ‘For all these years I haven’t had a single chance to escape,’ he goes on. ‘I’ve known that the decision to sentence me to secure psychiatric care would never be reviewed, and I’ve realised I’m never going to get parole … but now that you’re here, I can finally leave this hospital.’

  Saga turns round and looks directly at the thin face, into his pale eyes.

  ‘What could I possibly do?’ she asks.

  ‘It will take a few days to prepare everything,’ he replies. ‘But if you can get hold of some sleeping pills … I need five Stesolid tablets.’

  ‘How can I get hold of them?’

  ‘You stay awake, say you can’t sleep, ask for ten milligrams of Stesolid, hide the pill, then go to bed.’

  ‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’

  A smile breaks out on Jurek’s cracked lips.

  ‘They’d never give me anything I ask for, they’re too frightened of me. But you’re a siren … everyone sees how beautiful you are, not how dangerous.’

  Saga thinks that this could be what it takes to win Jurek’s confidence. She’ll do as he says, join in with his plan, as long as it doesn’t get too risky.

  ‘You took the punishment for what I did, so I’ll try to help you,’ she replies quietly.

  ‘But you don’t want to come?’

  ‘I’ve got nowhere to go.’

  ‘You will have.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she asks, venturing a smile.

  ‘The dayroom’s closing now,’ he says, and walks out.

  She feels strangely out of kilter, as if he already knows everything about her, even before she tells him.

  Of course it wasn’t chemotherapy medication. She just assumed it was, without really thinking. You don’t administer chemotherapy drugs like that; they have to be taken at strict intervals. The cancer was probably far too advanced. All that was left was pain relief.

  When she gets back into her cell, it feels as if she’s been holding her breath all the way through her encounter with Jurek Walter.

  She lies down on the bunk, completely exhausted.

  Saga thinks that she’ll stay passive from now on, and let Jurek reveal his plans to the police.

  122

  It’s only five to eight in the morning, but all the members of the Athena group are in place in the attic flat. Nathan Pollock has washed the mugs and left them upside down on a chequered blue tea-towel.

  After the dayroom doors were locked yesterday they sat there analysing the wealth of material until seven o’clock in the evening. They listened to the conversation between Jurek Walter and Saga Bauer, structuring and evaluating the information.

  ‘I’m worried that Saga’s being too personal,’ Corinne says, smiling as Nathan hands her a cup of coffee. ‘Obviously it’s a tightrope, because without volunteering something of herself she can’t build up any trust …’

  ‘She’s in control of the situation,’ Pollock says, opening his black notebook.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Joona mutters.

  ‘Saga’s brilliant,’ Johan Jönson says. ‘She’s getting him to talk.’

  ‘But we still don’t know anything about Jurek Walter,’ Pollock says, tapping the table with a pen. ‘Apart from the fact that his real name is different …’

  ‘And that he wants to escape,’ Corinne says, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Yes,’ Joona says.

  ‘But what’s he got in mind? What does he want five sleeping pills for? Who’s he going to drug?’ Corinne asks with a frown.

  ‘He can’t drug the staff … because they’re not allowed to take anything from him,’ Pollock says.

  ‘Let’s allow Saga to carry on the way she is,’ Corinne says after a brief pause.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Joona says.

  He stands up and goes over to the window. It has started snowing again.

  ‘Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day,’ Johan Jönson says, taking out a Dime bar.

  ‘Before we move on,’ Joona says, turning to face the room, ‘I’d like to hear the recording one more time … the bit where Saga says she might not want to leave the hospital.’

  ‘We’ve only listened to it thirty-five times so far,’ Corinne sighs.

  ‘I know, but I’ve got a feeling we’re missing something,’ he explains, in a voice made sharp by conviction. ‘We haven’t talked about it, but what’s actually going on? To begin with, Jurek sounds the same as usual when he says there are better places than the secure unit … but when Saga replies that there are probably worse places, she manages to get him off balance.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Corinne says, looking down.

  ‘No maybe about it,’ Joona insists. ‘I’ve spent hours talking to Jurek, and I can hear that his voice changes, it becomes reflective, but only for a few moments, when he’s describing the place with the red clay …’

  ‘And the high-voltage electricity wires and big diggers,’ Pollock says.

  ‘I know there’s something there,’ Joona says. ‘Not just the fact that Jurek seems to surprise himself when he starts talking about a genuine fragment of memory …’

  ‘But it doesn’t go anywhere,’ Corinne interrupts.

  ‘I want to listen to the recording again,’ Joona says, turning towards Johan Jönson.

  123

  Johan Jönson leans forward and moves the cursor on the screen across the sequence of sound-waves. The speakers crackle and hiss, then the rhythmic sound of footsteps on the running machine become audible.

  ‘We can get out of the hospital together,’ Jurek says.

  There’s a knocking, then a rustling noise that gets gradually louder.

  ‘I don’t know if I want to,’ Saga replies.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven’t really got anything left outside.’

  They can hear laughter on the television in the background.

  ‘Left? Going back is never an option … not to anything, but there are better places than this.’

  ‘And probably some worse,’ Saga says.

&nb
sp; More knocking, then a sigh.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asks.

  ‘I just sighed, because it occurred to me that I can actually remember a worse place …’

  His voice is oddly soft and hesitant as he continues:

  ‘The air was filled with the hum from high-voltage electricity wires … the roads were wrecked by big diggers … and the tracks full of red, clayey water, up to your waist … but I could still open my mouth and breathe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Saga says.

  Applause and more laughter from the television.

  ‘That worse places might be preferable to better ones,’ Jurek replies, almost inaudibly.

  The sound of breathing and heavy footsteps merge with a whining, hissing noise.

  ‘You’re thinking about your childhood?’ Saga Bauer says.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Jurek whispers.

  They sit in total silence as Johan Jönson stops the recording and looks at Joona with a frown.

  ‘We’re not going to get any further with this,’ Pollock says.

  ‘What if Jurek’s saying something that we’re not getting,’ Joona persists, pointing at the screen. ‘There’s a gap here, isn’t there? Just after Saga says there are worse places outside the hospital.’

  ‘He sighs,’ Pollock says.

  ‘Jurek says he sighs, but are we sure that’s what he does?’ Joona asks.

  Johan Jönson scratches his stomach, moves the cursor back, raises the volume and plays the segment again.

  ‘I need a cigarette,’ Corinne says, picking up her shiny handbag from the floor.

  The speakers hiss, and there’s a loud creaking sound followed by an exhaled sigh.

  ‘What did I say?’ Pollock says, smiling broadly.

  ‘Try playing it slower,’ Joona insists.

  Pollock is drumming nervously on the table. The clip plays again at half-speed, and now the sigh sounds like a storm sweeping ashore.

  ‘He’s sighing,’ Corinne says.

  ‘Yes, but there’s something about the pause, and the tone of his voice afterwards,’ Joona says.

  ‘Tell me what I should be looking for,’ Johan Jönson says, frustrated.