The Room

by Jonas Karlsson

  I could tell he was impressed even if he was unable to grasp the full extent of the idea and absorb it there and then. I pointed at the screen again.

  ‘So I’d be grateful if you could take the time to fill in this customer questionnaire, which you’ll find by clicking this link. The survey contains five questions dealing with the quality of our services, and one question asking if you think any other service should be provided. The questions are divided according to the various entities within the Department. Home number. Mobile number. Private mobile number, if applicable, although of course that’s voluntary, but I’d be grateful if you could fill in the questionnaire as fully as possible.’

  I fell silent and looked at the others. They were all looking at me now. Håkan was wearing the blue corduroy jacket. It looked streaked somehow. Stained? Karl had a terribly deep wrinkle above his nose, right between his eyes.

  ‘But Björn,’ he said, ‘I asked you to compile a list of phone numbers, didn’t I?’

  All my energy slowly drained away. I suddenly had difficulty concentrating. I felt a chill run down my spine and a stiffness spread across my neck and shoulders. Karl disappeared off towards his glass office. Slowly but surely the others went back to work. Finally even Håkan turned away, his scruffy corduroy jacket reflecting his movements like an extra layer of skin.

  33

  If it’s never happened to you before, it’s easy to let yourself be taken in by new acquaintances. You get the impression that they’re better than your old ones. You ascribe to them all manner of noble qualities, simply because you don’t know them properly.

  They might be nice and pleasant the first time, and the second and third. In rare instances also the fourth and fifth. But you will almost always end up disappointed.

  Sooner or later you reach a certain point. An occasion when their true self breaks through.

  One way of dealing with that sort of thing is simply to assume the worst of people.

  Karl, for instance, probably imagines that he means well. He convinces himself that his feeble efforts to help his staff are for the good of all. What he doesn’t recognise, or chooses not to recognise, is his own desire to be seen as a hero: the one who solves the problem and garners the plaudits.

  Or Margareta in reception. The appealing exterior, the pleasant demeanour, but before you can say the word ‘unblemished’ she reveals herself to be a junkie.

  More people ought to learn to see their worst sides. Everyone has a bad side. As the poem goes: ‘What is base in you is also base in them.’

  On the other hand, it’s good to realise that we aren’t as remarkable as we might imagine. We want to earn a lot, eat well and generally have a nice time. Listen to the radio sometimes or watch something on television. Read a book or a journal. We want to have good weather and be able to buy cheap food close to home.

  In these terms we are all relatively simple creatures. We dream of finding a more or less pleasant partner, a summer cottage or a time-share on the Costa del Sol. Deep down we just want peace and quiet. A decent dose of easily digested entertainment every now and then.

  Anything more is just vain posturing.

  34

  After three days without the room I started to feel unsettled deep down in my gut. I became irritable and noticed I was sweating more than usual. The most acute abstinence anxiety was starting to subside but it was as if the habit was still in my body. I constantly had to stop myself when I realised my body was on its way there of its own accord. Like a former smoker fumbling for a packet of cigarettes. I tried to think about something else, and every time I felt the urge I tried counting to twenty.

  I didn’t go in. I’m sure of that. I sat there clinging to my desk, thinking that as long as I sat there I was fine.

  That night I stood at the window fantasising about the room. Remembering details. The mirror, the filing cabinet. The little fan on the desk. I tried to recreate something of the atmosphere in there. But it just felt odd.

  35

  The next morning I woke up thinking about the room. I ate my two crispbreads with unsmoked caviar thinking about the room. I walked to work thinking about the room. I was thinking about the room as I passed Margareta in reception, who hadn’t looked at me for several weeks now and thus hadn’t given me an appropriate opportunity to show that I was keeping my distance. I went up in the lift, got out, and was almost at the door. Very close. I crept towards the forbidden place like a child on Christmas morning. Stopped right next to it. Just stood there, feeling what it felt like to be so close. A bit further down were the three toilets. And beyond them the large recycling bin. There was some writing on it: Not for cardboard or packaging.

  Then I caught sight of Ann at the other end of the corridor. I don’t know how she got there but suddenly there she was. Our eyes met and I realised what she was thinking. I shook my head slowly, thinking, No, it’s not what you think.

  ‘He was there again,’ she said a short while later when we were both standing in Karl’s office.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I said.

  ‘I saw you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I saw you. You were standing like that again.’

  ‘No. I was just standing.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘Surely people are allowed to stand still? No one can stop you just standing for a moment?’

  ‘You were standing on that spot again,’ Ann said. ‘You were talking to yourself.’

  ‘I was reading. I didn’t go inside.’

  ‘What were you reading?’

  ‘Not for cardboard or packaging.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Karl said.

  ‘I didn’t go inside,’ I said.

  Karl tried to calm us both down by putting a hand on each of our shoulders. Ann pulled away. She went and stood by the large window facing the office, with her back to us.

  ‘I think it’s very unsettling. How’s anyone supposed to know if he’s there or not? This way we can never be sure.’

  36

  Word spread from Ann like a group email. During the day practically everyone had passed her desk, and before they walked on they managed to glance in my direction several times. I could see them whispering and pulling faces.

  Some of them talked and pointed at me without any attempt to disguise the fact. A few didn’t care if I heard them discussing and diagnosing me. No one replied when I tried to say anything. No one spoke to me at all, apart from Jörgen, who pressed me up against the wall without any warning that afternoon. He held me fairly hard with both hands on my shoulders. His face contorted, his mouth hissing, ‘You’re a freak, you know that?’

  I went home slightly early that day because I was unsure of Jörgen’s mental state and I was afraid of physical violence. I once got punched in the stomach at primary school, which made me sick and I had to go and see the nurse. The memory brought with it a series of unpleasant associations.

  I packed my things in my briefcase and passed reception and Margareta who pretended not to see me again. On the way home I felt I was being watched by a whole load of people. I thought everyone was looking at me. I had to stand at the front of the aisle in the bus because all the seats were taken, so anyone who felt like it could stare at me as much as they wanted. A small child with a dummy in its mouth stared me right in the eyes for ages. In the end I couldn’t help saying: ‘Do we know each other?’

  I got no answer. The little girl just went on sucking the dummy. Her mother gave me a disapproving stare.

  When I got home I leaned my briefcase against the wall. I tried lying down on the bed but I could feel how tense I was. And scared. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it upset me. I felt pressure around my ankles and kicked my shoes off onto the floor. The seams of my socks had left marks on my skin.

  I got up and turned on the television. I started watching a film with Harrison Ford fighting Russian terrorists. At the end of the film they were fighting by the open loading-ramp of a plane while it was in
the air, which isn’t remotely realistic. So I switched it off and went out into the kitchen instead.

  On the radio an actor was reading a novella he’d written himself. The story included a number, sixty-nine. The actor was claiming that it became ninety-six if you turned it round, which is obviously a total lie, and I suddenly felt how lonely it is, constantly finding yourself the only person who can see the truth in this gullible world.

  I turned off the radio and went and stood by the window, looking out. The snow had turned to rain and for a moment I thought it might have leaked into the flat when I felt the first traces of wetness on my cheeks.

  37

  I hadn’t cried since junior school, and I didn’t like it. It was wet and messy. Crying is for weak people. Crying is a sign of not wanting to pull yourself together, and a way for people of low intelligence to get attention. Crying belongs to small children and onions.

  But there was something different about this bout of crying. It was calm, factual crying. Good crying. Water cleansing the tubes, rather like clearing a gutter of leaves and pine-needles. A way to get rid of negative energy and make room for something better. It was as if I could feel all the improper thoughts flying away, and new ones taking their place. Better ones. A fresh start.

  A new me.

  For the first time I realised how oddly I had been behaving. My behaviour belonged in the madhouse. And that was where I would end up if I didn’t pull myself together.

  Thinking about all the stupid things I had done and what they had led to gave me a headache. Going through the various events of the past weeks made me feel distinctly uncomfortable, as I realised how mistaken my behaviour had been in a whole series of different situations. I was forced to recognise my limitations, and it pained me.

  Still, it was nice being able to think clearly for the first time in ages. And I realised that you have to live and learn.

  Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Afterwards it felt good to have cried. As if I had once again got the better of myself and clambered another rung higher on the ladder of my personal development. How high can I get? If I carry on like this, who could possibly stop me?

  I could easily have cried a while longer. Obviously I didn’t. I sat down at the kitchen table and thought through how to enact my return.

  38

  Karl looked up at me as if he’d seen a ghost in fake-leather shoes when I went into his office and stood in front of his desk with the new indoor shoes on.

  ‘Why are you late?’ he asked.

  ‘I overslept,’ I said.

  Karl raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ I went on. ‘I had trouble getting to sleep last night. I lay there thinking. Thinking about recent events. The things I’ve said and done, and so on. I suddenly seem to get ideas in my head, you see. So I’m lying there thinking about all that. As long as I get enough sleep, I can see it’s all nonsense. These past few weeks … Then this morning … Well, I just had to sort my head out a bit. I’ve had a lot of new things to try to take in recently.’

  Karl nodded warily. I took a deep breath and went on.

  ‘I can see that I’ve been behaving oddly, and I’d like to do what I can to put right any problems I may have caused.’

  Karl put his pen down on his desk and leaned back in his comfortable office-chair.

  ‘Björn, Björn, Björn,’ he said, as if he were talking to a small child.

  ‘And I understand that my actions have caused problems, not just for me but for you too, and I’d like to ask for your forgiveness. It was never my intention to cause trouble and bad feeling. I promise that from now on there won’t be any more of that nonsense.’

  ‘Sit down, Björn,’ Karl said, rolling round to the front of his desk.

  I sat down on the uncomfortable little chair. Karl looked at me and I thought I could detect a crooked smile.

  ‘You’re an unusual person, Björn. I’m glad you’ve taken the time to think this through. Maybe it was worth a late start?’

  ‘Obviously, I’ll make up the time I’ve lost …’ I began, but Karl gestured dismissively with his hand.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Björn. If we can get you sorted out, then this little break will have been entirely justified.’

  He looked at my new indoor shoes and lit up. It was obvious that he liked what he saw.

  ‘They’re really nice,’ I said.

  ‘Aren’t they?’ Karl said with a smile.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I just said,’ I said.

  He cleared his throat and turned serious again.

  ‘So are we agreed on the rules now, Björn?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  He leaned towards me.

  ‘And can we forget all about that room now?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  He looked at me and I realised that I ought to nod. I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said, and rolled back to the other side of the desk. ‘Good, Björn. No one will be happier than me if we can find a solution to this.’

  ‘I’m pleased,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ Karl said, and smiled again.

  39

  On my way to my workstation I tried to find someone to say hello to, but no one looked at me. Håkan was leafing through some papers and humming to himself. I sat down at my desk and switched the computer on.

  Half an hour later I handed in a printout of the updated list of phone numbers. Karl raised his head and brightened up.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said.

  He scratched his head and looked around, as if he were thinking. I stood in the doorway and waited. Most of the staff in the department had gone home for the day. I thought I might as well stay a bit longer.

  ‘Do you know what?’ he said after a few moments. ‘Tomorrow, could you put together a list of which projects have been quality assured and which ones haven’t? It would be good to have it on paper.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’ll be able to tell from where they’ve come if they’ve been checked or not.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  I returned to my place and sat down just as Håkan got up, put some documents in his bag, slung it over his corduroy jacket and disappeared without a word to me.

  I logged in and got to work at once.

  An hour or so later I decided to call it a day and go home too. I was almost on my own in the office. I turned the lamp off, gathered my coat and briefcase, went out to the lift and went straight down to reception. Without passing the room.

  40

  I slept relatively well that night. I slept the sleep that only someone who has been down at the bottom but is now on his way back up can sleep. The sleep of someone who recognises that an inferior position is a good position to attack from. The sleep of someone with a plan.

  41

  You don’t turn a river by abruptly trying to get it to change direction. You don’t have that much power. No matter how strong you are. The river will just overwhelm you and obstinately carry on pretty much as before. You can’t make it change direction overnight. No one can. On the contrary, you have to start by flowing with it.

  You have to capture its own force and then slowly but surely lead it in the desired direction. The river won’t notice it’s being led if the curve is gentle enough. On the contrary, it will think it’s flowing just the same as usual, seeing as nothing seems to have changed.

  42

  Uneventful days. Days without any particular character. Days which at first glance didn’t appear to have led to much. Days that no one pays any attention to. Every day there came more and more documents from the investigators on the sixth and seventh floors, all of them waiting to be turned into framework decisions.

  Håkan was becoming more and more anxious about the workload. He started making excuses. Moaning about the quality of the investigations. Their layout, content, incoherent argumentation.

  So you’re the only one who’s perfect? I thought. How i
ronic.

  Håkan and Karl had endless heated discussions that always ended with talk about the possibility of the entire Authority being closed down.

  The threat of closure hung like an evil spirit over the whole department. Probably the whole Authority. I assumed this was the government’s way of keeping us on our toes and not letting anyone think they were safe. But Håkan was irritated at the investigators and the work they did most of the time. He waved documents at Karl when he walked past.

  ‘How am I supposed to formulate a clear, easily understood text from this rubbish? Do they even know what decision they’ve come to themselves?’

  I went in to see Karl with money for the indoor shoes. At first he didn’t want to take it, but I insisted, and explained that I would have bought a pair exactly like them if I’d got them myself. After a while he relented. Took the money and put it in his own pocket. I didn’t say anything.

  43

  Later that day Karl came over to see Håkan and I heard them discussing the formulation of a new decision. I took care not to look up from my work as I listened to them talking.

  Håkan was groaning and constantly scratching his sideburns, and said he couldn’t produce a clearer text from that material, and that it was impossible to work any faster, particularly at the moment when there wasn’t exactly a calm atmosphere conducive to work.

  Without looking at them I could tell that this last remark was aimed at me, and I thought I could feel them both glancing in my direction. I pretended not to notice.

  Soon I had finished my task. Sorting out the quality-assured projects was really just a matter of checking the signatures at the end of each file. One investigator meant no. Two or more control declarations with different save-dates meant yes.