The Room

by Jonas Karlsson

  I was done just before lunch and another printout was delivered to Karl’s office. Karl thanked me and smiled, but I could see how tired he was.

  ‘What shall I do now?’ I asked.

  Karl looked at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. He stared blindly through the window facing the office.

  ‘Well …’ he muttered, sighing through his nose.

  ‘Perhaps there’s some text that …?’

  Karl looked at me.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘No, I was just wondering if I could help …’

  ‘No thanks, Björn. I don’t think so. It’ll be fine. But you could …’ He looked round the room. ‘… check all the printers … make sure they’ve all got enough paper and so on.’

  We looked at one another, both of us aware of the menial task he was asking a civil servant to do, and I realised that my humiliation had to be dragged right down to the very bottom. I didn’t mind. I was prepared. I nodded and went out to find some photocopy paper.

  All the printers in the department ended up as full of paper as they possibly could be without the paper-feed jamming, or the thin plastic holding it being so overburdened that it broke.

  When I saw several of the others having a coffee-break I went over to the little kitchen as well and got myself a cup.

  A peculiar silence spread round the small room. They all drank their coffee, but the easy banter was missing. I tried to avoid making eye-contact with Jörgen, who still looked likely to have an outburst at any moment. All you could hear was the sound of my spoon stirring the cup.

  44

  When I returned to my place I saw that the inevitable had now happened. Håkan’s papers had finally overflowed onto my desk.

  Håkan’s chair was empty but his desk was covered with files and documents, all waiting to be formulated into new framework decisions. Several piles of printouts were positioned so that they were almost nudging the back of my computer screen.

  I felt a pang of my old intolerance. A gust of my old self who had been far too excitable, too guileless in purely tactical terms.

  I sat down at my desk and put my hands against all his things. Then I simply pushed them back until everything was just inside the edge of his desktop. I heard one or two things fall to the floor on the other side of the desk.

  When Håkan came back with a large pile of papers in his arms he didn’t even bother trying to make room among the mess on his desk, but impudently parked it all on my side. He leaned down and picked up the papers that had ended up on the floor. He didn’t even seem to wonder how they had got there.

  Soon he disappeared again.

  My initial impulse was of course to repeat my earlier procedure and this time push everything a bit further to make him realise what he was doing. But then my eyes were caught by one of the printouts. Investigation. Case 1,636, it said. I realised that this was an opportunity. Without even asking for it, I had been given a helping hand. An almost meditative calm spread through me.

  I looked around. I took hold of the pile of papers with both hands and put what had been left on my desk in my drawer.

  45

  Håkan spent a large part of the afternoon trying in vain to find the missing investigations. Even if he didn’t say anything, I knew that was what he was doing. He picked up books and files, looked underneath things, muttering to himself and occasionally swearing quietly.

  I watched him go in to see Karl, gesticulating with his arms. Karl looked sweatier than ever. At some point Håkan gestured in my direction, but Karl merely shook his head.

  I took care to participate in all the group coffee-breaks and idle conversations. No one spoke to me or even looked at me, but I was there. I was taking part. I was a physical presence among them.

  To start with I noticed that everything would stop as soon as I came along. I would stand beside the others and pretend I hadn’t noticed. In the end I came to assume the role of passive participant, the person no one bothers about, but whose presence is a precondition for the general character of social interaction.

  By five o’clock most of the others had left, but I stayed behind as usual. I did an extra circuit of all the printers and checked that they were all full, mostly to make sure that the others had all gone home.

  Then I went back to my desk. I opened the drawer and took out the top bundle of papers. Investigation. Case 1,636.

  I put it in my briefcase, put my coat on to leave, checked once more that there was no one left, crept round to the corridor with the toilets, turned the light on and slipped inside the room for the eleventh time.

  46

  The fluorescent light flickered and clicked inside the room like a hot tin roof in the summer. It was quiet and cool. The desktop fan with its rotating blades inside a stainless-steel mesh lent the room an almost foreign feeling. It wasn’t new, but had been extremely well maintained. Classy. Un-Swedish.

  It was easy to think of bygone times in the room. A whole series of eminent decision-takers behind the perfect desk.

  It felt indescribably good to be back inside this small space again. I stood there for a long time just enjoying it. Resting one hand gently on the desk.

  The desktop felt completely smooth under my fingertips. You could probably rest your cheek on it if you felt like it. I didn’t. I pulled out the comfortable office-chair, sat down, my back straight, and read through the entire bundle of papers.

  It was surprisingly simple. Words and formulations that would otherwise take a long time to grasp flowed into my consciousness in a perfectly natural way. I understood at once.

  Most of it seemed obvious. As if someone had asked me to fill in the right answers in a third-year maths book.

  I looked up at the ceiling and tried to memorise a few keywords. As I was resting my eyes on the red painting with its plain motif I formulated a couple of simple phrases in my head. I realised at once that they worked well. Simple and clear.

  I leafed back and forth through the material. It was clumsily expressed. I had to agree with Håkan on that. Some sections were completely unfocused, but could clearly be formulated the way I had just tried out. It was as if I had cleaned the document in order to reveal its pure lines.

  Now that I knew how it ought to be expressed, it struck me as odd that no one had thought of it before. Had I missed something? Was there something I didn’t understand? Or was it really this simple?

  47

  ‘Excellent!’ Karl exclaimed as he came over and slapped Håkan on the back with the palm of his hand the following day.

  Håkan turned round, looked at Karl and raised his eyebrows lazily.

  ‘What?’

  Karl smacked 1,636 down on the desktop. Håkan leaned over and read.

  ‘This is exactly what I meant,’ Karl said. ‘This is brilliant, Håkan. Bloody hell, it’s genius! Factual and concise. No room for misunderstanding.’

  It was clear that he was in an extremely good mood. His whole face was beaming. Håkan turned to Karl.

  ‘That isn’t mine,’ he said bluntly.

  Karl’s joy was interrupted and he frowned. He picked up the document and pulled his glasses down, perched them on his nose and looked at the number: 1,636.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This isn’t mine.’

  ‘Of course it’s yours. I gave it to you.’

  ‘Okay,’ Håkan said, ‘but I didn’t write that.’

  Karl pushed his glasses up onto his forehead again.

  ‘What do you mean, you didn’t write it?’

  ‘Someone else must have written it,’ Håkan said.

  He turned back to what he was doing, leaving Karl holding 1,636 in his hand, a mass of furrows on his brow.

  ‘But …’ Karl began.

  He went back inside his office and I saw him sit in there, inspecting the document from all angles, all the while with that bewildered look on his face.

  That afternoon Karl called Ann and John into his office. I watche
d him show them my printout, but they both shook their heads. It was actually rather a shame, I thought. If one of them had falsely taken the credit for my work, the situation would have been even better. We would have been able to increase the bounce of my trampoline, so to speak. But evidently neither of them was brazen enough. I would have to carry on as planned.

  Just before I went to lunch I felt I needed to go to the toilet. I took the long route past the lift so that everyone would clearly see that I was avoiding the room. When I came out again I took the same route back, passing several of my colleagues on their way to the lift. They could all see that I was coming from the toilet. I passed the door of the room as if it didn’t exist.

  48

  When the working day was over and everyone had gone home, I smuggled the next investigation into my briefcase, closed it firmly and snuck into the room.

  I unpacked my things on the magnificent desk and started work on 1,842.

  As soon as I emerged I wrote a couple of short sentences in my notepad so I didn’t forget my train of thought in there. I sat down at my computer and wrote up the text. The whole process went much quicker today. It was like I’d learned something about the way things fit together. Something about the way time and space interact.

  I went over to Karl’s office, opened the glass door and put the document on his desk just after half past ten in the evening.

  49

  The next day I repeated the process with case 1,199, the only difference being that I took the neatly typed document home with me overnight.

  The next morning I went into Karl’s office before he got in, making sure that Ann witnessed it. I could clearly see how watchful she became the moment I entered Karl’s little glass cube. She stared at me as I left the document on his desk. And just after Karl had arrived and hung up his outdoor clothes on the hanger, sure enough, she was there telling tales.

  I couldn’t have arranged it better.

  50

  ‘Ann tells me you’re the person who left this on my desk?’ Karl said, holding up framework decision 1,199.

  I nodded.

  ‘Who wrote it?’

  ‘I did.’

  He stood there for a while, just looking at me without saying anything. As if he were trying to work out whether or not I was telling the truth. He cleared his throat and scratched an earlobe.

  ‘You did?’

  I nodded again, and couldn’t help noticing that Håkan was suddenly listening.

  ‘Who … who asked you to do it?’ Karl said.

  I raised my eyebrows and answered slowly.

  ‘I took it for granted that it was my duty, seeing as the files were on my desk.’

  ‘The files were on your desk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who put them there?’ Karl said, glancing at Håkan, who quickly looked down and pretended to be reading his papers.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I assumed—’

  ‘Please, come with me.’

  He led the way towards the little glass box without waiting for me. I looked at Håkan, who was still pretending not to have noticed anything, but his neck was bright red. I got up and walked very slowly after Karl into his office. Karl sat down behind his desk.

  ‘Close the door,’ he said.

  I did as he said and tried to adopt a concerned expression, as if I were expecting another reprimand for something. There was a certain pleasure in playing the innocent schoolboy seeing as I knew what was coming. Karl fixed his eyes on me.

  ‘Björn, what’s going on here?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble. I didn’t mean to take someone else’s work. I was just convinced I was meant to do it because the case-notes were on my desk and—’

  ‘Can you tell me who wrote 1,842 and … let’s see, 1,636?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Björn, I hope you are aware that all of us in this department … we always stick to the truth.’

  ‘That is the truth.’

  Karl spun his chair slightly and stroked his chin with his fingers. He picked up the documents and seemed almost to be weighing them in his hand.

  ‘The DG is very pleased,’ he said out of nowhere.

  ‘Oh?’ I said, trying to look surprised.

  ‘He says we’ve finally got the right tone. That these texts you’ve written ought to be the template for all future framework decisions in the communal sector.’

  51

  I looked at the picture Jörgen usually leaned against when we had meetings here in Karl’s office and tried to enjoy the moment when the new order here at the Authority slowly began to take shape. The picture was of some appetising-looking fruit. You could almost have believed it was real. I came to think of an artist who could draw an empty sheet of paper and make you think it was a real piece of paper, so you’d go up to it wondering why someone had put an empty sheet of paper in a glass frame, but then you’d discover that it was a drawing, like an optical illusion. Quite funny, actually.

  The thought made me smile.

  ‘I didn’t know …’ Karl said, and I could see he was having severe difficulty coming to terms with the idea of me as a leading light in this field. He had regarded me as a nothing, an encumbrance, someone who needed to be watched and looked after. Now that he’d made his bed he was having to lie in it.

  He looked up at me and smiled. Clearly uncertain about how to treat me. It was like there was something inside him that was still fighting against the idea. I could easily draw this out a bit longer, I thought, let him squash me even further down. I could exploit my lowly status and make the turnaround even greater, even more of a shock.

  But this was where we were. At last he had realised, and maybe I ought to have been pleased that he was at least intelligent enough to recognise talent when he saw it. That isn’t always the case.

  ‘You surprise …’ he went on, waving my texts.

  I stayed quiet. And smiled. Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is an art.

  ‘If you could imagine carrying on … that you might be able to take on some more …’

  I cleared my throat and frowned gently. Taking my time.

  ‘I’d be happy to help in any way I can,’ I said, ‘but bearing in mind my other duties …’

  I glanced towards the photocopier and Karl took the hint.

  ‘We can sort that out, Björn.’

  ‘I just mean that it might be difficult finding the time to look after the printers and …’

  ‘Obviously, you wouldn’t have to do anything of that sort …’

  ‘And the quality assurances …’

  Karl raised his voice slightly to indicate that he was serious. That all that sort of nonsense was at an end now.

  ‘I’m sorry, Björn, if I underestimated you …’ He got up from his chair and I could see the tension in his face as he steeled himself to say what was coming. I smiled and waited. ‘… but it isn’t always easy to see the skills of all your colleagues. Especially not …’

  He fell silent and sat down on the edge of the desk. He looked tired. He sighed and ran his hand over his hair.

  ‘I apologise, Björn, there’s been a lot going on recently.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ I said, and made myself comfortable in his office-chair.

  He looked down at me with his mouth wide open. I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach.

  ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ I said.

  52

  The following morning I was able to run my finger slowly over the numbers on the cover of my first framework decision, which now had its own reference number: 16c36/1.

  I had gone down to reception and asked for it the day it became publicly accessible. I could smell the fresh ink, and I let Margareta behind the counter get a glimpse of the casemanager’s name on the flyleaf. You could have been a part of all this, I thought. But drugs got in the way.

  ‘How are things going for you these days?’ she asked after a pause.

  I d
idn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her. I had decided to regard her as a stranger, a complete unknown. And neither condone nor condemn what she did in her own time.

  53

  Rumours of my success swept through the whole department like a wave. Someone had heard and carried the news to the rest of the group. I saw Hannah with the ponytail talking to Karin outside the kitchen, and via Karin I was able to follow the path of the news to John and the gang in the section for the financing of inspection visits. After a while almost the whole of Supervision stood up, talking to each other and looking in my direction. I tried to read their reactions, but it was difficult as I was constantly having to pretend I hadn’t noticed and was preoccupied with my work.

  In fact things were relatively stress-free, and I didn’t have to rush my fifty-five-minute periods seeing as the most concentrated part, the actual formulation itself, always happened inside the room. In the evenings and at night.

  One day when Håkan got back from a coffee-break I noticed that even he had been hosed down by the torrent of information about the new star in the office. He smiled when he asked but I could see the icy chill in his eyes.

  ‘So how long were you planning on keeping your talent hidden, then?’ he said.

  I didn’t answer. He had a large white patch on one shoulder and going part way down his chest. Hadn’t he noticed? It looked scruffy.

  ‘Do you think it’s funny going round pretending to be unstable, just so you can show everyone your tightrope routine later on?’

  I said nothing. I recognised the nature of his questions. They were rhetorical. It’s always best to ignore those. Treat them like they don’t exist. But the stain was real.

  ‘Don’t you think you should go and change your shirt?’ I asked after a while, nodding towards the stain.