“Götene, sir, not very far from here.”
“Ah, I know it well. Kinnekulle. A nice little town, although I have to admit that I am not the biggest fan of that part of the country. Skaraborg is so flat. All you ever see from the train is field after field, rape, wheat, corn, and whatnot. Then again, I shouldn’t be complaining. They feed half the country up there. Why are you considering moving to Gothenburg? I thought everybody was moving the other way these days, with the big-city allure of Stockholm?”
“Well,” Casper explained, “I’ve been offered the chance of a job here, at the university, working with their data linguistics department, which is one of the world’s leading linguistics departments. It’s a fairly unique opportunity.”
“I see. And what about you? I gather you two are a couple? Not that I fully understand your lifestyle, but I certainly don’t mind people finding happiness. It’s difficult enough these days.”
Nilas blushed again. Although he’d introduced Casper as his boyfriend, most people tended to disregard that word and assume them to just be friends or roommates.
“Yes sir, we are. We’ve been together for almost seven years. Thank you.” Nilas cleared his throat before continuing, “I am an engineer, and I’ve been working for a construction company in Stockholm, so I’m fairly flexible. There was a time when I really wanted to work in the telecommunications area, but I have to say that I really enjoy the construction industry. We create lasting value, at least, if we do our job properly.”
The old man nodded pensively, before taking a sip from his cup. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you that right now, the house isn’t for sale. My wife passed away a few years ago, and I’ve been alone here ever since her passing. We never had kids. I wish I could help you, but the way the house is built, I couldn’t even have you rent a room or two. However, if you leave me a way to get in touch, I’d be happy to contact you if circumstances change. At my age, you never know.”
“I understand, sir,” Nilas responded, disappointed at the news. For a while, he’d gotten his hopes up as the man had invited them in, but he realized the old man was merely desperate for some human company. Nilas retrieved a card from his jacket and put it on the table.
“This is my business card. Please feel free to contact me anytime, should you change your mind, or should your circumstances change.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, young man. I guess you’re probably disappointed, so let me at least show you around the house. Maybe if you see in what bad shape it is, you won’t find this news so distressing.” He got up slowly and asked the boys to join him on a tour of the house.
“This—” he pointed across the hall to a door leading into a large room “—is the dining room. Or it used to be. I haven’t used it in years. My wife was bedridden for much of her last years, and entertaining just wasn’t in the cards.”
Nilas looked into the room, noticing the large heavy wooden dining room table, probably walnut, with twelve chairs. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, almost the same color as the outside. A few paintings decorated the walls, and on each of the long walls there was a Gustavian-style side table. On the main table there were two beautiful silver candelabras, and a large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The summer sunlight coming through the windows was reflected into the entire rainbow spectrum by the hundreds of crystals, giving the room a very special atmosphere.
“At the end of the room, there’s a connecting door into the library, or study, if you prefer. Go, have a look. I’ve seen it often enough, I’ll stay here.”
Nilas couldn’t contain his curiosity and went to have a look, closely followed by Casper. “Wow, have you seen this? This is amazing. Look at the workmanship of these bookshelves?” Nilas was in awe. Yes, it looked old and run down, but that was more due to the fact that it hadn’t been used, cleaned, or dusted for years. He looked at the books in the shelves and was fascinated. There were books not only from the entire Scandinavian literary canon—with Strindberg, Ibsen and others—but works from literally ever part of the world. Some of the Europeans in their original language—Shakespeare, Cervantes, Molière, Dante, Goethe, Caesar—others in Swedish translations.
When they returned to rejoin the old man in the hallway, Nilas couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “May I ask what you did for a living? You have the most impressive private library I’ve ever seen.”
“Why, thank you. Very kind. I was a professor of philosophy at the university. But that’s a good fifteen years ago. I just turned eighty-two last week.”
Casper smiled. “Belated congratulations, then, sir.”
“Thank you. I was lucky to continue with a couple of PhD students on the side until I was seventy-five. Academia is kinder this way than some other professions. Now, shall we move on?” He pointed down the hallway. “Here, to the left, is a small guest toilet. And down at the end of the corridor, where you came in, to the right is the living room. To the left is the atelier. My wife used to paint. She used that room because of the natural light. It points south and provided her with the best light, all day. Please, go ahead and have a look. I’ll wait here by the staircase. My legs aren’t what they used to be.”
Nilas and Casper quickly walked down the corridor to have a peek at the two rooms. The atelier was sparsely decorated, but the old man was right. It was indeed airy and very well lit by the oriel window. The living room on the other side was huge, equivalent in size to the dining room and library combined. It had a 1970s feel to it, which derived from the furniture: a gray couch with a couple of leather chairs, bookcases, and the TV in one corner. The most impressive sight was the tiled stove, reaching from floor to ceiling in off-white porcelain.
“Wow, have you seen this? I wonder if it still works?” Nilas mused, impressed.
They rejoined the old man, who took them upstairs next. “There are four bedrooms and a bathroom. Unfortunately, when they built this house, sanitation wasn’t their priority. I guess people still washed up in the kitchen in a big tub. Feel free to have a look around.”
Nilas and Casper peeked into each of the four rooms, of which two were largely unfurnished, one had a small single bed and the last one, the one farthest away from any street, was furnished with a king-size bed and a huge old wooden closet.
“Wow, have you seen that thing?” Nilas said. “That must weigh a ton. They don’t make closets like this anymore, that’s for sure. They probably had to assemble it right here, on site. Look at the size of it.”
The walls were all covered with classic wallpapers, although they were worn by time and had yellowed considerably. In the two unused bedrooms, the wallpaper had even begun to come off the walls. It was a shame that this beautiful house was in such bad shape, although, Nilas was sure, now that he’d seen it, that it looked worse than it was.
The old man had sat down on a chair in the corridor. “Thank you, sir,” Nilas shook the man’s hand, “for allowing us to have a look at your house. You have a beautiful home, and with a bit of work, this place could easily shine again.”
The old man’s face lit up with pride. “Why, thank you, young man. Yes, my wife and I used to throw quite the parties here, back in the sixties. Things were a bit easier then, and everybody was wild. We had a lot of fun here.”
Casper shook the man’s hand, too, and added, “If you don’t mind, we’d love to come by and see you again, if and when we move here? Would that be okay?”
The man’s eyes shone brightly. “Why, yes, absolutely. I don’t keep much company these days. I would very much like that, but only if it’s not an inconvenience. I’ll give you my card. I have it downstairs, by the phone.”
Once back at the main door, they shook hands again, and Nilas and Casper briefly bowed their heads to their elder. They took their leave of Staffan and set off for the nearby Botanical Garden.
“Staffan Åberg,” Nilas pondered aloud, playing with the business card in his hand. “Remind me to look him up at the library. I fondly remember some
of the philosophy classes I took at the university, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across his work. It would be interesting to see what his research was about. Too bad he doesn’t want to sell the house.”
Casper wasn’t so sure it was a pity. “Well, you saw it. The kitchen reminded me of my grandmother’s house. Just imagine what it would take to renovate that, not to mention the bathrooms. That bathtub looked tiny and the sink? Yikes.”
“Those are only fixtures. Easily replaced. But the foundation, the construction… They don’t build houses like that anymore. And did you see the floors in the dining and living rooms? I mean, those floors alone are worth a fortune. Real oak wood floors, and in great condition. But you’re right, even if he sold, we’d probably never be able to afford it.”
“Yeah, we probably better forget about it.”
They arrived at the main entrance to Gothenburg’s Botanical Garden, where they spent the next few hours.
* * * * *
When God Closes A Door,
He Opens Another…
Two months had passed since their first visit to Gothenburg. Nilas was busy looking for work there, as it seemed as if the professorship would become Casper’s. They had already called to inform him that all the appropriate councils and groups within the university had approved. If the validation of his publications, which was still ongoing, didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary, the job would be his.
Nilas had told his boss about his conundrum, and they had been sorry to see him go, but Artur understood that he wanted to be with his partner. “I hope you’ll be happy in Gothenburg. My wife’s family is from the West Coast; we spend our summers there. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
“Oh, that I don’t doubt. It’s just that we still haven’t found a place to stay and I still don’t have any interesting job openings to apply for. At least we’ve saved up a bit so that we’re okay on one salary for a while, if it comes to that.”
“Why don’t you let me think about this for a day or two? Maybe there are some strings I can pull, work-wise, that is. As for housing, there’s not much I can do. The housing market is pretty crazy in the big cities these days.”
“Thanks, boss, I appreciate that. And I’m not hugely worried. I know the university has apartments for guest lecturers. If need be, we can stay in one of those for the time being, but I’d much rather have a place to call my own. You know?”
“I do, absolutely,” Artur responded, deep in thought.
That night, when Nilas came home, he noticed that the red light on their answering machine was blinking. He pushed the button and listened. “Mr. Jonsson? This is Annika Ström, from Boman’s funeral home in Gothenburg. Would you please give me a call?” She’d left a couple of numbers and the times during which Nilas could reach her at either. It was six thirty p.m.; presuming she’d be at home, Nilas dialed the number. The call was answered after just two signals. “Hello, this is Annika speaking.”
“Hello, Annika. This is Nilas Jonsson, from Stockholm. You called me earlier today. How can I help you?” Nilas was worried, of course, given that Annika had called from a funeral home.
“Good evening, Nilas. How good of you to call me so soon. I didn’t want to simply leave this as a message on your machine. I’m really sorry to inform you that Staffan Åberg passed away, peacefully, two weeks ago. He’d fallen badly, broken his hip, and he spent his final weeks in the hospital. Staffan had a white archive with us. Since he has no living relatives, that was a very wise precaution. He will be buried next week at the Western Cemetery here in Gothenburg, next to his wife. I found your card in the kitchen today as we’re trying to contact some of his friends and acquaintances.”
Nilas was shocked. “Staffan is gone? I can’t believe it. We just saw him a couple of months ago.”
“I am so sorry for your loss. Were you very close to him?” Annika’s voice was soft and sympathetic.
“No, actually, we barely knew him. We only met him once, when we were in Gothenburg, house hunting. It’s a long story. I’m sorry. This probably doesn’t interest you.”
“No, no, please go on. I knew Staffan quite well. I used to study under him many years ago. He was one of the best professors I had at university. That, plus we handled his wife’s funeral arrangements. At least that explains the note on the back of the card. He’d scribbled something about ‘house buyers.’ Are you still interested in the property? We will have to list it on the market shortly. Having a buyer would save everyone a lot of time and effort.”
“Well, yes, we would be. Do you already have a valuation of the house?”
“No, I don’t. I need to focus on the funeral first. Would you be interested in attending? It would be nice for Staffan to have at least some of his friends there for his final farewell? We could take the opportunity to talk more about the house then, if it’s acceptable to you? As you pointed out, I’ll need to have it assessed and valued. Since there is no will, the estate will go to the government and the national inheritance fund, and while they’re not sticklers for crowns, they also don’t like to be cheated out of money. So I need to have an official valuation as a basis for any deal we make. I hope that isn’t a problem for you.”
“No, not at all,” Nilas stammered. “Quite the contrary. I still can’t believe he’s gone. When is the funeral?”
“Friday, a week from now. I will send you the invitation by mail. RSVP is a couple of days before the funeral, so there’s plenty of time, but I think Staffan would’ve liked it if you came.”
“I’ll do what I can. Thank you, Annika.”
“Thank you, and have a pleasant evening.” He heard the receiver click. Annika had hung up.
***
Later that evening, Nilas and Casper discussed the possibility of attending the funeral and the chance they might have of buying the house, if they could afford it.
“Maybe you should go and talk to the bank, see what they have to say. Interest rates are kind of steep right now, but we’ve saved up a bit, so who knows?” Casper was hopeful, from a financial point of view—not so much when it came to the general idea of that particular house. “But do you really think that house is the one for us?”
“Yes!” Nilas was beaming. “I mean, the neighborhood is perfect. It’s close to the city, next door to the Botanical Garden and the park, and that house has so much potential. Please, let’s go to the funeral. I have a feeling about this. It could just be our chance. Please, babe?”
“If you feel so strongly about it… You’re the engineer in the family. If you say the house is healthy and sound, then I trust you. It just looked so run down.”
“Yeah, but that’s just the surface, from what I could see. We’d have to examine it more closely, climb up to the attic, look at the cellar, and the foundation, of course. But with a bit of paint, new wallpaper, and fresh curtains, that house will be absolutely stunning. Trust me.”
***
And so, at the end of the following week, late in July of 1989, they attended the old man’s funeral in Gothenburg, having once again flown down in order to make the ten a.m. appointment at the cemetery’s chapel.
Annika stood by the large double doors, handing out programs to people walking in. They climbed out of their taxi and approached her.
“Welcome. You must be Nilas and Casper? But I couldn’t say who is who.” She laughed and stretched out her hand.
“I’m Nilas. We’ve spoken on the phone.”
“Yes, of course. I recognize your voice. So good of you to come here today.”
“Annika, this is my partner Casper. Casper, this is Annika from the funeral home.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” She handed them each a program. “Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat. We don’t seem to have a big crowd today. Mostly university people—former research assistants, fellow professors. He’d outlived most of their friends, and I’m afraid the ad in the paper didn’t yield much of a response,
either. Then again, a July funeral is always a challenge. So many people are out of town, but we couldn’t wait any longer.”
Nilas and Casper walked into the modernist chapel of the big western cemetery and found seats in one of the bench rows toward the back of the chapel. There were maybe twenty, twenty-five people sitting there already. The weather was unusually hot, a good eighty degrees—not a common occurrence for Gothenburg—and the wind, from an eastern direction, also quite unseasonal, promised to bring in more hot air from the vast Russian inland.
After the service, they followed the coffin as it was transported to the grave site farther up in the vast cemetery where Staffan would be laid to rest next to his wife. There was a short ceremony at the grave site, after which everybody dispersed. Since there was no immediate family, no funeral meal had been organized.
Annika approached the boys afterward. “Do you need a ride back into the city?”
“Yes, that would be kind.”
“If you have time, I could take you to the house. I had it valued the other day, and we could discuss terms, that is, if you’re still interested?” She smiled and handed them an envelope.
“Is this it?” Nilas asked.
“Yes. I’ve had the guy go through the house from top to bottom and really look at everything. Since the property is sold as is, you would not have the possibility to sue for hidden defects, like you normally would. So I wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting yourselves into. But don’t worry. It all looks very good.”
Nilas opened the envelope and retrieved the valuation of the house and a purchase contract. He quickly browsed through it, nodded, sighed in a couple of places, then handed it to Casper.
“I would really appreciate a closer look,” Nilas said. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening. When we walked down that street two months ago, we just knocked on the door because the house looked so incredibly beautiful. I mean, yes, it’s run down, but it has such potential. But when Staffan showed us around, we just glanced at things. We never really looked at it in detail, since we didn’t want to intrude on his privacy.”
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