Allanberg was a hoarder. He could not part from his possessions however worthless. Wrecked cars skeletal campervans pallets with sacks of fodder rusty bars paintcans bikes galvanisedbuckets insulationmaterials barbedwire muckcarts cookers rotten boards gardenflags carengine innards and every other kind of clobber formed drifts of trash all over the yard.
Somewhere near the middle of this midden a display mannequin was propped upright between stacks of frostcracked bricks. Odd that I hadn’t noticed it when I was here before. It was the kind of creature with pointy breasts and arms at stiff angles who used to be in the window of friman’s now defunct clothing shop.
I went closer slipping on nameless stuff underfoot. She had been jammed into place. One arm was dangling from a torn joint. The other was raised in a cheery hello. Her entire body was perforated with bullet holes.
What a bastard I thought and checked the position of the house. No living woman at hand to torment so he had sat at the kitchen window shooting at a mannequin.
The yard was silent as was the house itself. Not even the birds made a noise even though they were flitting about at the empty birdtable. The pane in the front door had a star of spreading cracks. I tried the key in the lock but it was already open. The stench of urine was more offensive than last time.
Hello there it’s jana from the homecare I called. There was no answer.
A dead allanberg was seated on a chair by the kitchen window. Still with the gun between his knees.
The table in front of him had stopped the body from falling. One might have thought he was resting his head on the tabletop if it hadn’t been for the missing chunk at the back of his head. He had even left the nasal tubes of the oxygen pump in place.
I pulled the plug on the pump. Began to dial the nurse’s number but changed my mind. Thought I should check the place first. So far I had only seen the kitchen and the bathroom. There was a bedroom too and an upstairs. And perhaps a cellar full of bulletholed mannequins and remains of women murdered for pleasure.
The stairs were straight and steep. The upper floor was one large attic space. The pileup was a match for the yard. He had just dumped things here until there was no more room.
But despite the dull light and the heaps of trash I could make out old furniture ragrugs and other objects from the past telling me that once this house had had a decent life.
I retreated down the stairs and opened the bedroom door. It stuck. I had to push and press down the handle at the same time.
Nobody had been in it for a long time. It wasn’t even heated but was still a bedroom with a brass bed made with thick quilts a homewoven red yellow and black throw and with a row of embroidered cushions on top. A handpainted rocking chair stood in a corner and the long wall was hung with neatly aligned pictures with religious themes.
I scanned the place slowly. Then my eyes focused on a small whitepainted desk with the flap down. On it stood photographs in dark frames.
The photos had been taken at different times. The oldest were wedding pictures from the turn of the last century or thereabouts. Earnest men and women in hats and dark clothes. Others were snaps of people at work on the farm. Harvesters posing in front of a wheat stook. A man standing next to his car. I sat down on the bed to scrutinise one photo. Three children sitting on a step. One could just believe it was the step of allanberg’s house at a time when housekeeping was still alive.
Two girls and a boy. The image was unusual because they were all laughing. In older photos people rarely laughed. Might not that boy be allanberg. I could spot no likeness with the man who had just died by his own hand. But I noted that the frames had been dusted. Indeed not only the frames. The whole room was clean and scrubbed and smelled of floorsoap. The ragrugs forming a horseshoe around the bed were all turned the right way to keep happiness inside the home.
A wedding picture stood apart from the rest. It had been coloured in by hand in gentle shades. The bride’s red lips were probably touched up later. Her hand in a white glove was resting on allanberg’s blacksleeved arm. Both looked into the camera with serious eyes.
I tried to remember if I had ever met his wife but was certain I hadn’t. Sometimes father had frogmarched us along to go visiting. I had never seen a wife only allanberg. Mostly an already drunk allanberg. He used to amuse himself by forcing bror to sit on his lap while I had to perch on father’s. They quickly got pissed. Kept talking without listening. Laughed at jokes we didn’t understand. Fetched more lemonade from the cellar to use as mixer and drank brotherly toasts.
We would run home to mother. She was always in the kitchen. Embroidering. Look here children she would say. Another text to think about, another reminder for everyone of what the good book had to say. She did not see children seeking comfort and safety. Her own sense of safety was rooted in the words of god.
Whoever sleeps does not sin. The spirit is willing but the flesh weak. He who has to him shall be given. Whoever minds his mouth shall keep his soul.
We tumbled in and sat down opposite her. She looked up for a moment but carried on with her stitching. Asked if we would like a biscuit and some tea. It was her way of imposing order. Biscuit and tea.
Then suddenly I saw how it all worked. I left the bedroom and closed the door. Pushed it into place as laboriously as I had opened it.
Mother had the parish congregation. I had the yellowroom. John had his bestroom. Allanberg his bedroom. Nicenora her kitchen. A place where you could be free. Or a prisoner.
I did not touch the gun or the head at rest. But I did do my job. Pulled off the shitty trousers and underpants. Cleaned him with wipes from the homecare services resource pack and found unused things to put on him. All neat and tidy as mother used to say. You mustn’t meet your doctor or your maker in dirty underwear.
In the kitchen I found a washing machine hidden behind a folded curtain hanging from a steel wire. I stuffed it with the dirty clothing I found scattered in the house and picked the hottest programme. He lived in incomprehensible misery. Had lived. In a lair where filth and foost had built up over the years like a green-mouldcheese. The sofa was bulging with its load of newspapers homeservice readymeal boxes empty cigarettepackets beercans and clothing. The wooden floor was bare and the walls had lost any trace of wallpaper. Chairs with ripped seats and unstoreable scrap from the farm had been stacked along the walls until only a footstepwide path remained between the kitchen and what was once the sitting room.
Surely no human being should have to live like this. Not even an arsehole like allanberg.
Then I called the nurse. Afterwards I did what I was best at. I tidied up.
FORTYTHREE
Allanberg was taken off the homecare service lists but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. A man who had erased himself. Allanberg’s life must have been unchanged for many years. Why shoot himself just now.
During the break while I microwaved my midday piece I asked ingermarklund if she knew who was keeping the bedroom at allanberg’s clean and tidy. She thought for a bit and then shook her head.
No I don’t. No idea. Then it struck her it could have been maria but if so it must have been some time ago. He didn’t want to pay for cleaning you see ingermarklund explained. Even so we did try to make it look a bit more orderly but it just made him cross. He didn’t fancy owing anyone for anything as he said.
Do you know if allanberg was married I asked and again she had to search her memory.
I think so she said. If I remember right. But she died early on maybe from an illness or some accident. I really can’t recall the details. I’m from the southvillage and didn’t know them personally. But didn’t you she said. Your family surely lived nearby.
That we did I said.
In the afternoon I looked in to see göstagrönlund. The night staff log said he was in a manic phase but that could mean anything. I had never seen him other than in a normal state.
When I came in he was up on a ladder in the kitchen with a paintbrush in his hand. He w
as painting the wall bright red.
The wooden ladder waggled every time he bent down to dip the brush in the pot of paint.
It’s our jana he said. That’s nice. Look what do you think.
He gestured with the hand holding the brush and splattered paint on the kitchen cupboards.
It looks great I said. Terrific colour. But it’s faster with a roller if you have one. I’ll help if you like.
No no no he said. You take a break. Put your feet up for a while.
I’ll fix us some coffee I said and eyed the ladder discreetly. The man was over ninety. He slowly climbed down and stuck the brush into the paint pot.
That was quite hard work he said. But I always wanted a red kitchen. Red is the colour of love. You know that don’t you.
Yes I do I said. Of course. Everyone should have a red kitchen.
Now tell me jana have you ever been in love he asked once we were both seated at the kitchen table with our mugs of coffee.
Not exactly in love I said thinking about john. Love didn’t seem to fit the situation. Maybe it was more like dependence.
Never he said sounding surprised.
No never I replied. It simply hasn’t happened to me. Not like it was for you gösta.
This embarrassed him and he looked down into his coffee.
It’s true I told you that once there was someone but I haven’t said who it was.
No why should you I said. It’s for you to say or not.
You actually know the person he said.
Do I. Who is it.
Edvardkippo he said looking almost defiant. Your grandfather edvardkippo.
Of course I looked surprised. Not because göstagrönlund had had a romance with a man but because that man was my grandfather. I couldn’t imagine him in love. I couldn’t actually imagine any of us in love. We weren’t a loving family. We were simply genecarriers who produced offspring and went about it as we must. Often in the worst possible way and with poor outcome.
How did you meet him I asked. I thought he married early. Considering all their children.
He worked as a labourer for a summer on our farm. My dad was ill with cancer and had to stay in the village hospital. My older brothers already had farms of their own and could only come along to help us when it was urgent. Edvardkippo lived in an attic room next to mine. He was one year older than me. We knew each other from primary school.
In daytime we worked at the ingatherin. And once we had done for the day and had finished what was needed doing in the byre we went off to fish in the tarn. We would sit together at the end of the jetty. It started innocently. Knees touched. Hands got in the way. He was a year older. I was small and thin. Rather like I am now. But edvardkippo had a fine body.
Göstagrönlund drifted off into memories of his young lover. His eyes filled with sweaty attic rooms and the light of the midnight sun. I glanced at the clock. The halfhour was long gone.
As usual he came to say goodbye on the veranda. I hugged him but instead of patting my head like a tender father he gripped my arms and looked at me intently.
Your grandfather was a good man he said. We kept meeting until his death. Besides he was an ace at chess.
In the car on the way back to the main village I thought about gösta and granddad and their lifelong love affair. It had started more than seventy years ago. A couple of years before my grandparents married. About my gran I knew little except that she was brought up in a churchy home up north in the upper kalix region. I imagined her arriving with her bridal chest and bright hopes of a real life. Her disappointment echoed into the present.
My last visit of the day was to göranbäckström’s mother.
There was no doorbell. There never were any doorbells. I knocked and entered.
Veronicabäckström’s silvery grey hair hung down her back. Her hair and her bent back made her look like a witch. But her light brown eyes were gentle.
Dearie me she said. So that’s you. It’s so nice to see you again.
I couldn’t recall that we had ever met. She probably mistook me for maria.
Oh dearie me she went on. And I who thought you were dead.
You’re thinking of maria. She’s still dead. I’m jana her sister.
What did you say she said cupping a hand behind her ear.
Her hearing aid was in its box left on the kitchen table. I helped her to put it in. We fiddled with it until the acoustic feedback had gone.
What was it you said maria veronicabäckström asked.
I told you I’m not maria. I’m her sister jana.
Jana she replied. Then you’re our erik’s girl. Isn’t that right.
Yes I said. Maria was too.
I let her think that over in peace while I washed her lunch dishes and wiped the sink and the tap dry.
Old folk looked after by the smalångerhomecare service ate their late meal at exactly four o’clock. Veronicabäckström was a vegetarian. It’s a mystery how even the word had got as far as the village. So I asked her.
It’s a wee bittie uncommon for an older person not to eat meat I said.
Dearie me she said. I want the critters no harm.
I grated a carrot and a beetroot. Cracked a few eggs mixed in some flour and made small pancakes. I served them with cowberry jam and a kind of salad with raw grated cabbage, pieces of orange and raisins.
It looked just as yucky as the healthy option in the smalånger-school canteen but veronicabäckström ate the lot with all the signs of enjoying it.
Halfway through the meal there was a knock on the door. A woman entered without waiting for a comein. She said hello but avoided eye contact. Only sat down on the chair next to veronicabäckström.
How are you today she asked inspecting the food as if pancakes with jam was something out of the ordinary.
Maria cooks so nicely veronicabäckström told her. And there’s me thinking she had died. Fancy that.
Something like anger came and went in the woman’s face. It made her look old. I felt a kind of collective familyshame and said perhaps it was time that I.
Has she taken her medication the woman said. Presumably she was addressing me.
No I said and checked the list entry. Looked around for the dispenser.
Some people clearly find this job very difficult the woman said and got up so quickly the chair fell over. She didn’t bother picking it up. Instead she opened the cleaning cupboard and took out a dispenser.
Sorry I said stupidly. But I’ve never been here before.
What never been here before dearie veronicabäckström said. You who are coming here oftener than the cat.
She isn’t maria the woman shouted into the old lady’s ear so loudly the hearing aid screeched like a siren.
Take it easy I said. It isn’t your motherinlaw’s fault.
What do you know about whose fault it is she said. Her voice shook a little.
Nothing I said. I know nothing. And I am jana. Not maria. If you have a quarrel that has something to do with maria talk to your husband. Not me. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to make mrsbäckström’s bed ready for the night. So she can have a rest when she wants to. The night carer comes at nine. As you must know.
The woman didn’t reply. Just sat down with her eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
It was the same nothingness that bror used to see.
She ruined everything she said speaking quietly.
Maybe because she didn’t want the old lady to hear her.
She made men lose their heads she said. Got them to dance to her tune. They would do anything. Some even shot themselves. The latest one just the other day I gather.
Do you mean allanberg I asked.
Yes I do. Poor sod. She turned his head as well. Apparently made him leave her all he had in his will. Still, she’s buried deep by now. Where she belongs.
I didn’t want to hear anymore but I still did want to know.
I don’t quite get this I said innocently. I don’t know abou
t these people who’ve taken their lives. Except for allanberg that is and he was an old man with cancer. About to die soon which could’ve been the reason he shot himself. To escape the suffering I mean.
Nonsense she said sharply scattering saliva. Nonsense. He couldn’t bear the grief of her going. Just like kristerhansson evertlindqvist and sunestolt. And.
She stopped and then continued.
Like everyone who took it hard. But who didn’t go as far as dying by their own hand.
What about them I asked. You speak as if I’m supposed to know what it’s all about. I never knew maria. Until quite recently I didn’t even know we had a sister.
I’m sorry the woman said. My name is sonja she added and held out her hand.
We shook hands. Hers was cold and hard. Her glasses and short curly hair made her look older than she was. As did the gloomy furrows in her face from the corners of her mouth to her chin.
The evening was clear and cold with bright stars. I drove slowly downhill towards kippofarm. I had collected lukas from göranbäckström’s dog kennel.
Parked the car in the garage and went to get logs for the boiler.
A day without heating had chilled the large house. I kept my coat and boots on when I made tea. For supper I had tinned spaghetti bolognese eaten cold with a spoon from a small plastic dish. I shared half and half with lukas.
My promises nagged my mind even though I knew I shouldn’t let them. John could stay where he was holed up in the old cottage. No harm done probably.
I weighed risks against benefits. The risks of going to him were considerable and the benefits limited. It wasn’t a sense of responsibility that drove me. Rather that I wanted to keep my back free in case he lost it. Since I had said I would come I’d better set out.
I packed a rucksack with thermos spare woollen underwear and socks. An extra pair of shoes just in case. Torch and matches and mobile phone. A bag of dogfood.
We went the way I thought I had taken the last time. There were no footsteps in the snow. The october snow had melted as soon as it had fallen but I had a rough idea. It took much less time now when I had dry shoes on my feet and food inside me. Lukas picked up my scent along the trail. His happy nose led us straight towards the cottage.
My Brother Page 20