Everything I Don't Remember (17 page)

“Did she hit him?”

“I mean, she only threw the water. She set the glass down on the bar before we left the place.”

“She sounds unstable as shit,” I said. “Not exactly the sort of person you can trust.”

“Oh, it’s just that there are some things she feels very strongly about. But it is a little trying. Sometimes it’s like I have to watch how I’m acting all the time so she
won’t think I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“Sounds unchill.”

“Well, it’s not as relaxing as hanging here, with you.”

I’m not sure if Samuel actually said that last bit, or if he just thought it. On the way home I felt happier. Even though Samuel went to Laide’s to sleep there. I knew he would never
manage to stay with a person who tried to control him. Soon it would all fall apart. It was only a matter of time.

*

We stayed there for a few hours. Samuel’s grandma told us about the house’s history, how she and her husband (whom she kept calling “Dad”) bought it in
the late 1940s from someone named Kuhlmeier, and even though their bid wasn’t the highest Kuhlmeier liked them so much that he chose to sell to them anyway. The only condition was that they
had to invite Kuhlmeier to dinner once a year. And they did; for eleven years he came over around Ascension Day to eat dinner with her, her husband, and their two, soon to be three, children. Each
time, he brought chocolate macaroons. Then Kuhlmeier died and soon the house was too small for three children so they expanded it, she stood up to show us where the new construction started.

“This is where the house stopped when we bought it and this whole side, the parlor, the bedroom upstairs, and the rec room downstairs, is the part we added on.”

We walked around the house, she showed us the parlor with its dirty parquet, a decaying terrace, sun-faded curtains. She led us up the creaky stairs, showed us the balcony, the maid’s
quarters, the bedroom with green jungle wallpaper, and the bathroom with a pink floral pattern on the walls.

“We had a good life here, Dad and me,” she said several times as we walked through the rooms. “And I think you’ll be just as happy here as we were.”

“Sorry?” I said.

“If you buy it, that is. I know it’s a lot of money. You can’t just pull that many coins from behind your ear. But there’s no rush, go home and talk it over and you can
get back to me if you’re interested.”

“Grandma. It’s me, Samuel. I stayed here on the weekends when I was little, don’t you remember?”

“Of course. Weren’t those the days. It was always fun when you came by and played with Marie and Kerstin and Benke and the little one, what was her name, the little one?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you remember her?”

“Those were Mom’s friends. My mom. Your daughter. How can you not remember your own daughter?”

We stood in the upstairs bedroom in silence. Samuel picked a bit of dirt off a full-length mirror. His cheeks were glowing red.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Anyone want some raspberry boats?”

“Yes please,” I said.

We walked down the stairs. I saw a dark shadow across the cracked paint of the ceiling. It must have been an old water-damage stain; it was shaped like a tulip.

*

Then Samuel vanished again. When I didn’t get any hours at work and no one responded to my letters of application, I spent most of my time at home in front of the
computer. I played strategy games and brainstormed legal ways to earn cash for rent while Samuel and Laide marched in leftist demonstrations and went to luxury spas and ate vegan soup and met each
other’s families.

*

Later that evening, I called Zainab and told her I’d found a place for her to live.

“It’s the perfect house. It will be available in a few weeks. An old woman has been living there. There’s room for the children, it’s way up on a hill, it almost
can’t be seen from the street, and there’s only one neighbor nearby.”

“For how long?” Zainab asked.

“Until further notice. But at least a few months.”

“How much?”

“It’s free.”

“Free?”

“Free.”

“Stop kidding around.”

“It’s free. You can live there for free. It will be your family and a woman named Nihad.”

Zainab was silent, she didn’t say thanks, she just stopped talking, she didn’t say anything for thirty seconds.

“Hello?” I asked. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” she said in a new voice. “I’m still here. I just don’t know what to say.”

Then she spent five minutes praising Allah most Glorious, most Gracious, most Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment, who shows us the straight way, the Powerful and Wonderful and Forgiving.
And I have to say that it felt a little weird to hear her praise and thank this God whom I myself didn’t believe in. After all, I deserved most of the thanks, and Samuel too. We hung up and I
called Nihad, who howled with happiness and kissed the phone until it fell to the floor.

*

Samuel asked more and more frequently how things were going at work. He wondered if I would get more hours next month and how things were going with my job applications. I
reminded him that we divide everything up equally and that it would all work out in the end.

“Of course,” he said. “But I’ve covered all the rent for a few months now. And that seems a little wrong since I hardly even live here.”

“Come home and live here a little more then,” I joked.

*

A few weeks later, Nihad and Zainab moved into Samuel’s grandma’s house. I got the key from Samuel and met Nihad at the station. She had two suitcases with her, she
was wearing make-up, her neck was perfumed, she looked like a human resources director who was going on a conference trip and I don’t know why that bothered me. It was like I wanted her to be
more desperate than she was. We walked to the house and although it was only the second time in my life I’d walked along that street I heard myself saying the same things Samuel had told me.
I pointed out the library, the cafe, and the place where there had been a bike shop up until a few years ago.

Zainab and her children were waiting on the street. They had been dropped off by someone who had already driven away. Zainab and Nihad greeted each other, they had no trouble understanding one
another even though they spoke different dialects. The children had their own little suitcases and they looked wide-eyed at the house as we walked up the gravel hill.

“Who else is going to live here?” asked one of the daughters.

“You’re going to live here,” I said.

“But besides us?” asked the other daughter.

“It’s just us,” said Zainab.

With a roar, the children ran up the stairs and I reminded Zainab that it was important to keep a low profile so the neighbors wouldn’t start to talk. We used the upper entrance, I turned
the key, opened the door, and showed them how the alarm worked. It was simple, when you opened the door it started beeping and you had thirty seconds to enter the correct code. If you were to
forget the code, there was a piece of paper under the alarm keypad that said “ALARM OFF? PRESS 9915. ALARM ON? PRESS 0” in large print.

Nihad and Zainab looked at the piece of paper and chuckled.

“Perfect for burglars. It’s okay if we take it down, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” I said.

Nihad took the piece of paper with the alarm instructions, ripped it in half, and hid it in the chest of drawers in the hallway. I felt proud when she did it. I thought that it was her way of
showing that now she and Zainab and the children lived there. The children had already run into the house, I heard their cries from the parlor.

“There’s an echo in here,” cried one daughter.

“Where do we sleep?” cried the other.

I still hadn’t heard the son’s voice, but then he came back and tugged at Zainab’s clothes.

“What is it, darling?”

She leaned down and picked him up. He whispered in her ear.

“There’s a piano in there.”

*

I filled out job applications, placed them in envelopes, and waited for responses. I sat at home. I went out. I came home. Sometimes I called Samuel. Or sent a text. When he
didn’t answer, I went into his room and looked through his things. I just wanted to remind myself that we still lived together. I paged through his notebooks mostly to help pass the time.

*

The plan was for the house to take care of itself. Samuel had made sure he had all the keys, and if one of his uncles or his mom wanted to go there they would have to contact
him. Nihad and Zainab had been living there for a week when the dishwasher broke. Samuel and I went over there together. He showed us where the tools were kept in the basement and we went through
the dishwasher, cleaning the filter and adjusting the screws. When we turned the power back on it worked again, and Nihad took Samuel’s hand and thanked him sincerely, both for fixing the
dishwasher and for letting her live there. She nodded her head until her black curls bounced off her shoulders. She was holding his hand. She didn’t let go. Samuel said
tfaddel
with
his funny Swedish accent. He looked down at the floor as if he were afraid of what might happen if their eyes met. I realized how beautiful Nihad was.

On the way back to the station, I told Samuel that Nihad had a son who lived with her ex-husband.

“Oh?” he said.

“I just wanted you to know.”

“If her son wants to move in it’s fine with me,” said Samuel.

*

In one of Samuel’s notebooks I found a sketch of something that looked like a science-fiction game. I typed Samuel’s notes into the computer and tidied them up and
thought it might be an idea that could bring Samuel and me back together.

*

What do you mean, “why?” Shouldn’t you be asking “why not?” Why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to do something meaningful? He spent his days
stuck in the straitjacket of bureaucracy. He followed regulations and directives, contacted embassies and booked trips to send people away who wanted to come back. At the same time, his
grandma’s house was standing empty. And people needed somewhere to live. It’s not strange that Samuel wanted to help. The strange thing is that more people don’t do the same.

A few weeks later there was a problem with the upstairs toilet. We went out to the house again, Samuel seemed glad for the chance to see Nihad again, when she opened the door he hugged her and
did his best to communicate in his sad, Swiss-cheese Arabic. We went upstairs. Samuel showed us how you could remove the lid of the toilet and press a little button to make the water fill up on its
own. Then he spent three minutes trying to explain that there were lots of things in the house that needed fixing and that they didn’t have to feel too worried if something broke. Nihad
smiled and nodded and when Samuel was finally finished she looked at me for an explanation of what all these incomprehensible guttural syllables were supposed to mean. I translated and Nihad leaned
forward, pressed her large breasts against him, and kissed Samuel on the cheek.

“Your exceptionally beautiful outside truly matches your soul’s incredible inside,” she said.

Samuel looked at me questioningly.

“She says you’re nice,” I said.

Samuel blushed and scratched his ear and as we walked down the stairs he said that the house hadn’t been this clean in many years.

“Grandma would have been proud if she knew what was going on here. Tell them that they’re welcome to call anytime if there’s anything else that needs fixing.”

Nihad looked at me questioningly. I explained that she was welcome to call if they needed help with anything else.

“Tell him thanks again,” said Nihad. “Tell him my son is coming the day after tomorrow.”

On the way back to the train, Samuel said he was jealous that I was so good at Arabic. He said that his dad had always been more eager for him to learn French.

“Why was that?” I wondered.

“He didn’t want me to end up in bad company.”

*

The rest of that spring just kept going. Time passed so slowly, the way it only does when nothing’s going on, and yet, when I think back on that spring, it feels like it
was over in a second. Maybe it’s always like that, and periods that seem long as you’re living them become short in your memory, and vice versa.

*

Sometimes Samuel suggested I come over to his place. But I was only there a few times. I never liked the way things felt at Vandad’s. The apartment was dark and
impregnated with smoke, Vandad slouched around in sweatpants, drinking ghetto wine from a box and sitting in front of the computer playing war games. I think he was on something, because only
someone who was on drugs could live like that without going crazy.

When I asked Samuel what Vandad did for work, I received contradictory answers. Sometimes he was a mover, pretty often he was “between jobs.” One time, Samuel said I didn’t
have to worry because Vandad had always been able to take care of himself.

“He has a thousand ways to support himself,” said Samuel.

“Name one.”

Samuel said that when Vandad was younger he used to go around Östermalm on the lookout for dogs that were waiting on a leash outside fancy hair salons. He would loosen the leash, take the
dog home, and then go back to the same neighborhood a week or so later and put up posters that said he had found a runaway dog. The owners would call, grateful as anything. When they wanted to give
him a reward, he would say no at first, and then he would take the money.

“That’s sick,” I said.

“Why? No one got hurt. The Östermalmers were just reminded of how much they loved their dogs.”

I shook my head to show I didn’t want to talk about Vandad anymore. It wasn’t him I was worried about, it was Samuel. Vandad used him. He let Samuel pay for everything. And I
didn’t get what he saw in Vandad. When I asked why they were friends, Samuel mumbled something about how Vandad “had his back” and that he could “relax and be himself”
with him. Every time he said it, it felt like he was criticizing me.

*

One day I was called in to help a computer company move offices in Kista. The guy who hired us was the sort of customer who had an uneasy conscience because Blomberg’s
prices were so low. He helped us with the dolly and lifted boxes down from the platform, even though he was some middle-management type with a pale-blue shirt that quickly showed dark rings of
sweat under his arms. When we were done he invited us to have coffee in their new conference room. Everyone helped themselves to the fancy coffee and the pastries and I stood there in the bright
room thinking that places like that needed employees too.