His heart was thumping.
‘It’s like this, I… This feels especially important for me because I…’
He fell silent; what he wanted to say was inexpressible. How could such a little word contain such great anguish?
Jan-Erik looked at him. He had an odd look on his face, and Kristoffer gathered his strength for the inevitable. He closed his eyes.
‘I’m a foundling.’
He opened his eyes. A sense of heaviness he’d never felt before spread through his body, and all at once it seemed difficult to move. Jan-Erik sat motionless, only his eyelids blinked occasionally. As if it would help him to take in the information. After a long while he finally spoke.
‘So you think this has something to do with Gerda?’
‘I don’t know.’
He inhaled deeply, trying to counteract the force of the weight that was dragging him down.
‘I know nothing about my origins, but of course it struck me when I heard she wanted me to inherit her estate. But, as I said, as far as I know I’ve never met her.’
‘So you think Gerda may have been your mother?’
‘No, she couldn’t have been – she would have been fifty-eight when I was born. But somehow she must have known that I’m a… a foundling. I lived with my adoptive parents from a very young age, so it’s not something that people know, and it’s nothing I’ve ever really talked about.’
He lowered his eyes.
‘This is actually the first time I’ve told anyone.’
Jan-Erik, who had been leaning back in his chair, abruptly shifted position.
‘What year were you born?’ His voice had taken on a new tone.
‘Seventy-one, I think. Possibly seventy-two.’
‘What do you mean, you
think
?’
‘No one really knows how old I was when they found me.’
‘But you couldn’t have been born as late as seventy-six?’
‘No, I went to my foster family in 1975.’
For some reason Jan-Erik looked relieved. He got up and found his briefcase, opened it and took out a bottle of Glenlivet.
‘This calls for a drink. Would you like one?’
Kristoffer looked at the bottle. Jan-Erik set out a little tray with two glasses and poured whisky into them, took one and handed it to Kristoffer.
‘Well, it’s a strange story. I don’t really see how I can help you, though. I haven’t the slightest idea how it’s all connected.’
The fumes from the glass in Kristoffer’s hand crept into his nostrils. His whole body was ready to accept the longed-for drink – the one thing that was missing for him to feel complete. Just a little, just a single drink, now that he’d told someone for the first time.
‘There aren’t many people you could ask, either. As far as I know, Gerda didn’t have many friends. She always stayed in, even when she wasn’t working.’
Kristoffer looked at the glass. The liquid shimmered, as bright as amber. He was desperate to take a sip; he deserved to be viewed as an equal. He couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t reveal yet another shame to Jan-Erik. That besides being a foundling, he was also an alcoholic.
A sudden fury came to his rescue. Who did he think he was, anyway, this man before him? Sitting there with his whisky puzzling over Kristoffer’s background, when he’d soon forget all about it and go to his hotel and have a fancy dinner with his wife. This man who because of his sophisticated family tree could travel about basking in the glow of his surname. And he couldn’t even write; he was only mimicking what his father had once created. So simple, so fucking privileged.
The glass in Kristoffer’s hand was so tempting soon he wouldn’t be able to resist.
‘What time is it?’
‘10.35.’
He put down the whisky and stood up.
‘My train is leaving soon, so I’ll have to be going.’
Jan-Erik knocked back the last drops, stood up and offered his hand.
‘Best of luck, then.’
‘Same to you.’
Kristoffer couldn’t get out into the fresh air fast enough. At the same time he felt a weariness so overpowering his legs would hardly carry him. He went out the way he’d come in, across the stage and through the auditorium to the foyer. Outside the doors he stopped and filled his lungs with air, trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing. Because now he regretted it. He had placed his secret in someone else’s hands, but instead of feeling unburdened he felt exposed. He wanted to go inside and take it all back, tell him that what he’d said was a lie. He didn’t want Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt to know he was a person who had been discarded like old rubbish.
He fished out his mobile, wanting to ring Jesper and hear his voice, to experience something ordinary, something that belonged to the time before his confession. Four rings. The voicemail picked up. He didn’t leave a message.
Across the street was the park he had to walk across to get to the station. Full of shadows and hidden secrets, it felt threatening. He made it halfway across the street before his fear of the dark took over. But he had to get to the train. He wanted nothing more than to get home. He stood on the pavement and lowered his head. On the street in front of his feet there was a dark spot on the tarmac, an oval shape that he suddenly imagined looked like an eye. Without knowing why he stood on the spot and closed his eyes. In the next moment he realised to his astonishment that he had begun to sing.
‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.’
He opened his eyes and looked towards the park.
The dark didn’t scare him any more.
He was no longer afraid.
W
hen Axel woke up he was alone. Some time during the night she’d had the good taste to avoid a farewell that would detract from their experience. There was nothing left to say that hadn’t been said already. He felt gratitude over what had happened, yet right now it felt hard to believe. With his hands clasped behind his head he recalled the experience. It was so extraordinary that during the night he’d been the object of a woman’s desire, that his presence had aroused her lust. Now it aroused only disgust with Alice. He did not wish anything undone. On the contrary, he felt exhilarated by what had happened. He’d thought that desire had left him, that it had gone after all those years spent in sexual deprivation. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d missed it; he’d directed his passion towards his writing, which became his surrogate lover. He already knew that it was only this one time, and he felt no wish for a repeat performance. They had met by accident and taken advantage of the occasion, there wasn’t anything more to it. Now he would return home and continue working on his book in the hope that what happened would give him inspiration.
He got up and went into the bathroom. Filled a glass with water and drank. Despite a slight headache he felt in excellent spirits.
He skipped breakfast, deciding to have a coffee at the train station. He wanted to retain the memory of the night as it was, pure and unspoiled. Like when he was a boy and had
experienced something special that only he knew about, and then could safely carry his treasure about in his heart.
It was walking distance to the station, and he said goodbye to no one before he left.
He strolled through the park towards the station. The night had been cold, and in the shadows a thin layer of frost covered the ground. For weeks it had been grey and dark, but today the autumn sun peeked out from its hiding place. The air was so clear his eyes watered. He wanted to go home to his work. He had waited so long for the spark to be ignited. Now it was back, he could feel it, longed for and welcome.
The train was just about to depart. He was sitting alone in a compartment for eight and had gratefully pulled shut the door to the corridor. He looked at the glass carafe in its holder on the wall and wondered when the water had last been changed. On the table before him lay his pad and pen, but he hadn’t written a word. Then the door was shoved open and Torgny and Halina stepped in.
‘There you are!’ exclaimed Torgny. ‘Where did you go off to last night?’
He heaved the bags onto the luggage rack, and Axel’s and Halina’s eyes met. He couldn’t say a word. Torgny threw himself down on one of the seats and took off his scarf. His eyes were bloodshot and he stank of stale alcohol.
‘Oh, curse this bloody headache, I don’t know what it is. I’ve got to cut back on the cigarettes.’
He grinned and patted the seat next to him.
‘Come and sit down, sweetie.’
Halina hung her jacket on one of the hooks. Torgny caught sight of Axel’s writing pad.
‘Don’t tell me you’re sitting here writing?’
Axel collected his things and put them back in his leather briefcase.
‘No, I was just about to make some notes.’
‘Damn it, Ragnerfeldt, you’re going to have to learn to
relax and let go a little. Come down to earth with the rest of us once in a while, and pull out that stick you’ve got up your arse.’
Torgny laughed and sought approval in Halina’s eyes. Axel realised that Torgny was still drunk. Even though his language was occasionally improper, this was a bit coarse even for him. Halina pushed open the door.
‘I just have to go to the toilet.’
She pulled the door shut behind her and turned to meet Axel’s eyes through the glass before she vanished.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Torgny smiled and nodded towards the door.
‘She seems very nice.’
‘Damn it, Ragnerfeldt, come on. I saw the way you were looking at her last night. I sure as hell didn’t realise there was such a horny little devil inside you.’
Axel said nothing. The language Torgny was using was the kind that Axel had left in his childhood. This side of Torgny’s personality was as new as it was disgusting. Even if the situation had been different Axel would have had a hard time joining in this sort of conversation.
Torgny leaned forward.
‘She’s a real animal, just between you and me. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, well, maybe a little on the sofa at the party but that hardly counts. The only complaint I have is that I don’t get much writing done since she moved in, but I suppose I have to take the bad with the good.’
For a few seconds Axel fumbled for a bearable interpretation. Then he had to acknowledge one that made him feel sick.
Torgny is my friend, but not my man. We’re not a couple or
anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.
She had lied, duped him into doing something that lay far beneath his dignity. To betray Alice was something he had chosen to do; it may not have been very honourable but it was acceptable at the time. But one never touched a colleague’s
woman. Suddenly he was in debt to a man he detested. Who sat there reeking of alcohol, contaminating the air with his repulsive words. From his higher ground he had slipped and become inferior to Torgny, since he was the one who had committed a base act in their relationship.
The thought was repellent.
Halina came back and Axel avoided looking at her. Their experience had been transformed into something crude and perverse; what he’d done was the opposite of everything he’d ever been taught. Loyalty, morality and a conscientious life.
He got up and began gathering his things.
‘If you’ll excuse me I’m going to sit in a different car.’
Torgny objected but Axel didn’t listen. He just wanted to get out of the compartment and never have to see either of them again; he couldn’t get away from them fast enough.
‘Wait, you dropped something.’
He was already standing in the corridor, about to pull the door shut. Halina picked up something from the floor, and without meeting her eyes he took what she had in her hand and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Then he went to the last carriage on the train and stood in the corridor until the train pulled into Stockholm Central Station.
When he got home he went straight to his office and closed the door. On the way there he’d encountered Gerda, who took his bag and told him that his wife was resting and his daughter was in her room; she had a cold and had stayed home from school. He didn’t feel like seeing either of them, and he asked Gerda to say that he was not to be disturbed.
He didn’t leave his office all afternoon. Just before six he went to the kitchen and asked Gerda if she could bring him dinner at his desk. He didn’t get one word written; all his thoughts were circling around the events of the night before and how he could repress them. At nine o’clock he gave up, took his empty plate and went out to the kitchen. Annika
was sitting at the kitchen table with a pen and a piece of stationery. He was amazed to see how grown-up she looked. No longer a girl, but soon a woman.
She looked up when he came in.
‘Hi.’
‘Hello, dear.’
He put down his plate, took a glass and filled it under the tap. He tried to work out how old she was. Was she fourteen at her last birthday?
‘What are you doing?’ he asked her.
‘Writing a letter to Jan-Erik.’
He drank the water. Gerda came in and curtseyed when she saw him. He no longer knew how many times he’d asked her not to do it, but eventually he’d given up.
‘Excuse me, sir, but I found this in your jacket pocket, and I thought it might be important.’
He set down his glass and went over to her. She handed over a little folded piece of paper. He opened it and read:
In all haste…
Thank you for a wonderful night.
I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.
Your H
He quickly crumpled up the note and glanced at Gerda. She didn’t return his gaze, and her impassive expression was impossible to interpret – he couldn’t tell whether she had read it or not. Without saying anything more he left the kitchen and went back to his office, tore the note into tiny pieces and flung them in his wastepaper basket. Then he thought for a moment, got up and opened the door.
‘Gerda!’
He waited a few seconds before he called again.
‘Gerda! Would you please come here?’
In the next instant she appeared. Her shy gaze swept past his a couple of times before fixing on the wall behind him.
‘I just want to say a few words. Come in here, please, for a moment.’
He tried to make his voice sound kind but saw that she was afraid. He held the door open for her and closed it when she stepped over the threshold. She stopped just inside the door, and he went to sit behind his desk. Her obvious anxiety diminished his own, but he still needed the power conferred by the desk.
‘I just want you to know that Torgny Wennberg is no longer welcome in this house. If he shows up, please tell him I’m not available.’
Gerda curtseyed.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And for God’s sake stop all that curtseying!’
In sheer fright she looked up and their eyes met. This time he lost his patience. She was more than ten years older than he was, and yet she looked like a browbeaten schoolgirl.
‘Yes, sir.’
Axel regretted it at once. He knew that she had worked as a servant since the late twenties, when other customs prevailed; it was only natural that she would behave the way she did. Yet he felt uncomfortable when he witnessed her submissiveness. It reminded him of his parents, the way they always hunched over when faced with authority figures. Even with him, nowadays, as if he were a stranger.
‘Gerda, please forgive me, it was not my intention to raise my voice.’
Gerda didn’t respond. Just stood there inside the door with her eyes fixed on the carpet.
‘Was there anything else?’
He hesitated. Should he mention the note? If she had read it, anything he said would only draw attention to it. If she hadn’t read it, what he said would be a form of confession. He decided to let the matter rest. If Halina got in touch he would clearly and unequivocally declare his lack of interest,
and Gerda would know nothing more about it. The whole thing would be over, and everything could carry on as usual.
‘No, that will be all.’
Gerda curtseyed and quickly left the room.
Axel sat there looking at the closed door. Gerda, and all she represented, was a reminder of a vanished era. In the present day it was considered inappropriate to have a housekeeper, especially in left-wing intellectual circles where the gap between classes was supposed to be non-existent. But the truth was, they couldn’t get along without her.
Four days passed. Four days of writing nothing. The piece of paper that met him each morning was still a blank blinding white when he gave up in the evening. Alice had a few good days when nothing in particular provoked her, and she mostly stayed in the library. In the evenings the sound of the TV seeped into his office. Sometimes he would emerge and try to keep her company. Silently they would watch
Columbo
until he could no longer stand it and went back to his office. He knew that she missed Jan-Erik and was sad that they rarely heard from him. Whenever a letter arrived it was always addressed to Annika. Sometimes he got the feeling that Alice was more attached to the children when they were out of sight. As far as he knew, she didn’t devote many hours to the teenager who was still living here. He couldn’t understand why Alice didn’t try to write anything again. When the children were small she’d complained that she didn’t have time, but her excuse was no longer valid. Sometimes, staring at the blank page, he envied her. Her right not even to try.
When he went to bed she was still up. As he waited for sleep to come his thoughts flew to his night with Halina. Not to her personally; her face was robbed of all its features. His fantasies followed the path of his hand over skin, a woman’s skin. He recalled how his hands had grabbed greedily for her, how she willingly opened up, the sounds she made. How she gave herself without reservation in a way Alice had never
done, not even long ago before it had all mouldered away. Now he wondered whether he’d made a fatal mistake by awakening an urge he had no longer missed. Because how could he satisfy it now? With Alice downstairs in front of the TV? The thought was implausible, almost repulsive. But what if? Could he find the courage necessary to take the initiative after all these years? To risk being rejected? Was it even possible to reawaken the passion he’d once felt for her, which had long since been submerged by all the quarrels, all the indifference, all the silence? He remembered how he’d felt in their early years together. When they had made love and lain close to each other and listened to each other’s heartbeat. The feeling that no one could ever be less alone than this.
He realised it was more difficult to have sex with his wife than with a strange woman at a hotel. The thought intrigued. Maybe he could use it in his book.
The feeling of guilt had begun to dissipate. Once in a while a memory would flit past, but it was easy enough to ignore. What was done was done, and only time could dilute his mistake. But on the fifth day after his night with Halina a thick, oversized, unstamped envelope was lying on his desk when he returned to his office. He turned it over. His fury was instantaneous when he saw the single letter H. Just an H. As if they had a secret intimacy. He went out to look for Gerda. He found her on her knees in front of the tile stove in the living room. ‘Where did this come from?’
Gerda stood up quickly and smoothed out her apron. He held out the envelope.
‘It was hanging in a bag on the front door. It must have come by courier, although I didn’t hear anyone ring the doorbell.’
Through the doorway to the library Axel caught sight of his wife sitting in one of the easy chairs reading a book.