Axel swallowed. But his words would always carry more weight than those of a woman with mental health problems. No matter what sort of claims she tried to make.
‘What more do you want me to say? Come on, let’s go inside.’
‘No, I’m not going inside.’
Torgny closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his beard.
‘Christ, she said that you two had it off back in Västerås while I was asleep on the sofa.’
Axel said nothing.
‘Then she’s sick again, running around somewhere. She packed up her things and took off. She said you were going to meet each other somewhere. She’s been going on about you ever since we were at that Book Day event in Västerås, so I believed her. I should have known there was something wrong. The other day she imagined that she’d got some sort of message in the newspaper. She didn’t want to say what it was, but she was convinced it was for her. I tried to make sense of it but I couldn’t find anything.’
He shook his head slowly.
‘And she has the boy with her too.’
‘What boy?’
‘She has a son a few years old. He’s not mine or anything, but I’ve grown quite fond of him. She doesn’t treat him very well when she’s ill.’
Axel no longer had any feeling in his hands.
‘We have to go in before one of us catches pneumonia.’
‘Damn it, Axel, I think I should apologise for what I said in there. Can we go inside and I’ll explain. Then there won’t be any more trouble about this whole thing.’
Axel’s immediate instinct was to turn down the offer, but he realised it might solve all his problems. If Alice had heard what Torgny said, nothing Axel could say would help. On the other hand, she would surely listen to Torgny. And Gerda would be given proof of his innocence.
‘Actually I’d be grateful if you would.’
Gerda and Alice were sitting on the sofa in the living room. Gerda perched on the very edge after being persuaded to sit down. It was Axel who insisted that she be included. Axel sat in the armchair with a blanket draped over his lap, and Torgny stood before them and made his little speech. Deeply humiliated, he apologised for his behaviour, begging them to forget what they’d heard in his unforgivable outburst in the hall. Alice’s expression was inscrutable. Axel glanced at her occasionally but couldn’t work out how much
she’d caught of the insults. Torgny stumbled on, fumbling unhappily for words that would make amends for overstepping the mark.
‘It was stupid of me. Now I see that I got everything back to front. I was stupid enough to believe what she said. Unfortunately she has problems with her nerves. She’s a wonderful woman, but the past haunts her sometimes, and she has been known to imagine things. I didn’t think it was true this time, but I’m ashamed to say I did come to believe her. I realise that I accused Axel with no justification whatsoever, and I sincerely beg his forgiveness.’
Torgny took a deep breath, and Axel could not help being impressed by his recapitulation. He knew how hard this was for him, to be forced to denigrate himself. A vein in his temple pulsated, revealing his inner turmoil.
Only now did Axel understand how strong Torgny’s love must be, since he was prepared to undergo this humiliation and still defend her. The depth he had never suspected in Torgny was suddenly exposed, the need for love from which all creativity issues.
Alice, who so far had been fidgeting restlessly, stood up.
‘If I’ve understood this correctly, right now a mentally ill woman is running around who is in love with Axel and thinks that they’re a couple. Is that right?’
‘She isn’t seriously ill, and I have no idea why she said this about Axel. Maybe it was simply to hurt me.’
‘Either way, I think we should call the police. I have absolutely no desire to sit here waiting for some madwoman to show up. Who knows what she’s capable of doing?’
Axel put a hand on Alice’s arm.
‘Now, now, calm down.’
‘There’s no need to call the police. She’ll probably be at home by the time I get back, and if not I promise to find her. You don’t have to be the least bit afraid. There’s a greater risk that she might injure herself.’
Alice sat back down.
‘But why Axel, in particular?’
Torgny shrugged.
‘Perhaps because we met him in Västerås, I don’t know.’
Alice turned to Axel.
‘So you have met her?’
‘Yes, we talked a bit during dinner, that’s all.’
Axel looked at Gerda. He realised at once he’d made a mistake. For the first time during the conversation she looked up and stared straight at him. He lowered his eyes, but the damage was done. From her expression he was clearly able to read what she was thinking, and it had nothing to do with what he’d said. He had given himself away with his anxious glance.
‘As I said, I simply want to apologise. I should probably go straight home and see whether she’s turned up.’
Gerda jumped up from the sofa and preceded Torgny out to the hall. Axel stood up to follow them, but Alice stopped him.
‘If I see any sign of that woman I’m going to call the police. What does she look like?’
‘Quite ordinary-looking, dark brown hair, average height. It’ll all work out, Alice, she obviously just needs to take her medication. When she takes it she’s apparently as normal as anyone else.’
Alice snorted.
‘As anyone else? As if that’s supposed to be reassuring.’
Axel said goodbye to Torgny and for safety’s sake locked the door. The blizzard seemed to have abated, but the wind was still blowing hard. Through the hall window he saw Torgny struggling through the snow. Alice disappeared upstairs, and he wondered whether he should follow her, but he decided not to. He could hear sounds from the kitchen, and after a brief pause he went in and sat down at the kitchen table. Gerda stood with her back to him, busy with something on the worktop. Her hands moved efficiently after many years of practice.
‘I have a feeling you don’t really believe what I said.’
Gerda spun round as if she hadn’t heard him come in.
‘Gosh, you gave me a fright.’
Axel sighed and gave her a little smile.
‘Can’t we start talking to each other as friends, once and for all, after all these years?’
Gerda didn’t reply; uncharacteristically she turned her back and went on with her chores. She pulled out a drawer and grabbed a whisk. She cracked two eggs on the edge of a bowl and began expertly whisking them.
‘We’re equals, you and I, Gerda. I don’t see why we can’t just treat each other that way. I’m good at writing and you’re good at what you do, so why do we have to make it so difficult?’
Gerda didn’t answer, but he could hear the motion of the whisk slow down slightly. Once again he felt the similarity to the conversations he’d had with his parents, as if his words were no longer comprehensible but took on a different meaning in their ears than they’d had in his mouth.
‘Gerda, please, won’t you at least talk to me?’
The whisk stopped abruptly. Axel looked at her back.
‘We’re not equals.’
She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear.
‘Yes, Gerda, we are.’
He saw her shoulders rise and fall with her breathing.
‘I know what I have to do, and I do it the best I can. That’s that.’
‘There, you see? That’s the way it is for me too. I just do what I do the best I can.’
In the silence that followed, everything lay open. For eighteen years they had shared this life. For the first time they were having a real conversation. He couldn’t quite grasp why it felt so important, but it did.
‘We’re not equals.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
She still had her back turned away from him.
‘Because I’m content and you’re not. You’re always chasing after what you imagine you could become.’
Gerda went back to whisking, marking the end of their talk. Axel sat speechless, contemplating her words. And he realised that he’d received the most serious insult of his life.
A week later and they all resumed their respective roles in the house. Everything returned to normal. Gerda took care of the housekeeping. Annika did her schoolwork. Axel struggled on with his novel, to no avail. What Alice was doing he had no idea, but she mostly stayed in the library, dressed in her customary dressing gown. They didn’t hear a peep from Torgny. He’d promised to ring as soon as he knew something, but apparently Halina was still missing. Then, on the seventh day, another letter appeared, and it turned out to be the beginning of a daily routine. Each morning a new envelope landed in the letter-box, and Gerda delivered them to his office without comment. Alice was not informed. On a few occasions she asked whether there had been any word from Torgny, and Axel was able to say truthfully that there had not. He put the letters unopened in his cupboard. If anything untoward were to happen, it was a good idea to save the letters as proof of her madness. And as with anything that goes on long enough, the whole thing soon became a habit; the letters were received with the same matter-of-factness as the morning paper.
February turned to March, and the world went its way.
Israel attacked Palestinian guerrillas in Lebanon, and in Mjölby 14 people died in a train crash. The king appealed to the media to respect his private life, and Iraqi forces put down the Kurds’ fight for freedom. U.S. Secretary of State Kissinger tried to mediate in the Middle East, but Egypt refused to go along with any demands as long as Israel occupied Arab land. Researchers feared that we were heading for
a new ice age, Ingemar Stenmark won the World Cup, and it was claimed that the CIA had compiled a hit list of foreign heads of state, with Fidel Castro at the top.
Nothing much new under the sun.
It was April 1975.
T
oday we are facing an acute threat to the environment, with
the greenhouse effect and climate change. Today’s environmental
destruction threatens our entire globalised world and in the long
term could lead to the annihilation of our civilisation. By looking
at prominent extinct civilisations, such as the
Mayans,
scholars have
been able to show that what begins as environmental degradation
risks ending in civil war and the total collapse of society.
It begins when population growth causes an increase in the demand
for food and other resources. Forests are cleared, the soil erodes, plants
and animals are wiped out to make room for agriculture and the
breeding of livestock. The result of depleting the environment and
using up resources is starvation, and finally the population begins to
wage war over the shrinking supplies. In the end the total population
drops drastically because of starvation, illness and war. The ability
to adapt to new living conditions becomes the difference between life
and death. Finally, the total collapse of society is unavoidable, and
a civilisation goes under.
Today we are heading towards a repetition of this mistake. We
decimate the forests, empty the seas of fish, deplete the soil and fight
over the resources that are left. The difference is that we take it
another few steps – we pollute the air and water, which causes global
warming and destroys the basic prerequisites for our own life.
Earlier in history it was a matter of individual, isolated cultures
that went under. Today’s environmental destruction threatens the
whole of our globalised world. The only thing to our advantage, and
which distinguishes us from earlier cultures that were wiped out, is
that we have the opportunity to learn from others’ mistakes. But
are we human beings capable of doing that in depth, or do we
personally have to experience the consequences in order to avoid
them? New generations seem to keep repeating the mistakes of
history, despite research and extensive documentation of the results.
What harms us is our tendency to choose most often to do what
works best for ourselves in the short term, even though in the long
run it turns out worse for all of
us.
Kristoffer put down the book and looked at the clock. It was five past three, which explained why he wanted a cup of coffee. He got up and went over to the window. The rain was falling diagonally, and the bare tree branches in Katarina cemetery were shaking in the wind. Kristoffer, who’d been considering taking a walk over to Café Neo, decided to stay in.
He still hadn’t heard from Jesper, despite the fact that he’d rung him several times, sounding more and more urgent in his messages. Finally he revealed that he had something important to tell him, because after having admitted the truth to Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt he felt lonelier than ever. He wanted to ask Jesper to come with him to Gerda’s funeral. After the experience in Västerås he realised that he needed a friend at his side, no matter how hard it was to admit. He was used to managing by himself, and it bothered him to have to ask for something that weakened his independence, tied him to an obligation that he might be forced to reciprocate at any time.
His laptop was closed, and books and magazines were strewn across the table. He was determined to let his work tear his thoughts away from what awaited.
The deadline for his play came closer and closer. But writing was easier said than done when all his thoughts were elsewhere. They kept returning to the funeral, where he would meet Gerda’s friends, and the mixture of anticipation and fear spoiled his concentration. He resorted to watching the
rain, doing his best to find inspiration. He had to include that in the play. The fact that the weather was no longer what it had been. That madness was rampant. The idiocy of short-term thinking. From time immemorial the climate had been one of the few things that refused to submit to humanity’s need for power and was impossible to influence. Those days were gone. Now it had been proven that our amazing planet had finally been forced to yield; it could no longer put up resistance. The monumental victory of market forces. The stupidity of human beings in all its glory.
He would get the play done in time. It was his duty to wake people up, since so few seemed to understand that there was a real urgency.
He went back to his computer and sat down.
FATHER
: So what have we decided? Are we going to Thailand or Brazil?
DAUGHTER
: What about a camping trip?
FATHER
: Camping?
DAUGHTER
: Do you know how much CO2 emission our family would produce on a trip to Thailand by air? Five point four tonnes.
MOTHER
: Good Lord, how tedious you are! I don’t understand how you got like this.
DAUGHTER
: I know, it’s unbelievable.
MOTHER
: That plane will spew out just as much junk even if we stay at home and have a boring time. Just because we happen to be environmentally aware, do we have to give up our lovely holiday in the sun? Not on your life. I really need a few weeks of sunshine this time of year just to keep going.
SON
: We could buy carbon credits then. To offset what we’re emitting.
DAUGHTER
: We’d be emitting just as much crap anyway! You can’t buy everything. Especially not freedom from your own responsibility.
FATHER
: Sweetheart, it’s good that you’re so involved, but now you’re just being foolish.
DAUGHTER
: Foolish?
FATHER
: Surely you realise that someone else is going to come along and buy our tickets even if we don’t go. The Svenssons, for example, are going to Bali on holiday, and I don’t intend to sit here and listen to their damned travel stories when the only place I’ve been is camping.
He got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. His thoughts strayed once again, edging their way out of the isolation of his flat. If only Jesper would ring. He filled the glass and went back to his desk, sat down and read what he’d written. Placed his hands above the keyboard, but again his thoughts roamed. He made a quick note of the idea he’d just had before it too managed to disappear.
But when the occasion arises, all are equally intent on applauding
role models like Joseph Schultz, convinced that when the chips were
down they would be equally
heroic.
He folded down the screen. It was futile even to try. It was as if all his thoughts had been loaned out from the place where they actually belonged. Restlessness kept forcing him out of his chair, and he’d lost count of how many useless walks he’d taken around the flat. It was like an itch inside him. On several occasions he had caught himself counting his pounding heartbeat. It frightened him, since he knew that it resembled something he’d experienced before. During those first wretched months in the flat, when he was tortured by the loss of his life’s companion. The one thing that had helped him simplify reality. He let his gaze wander up the
bookshelf and over to the bottle of cognac. Purchased on the day of the première of
Find and Replace All,
to stand as an unopened monument to his achievement and his indomitable character. It had fortified him, made him feel invincible.
He got up again and went to check his mobile, to see whether he might have missed a call or message, but the display was blank. He dialled Jesper’s number but was met at once by his recorded voice.
He sighed in annoyance.
‘It’s me again. Call. It’s extremely important.’
He disconnected and tossed the mobile on the sofa. It landed next to a piece of paper: the article about Torgny Wennberg he’d printed out a few nights ago. He sat down and read through it. Astonished once again at the tragic headline.
Forgotten proletarian writer.
No survivor here.
At the bottom was the phone number he’d found online. He looked at his phone, pondered for a moment. Born 1928. Fourteen years younger than Gerda. He wondered how well they had known each other. Maybe they’d even been related. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t get anything done until he found out why he’d ended up in Gerda Persson’s will. The fact that he kept glancing at the cognac, feeling that he was no longer invincible, made him pick up the mobile and punch in the numbers.
He didn’t have a chance to think through what he was going to say before he heard a raspy voice on the other end.
‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Hello?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this Torgny Wennberg?’
‘Who is this?’
‘I don’t know if I have the right number, but I’m looking for Torgny Wennberg, who was an author?’
‘What do you mean, “was”?’
Kristoffer picked up the printout he had put down earlier.
‘No, I just mean is this the Torgny Wennberg who wrote
Keep the Fire Burning
and
The Wind Whispers Your Name
? Among others,’ he added, when he got no reply.
‘Yes. That’s me.’
Only now did Kristoffer hesitate and wonder what he should say. He wished he had planned the conversation better.
‘If you’re one of those fucking salesmen, then I’m not interested.’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that.’
He hesitated again. Torgny Wennberg sounded irritated, and he didn’t want to risk being dismissed on the phone. He decided to take a chance.
‘I was wondering if I might possibly interview you about what it’s like to be a proletarian author. I’m a playwright myself, and I read about you on a web site. I’m working on a piece right now and it would be a great help if I could meet with you. If you have time, of course. I would appreciate asking you a few questions.’
There was silence on the line. He realised that further coaxing was required.
‘I’d be happy to buy you dinner or lunch or something, near where you live, so it won’t be so much trouble for you.’
‘No, damn it, we can’t even go to the pub now that smoking is no longer allowed. So you’ll have to come up here if you’re interested. I’ll be at home tonight if it’s that urgent.’
With relief Kristoffer said that would be fine, and they agreed on a time. He asked if he should bring anything, and Torgny suggested picking up a pizza for him. There was a pizzeria right around the corner.
Everything felt suddenly lighter. It was the passive uncertainty that was so taxing; now he was on his way again.
Not until he pulled on his shoes did it occur to him that he hadn’t mentioned his name.
* * *
He took the path across the cemetery and continued towards the bus stop. There were no seats on the bus but he was happy to stand. It made his restlessness less obvious. A mother with a child in a pushchair stood in the crush by the central doors. The boy was shrieking and kept trying to climb out of his prison, to his mother’s increasing exasperation. She looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes; the boy was bright red in the face and the hair sticking out from under his cap had stuck to his sweaty forehead. Finally the mother’s patience ran out; grabbing the boy roughly by the arm, she shoved him back down in the pushchair. A man with a briefcase gave the woman a disapproving look. The boy stopped screaming at once and rubbed his arm where his mother’s hand had grabbed it.
Why not like fish roe? thought Kristoffer. Or tadpoles? Why did human offspring have to be dependent on and at the mercy of their progenitors, marked for life by their mistakes?
He got off the bus and looked for the pizzeria. He ordered two pizzas and sat down to wait. Although it was only five o’clock, several of the tables were occupied. Two people at one table, two at another, a party of four – scattered throughout the room, all the customers sat with invisible barriers between the tables. In the endless space-time of eternity they all happened to be gathered right here, right now. For one single moment. Kristoffer imagined a scenario. What if a madman came in the door and took them all hostage? In an instant everything would change – the barriers would be torn down and together they would form a unit. United by a common threat they would quickly organise themselves into a group and do everything possible to work together. But as long as no threat was in sight, they sat there and did their best not to notice one another.
‘Your pizzas are ready.’
Kristoffer stood up and paid for them.
He cast one last look at the diners before he walked out the door.
Clearly the threat of climate change was not scary enough.
Torgny Wennberg had given him the code to the front door, and he balanced the pizza cartons on one knee as he keyed in the numbers. The lock buzzed and he pushed open the door. A list of residents informed him that Torgny lived on the third floor, and since it was difficult to pull open the grille of the lift with his hands full of pizza, he decided to take the stairs. He pressed the doorbell and the next moment the little point of light in the middle of the peephole turned black, and Kristoffer knew that Torgny was looking at him. He smiled, and the next moment the door was opened. Kristoffer smiled a little more.
‘Hello, here I am with the pizza.’
Torgny Wennberg stood quite still and stared at him. He didn’t move a muscle to indicate that he was going to let him in, and his expression made Kristoffer unsure.