The Best Book in the World (19 page)

‘F…fucking hell, you were really great,’ Lenny yells. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read so bloody well.’

‘Fanks, it was blooody fun,’ says Titus, slurring his words.

‘Fuck, Titus. You are almost a popular hero now, after all your readings. Aren’t you going to write a new book now, so you can cash in on your popularity?’

‘Yeah, purrhaps, purrhaps…’

‘What, are you working on something new?’

‘You never know…’ says Titus, and tries to avoid going into the subject.

‘What is it? What are you writing now? Tell me!’

‘Well it isn’t anything. I’m not working on anything special.’

‘Ah, come off it, pull the other one!’ Lenny counters. ‘We have hardly seen you all summer. You must have something in the works. What is your book about?’

‘One thing and another. Nothing special. Let’s talk about
something
else.’

‘Oh no, that’s interesting. What are you writing about? I want to know.’

Titus wonders why Lenny is suddenly so overly interested in his writing. What plans are he and Eddie cooking up? Are they going
to try to steal his ideas? The conspiracy theories wash over him again. But who would believe him? He needs concrete evidence before he goes to Astra and Evita and tells them that Eddie X and the Babelfish publishing house are going to produce their own genre-transcending book. Or should he go directly to the police? He is not sure if they care about immaterial theft. Just think how the MP3 pirates knocked out the entire record industry without the police so much as lifting a finger to help them. He looks quickly across the table to see what Eddie is busy with.

Eddie is sitting with his legs wide apart on his chair and with his arms behind his head. He’s talking to Astra, who is standing next to him on high heels with her expensive handbag in a firm grip. Cautious, not to say suspicious. She looks extremely attractive this evening, a summery tan and with heavy black eyeshadow. Dressed for business, but with rather too many undone buttons on her blouse to suit a dusty meeting at the office.

Astra! Is she here? Then she must be convinced I’m drunk and have broken the contract, Titus thinks. In a slurring voice, he mutters something to Lenny about coming back and then rushes up to Astra.

‘Astra! Astra, I must talk to you!’

‘Nice to see you too,’ says Astra and gives Titus the most tired of looks. She really wants to keep a certain distance from him, otherwise he will completely devour her with his manic behaviour. But she follows along when Titus pulls her over to an empty part of the terrace.

‘Astra, listen to me now. I am one hundred per cent sober. I’m just pretending to be drunk so that they won’t know I’m alert and writing again.’

Astra gives a laugh.

‘Pretending to be drunk!? Come off it, are you twelve years old or what? Get a grip, Titus.’

‘I promise. Have a sniff.’

He leans over her face and breathes out for all he is worth over her nose. She gives a start. It doesn’t smell particularly nice. But sloshed? No, it doesn’t actually smell like that.

‘Why are you behaving like this?’ Astra pushes Titus’ face away from her.

‘I must. They can’t be allowed to find out anything.’

‘Who can’t? What are you talking about?’

‘Eddie. And Lenny too, I think. I’m not sure. Something is going on there. They keep on pumping me about the book. They know something. And Eddie is not at all who you think he is. He is dangerous. Beware of him.’

‘But…’

She doesn’t have time to find out what Titus is babbling about. The velvet-eyed Eddie X has suddenly sneaked up behind her and put his arm around her waist. A feeling like a minor electric shock goes through her body and she remembers the moments among the eiderdowns on board the yacht. Life is complicated, nobody can say otherwise.

‘Having a conference?’ says Eddie and gives her a warm smile.

‘Mmmm,’ mutters Titus, who returns to his strategy of rationing his words.

‘I didn’t have a chance to ask you what you thought about the evening, Astra?’

‘A success, Eddie. Really. Well done,’ says Astra in a cautious tone.

‘Thanks. Come and sit with us. There’s some food coming in soon. Or, rather, “out”. There’s some food coming
out
soon,’ says Eddie, and indicates the open night sky above them. ‘I have longed to see you, Astra. I’d like to talk to you.’

He puts his hand on her arm, stroking it softly.

Astra thaws a little more and agrees. A lot of things need to be sorted out. Even though she has buried herself in work the last few weeks, she hasn’t been able to forget what actually happened. Who has said what and to whom? Has Eddie really boasted to Lenny about how he would seduce her? Or was it Titus’ abstinence that created such figments of the imagination? She doesn’t doubt one second that Titus is unreliable. The very fact of calling Eddie ”dangerous”, for example. Ridiculous…

Once back at the table, Eddie devours Astra with his attention.
They eat tapas, drink wine and chat together. Eddie is very interested in every detail of Astra’s life. She feels as if she is really being seen for who she is. Slowly but surely, Eddie builds up his credibility again. Eventually, Astra also gets the answer to her question.

‘Yes, it’s true that I told Lenny how much I love you. And you know how he is, as soon as you say something serious he gets all nervous and starts swearing and twitching. Makes dirty gestures. Exaggerates. He can’t do serious. If something becomes genuine and for real, he just wants to run away and talk drivel. I don’t know how he has dealt with what I shared with him. I can imagine that he has said that to Titus. Yeah, told him I had said that. But of course I haven’t.’

‘Why does he behave like that?’

‘I think it is from his childhood. His dad is a famous psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever it’s called. He could never really accept that his own child could have Tourette’s syndrome. I suppose he thought that he gave his son all the love and security he could. Yeah, he probably thought that Lenny shouldn’t have Tourette’s syndrome quite simply. But he does, whatever you say. Lenny’s dad didn’t even manage to alleviate the problem; I think that was what caused the problem.’

‘No, you could say that again. The problem is far from being alleviated,’ Astra cuts in. She has never really discovered what made Lenny tick. She thinks on the whole that he is weird and she has always found it hard to understand the greatness in the noisy music made by The Tourettes.

‘Lenny always felt that his dad didn’t take his situation seriously,’ Eddie goes on. ‘It was nearly always his patients that got all the attention. In the end, Lenny himself gave up trying to combat his Tourette’s and started to accept his situation instead. Tourette’s came to be his best friend, you might say. He let it go into full bloom. He opened all the taps, just let it run freely. Tourette’s has made him what he is today. Today he is respected for the man he is. He wouldn’t be anything without his syndrome.’

‘And his dad? What happened to him?’

‘I don’t know. They don’t have any contact today, haven’t spoken to each other for many years. Perhaps the guy is even dead. Yeah, I think he probably is. I am convinced that Lenny doesn’t actually care.’

‘Sad.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. The important thing is that Lenny can be who he really is, don’t you think?’

They look across the table towards Lenny where he’s sitting with his tics and talking to Titus and some others. He gesticulates and yells, laughs and swears. He looks as if he is having a whale of a time.

Titus, however, looks tired and keeps sneaking looks at Astra and Eddie X. He tries to attract her attention with his gaze. He has been doing it for quite some time.

‘Pah, I can’t cope with his puppy dog eyes anymore!’ Astra says to Eddie. ‘He is always under my skin, it’s driving me crazy.’

Eddie looks at her, surprised.

‘I thought you loved Titus?’

Astra laughs.

‘Love? Haha, no I am just his publisher, not his mother. No thanks, I don’t want a whole load of emotions when I’m working.’

They sit in silence for a few moments. Astra doesn’t know which thread she should unravel to find a more amusing subject of conversation. Eddie puts his hand on hers, a gesture of joint understanding.

‘So you also think he has changed?’ he says in a low hiss, and sneaks a dark look at Titus.

Astra reacts to his sudden hissing. She doesn’t recognise that. She pulls her hand away.

‘Changed?’

‘Yeah, don’t you notice how everybody looks at him,’ Eddie goes on with growing anger in his voice. ‘He is a superhero this evening. Before, he was a clown when he did his readings. Now people love him. Did you see how the audience cheered him?’

‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’

Eddie snorts.

‘Good? They hardly paid any attention to me this evening. It was just Titus, Titus, Titus, right across the board. And did you hear that he almost started talking about love? It isn’t Titus who should talk about love, it’s me!’

Eddie doesn’t look Astra in the eye. Instead he is blinking feverishly and staring at Titus, clenching his fists so that his knuckles go all white.

‘Can’t you see how he’s draining me? He stole me, he’s emptying me! He’s crawling into me, he’s filling all my senses with his stinking blackness, and he just stands over there and smiles with his rosy cheeks. I fucking hate it!’

Astra looks at Eddie with growing amazement. Something seems to have cracked inside him. Nasty marsh gases are hissing out of Eddie X the love poet. How the hell could she ever have felt attracted to him?

These bloody artists. She must get away. Quickly.

Titus sees Astra suddenly leave the party. She looks tired and irritated. A pity, he had hoped to talk a little more with her. Now there is nothing else to keep him here at the party. He decides to set off for home. He is dead tired and looking forward to having a moment to himself. He hasn’t had so many social contacts for months. How did he manage it before, when he was nearly always at parties?

Titus says ‘See you, then’ to Lenny, who insists on following along a bit of the way, even though he is a bit unsteady on his legs on account of all the gin.

‘Okay, let’s go,’ says Lenny.

Might be a good thing, thinks Titus. Now I can try to pump him about that break-in and what sort of mischief he and Eddie are up to.

They set off together down the narrow alleys. Near Hornstull they meet a bunch of Hammarby supporters with their green and white scarves. They joyfully greet Lenny and Titus as if it was obvious that the only thing people are thinking just now is that Hammarby has won a home match at the Söder stadium. Yes, this is a good day
for Stockholm. Warm weather, a football victory and a legendary Spoken Word evening – could it be better?

Titus is most satisfied with his evening. He has delivered a
top-notch
reading and got paid 4,000 kronor cash. He’ll be able to live on that for a while. The only fly in the ointment was that Astra and Eddie spent so much time together; he really hopes that Astra has listened to his warnings. In his heart he wants to believe that she is on his side.

Somebody calls his name from across the street. Titus turns around. He sees the young couple from the steps, the two who sat right at the front and who were so enthusiastic when he read. They each blow him a kiss, and give him a smile. He waves back, slightly embarrassed, puts his hand over his heart and gives a little bow. Just think: they became a couple thanks to him!

Titus couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be drunk any longer. Anyway, Lenny is so sloshed that he won’t notice. He decides to be direct, sink or swim.

‘Lenny, I was wondering…’

‘Yeah?’

‘What exactly are you and Eddie up to?’

Lenny stops in his tracks and looks stupidly at Titus.

‘What, how do you know?’

‘I just know. But why?’

‘I don’t know. Eddie wanted to. It wasn’t me.’

‘Come off it. I saw you running away!’

‘Yeah, well, I mean, it was me who was there. But it was Eddie’s idea.’

‘But why? What does he want?’

‘I can’t tell you, Titus. It’s impossible, I’ve promised Eddie. But I was only inside your place a few minutes. I didn’t take a single thing, I promise. I just looked.’

‘For what? Tell me what you are up to! Admit that you are spying on me!’

‘I can’t say any more. Stop it now. Stop it! You are the one who must talk. Now you must talk. I have promised. Please. Talk now!’

And Lenny continues the same pestering that he has been busy with all evening. What is Titus writing? How far has he got? Will it be good? What is it about? How many people know what he is writing?

Lenny goes on and on about it, but doesn’t hear that Titus never answers any of his questions. There is just Lenny’s monotonous one-way nagging, completely without interactivity. This is a sort of admittance of guilt too, Titus thinks, otherwise why would he keep on with these stubborn efforts to try to discover what Titus is writing? Yes, there is absolutely no doubt about it: Eddie and Lenny are in the midst of a gigantic coup. They seem to think that they can steal the copyright to a literary work. Idiots. Nutters. Small fry. Don’t they realise that they’re too late? He has virtually finished. It is just a matter of days and then it will start: the long success story of
The Best Book in the World,
with Titus Jensen on the cover.

He looks at Lenny. Suddenly it strikes him.

Lenny is not stuttering.

Lenny is not twitching.

He is not even swearing.

He has… recovered?

T
here is a cup of steaming-hot herbal tea beside Titus’ computer. He has slept a long time and now feels rested and strong. He isn’t afraid of Eddie X any longer. Eddie and Lenny are just a couple of clowns, they can’t get at him now. It’s too late. When this summer started, he was a pathetic wretch. Now he is strong. And he is going to retain that strength.

The autumn sun sits lower and lower in the sky each day. A few rays find their way across the rooftops and into Titus’ dark flat. He blows into the breathalyser lock and the computer welcomes him in just as friendly a tone as usual:

Hello Titus! According to my calculations you only have three pages left to complete your manuscript. Contact your publisher as soon as you have finished. Congratulations!

Titus feels as if he has been reincarnated. He is going to complete the project of his life. A crazy project in which he has had 250 pages to pack in lots of handy facts and practical lists, and a knockout blow to the jaw of hair-raising tension. A straight right from the left side of his brain and a left hook from the right.

Before he writes the final chapter, he must make a list of the ten best revolutionary songs in the world, which he will let Chief Inspector Håkan Rink have as his ‘Revolt’ playlist on his iPod: Titus takes a deep breath. Now he is getting close.

There is really only one thing that publishers, manuscript experts and reviewers all agree upon: a book must have an end that gives rise to hope. Even if the story is dark and dismal, there must be a grain of a happy ending that gives nourishment to life’s optimists. If a book doesn’t have a happy ending, it will die a natural death. Un-reviewed, un-read and un-sold. The Law of Happy Endings is an ancient truth that can’t be challenged.

But Titus refuses to deviate from his perfect sense of pitch. He has decided to turn his back on all the experts who think they can judge his work of art better than he can himself. He will leave it to the readers to decide what is consolation or despair. Over-explicitness kills and he is certainly no murderer: quite the contrary. Hope is strong and distinct in all the lists, recipes, tips and facts that run through the book. He hands out lots of matchboxes, but never pokes his finger in the reader’s tummy. It is up to each and every reader to decide which candles they will light in their lives. But if you follow all the advice there is every possibility of becoming a complete human being, of that he is certain. It is, after all, The Best Book in the World that he has written. The actual plot around Chief Inspector Håkan Rink and Serial Salvador, however, has an uncompromising brutality to it. Because that is what life looks like too.

He who has seen the darkness, will be the first to see the light, he thinks.

Oh, how he delights in his own ability to express himself. Today, he is really good.

He has long since abandoned the idea of letting his personal vendetta against Eddie X blemish the end of the book. He has come further in his personal development. For a long time, revenge provided good motivation to write, but now he chooses to stand above the instinctive desire to defend himself. He is hardly aware any more that Serial Salvador has borrowed characteristics from Eddie X.

The Best Book in the World
is not a meta project, disguising itself as a story about another story with complicated and obscure
subtexts
.
The Best Book in the World
is a simply narrated and well
put-together
reference work about life. It is exciting, useful and helps
to develop the reader’s personality. And yet the whole work rises above the level of everyday life and reality. Together, the disparate texts form a pattern. They become – literature.

I have bared my soul, thinks Titus. I have turned the other cheek. Now I am empty.

The tears splash onto the keyboard while he slowly and solemnly types the very last chapter.