Roger was thin and had long, straggly hair, a leather jacket. The skin on his face was punctured by hundreds of small craters and appeared shrunk since the cheekbones stood out sharply and his eyes seemed unnaturally large.
Prebbe wore a denim jacket with the arms cut off and a T-shirt under that, and nothing else, even though it was only a couple of degrees above zero. He was a big guy. Spilling out over the edges, cropped hair. An out-of-shape paratrooper.
Jimmy said something to them, pointed, and they took off in the direction of the transformer station above the subway tracks.
Jonny whispered, ‘Why…are they coming?’
‘To help out, of course.’
‘Do we need help?’
Jimmy sniffed and shook his head as if Jonny didn’t know the first thing about how these things worked.
‘How were you planning to get around the teach?’
‘Ávila?’
‘Yeah, you think he would just let us walk on in and…you know?’
Jonny had no answer for this, so he followed his brother in behind the little brick house. Roger and Prebbe were standing in the shadows with their hands in their pockets, stamping their feet. Jimmy took out a metallic cigarette case, flicked it open and held it out to the other two.
Roger studied the six hand-rolled cigarettes inside, said ‘My, my, pre-rolled and everything, why thank you’, and used two thin fingers to nab the thickest one.
Prebbe made a face so he looked like one of the old balcony guys on ‘The Muppet Show’. ‘They lose their freshness if they sit around.’
Jimmy wiggled the case in an inviting way, said, ‘Quit your whining, you old woman. I rolled them an hour ago. And this isn’t any of that Moroccan shit you run around with. This is the real thing.’
Prebbe sucked in his breath and helped himself to one of the cigarettes. Roger helped him light it.
Jonny looked at his brother. Jimmy’s face was sharply silhouetted against the light from the subway station platform. Jonny admired him. Wondered if he would ever be someone who dared to say ‘you old woman’ to someone like Prebbe.
Jimmy also took a cigarette, and lit it. The paper at the tip burned for a moment before it simply glowed. He inhaled deeply and Jonny was enveloped by the sweet smell that always clung to Jimmy’s clothing.
They smoked in silence for a while. Then Roger held out his joint to Jonny. ‘You want a drag, or what?’
Jonny was about to hold his hand out for it, but Jimmy hit Roger on the shoulder.
‘Idiot. Want him to turn out like you?’
‘That so bad?’
‘OK for you, maybe. Not for him.’
Roger shrugged, took back his offer.
It was half past six when everyone was done smoking, and when Jimmy spoke it was with an exaggerated articulation, every word a complicated sculpture he had to get out of his mouth.
‘OK. This…is Jonny. My brother.’
Roger and Prebbe nodded knowingly. Jimmy took hold of Jonny’s chin with a slightly clumsy movement, turned his head so the other two saw it in profile.
‘Check out his ear. That’s what this squirt did. That’s what we’re going to…take care of.’
Roger took a step forward, squinted at Jonny’s ear, out of it.
‘Shit. It looks bad.’
‘I’m not asking for an…expert…opinion. You just listen. Then this will be…’
The steel gates in the corridor between the brick walls were unlocked. The echo from Oskar’s footsteps went ka-ploff ka-ploff as he walked to the door of the swimming pool, pulled it open. A damp warmth wafted over his face and a cloud of vapour billowed out into the cold corridor. He hurried in and shut the door.
He kicked his shoes off and kept going, into the locker room. Empty. He heard the sound of running water from the shower room, a deep voice singing:
Besame, besame mucho
Como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez…
Mr Ávila. Without taking off his jacket Oskar sat down on one of the benches, waited. After a while both the splashing and the singing stopped and the teacher came out with a towel around his hips. His chest was completely covered in black, curly hair with splashes of grey. Oskar thought he looked like something from another planet. Mr Ávila saw him, smiled broadly.
‘Oskar! So you crawl out of your shell after all.’
Oskar nodded.
‘It got a bit…stuffy.’
Mr Ávila laughed, scratched his chest; the tips of his fingers disappeared in the fuzz.
‘You are early.’
‘Yes, I was thinking…’
Oskar shrugged. Mr Ávila stopped scratching himself.
‘You were thinking?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘To talk?’
‘No, I just…’
‘Let me take a look at you.’
Mr Ávila strode up to Oskar, studied his face, nodded. ‘Aha.
OK.’
‘What?’
‘It was you.’ Mr Ávila pointed to his eyes. ‘I see. You have burned your eyebrows. No, what is it called? Underneath. Eye…’
‘Lashes?’
‘Eyelashes. Yes. A little in the hair as well. Hmm. If you don’t want anyone to know for sure you have to cut your hair a little. Eye…lashes grow fast. Monday it is gone. Gasoline?’
‘T-red.’
Mr Avile expelled air through his lips, shook his head.
‘Very dangerous. Probably,’ Mr Ávila touched Oskar’s temple, ‘you a little crazy. Not a lot. But a little. Why T-red?’
‘I…found it.’
‘Found? Where?’
Oskar looked up at Mr Ávila’s face; a damp, kindly stone. And he wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him all of it. He just didn’t know where to start. Mr Ávila waited. Then he said, ‘To play with fire is very dangerous. Can become a habit. Is no good method. Much better physical exercise.’
Oskar nodded, and the feeling disappeared. Mr Ávila was great but he would never understand.
‘Now you get changed and I show you a little technique with bench press. OK?’
Mr Ávila turned to go back to his office. Stopped outside the door.
‘And Oskar. You don’t worry. I say nothing to nobody if you don’t want. Sound good? We can talk more after the training session.’
Oskar changed his clothes. When he was finished Patrik and Hasse arrived, two guys from 6a. They said hi to Oskar, but he thought they looked at him a little too long, and when he walked into the gym he heard them start whispering to each other.
A sense of despondency settled in the pit of his stomach. He regretted having come here. But shortly thereafter Mr Ávila entered, now in a T-shirt and shorts, and showed him how you could get a better grip on the bench press bar by allowing it to rest against the tips of your fingers, and Oskar managed 28 kilos; two kilos more than last time. Mr Ávila recorded the new weight in his notebook.
More guys came in, among them Micke. He smiled his usual, cryptic smile that could mean everything from him just about to give you a nice present, to doing something terrible to you.
It was the latter that was the case here, even if Micke himself did not understand the full extent of it.
On the way to the training session Jonny had run up to him and asked him to do something since he was planning to set Oskar up. Micke thought that sounded cool. He liked pranks. And anyway Micke’s complete collection of hockey cards had burned up Tuesday night, so paying Oskar back was something he was more than happy to participate in.
But for now he smiled.
The session continued.
Oskar thought the others were looking at him strangely, but as soon as he tried to meet their eyes they looked away. Most of all he would have liked to go home.
…no…go…
Just go.
But Mr Ávila was watching over him, bolstering him with peppy comments and there was no possibility of leaving. And anyway: to be here was at least better than being at home.
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When Oskar was done with the strength training he was so exhausted he didn’t even have the energy to feel bad. He walked off to the showers, lagging a little behind the others, showering with his back facing the room. Not that it mattered. You still showered naked.
He stood for a while by the glass divide between the shower room and the pool, used his hand to make a small peephole in the condensation covering the glass, looked at the others jumping around in the pool, chasing each other, throwing balls. And it came over him again. Not a thought formulated in words, but as a virulent feeling:
I am alone. I am…completely alone.
Then Mr Ávila caught sight of him, waved for him to enter, to jump in. Oskar shuffled down the short staircase, walked over to the edge of the pool and looked down into the chemically blue water. He had no spring left in his body, so he climbed in from the ladder, one step at a time and let himself be enveloped by the rather cold water.
Micke sat down on the edge of the pool, smiled and nodded at him. Oskar took a few strokes in the other direction, towards Mr Ávila.
‘Orre!’
He saw the ball come flying in the corner of his eye, a moment too late. It landed in the water exactly in front of him and splashed chlorinated water into his eyes. They stung as if from tears. He rubbed his eyes and when he looked up he happened to see Mr Ávila looking at him with a…pitying?…look on his face.
Or disdainful.
Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he hit away the ball floating in front of his face and sank. Let his head slink down under the surface of the water, his hair billowing out and tickling around his ears. He stretched his arms out from his body and floated with his face under the surface, bobbing with the water. Pretended he was dead.
That he could float here forever.
That he would never have to get up and meet the gazes of those who, in the final analysis, only wanted to hurt him. Or that when he finally lifted up his head the world would be gone. Just him and all this blue.
But even with his ears under the water he could hear the distant sounds, banging sounds from the world above and when he pulled his face out of the water it was there: echoing, noisy.
Micke had left his place at the edge of the pool and the others were engaged in some kind of volleyball. The white ball flew into the air, clearly defined against the darkness of the frosted windows. Oskar paddled into a corner of the deep end with only his nose above the water and watched.
Micke appeared from the shower room at the other end of the hall, shouted, ‘Teacher! The phone in your office is ringing!’
Mr Ávila muttered something and stomped away along the edge of the pool. He nodded to Micke and disappeared up into the shower rooms. The last Oskar saw of him was a blurry contour behind the fogged-up glass.
Then he was gone.
As soon as Micke left the changing rooms they took up their positions.
Jonny and Jimmy slipped into the exercise gym; Roger and Prebbe pressed up against the wall next to the doorway. They heard Micke call from inside the swim hall, prepared for action.
Soft barefoot steps that approached, passed through the gym, then, a few seconds later, Mr Ávila walked in through the doors to the changing rooms and over to his office. Prebbe had already wound the double tube socks filled with small change once around his hand to get a better grip. As soon as the teacher reached the door and stood with his back to him, Prebbe stepped out and swung the weight at the back of his head.
Prebbe was not particularly co-ordinated and Mr Ávila must have heard something. Halfway into the swing the teacher turned his head and the blow caught him right above the ear. The effect was nonetheless the desired one. He was thrown forward and to one side, hit his head on the doorjamb and fell to the floor.
Prebbe sat on his chest and tucked the heavy ball of coins into his palm to deliver a more controlled blow if needed. Didn’t seem like it. Mr Ávila’s arms were trembling slightly, but he didn’t put up the slightest resistance. Prebbe didn’t think he was dead. Didn’t look like it, was all.
Roger leaned over the prone body as if he had never seen anything like it.
‘Is he Turkish or what?’
‘Damned if I know. Get the keys.’
While Roger was fumbling for the keys in the teacher’s shorts he saw Jonny and Jimmy walk out of the gym and towards the pool. He got out the keys, tried one after another in the office door, shot a look at the teacher.
‘As hairy as an ape. He’s got to be a Turk.’
‘Oh, come on.’
Roger sighed, kept trying the keys.
‘I’m only saying it for your sake. Probably feels a little better if…’
‘Fuck it. And come on.’
Roger found the right key and unlocked the door. Before he entered he pointed to the teacher and said, ‘You probably shouldn’t be sitting like that. Probably can’t breathe if you do.’
Prebbe slid off his chest, sat down next to the body with his weight at the ready in case Ávila tried something.
Inside the office Roger searched through coat pockets, pulled out a wallet with three hundred kronor. In a desk drawer there were ten unstamped subway cards. He took them as well.
Not much in the way of bounty. But that wasn’t what this was about. Pure payback.
Oskar was still in the corner of the pool blowing bubbles in the water when Jonny and Jimmy walked in. His first reaction wasn’t fear, but annoyance.
They were fully dressed.
They hadn’t even taken their shoes off, and Mr Ávila who was so concerned about…
When Jimmy stopped at the edge of the pool and looked out over the water, the fear came. He had met Jimmy a few times, briefly, and thought he seemed horrible even then. Now there was also something about his eyes…the way he was moving his head…
Like Tommy and those guys when they have…
Jimmy’s gaze found Oskar’s and he realised with a shiver that he was…naked. Jimmy had clothes on, armour. Oskar was in the cold water and his body was exposed. Jimmy nodded to Jonny, made a semicircular movement with his hand and, one on either side of the pool, they started to walk towards Oskar. While he walked Jimmy screamed to the others, ‘Get out of here! Everyone! Out of the water!’
The others were standing still or treading water, indecisive. Jimmy positioned himself at the edge of the pool, took a stiletto out of his jacket pocket, unfolded it and held it like an arrow at a group of boys. Thrust it in the direction of the other end of the pool.
Oskar was pressed up into the corner, watching shivering while the other boys quickly swam or waded their way to the other end and left him alone in the pool.
Mr Ávila…where is Mr Ávila…
A hand gripped him by the hair. Fingers taking hold so firmly that his scalp stung and his head was forced back into the corner. Above him he heard Jonny’s voice.
‘That’s my brother, you fucker.’
Oskar’s head was banged backwards a couple of times against the tile ledge and water splashed up into his ears while Jimmy walked over and crouched down with the stiletto in his hand.
‘Hi there Oskar.’
Oskar took in a mouthful of water and started to cough. Every shaking motion of his head that the cough induced made his scalp, which Jonny had grasped even more firmly, burn more. When his coughing spell was over Jimmy clinked the blade against the tiled edge.
‘You know what? I was thinking like this. That we should have a little competition. Now, don’t move…’
The stiletto passed right above Oskar’s forehead as Jimmy handed it to Jonny, taking over the grip on Oskar’s head. Oskar didn’t dare do anything. He had looked into Jimmy’s eyes for a few seconds and they looked completely crazed. So filled with hate.
Oskar’s head was pressed into the corner of the pool. His arms were helplessly fumbling in the water. Nothing to hold. He looked for the other boys. They were standing at the shallow end. Micke was in front, still smiling, in anticipation. The others
looked scared.
No one was going to help him.
‘So here’s the deal…it’s pretty easy, see. Easy rules. You stay under the water for…five minutes. If you can do that we’ll just put a little scratch in your cheek or something. A keepsake. If you can’t do it…well, then when you come up I’ll take out one of your eyes. OK? Understand the rules?’
Oskar got his lips above the surface. Water was spurting out of his mouth as he said, shivering, ‘Can’t do it…’
Jimmy shook his head.
‘That’s your problem. You see that clock. We’ll start in twenty seconds. Five minutes. Or your eye. Better take a breath now. Ten…nine…eight…seven…’
Oskar tried to push away with his legs, but he had to stand on tiptoe to get his head above the water and Jimmy’s hand was holding him, making all movement impossible.
If I pull my hair away…five minutes…
When he had tried it on his own he had managed three at most. Almost.
‘Six…five…four…three…’
Mr Ávila. Mr Ávila will come back before…
‘Two…one…zero!’
Oskar only managed to take half a breath before his head was pushed under the water. He lost his foothold and the lower half of his body slowly floated up until he lay with his head bent towards his chest just below the surface, his scalp burning like fire as the chlorine came into contact with the rips and tears in the skin.
No more than a minute could have gone by before the panic came.
He opened his eyes wide and only saw light blue…veils of pink that swirled from his head past his eyes when he tried to take hold with his body, although it was impossible since there was nothing to hold onto. His legs were kicking up at the surface rippling the pale blue in front of his eyes, refracted in light waves.
Bubbles rose from his mouth and he threw his arms out, now floating on his back. His eyes were pulled to the white, to the swaying halogen tubes’ glow in the ceiling. His heart was pounding like a hand against a glass pane, and when he happened to draw water in through his nose a kind of calm started to spread through his body. But his heart beat harder, more persistently, wanting to live, and again he thrashed desperately, tried to get a grip where there was no grip to be had.
Let the Right One In Page 47
