Little Star

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  Göran had been forced to start work at the state-run liquor outlet in Rimsta when the Österyd branch closed down. The most noticeable change was that it took him half an hour longer to get to and from work every morning and afternoon, so he was rarely able to pick the children up from the childminder, which he missed.

  However, he had managed to negotiate one early shift each week, on a Wednesday, and he usually made sure he at least picked Teresa up. Despite the fact that it was Maria who had most wanted a girl, Teresa turned more to her father, and he couldn’t deny that he felt something special for her.

  The boys were lively, as boys ought to be. Teresa was significantly quieter and more secretive, and Göran appreciated that. She was the child who was most like him. Her first word was ‘Daddy’ and her second was ‘no’, stated very firmly: ‘No!’

  Do you want this? No!

  Can I help you with…? No!

  Can Daddy borrow the crayon? No!

  She fetched things for herself, she handed things over when she felt like it, but she rarely allowed herself to be influenced by the questions or expectations of others. Göran liked that. She had a will of her own, small as she was.

  Sometimes at work he had to bite his tongue to stop himself coming out with the first word that sprang to mind these days.

  ‘Could you fetch a pallet of beer, Göran?’

  ‘No!’

  …which was not what he said, of course. But he would have liked to.

  At this stage Arvid was five and Olof seven. They weren’t particularly interested in their little sister, but they put up with her. Teresa didn’t make much noise except when someone tried to get her to do something she didn’t want to do. Then it was No! and No! again, until she very occasionally had a complete temper tantrum. She had a limit, and when she was pushed beyond that limit, she was horrendous.

  Her favourite soft toy was a little green snake they had bought at Kolmården; she called it Bambam. One day when Teresa was eighteen months old, Arvid started teasing her, trying to take the snake off her by pulling its tail.

  Teresa clung to the snake’s head and said, ‘Avvi, no!’, but Arvid carried on pulling. Teresa resisted with all her might and ended up tipping over forwards as she clutched the head and screamed, ‘Avvi, no-no!’ Arvid gave the snake a tug and it flew out of Teresa’s hands as she lay on the floor shaking with rage.

  Arvid waved the snake in front of her face, but when she didn’t even reach out to try and take it, he got bored and threw it back to her. She cradled the snake in her arms, whispering, ‘Bambam…’ with tears in her voice.

  So far, so good. Arvid forgot about his sister and started rummaging around under the bed for a bucket of Lego. But with a grudge-bearing capacity unusual in such a small child, Teresa hauled herself to her feet and toddled over to the shelf by her bed, where she picked up a glass snowdome with an angel inside.

  A blizzard whirled up around the angel as Teresa went over to Arvid and waited by his side until he sat up. Then she slammed it against his head. The globe broke and cut open both Teresa’s hand and Arvid’s temple. When Maria heard the screams and came running into the room, she found Arvid lying in a pool of water, blood and bits of plastic, yelling along with Teresa, whose hand was bleeding quite badly.

  Arvid’s summary of the incident was, ‘I took her snake and she hit me over the head.’ He omitted the detail that at least a minute had passed between the two events. Perhaps he had forgotten, perhaps he didn’t see it as being of any significance.

  By the time Teresa turned four, it was obvious that it was Daddy who mattered. Not that she distanced herself from Maria, but it was Göran she turned to in all essential matters. With the boys, the situation was reversed. For example it was Maria who drove them to football training. No actual decision had ever been taken, it was just the way things were.

  Maria wanted to do things, while Göran was perfectly happy to sit quietly with Teresa while she was drawing or pottering about. If she asked a question he answered her, if she wanted help with something he helped her, but without making a fuss about it.

  Her favourite activity was making necklaces with plastic beads. Göran had acquired every plastic bead in the toy shop in Rimsta, in every imaginable shape and colour, and had even got the assistant to go down to the storeroom and dig out some boxes they had taken off display. Teresa had an entire shelf stocked with at least sixty little plastic containers into which she had sorted the beads according to a system only she understood. Sometimes she would spend days altering the system.

  The beads were threaded onto coloured wool or fishing line, and after patient instruction Teresa had learned to tie the knots herself. It was a constant production line; the only problem was the product.

  Maria’s parents had been given theirs. Göran’s parents had been given theirs. Family and friends and relatives of friends had been given theirs. Anyone who might possibly deserve a necklace made of plastic beads had been given one. Or two. Göran’s father was the only one who wore his. Probably to annoy Göran’s mother more than anything.

  But it would have taken a family of biblical proportions to generate a demand to meet the supply. Teresa made at least three necklaces a day. Göran had put up lots of tacks above her bed to hang the necklaces on. The wall was now more or less full.

  One Wednesday afternoon in the middle of October, Göran picked his daughter up from the childminder as usual. She got out her beads and thread as usual and put them on the kitchen table, and Göran sat opposite her with his usual evening paper. Concentrating hard, Teresa tied a stop-knot at one end of a length of fishing line. Then she made a selection from among her containers, and started threading.

  When Göran had finished looking for news about the EU decision on Sweden’s state monopoly on alcohol sales and found nothing but more misery from Hallandsås, he lowered the paper and looked at his daughter. She seemed to have decided on a necklace in red, yellow and blue. Using her fingers as tweezers, she skilfully picked up one bead at a time, threading them onto the line as she breathed audibly through her nose.

  ‘Sweetheart?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Couldn’t you make something other than necklaces with your beads? It’s just that you’ve got such a lot.’

  ‘I want a lot.’

  ‘But what for?’

  Teresa stopped dead, a bright yellow bead between her fingers. She looked at Göran with a frown. ‘I collect them.’

  She held his gaze, as if she were challenging him to question her. His eyes flickered down to the newspaper, open at a picture of some lake somewhere. Pollution. Dead fish. Local population up in arms.

  ‘Daddy?’ Teresa was studying the yellow bead, her eyes narrowed. ‘Why do things exist?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Teresa’s eyebrows moved even closer together, and she looked as if she were in pain. She took a few breaths through her nose as she always did when she was concentrating. Eventually she said, ‘Well, if this bead didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be holding it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And if I didn’t exist, then nobody would be holding this bead.’

  ‘No.’

  Göran sat there as if he had been hypnotised, staring at the bright yellow dot between his daughter’s fingers. The grey October day outside the window had gone. Only the yellow dot existed, and Göran felt as if something was pressing against his eardrums, like when you’re sinking towards the bottom of the swimming pool.

  Teresa shook her head. ‘Why is it like that?’ Her gaze swept over the containers on the table, their multi-coloured contents. ‘I mean, all these beads might not exist and there might not be anybody to make necklaces with them.’

  ‘But the beads do exist. And so do you. That’s just the way things are.’

  Teresa put the yellow bead back in its container and crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she continued to look at the kaleidoscope of coloured dots in front of her. Gently Göran asked, ‘Have you al
l been talking about this at Lollo’s?’

  Teresa shook her head.

  ‘So what made you think about it, then?’

  Teresa didn’t reply, but stared at her array of beads with an expression that could best be described as furious. Göran leaned forward with his chin resting on his hand so that he was closer to her level, and said, ‘There is actually one person who hasn’t had a necklace; do you know who that is?’ Teresa didn’t react, but Göran gave her the answer anyway, ‘It’s me. I’ve never had a necklace.’

  Teresa bent her head so that her nose was pointing at the floor, and her voice broke as she said, ‘You can have them all if you want.’

  Göran got up from his chair. ‘But sweetheart…’

  He knelt down next to his daughter’s chair and she fell into his arms, rested her forehead on his collarbone and wept. Göran stroked her head and said, ‘Sssh…’ but Teresa just carried on weeping.

  When Göran said, ‘Couldn’t you make me a necklace? I’d like a yellow one. All yellow,’ she banged her forehead against his collarbone so hard that it hurt both of them, and kept on weeping.

  Since Teresa had been born late in the year, she started school before she turned seven. She could already read simple books and add up and take away, so the schoolwork itself wasn’t a problem. At the first parents’ evening Göran and Maria heard a great deal of praise for their daughter, who approached every task with diligence and great seriousness.

  Nor did gymnastics or practical subjects pose any difficulties for her. She found it easy to understand instructions, and her fine motor skills were very good. She was always well-behaved.

  The teacher closed her file. ‘So…all in all I think we can say things have gone very well indeed. She’s a…serious little girl, Teresa.’

  Göran had reached for his jacket and started to put it on, but Maria thought she picked up a change of tone in the teacher’s last remark, and asked her to elaborate. What did she mean, serious?

  The teacher smiled as if to smooth things over. ‘Well, as a teacher I couldn’t wish for a better pupil, but…she doesn’t play.’

  ‘You mean…she’s not with the other children?’

  ‘No, no. When they’re given things to do, she has no problem working with others. But, how can I put this, she doesn’t like to use her imagination. Play. Make things up. As I said, she’s…serious. Extremely serious.’

  What Göran had accepted long ago, Maria now perceived as a warning bell. Since she herself was a sociable person, she found it difficult to see her daughter as a serious-minded lone wolf. For Maria, loneliness was not to do with inclination or choice; no, loneliness was a failure. She had a number of hobby horses, but the most important was: ‘People are made to be together.’

  Göran was not about to contradict her, particularly as he thought she was right, theoretically. He was popular at work as a conscientious and reliable person, but he wished he took greater real pleasure in the company of others.

  The work at the liquor outlet suited him down to the ground. A customer came up with their numbered ticket, you exchanged a few words and dealt with their purchase. You might perhaps chat for thirty seconds or so if there weren’t too many people waiting. He looked smart in his green waistcoat and shirt, he was polite and knowledgeable about the stock, he was service minded. He met a lot of people, but in small doses—it was perfect for him.

  Maria, on the other hand, was pally with lots of her customers. Practically every day she came home with long stories the customers had told her, and several dog and cat owners had become her friends. She was invited to more parties and weddings and so on than she could ever manage to attend.

  Göran would suffer agonies for several days in advance if there was to be some kind of social tasting night at work. If it hadn’t been for his purely professional interest in, for example, new wines from Languedoc, he would probably have declined. As far as he was concerned, it would have been better if they’d just sent small samples by post.

  As a consequence, they interpreted the information from the parents’ evening differently. Göran was pleased that things were going so well for Teresa at school, while Maria was worried that things were so difficult for Teresa at school. Every day she started quizzing Teresa about what she had done during break times, who she had played with, who she had talked to. It got to the point where Göran started hoping Teresa would lie, make up some friends and games just to satisfy Maria. But making things up just wasn’t in her nature.

  Arvid and Olof were always having friends round. Some of these friends had younger brothers and sisters, and Maria would occasionally ring the parents and explain the situation, begging them to send a small sibling along for Teresa as part of the package. In Göran’s opinion, Teresa handled things as well as she could. She would show the visitor her things, suggest games they might play and try in her own way to make the best of their forced proximity.

  His heart swelled a little with pride as he watched his daughter take responsibility for a situation not of her making, and contracted with pain when he saw how badly things went. Teresa would meticulously set out the game and explain the rules while the other child looked anxiously around, wanting to go to the toilet. It would end in silence with a small sibling tugging at its big brother’s sleeve and asking to go home.

  In the spring Göran was made manager of his store. Rudolf retired and recommended Göran in glowing terms. He was already in charge of ordering and product selection, and was responsible for much of the contact with suppliers.

  He had to go for an interview, and felt it went reasonably well. Later he was told that he had been given the job due to his extensive knowledge, despite some reservations about his suitability for the managerial role itself. He understood perfectly.

  From a purely practical point of view it meant an extra twelve thousand kronor a month, more responsibility and longer working days. He was no longer able to finish early on Wednesdays. He and Maria took the bold step of securing a loan to renovate the kitchen, and for the first time in their lives they were able to buy a brand new car.

  By May Göran had already begun to wish he could step down from the post he had taken up in March, but once an upward movement has begun, it takes a great deal of determination to break it. Göran did not have that determination. He gritted his teeth and stuck with it, worked harder. His daring decision to carry a wider selection of wines in Tetra-paks was a success, and sales increased.

  In June he led a team-building weekend at a conference centre, and when he came home he was so worn out that he slept for fourteen hours.

  It pained him that he had less time to spare for Teresa. He did his best to be there for her and the boys when he came home exhausted, but something had slipped away from him and he didn’t have the strength to work out how to get it back.

  Teresa had taken over her brothers’ Lego since they lost interest in it. Maria had kept all the instructions, and Teresa spent a lot of time putting together all the different models as she listened to a tape of Allan Edwall reading Winnie-the-Pooh, over and over again.

  Sometimes Göran would come in and just sit down in the armchair in her room to watch her, to listen to the clicks as the Lego pieces fitted into one another and Allan Edwall’s dark, gentle voice. He would feel close to her for a while, until he fell asleep.

  In the October of Teresa’s second year in school there was to be a fancy dress disco at Hallowe’en. There would be soft drinks and sweets, and prizes for the best costumes. Maria had managed to miss the whole thing, and it wasn’t until she got home at five o’clock that she spotted the piece of paper saying the disco would start at six.

  Göran was busy stocktaking and probably wouldn’t be home until late evening, so with every scrap of her positive determination Maria sat Teresa down on a chair in the kitchen and asked her what she wanted to be.

  ‘I don’t want to be anything,’ Teresa replied.

  ‘At the fancy dress disco, I mean,’ said Maria. ‘
What do you want to dress up as?’

  ‘I don’t want to dress up.’

  ‘But we’ve got loads of stuff. You can dress up as anything you like—a ghost or a monster, whatever.’

  Teresa shook her head and got up to go to her room. Maria stepped in front of her and made her sit down again.

  ‘Sweetheart. Everybody else will be dressed up. You don’t want to be the only one who isn’t dressed up, do you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maria massaged her temples. It wasn’t because she found this difficult. It was because she found it totally absurd. She couldn’t think of one good reason why a person wouldn’t dress up when they were going to a fancy dress disco. However, she controlled herself and did something she perhaps did all too rarely. She asked a question.

  ‘OK. Can you tell me why you don’t want to dress up?’

  ‘I just don’t.’

  ‘But why? You can dress up as somebody else.’

  ‘I don’t want to be somebody else.’

  ‘But it’s fancy dress. If you don’t dress up, you can’t go.’

  ‘I won’t go, then.’

  Teresa’s attitude was as crystal clear as it was untenable. Maria couldn’t accept it. Teresa would end up being odd if she was allowed to follow every whim. Since Teresa wasn’t old enough to have an overview of the consequences of her actions, it really came down to a question of upbringing, of taking responsibility as a parent.

  ‘Right,’ said Maria. ‘This is what’s going to happen. You are going to the disco and you are going to dress up. The matter is not up for discussion. There’s only one thing I need to know: what do you want to dress up as?’

  Teresa looked her mother in the eye and said, ‘A banana.’