SB: That is correct.
Int: Do we know why?
SB: Not really, no. But primarily this involves a few reliving who were…in a very bad state to begin with.
Int: How do you know they’ve died?
SB: [smiling] I could say ‘you just know’ because that is the case, but more concretely there is a certain…electrical activity in the cerebral cortex that can be measured with an EEG, and when this ceases, there is death. According to current definitions. And the EEG that has been taken on the reliving shows that a certain rudimentary brain function has restarted.
Int: Johan Stenberg, there has been talk of telepathic phenomena?
JS: Yes.
Int: Is it true that those of you who have been in direct contact with the reliving have been able to read their thoughts?
JS: No, the phenomena that have been reported have exclusively involved the living.
Int: Can you tell me about the conflicts that have broken out?
[JB looks at SB, passing the question over to him.]
SB: Well, I don’t know what has occurred at the cemeteries, but it is true that we have experienced some…differences of opinion at the hospital.
Int: Because you’ve been able to read each other’s thoughts?
SB: There are conflicts in all staff teams and in a stressful situation they have a tendency to come to the fore. We have no reliable evidence that it really is…mind-reading that is the basis for this.
Int: Runo Sahlin…
RS: I think it’s remarkable to see two grown people deny evident facts only because it happens not to fit their world view, and the facts are as follows: when a large group of the reliving assembles a kind of force field arises that makes it possible for people around them to read each other’s thoughts. I have been to Danderyd myself and experienced this.
Int: Sten Bergwall. How do you explain this?
SB: [sighing] The electrical activity in their brains…the amplitude is at most half a microvolt and the frequency of the alpha waves alternates between one and two Hertz. The frequency can therefore be compared to that of a newborn and the amplitude, that is, the strength of the electric current, is so weak that…what would be the comparison? Someone who is going to die in a few seconds. That weak.
RS: You’re trying to explain this field not by the fact that their electrical activity is so strong, but that it’s so weak?
SB: What I’m saying is that we have never seen patterns like this in living, fully grown humans. It is not impossible that certain kinds of…side effects could arise. We are still waiting for the RMV’s results in order to be able to say anything about how it is biologically possible that these bodies can live. [Sarcastically, to RS] But maybe you already have an explanation?
RS: Yes. I think their souls have returned. [Laughing] If I had been sitting here yesterday morning, telling you that ‘tonight the dead will awaken in their graves’ I think you would regard me as not simply ridiculous but completely off my rocker. The idea of the soul is ancient and is still cherished by many. There is evidence for the possibility of thought transmission…
SB: Evidence.
RS: Weak, I admit. But it is a possibility. It is not completely out of the question. As opposed to, say, the dead coming back to life. That is impossible. Well. And now they have come back to life. And yet you still regard telepathy and the existence of the soul as an absurdity.
Int: Johan Stenberg, what do you say about all this?
JS: I don’t believe it is the role of the military to speculate in questions of theology. [Looks at RS] There are others better qualified.
RS: Well, then. If there is a soul it would consist of energy. Some form of energy. The source of this field—which we have all experienced—can’t be traced to the brain. No. Why not accept the existence of something outside the body that nonetheless belongs to the body, a transcendent substance that…
JS: Forgive a simple soldier, but I have never heard that the soul is located anywhere but inside the body.
RS: When we’re alive, yes. But it’s accepted that the brain is functioning in a hitherto unknown way in this…state of reliving.
Why couldn’t the same be true of the soul? If a large number of souls were hovering, so to speak, outside their bodies, could that not give rise to…how can I put this…
Int: Our time is almost up. To wrap up: why do you think this has happened? Johan Stenberg?
JS: If I had an opinion on that subject I would keep it to myself.
Int: Sten Bergwall?
SB: As I said, we’re waiting for the results of the tests.
Int: Runo Sahlin?
RS: A mistake has occurred. Something has gone wrong that has…interrupted the normal order.
Int: And that’s something I think we can all agree on. Now for the weather. Camilla?
Camilla: The high pressure fronts that have dominated the Stockholm weather for the past few weeks will give way tonight to low pressure coming in from the west. There will be plenty of rain this evening. In the satellite picture we can see…
[CNN World News, 08.30 Swedish time]
…are now searching for explanations of the bizarre events in the Swedish capital. So far none have been found, but the simultaneous awakenings in different locations hint at a driving force. A military commander said this morning that a connection with terrorist activity cannot be ruled out…
[Long shot of the Stockholm Forest Cemetery. The fence with the dead behind it, the military among the graves.]
[Spanish television 08.30]
…mucha gente han esperado por la misma cosa a suceer en pueblos españoles. Pues, el fenómeno parece aislado a Estocolmo, donde los revividos durante la noche han crecido al total de dos mil personas. Ni los médicosni los sacerdotes tienen explicaciónes a dar al multitud de los parientes que se han reunido al frente del hospital de Danderyd esta mañana…
[Shot of hundreds of people outside Danderyd, a minister gesticulating dejectedly.]
[Ard Tagesschau 09.00]
…die Forscher, die heute nacht damit beschäftigt waren, das Rätzel zu lösen. Auf der Presskonferenz heute wurde mitgeteilt, dass einige Enzyme, die in den toten Körpern normalerweise zerstört sind, es in den Wiederlebenden nicht seien. Im Moment untersucht man ob diese Enzyme tatsächlich dieselben sind, die lebendigen Körpern ihre Nahrung zuführen…
[Stock footage of a Swedish laboratory; a number of test tubes lined up in a stand.]
[TF1 Journal 13.00]
…qui sont sortis des cimetières et des morgues cette nuit. L’Office du Tourisme Francais deconseille à tout le monde d’aller à Stockholm pour le moment. D’autres villes suédoises ne semblent pas être atteintes de ce phénomène et là il n’y a pas de restrictions. Quand les habitants de Stockholm se sont reveillés ce matin, ils ont vu leur realité changée. Pourtaint la vie à la surface semble être retournée à la normale.
[Cross-cutting between images of the Forest Cemetery, the dead behind the fence, as well as strolling pedestrians on Drottninggatan.]
14 August II
The green force that drives the flower
Vällingby 11.55
When Anna had been gone for three quarters of an hour, Mahler started to worry. He walked out onto the balcony and scanned the courtyard, her apartment. A fatherly feeling—what the hell is holding her up—gripped him and he immediately suppressed it. Caring was the operative word here. Caring and understanding.
For the past few years he had been more of a co-parent than a grandfather to Elias. Perhaps he was trying to recapture what he had lost when Anna was little, when he was in the middle of his career. His babysitting and daycare pick-ups had allowed Anna to live with a measure of freedom that he thought she did not take full advantage of, but since he knew she resisted his advice—don’t you think it’s a little late for that—he tried not to judge her.
And it was probably all his fault anyway. Anna’s inability to settle down, to hold onto a job or complete an educatio
n was a learned behaviour. And who had taught her this? Gustav Mahler, the career journalist.
They had moved five times during her childhood, every time he got a better job at a bigger paper. By the time Anna was nine and he finally landed a position as a crime reporter for Aftonbladet, Sylvia—Anna’s mother—had had enough. She left him. But actually he was the one who had left her, much earlier.
So he had certainly taught his daughter how life should be lived. She had studied psychology for six months and before she dropped out she had learned enough to be able to tell him it was all his fault. He agreed whole-heartedly, although he did not say this to her, since he believed that each person was responsible for his or her own fate. Theoretically, anyway.
His relationship to Anna was marked by ambivalence. He thought that she should stop making excuses, pull herself together and do something. He also thought it was his fault that she made excuses, and neither pulled nor did. Yes. He was entitled to think that it was his fault; she was not.
Mahler lit a cigarette and had time for a single drag before three men emerged from Anna’s front door. He ducked down, crushing the cigarette on the concrete floor—
so the enemy won’t see the smoke
—and listened attentively to hear if the men were approaching his door. No. They left the courtyard, conversing. He could not hear what they said. He tore off the blackened end of the cigarette and lit it again. Inhaled twice. His fingers trembled. They had to get out of here. Now.
He had unplugged the phone and turned his mobile off for fear that someone would call and say something that he would have to pay attention to. Just as he was plugging the phone back in to check the messages, the front door opened and he froze.
‘Daddy?’
His fingers relaxed again. He pulled the cord out of the jack as Anna walked into the room, a suitcase in her hand. She put it down and walked over to the balcony window, peering out.
‘They left,’ Mahler said. ‘I saw them.’
Anna’s lower lip was bright red from nervous biting.
‘They searched the entire apartment. Pushed away the Legos and looked under the bed.’ She snorted. ‘Grown men. They said that I should…that I had to let them take care of him.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Police. And a doctor. They had a notice from the epidemi…something. Told me that it was illegal to…that it was dangerous for Elias.’
‘You didn’t say that he was here?’
‘No, but…’
Mahler nodded, closed his laptop and collected the necessary cords. ‘We have to leave immediately.’
‘To the hospital?’
Mahler closed his eyes tightly and made an effort to keep his voice calm.
‘No, Anna. Not the hospital. To the summer cottage.’
‘But they told me…’
‘I don’t give a damn what they told you. We’re going.’
When Mahler had finished packing up his computer and turned to walk into the bedroom, Anna was standing in front of the door with her arms crossed over her chest. Her voice was collected, cold.
‘You are not the one who makes this decision.’
‘Anna, can you move? We have to go. They could turn up at any moment. Take your bag.’
‘No, you’re not in charge. I’m his mother.’
Mahler’s lips curled and he looked Anna straight in the eye as he said, ‘I think it’s wonderful that you suddenly feel such a great need to be a mother to him, which you haven’t done much about for the past few years, but I intend to bring Elias with me. You can do what you like.’
‘Then I’ll call the police,’ Anna said, and the ice in her voice started to crack. ‘Don’t you understand that?’
Mahler had the ability to manipulate people. If he had wanted, he could have used a mild voice and subtle accusations to get his daughter where he wanted in a couple of minutes. Out of kindness, or lack of time, he did not do this and instead gave his anger free rein—which he thought was fairer play. He put the bag on the table and pointed toward the bedroom.
‘You just said that it wasn’t Elias! So how the hell can you be his mother?’
It was like opening a vacuum-pack of coffee. Anna sank into herself a little and began to cry. Mahler cursed himself inwardly. Not fair play at all.
‘Anna, forgive me. I didn’t mean to…’
‘You did.’ She amazed him by straightening up and wiping her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I know full well that you don’t give a damn about me.’
‘Now you’re not being fair,’ Mahler started to lose his grip and back-tracked. ‘Haven’t I been taking care of you this whole time? Every day…’
‘Like a package, yes. Something to do. And now the package is in the way, and you have to move it. You have never done anything out of consideration for me. It’s your own guilty conscience you’re looking after. Give me a cigarette.’
Mahler stopped his hand half-way to his breast pocket.
‘Anna, we don’t have time…’
‘We have time. A cigarette, I said.’
Anna took it and the lighter, lit up and sat down in the armchair, on the very edge of the seat. Mahler stayed where he was.
‘What would you say,’ Anna started, ‘if I told you that this whole time I really wanted to be left alone? That I think it’s been a complete drag to have you running in and out every day. I’ve been eating at the hot dog stand down on the corner, I haven’t needed your food. But I let you do it so that you would feel better.’
‘That’s not true,’ Mahler said. ‘You mean to say I should have let you lie there alone, day after day…’
‘I haven’t been alone. Some evenings when I felt up to it I’ve called someone I know and…’
‘Oh you have, have you?’ Mahler’s voice sounded more taunting than he intended.
‘Oh give me a break. Each to their own. At least I’ve grieved for Elias. I’m not sure what you’ve been grieving for. Some kind of forlorn hope of atonement. But I’m not doing you any more favours.’ Anna put out the half-smoked cigarette and walked into the bedroom.
Mahler stood motionless, his arms hanging at his sides. He was not abashed. What Anna said about him made no impact. It was possible that it was true, but he did not think so. The new information she had shared with him, however…He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.
Elias lay on the bed with his arms outstretched, a helpless alien. Anna sat on the edge with her finger in his curled fist.
‘Look,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Mahler said and pressed his lips together in order not to add, ‘I know.’ Instead he went and sat down on the other side of the bed and let Elias curl his other hand around his finger. They sat like this for a while, each with a finger in his hand. Mahler thought he could hear sirens in the distance.
‘What should we give him?’ Anna asked.
Mahler told her about the salt. There was the germ of acquiescence in Anna’s question, but he did not want to push it any further. Anna would have to decide now. As long as she didn’t make the wrong decision.
‘What about sugar?’ she asked. ‘A glucose solution?’
‘Maybe,’ Mahler said. ‘We can try.’
Anna nodded, kissed the back of Elias’ hand, coaxed out her finger and said, ‘Let’s go then.’
Mahler drove the car to the front door and Anna carried out Elias, wrapped up in the sheet, laid him on the back seat and crawled in after him. The car was a sauna after having been parked in the lot all day. Mahler rolled down both windows and popped the sunroof.
Up by the square he parked in the shade and half-ran to the drugstore. He placed ten packets of grape sugar and four bottles of lotion in a basket. A couple of syringes. He ended up lingering in front of the baby items. Then took several baby bottles as well. Made sure they were the kind with only one hole in the nipple.
He did not want to leave Anna and Elias in the car for too long, but the selection in the drugstore bewildered him.
His gaze travelled over the shelves of band-aids, mosquito repellent, anti-fungal cream, vitamins and liniments. There must be something else that could help.
At random, he picked out a number of jars of vitamins and herbal remedies.
The lady at the register glanced at his body, then at the items he was purchasing. Mahler saw the cogs move beneath her businesslike mask, trying to see a connection between this amount of sugar, bottles, body lotion—and him.
He paid cash, took his over-stuffed single bag and was wished a nice day.
They were silent the whole way to Norrtälje. Anna sat in the back with Elias, in her lap, staring fixedly out the front with his finger in her hand. As Mahler took the turn-off to Kapellskär she asked, ‘Why don’t you think they will come looking out there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mahler said. ‘I guess I’m hoping they’re not so…motivated. And it is more relaxing out there.’
He turned on the radio. There was no music on the public stations, only the commercial stations carried on as if nothing had happened. He kept P1 on for a while, but it added little to their knowledge. Eight reliving were still missing.
‘I wonder what the other seven are doing right now,’ Mahler said, and turned it off.
‘Something similar,’ Anna said. ‘How can you really think we’re doing the right thing and everyone else is wrong?’
Mahler lifted his gaze from the road in order to turn his head and look at Anna for a couple of seconds. Her question was genuine.
Handling the Undead Page 14
