[Letter found in Sten Bergwall’s office]
It is with great regret that I must advise that everything has gone to hell. I cannot assume responsibility for a decision that I know in my heart to be wrong, and one that will lead to catastrophe.
I am exhausted as I have never been before. My hand is shaking on the pen. Thoughts come only with difficulty.
How could it have been handled differently?
The reliving are regarded as vegetables, without will, or thought. This is wrong. They are like jellyfish. Their behaviour is influenced by their environment. They have a will. The will of the person thinking of them. No one is prepared to accept this.
We should isolate them completely. We should destroy them. Burn them. Instead, they will now be released into the uncontrolled thoughts of the public at large. It will end badly. I do not want to be present when this occurs.
If my legs have the strength to get me to the subway, I will leave now.
[Daily Echo—lunch edition 12.30]
…spokesperson now says that the situation in the Heath is under control and that relatives who wish to visit their reliving may do so starting at noon tomorrow…
[From Bruno the Beaver Seeks and Finds (in press)]
…but with each storey that Bruno added to the tower, the moon slipped further away. He stretched out his paw. His paw was on the moon. He tried to feel if it was rough or smooth. But he only felt air. The moon was still as far away as when he had started to build the tower.
[…]
The tower was now fourteen storeys high, higher than the tallest tree. When Bruno sat at the top he could see the mountains far away. Something was moving in the lake under his feet. Deep down there he saw the Waterman gliding around among the stilts on which he had built his tower. Bruno pulled up his feet and closed his eyes.
[…]
At night Bruno saw that there were two moons. One up in the sky and one down on the surface of the water. The one up there he could not reach, and the one down there he did not dare to take. That was the Waterman’s moon.
17 August
Where a corpse lies, vultures gather
Svarvargatan 07.30
David went out to stand vigil in the hall at twenty-eight minutes past seven, right beside the front door. At exactly half past he heard the elevator come up, and then a hesitant knock. The precaution was strictly speaking unnecessary. David had already ascertained that Magnus was asleep, but a certain measure of secrecy was appropriate to birthdays. At least when you were nine years old.
Sture, David’s father-in-law, was standing outside the door with a cat carrier in his hand. Sture was rarely seen in anything other than blue trousers and a cardigan, but now he was dressed in a red and orange plaid shirt, and somewhat too-tight dress pants. Dressed up.
‘Welcome, Sture.’
‘Hello.’
Sture raised the cat box a couple of inches and nodded at it.
‘Great,’ David said. ‘Come in, come in.’
Sture was six foot four inches tall, and broad-shouldered. His presence transformed the apartment from a roomy two-bedroom to a functional prison. Sture needed expanses around him, trees. As soon as he had stepped into the hall, he did something very unexpected: he put down the cat box and hugged David.
It was not a hug intended to give or receive comfort, it was more about taking on a shared fate. Like a handshake. Sture took David into his arms, held him there for five seconds and then let go. David did not even have time to consider laying his head against Sture’s chest; only when Sture let go did he think it would have felt nice.
‘Well,’ Sture said. ‘Here we are then.’
David nodded and did not know how to answer. He lifted the lid of the container. A small grey rabbit was curled up on the bottom, staring into the wall. A couple of lettuce leaves were strewn in one corner, some black pellets in the other. He knew the acrid smell that wafted up would soon impregnate the entire apartment.
Sture scooped up the rabbit in his enormous hands. ‘Do you have the cage?’
‘My mother’s bringing it over.’
Sture stroked the rabbit’s ears. His nose was redder than when David had last seen him and there was a network of veins under the skin of his cheeks. David caught the smell of whisky, probably from the night before. Sture would never under any circumstances get behind the wheel drunk.
‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘That would be good, thank you.’
They sat down at the kitchen table. The rabbit was still resting in Sture’s hands, secure and vulnerable. The tiny nose was twitching, trying to comprehend the new place that it had come to. Sture drank his heavily sugared coffee with some difficulty, one hand otherwise occupied. They sat quietly in this way for a while. David heard Magnus moving in his bed. He probably had to go pee, but didn’t want to get up and break the enchantment.
‘She’s much better,’ David said. ‘Much better. I talked to them last night and they say she…there have been great strides.’
Sture slurped some coffee from the saucer.
‘When does she get to come home?’
‘They couldn’t say. They’re still working it out and…they have some kind of rehabilitation program.’
Sture nodded, said nothing and David felt dimly idiotic using their language to defend their actions, becoming some kind of spokesman.
But the neurologist he had spoken with had been vague when David asked the same question: When will she get to come home?
‘It’s too early to say,’ he had answered. ‘There are still some…problems that we should discuss tomorrow. When you’ve seen her. It’s difficult to convey over the phone.’
‘What kind of problems?’
‘Well, as I said…it’s difficult to understand if you haven’t…experienced it. I’ll be at the Heath tomorrow. We’ll take this up again then.’
They had agreed to meet early. The Heath would open at twelve o’clock and David was planning to be there before that.
There was another quiet knock on the door and David went to let his mother in, with the rabbit cage. She had—to his amazement—taken the news of Eva’s accident relatively well, not smothering him with excessive pity as he’d feared.
The cage looked good but there was no sawdust. Sture said that newspaper was just as good and cheaper. He and David’s mother set about furnishing it as David stood beside them, the rabbit in his hands.
He and Eva had joked many times about how they ought to fix up their parents, two lonely individuals. The idea foundered on its impracticality; they were far too unlike and both cemented into their respective lives. Now, as he stood watching them whisper and tear up newspaper and fill a bowl with water, it no longer seemed so unreasonable. For a moment their roles were reversed: they were a couple, he was alone.
But I’m not alone. Eva will get well.
The gaping hole in her chest.
David blinked hard, opened his eyes and concentrated on the rabbit, which was nibbling a shirt button. If it hadn’t been for Eva’s accident there would not have been a rabbit. Both he and Eva thought it was wrong to keep animals in the city, caged. But now…
Magnus deserved to be happy. At least on his birthday.
‘We are so happy, ha ha!
That you are born, fallera!
That you were born, fallera!
On just this day!
Hurray hurray!’
David felt a lump in his throat as they entered Magnus’ room. Magnus wasn’t curled up and sleeping, or pretending to sleep. He was lying ramrod straight on his back with his hands on his stomach, looking gravely at them, and David felt as if he and the others were performing for an audience that was refusing to play along.
‘Congratulations, darling.’
David’s mother was the first one to reach the bed and the serious look in Magnus’ eyes softened when the packages were laid across his feet. For a while he seemed to forget. There were Pokémon cards, Legos and movie
s. Finally they brought in the cage.
For a while, David had been afraid that Magnus had decided simply to humour them but there was no mistaking his enormous, unfeigned joy as he lifted the rabbit up into the bed, stroking its head and kissing it on the nose. The first thing he said after he had cuddled it for a while was: ‘Can I bring it to show Mummy?’
David smiled and nodded. Since the day after the accident, Magnus had hardly mentioned Eva and when David fished a little he had realised that Magnus resented Eva for disappearing. As if Magnus himself saw that this was an unreasonable attitude and was ashamed of it, he refused to talk about Eva at all.
Therefore: if he wanted to bring the bunny, he could bring the bunny.
Sture rubbed Magnus on the head and asked, ‘What do you think it’s called?’
Magnus answered immediately, ‘Balthazar.’
‘I see,’ Sture said. ‘Lucky that it’s a boy.’
The cake was brought in. David had bought a ready-made marzipan cake in a bakery and Magnus said nothing about it. Coffee and hot chocolate were poured. The munching of the sugary treat, the silence between the mouthfuls would have been difficult to bear if it hadn’t been for Balthazar. He hopped around on Magnus’ bed, sniffing the cake and getting cream on his nose.
Instead of talking about Eva, whom they couldn’t talk about, they talked about Balthazar. Balthazar was the fifth living creature: Balthazar replaced Eva. They laughed at his antics, discussed the challenges and joys of rabbits.
After David’s mother had left, David and Magnus played a couple of Pokémon matches so that Magnus could use the new cards. Sture followed the game with interest, but when Magnus tried to explain the complicated rules he shook his head.
‘No, that’s too hard for me. I’ll stick to snap and gin rummy.’
Magnus won both of the matches and went into his room to play with Balthazar. It was half past nine. No more coffee could be drunk without courting indigestion and they had almost two hours to kill before they could set off. David was about to suggest a game of snap, but felt it would seem contrived. Instead he sat down emptyhanded across the kitchen table from Sture.
‘I see you’re performing tonight,’ Sture said.
‘What? Tonight?’
‘Yes, or that’s what it said in the paper anyway.’
David took out his calendar and checked. 17 August. NB 21.00. Sture was right. He also saw to his dismay that he had a corporate gig in Uppsala on the nineteenth. Mission: to joke, clown, make people laugh. He rubbed his face.
‘I’ll have to call and cancel.’
Sture’s eyes narrowed, as if he were squinting at the sun. ‘Should you really do that?’
‘Well you know, standing up there and…prancing around. No. I can’t.’
‘Maybe it would be good for you to get out a little.’
‘Yes, but my routine. It’ll be like having a mouth full of rocks. No.’
He could have added that a fair percentage of the audience would know what had happened to him after the story on TV4. The dead woman’s husband performing. Most likely Leo had already cancelled him but forgotten to pull the ad.
Sture interlaced his fingers on the table. ‘I can watch the boy if you like.’
‘Thanks,’ David said. ‘We’ll see. But I don’t think so.’
Bondegatan 09.30
Saturday morning the doorbell rang at Flora’s apartment. Maja, one of her few friends from school, was standing outside. She was a head taller than Flora, maybe thirty kilos heavier. On the lapel of her army surplus greatcoat there was a button that said, ‘I bitch & I moan. What’s your religion?’
‘Come out for a bit,’ she said.
Flora was happy to. The apartment felt breakfast-stuffy, the smell of toast an unhappy reminder of absent harmony. In addition, Flora only really smoked when she was with Maja—and she had a hankering to smoke.
They strolled aimlessly on the street as Maja lit up the first of the day and Flora took a couple of puffs.
‘We’ve been talking about doing something at the Heath,’ Maja said, and held out the cigarette.
‘We?’
‘Yeah, the group.’
Maja belonged to a sub-group of Young Left—mostly girls—who considered themselves creative. When Café magazine had their tenth birthday party on a boat, Patricia had poured out ten buckets of wallpaper paste on the docks in front of the gangplank and put up a sign, ‘WARNING! SPERM!’ The guests had been forced to wade through the grey-white mess until, with some effort, it was scrubbed away.
‘What kind of thing?’ Flora asked and gave the rest of the cigarette back. She had had enough.
‘It’s just…’ Maja said and pointedly averted her gaze from a girly-girl in white linen pants who was out on a morning walk with a Maltese terrier, ‘it’s sick what they’re doing with them. First they use them as some kind of guinea pigs and now they’re going to herd them into a bloody ghetto.’
‘Sure,’ Flora said. ‘But what’s the alternative exactly?’
‘Alternative? It doesn’t matter what the alternative is. This is wrong. Society can only be judged…’
‘…by how it treats its weakest members,’ Flora filled in. ‘Yes, I know, but…’
Maja waved her cigarette impatiently. ‘There’s never been a weaker group than the dead.’ She gave a laugh. ‘When was the last time you heard the dead speak up for their rights? They have none. The authorities can do what they want with them, and that’s what they’re going to do. Did you read that thing in DN, what the philosopher-bitch said?’
‘Yes,’ Flora said, ‘and I get that it’s wrong. I agree with you, so calm down. I’m just wondering…’
‘You can wonder later. You identify the wrong, you do something to put it right. As soon as there’s something new, you have to work out who has the power to make use of it. Let’s say they do come up with an antidote to death, OK? What do you think they’ll use it for? Make sure the population of Africa can live forever? I don’t think so. Let every black person die of AIDS first, and we’ll see what we can do with Africa after that. You’ve got to understand that the spread of AIDS is largely controlled by American pharmaceutical companies.’ Maja shook her head. ‘Ten to one they’re out there sniffing around the Heath too.’
‘I’m planning to go out there when it opens,’ Flora said.
‘Where? The Heath? I’ll come with you.’
‘I don’t think you’ll get in. Only family…’
‘That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. How are you going to prove that you’re family, then?’
‘I don’t know.’
Maja put out the cigarette by rolling it between her index finger and thumb. She stopped, cocked her head to one side and squinted at Flora.
‘And what reason do you have to go there, anyway?’
‘I don’t know. I just…I have to go. Have to see what it’s like.’
‘You’ve got a thing about death, haven’t you?’
‘Hasn’t everyone?’
Maja looked at her for a couple of seconds and then said, ‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
Flora shrugged. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Maja grinned and sent the butt flying in an arc towards a rubbish bin. Amazingly, it went in. Flora applauded and Maja put an arm around her shoulders.
‘Do you know what you are?’
Flora shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Pretentious. A little bit. I like it.’
They walked around and talked for another couple of hours. Then they parted and Flora took the subway to Tensta.
Täby Municipality 09.30
‘We have to take the chance to argue our case when there are this many people gathering.’
‘But will anyone listen to us?’
‘I’m certain they will.’
‘How will they hear us?’
‘They’ll have loudspeakers.’
‘Do you thin
k we’ll be allowed to use them?’
‘Let me put it this way: when Jesus drove the moneylenders out of the temple, do you think he asked permission? Excuse me, do you mind if I push this table over?’
The others laughed and Mattias folded his arms across his chest, pleased. Elvy was standing with her head resting against the door post, watching them in the kitchen, discussing the day’s strategy. She did not take part. The last couple of days she had been feeling weak. It came from sleeplessness and the sleeplessness came from doubt.
She lay awake at night and struggled to hold on to her vision, to stop it from fading and receding into the jumble of images. Tried to understand.
Their only salvation is to come to me…
After the modest success of the first evening, the fishing for souls had stalled. Once the first shock had died down and it appeared that society was in fact capable of handling the situation, people were less willing to come on board. Elvy had only participated that first day. On the second day she was too tired.
‘What do you think, Elvy?’
Mattias’ round, childlike face turned toward her. It took Elvy a couple of seconds to understand what he was asking. Seven pairs of eyes watched her. As well as Mattias, the only man among them, there was Hagar, Greta, the neighbour woman and the other woman who had come the first evening. Elvy could not remember her name. Then there were two sisters, Ingegerd and Esmeralda, who were friends with the nameless woman. They were the ones who were here for the morning meeting. Other sympathisers would join them later.
‘I think…’ Elvy said. ‘I think…I don’t know what I think.’
Mattias frowned. Wrong answer. Elvy absentmindedly rubbed the scab on her forehead.
‘You’ll have to decide what you think is best and then…that’s what we’ll do. I think I have to go and lie down.’
Mattias caught up with her outside her bedroom door. He gently grabbed her shoulder.
Handling the Undead Page 21
