Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  Yet at the same time, life went on, all around them. Summer had arrived in all its splendor, and the boys were enjoying their walks, relishing in the sunshine, marveling at the way the sun was reflected off the surface of a calm Lake Malar or the Baltic Sea in the harbor. Sadly, they had less and less time to enjoy themselves, as Göran’s health began to deteriorate.

  By July, he was so sick that he had to move to a nursing home. By the end of August, he’d passed away. Nilas was sure it was from a broken heart. The old man simply didn’t want to live any longer, not when all his friends, his boys, were dropping like flies, all around him. His heart just couldn’t take the pain anymore, and it probably wasn’t a coincidence that Göran passed away just a day after he’d learned of Björn’s passing from AIDS-related symptoms. Tom was also hospitalized, and he wasn’t expected to live long, either.

  Göran’s passing also meant that his house was now owned by the Swedish government. The old man had never written a will, and with no living relatives, his estate was inherited by the national inheritance fund, where all estates without heirs ended up. Their contract was terminated, and the boys had to find a new place to stay.

  They were lucky to find an apartment in Skärholmen: a quiet suburb in the southwest of Stockholm, along a subway line. Their commute would be a bit longer, but on the other hand, they now had a balcony, and the rent was still okay. Signing the contract had been a bit of a challenge, as they both wanted to be listed on it, and the woman at the city’s public housing agency gave them a puzzled look as she tried to ascertain who the two young men were and why they were applying for a joined contract. Luckily, she didn’t ask too many questions and let it slide when Casper said they were friends. She never picked up on the oral quotation marks surrounding his words. Whether she had her doubts or not didn’t matter. They had a firsthand rental contract in Stockholm, which was hard enough to come by as it was.

  Moving out of the city had its blessings, and with Göran gone, Nilas and Casper quickly lost contact with the gay circles of the city, or with everyone except Clara and Ingrid. The two couples would meet for a meal at least once a month, either at the boys’ apartment or on Drottningholm, where Clara and Ingrid had purchased an old farmhouse and grew vegetables and kept some chickens.

  Their lifestyle was quite different from that of their next-door neighbors, the King and Queen of Sweden, who had left the city and the big castle in the old town to take up residence at Drottningholm Castle, to afford their three kids a countryside upbringing. When the four were out walking on the island, they would encounter the royal family every now and then, walking their dogs, just like any other Swedish family on a weekend. Nilas could only guess what an odd group they must’ve presented, two women in their fifties and two men in their twenties, holding hands with each other. But the entire family would always politely return any “hello” said to them.

  * * * * *

  1984

  Graduation

  It was the summer of the next year when Nilas finally graduated from the Royal Institute of Technology. He was tired of school, tired of being excluded, ostracized for being gay and probably spreading AIDS, and he was looking forward to joining the workforce. Casper was working on his PhD and was teaching the A and B courses in linguistics at the University of Stockholm.

  Nilas applied for a position at one of Sweden’s largest engineering firms, and given his good final grades, he got called up for an interview. He was nervous that morning, when he got off at the subway stop. Casper, who’d continue a few more stops to the university, clandestinely squeezed his hand to wish him luck. They had begun to completely avoid any overt displays of affection as the AIDS crisis had worsened, and many of the public were afraid to even come near gay men, afraid to catch the virus, which had now been identified and named: HTLV-III. By now, it was also clear that most people had become infected through sexual transmission or blood transfusions, although this knowledge did little to assuage the public; quite the contrary. There were public calls to isolate the gays, and even words such as “concentration camps” were heard in the debate.

  Nilas reached the impressive building where he was about to be interviewed and proceeded to the receptionist. “Good morning. My name is Nilas Jonsson. I’m here for a job interview at nine o’clock with Mr. Abrahamsson.”

  “Good morning. Please have a seat, and I’ll call Dr. Abrahamsson.” The young receptionist gestured for Nilas to sit down on a couch on the other side of the large reception area. A few minutes later, a middle-aged gentleman with slightly graying temples and a suit in a light green-beige color appeared from the elevator and briefly spoke to the receptionist before turning toward Nilas. “Good morning. Nilas Jonsson, I presume? I’m Dr. Abrahamsson. Follow me, please.” He gestured toward the elevator.

  They rode a couple of floors up, where Abrahamsson showed Nilas to a small conference room. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m not much of a coffee drinker,” Nilas responded, blushing and smiling crookedly.

  “Ah, that’s fine. I’m more of a tea drinker, myself. Do you drink tea?” Abrahamsson laughed.

  “I do, and yes, I’d like a cup.”

  “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Lemon if you have, and a couple of spoons of sugar.”

  Dr. Abrahamsson picked up the phone and talked to someone. “Agnes, would you please get me a cup of tea, as usual, and a second cup for Mr. Jonsson. Do we have lemon? No?” He looked at Nilas.

  “Just sugar, then, please,” Nilas confirmed.

  “Just sugar. And bring some cookies.” He hung up. “My secretary will be here with our tea shortly. Now, Nilas, tell me about yourself. Your name, are you a Lapp?”

  Nilas blushed and nodded. “Yes sir, I am. Both my parents are Sami.”

  “Ah, yes, I guess that’s what you call yourselves these days. Sami. I guess pretty soon we’ll have to change the name of Lapland to Sameland, too, what do you think?” Abrahamsson laughed, but Nilas was unsure whether he thought it was a great idea or a bad one.

  “I don’t know, sir. I doubt it.”

  “Probably better we stick to the job interview, and leave politics aside. I won’t hold it against you, trust me. My family is Jewish, so I know all about being part of a minority.” There was a hard, pained edge to his voice as he said that, and Nilas could only guess what he or his family had been through, but his eyes signaled that he meant Nilas no ill will. “Please, continue…”

  Nilas took a deep breath. “As I was saying, both my parents were born in Ammarnäs, in Sorsele commune. My mom’s and dad’s ancestors were reindeer herders, but when the reindeer herding laws were passed, both families lost their herds due to various circumstances. My parents now have a little farm with some goats. Dad helps relatives with their reindeer, and they both have other occasional jobs. I moved to Stockholm to study here, at the Royal Institute of Technology, from where I graduated last month.”

  Abrahamsson looked down at his papers and seemed to be reading something. “So I noted, and with good grades, I see. Congratulations, young man. Now, tell me, what brings you to us?”

  Nilas was about to respond when there was a knock on the door, and a young woman came in, carrying a tray with two cups of tea, and a cookie jar. She set it on the table and left again, without saying a word. “That was Agnes, my secretary. Most efficient. Carry on!”

  “Well, your company is very highly regarded. You are leading in the telecommunications area, and I think you might be a good fit for me to hone my skills, get work experience. Plus, I’m a big fan of your latest mobile phone technology, and I’d really like to work in that area. You can’t imagine how important—life-saving, even—that technology will be up north.”

  “I see. Yes, we’re working hard, and there is a lot of development going on in that sector, but we’re still predominantly a landline-based company.”

  “I understand that,” Nilas offered, afraid he may have blown a chance by zo
oming in on one singular direction. “I’m merely expressing an interest, because I understand from growing up in the mountains just how difficult it is to communicate, not to mention how expensive it is for the phone utility to draw copper wires to remote places. Cellular technology will revolutionize communication, I’m sure of it.”

  Abrahamsson chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Incidentally, the company shares your enthusiasm. We take on board a number of graduates from the Institute as trainees, every year. We base our decision less on what you can or cannot do, and more on your personal capabilities and potential. We rarely know ahead of time in which department these trainees will end up after their induction. It’s not unusual for candidates to float around for a while, try different things. Who knows? You might discover an aspect of engineering you hadn’t even considered, including construction or computer programming. We’re a big company, with many different departments.”

  Nilas nodded, suddenly feeling as if he had a foot in the door, when the next words threw him off track. “Now, tell me a little bit more about yourself. Are you married? Children?”

  This was the one question Nilas had feared; it was the one question that might throw any shot he had out the window, and he felt how his ears were burning as he blushed. “No, sir, I am not.”

  “Oh, well, you’re still young. I just noticed that you live in Skärholmen, which is a family-friendly suburb. Take your time, no rush to settle down, sow your oats while you can.” He laughed heartily at this, and Nilas almost burst as more blood than seemed possible rushed to his face.

  Before he could consider his words, he burst out, “Actually, sir, I am in a stable relationship, with a researcher at the university. His name is Casper.”

  And just as quickly as he’d uttered the last words, Nilas felt how the temperature in the room dropped, the atmosphere staled, and Dr. Abrahamsson’s face turned ashen, his expression hardening. “Well, I’m certainly glad you told me, because if there’s one thing we don’t need here, it’s people like you. It’s bad enough that you’ve begun with those perverted annual sexual liberation marches, and now you’re all being infected with AIDS. You do understand that we have a responsibility to our employees here, their families and children, not to mention to public health and safety.”

  He got up and straightened his suit, staring down at Nilas, who was holding on to his tea cup as if it were a rescue ring. “I certainly appreciate your interest in our company, but under the circumstances, I don’t think you are the right candidate for us.” He picked up and called his secretary again. “Agnes, please show Mr. Jonsson to the door please, and make sure you throw away the cups in the conference room. Yes, throw them away. No, nothing’s wrong. Just do as I say…”

  With that he left the conference room, leaving Nilas alone with his emotions in turmoil.

  What have I done? he thought. Why did I have to tell him? He could’ve hit himself over the head. God, I’m such an idiot. Why did I have to mention Casper?

  ***

  “Because you’re a good, honest man?” Casper hugged him, after Nilas had told him the story later in the evening as they were having their dinner. “I’m proud of you for being so honest. Granted, it’s a little bit easier for me to be open at the university, but only barely. At least my colleagues are all educated and more open-minded, but even there, it’s hard. I see how they look at my coffee mug, literally stare at it, and I’ve noticed how many of them take their mugs back to their office rather than leave them in the common room. I mean, they should know it doesn’t transmit through a cup, particularly not after it’s been washed. But still, I guess people are afraid, afraid to catch it, afraid to give it to their spouses, their children.”

  “I guess. But we’ve been a couple for almost two years. We’re exclusive, and so far, we’ve not developed any symptoms. I doubt we’re infected,” Nilas offered.

  “Maybe not—probably not. For some of those infected, the incubation period is fairly long. But that’s not the point. People are afraid. Hell, we are afraid. When was the last time we were at a gay bar?”

  “I know, I guess I just didn’t consider that. I better keep my mouth shut from now on.”

  “What will you say if they ask you again?”

  “I don’t know. Unless they ask specifically, I’ll just be vague, elusive. But I won’t lie, Casper. I refuse to lie.”

  “And lie you shouldn’t. Ever. But yeah, don’t give them more information than they ask for.”

  Over the coming weeks, Nilas was invited to a couple more interviews, and finally, at his fourth attempt, at a small construction firm north of the city, he shook hands with the man who was to become his first employer.

  “Welcome to the firm, Nilas. I think you’ll be a great addition to our team. As a fellow Northlander, I know we are hard and committed workers. I’m sure we’ll accomplish amazing things together.” Artur Andersson was a kind man, in his late forties, who owned a small construction business, and they had been looking to expand their engineering department. It wasn’t Nilas’s ideal job, but it would help pay the bills, now that he would no longer be able to rely on government grants and student loans.

  But first, they’d finally get to spend a few days together, as they were heading home, to Nilas’s hometown of Ammarnäs, to meet the family.

  * * * * *

  You Must Be Casper

  The trip to Ammarnäs was long. They took the night train to Vindeln, and from there, they grabbed a bus for the final leg of the journey, which was almost as long as the train ride. But they didn’t mind. They couldn’t afford to fly; even though it would have saved them some time, the tickets were simply too expensive.

  As they approached Ammarnäs on the bus from the small town of Sorsele, Nilas got all giddy, and he began to bite his nails, as he often did when he was nervous. Sure, he was looking forward to seeing his family again; he was excited about coming home to his mountains, the beautiful and untamed river Vindelälven running through the valley, surrounded by slim and tall spruce trees. In a way, he was looking forward to showing it all to his Casper, but it was also a frightening prospect. What if Casper didn’t like Ammarnäs? What if his parents disapproved of him? What if they didn’t get along? What if people in the village said things? Being gay was one thing, but bringing home a boy was another, and Nilas knew that the news of AIDS would have also reached Ammarnäs. His mother had mentioned as much, more than once, on the phone.

  As the bus was leaving the final stop before Ammarnäs, Nilas could barely sit still. They slowly passed Gautsträsk, the lake just east of the village, and within minutes, he could see Näsberget, the local mountain, scarred by the downhill slopes that had been carved out of the forest.

  It was a sunny day, and only a few small feathery white clouds painted the sky as they pulled into town, where the boys and a handful of tourists got off the bus. They were undoubtedly hikers on the famous Kungsleden: the King’s Trail, Sweden’s most famous trek, spanning across almost all of Northern Sweden. It passed right through Ammarnäs.

  “Come on!” Nilas beckoned. He grabbed his bag and started off to the right, showing Casper the potato hill, a little hill just north of the village, where the settlers had planted potatoes since, well, as long as people could remember.

  Casper ran after Nilas. “Hey, wait for me. Give me a chance to have a look around.”

  “We can do that all week. I’m sure Mom’s waiting for us.” He continued steadfastly on toward the lake, right through the village.

  Casper followed, silently, his head jerking left and right all the time, trying to catch glimpses of his surroundings.

  When they arrived at the red house that stood near the lake’s shore, separated from the street by a short avenue of sorts, lined with tall birch trees, Nilas suddenly hesitated, turning around and looking at Casper. “Are you ready for this? I’m not sure I am…”

  Casper sighed. “Just knock. She’s your mother. I’ve spoken to her on the phone plen
ty of times. It’ll be okay.”

  Nilas knocked on the door, and it didn’t take long before the door opened and Nilas’s mother appeared in the doorway. “Son, you’re home!” She hugged him fiercely and wouldn’t let him go.

  “Tjidtjie, you’re crushing me. Besides, I brought someone…”

  Nilas’s mother extricated herself from the hug, straightened her dress and her apron and looked at Casper. She smiled and stretched out her hand. “You must be Casper. I’m Inga. Welcome to Ammarnäs.” They shook hands, and Inga gestured them inside. “Come on in. I guess you boys must be hungry after your long trip. When did you leave Stockholm? Last night, I presume? You took the night train?”

  “Yes, we did.” Casper answered politely and gently bowed his head.

  Inga laughed at that. “Please dispense with the formal nonsense. Just call me Inga, or tjidtjie, which is mother in our language. I don’t bite. Now, Casper, tell me, are you a tea drinker, too?”

  “No, tjidtjie,” Nilas cut in, “he drinks coffee, just like you and áhttjie.”

  “I like him already!” Inga chuckled and set off for the kitchen. As she walked away, she called back, “Nilas, why don’t you guys get settled while I get some supper ready for you. Your father won’t be home until late tonight. There’s a meeting with the others. The Swedes are giving us headaches with the animals again. But he says hi. You’ll see him in the morning I guess.”

  Nilas led Casper upstairs to his old bedroom. It felt strange yet exhilarating at the same time to show this to Casper. His bed stood untouched along the far wall, his little desk remained under the small window overlooking the lake, and a large wooden closet stood next to the door, on the right side of the small rectangular-shaped space. Toward the window, the ceiling was lower than it was on the side leading to the corridor.