Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  “Well, we should definitely remedy that. You wouldn’t want to buy a house that you haven’t properly inspected.” They’d reached the chapel again, where Annika’s car was parked. “Here we are. Shall we?” She pointed to a beat-up old Volvo in a bleached-yellow color. “My apologies. It’s my husband’s car. Mine’s in the shop today. I don’t normally drive it.”

  She unlocked it, they got in, and Annika drove them the short stretch to Änggården and the house. She parked on the street and walked up ahead to unlock the house. The garden looked even worse now, and there was an almost ghost-like appearance to the entire property.

  “Well, as you can see, poor Staffan didn’t really look after things in the end, and I’m afraid it shines through in the estimate you have there.” She pointed at the envelope that Casper was holding.

  They took their time looking at the house and the garden. Nilas climbed up into the attic to examine the roof construction and closely inspected the basement, from the inside and from the outside. But the valuation and examination had been professionally done, and the estimate seemed realistic.

  “What about the furniture?” Casper asked.

  “Well,” Annika began, pouring them coffee in the kitchen as they sat down after the tour, “what we normally do in a case like this is have a moving company come in and take care of everything. They throw away clothing that cannot be given to charity, and everything else is usually picked up by the Salvation Army. Sometimes, if an item is valuable, we get some money for it, but normally, we’re just happy to get it off our hands. Afterward, the premises are cleaned, and the new owners move in. Why do you ask? Is there something you might be interested in?”

  “I remember Nilas was really impressed with the big closet upstairs, in the master bedroom. And I have to say, that I really like the furniture in the dining room. And some of the artwork, but I guess that might be valuable?”

  “I can honestly say that I haven’t looked. If I remember correctly, Staffan told me that they’d inherited the house from his wife’s parents. They lived off his salary alone. She never worked, so I don’t think they would’ve had a lot of money to purchase expensive art, but you’re right. We’d have to look into that. If not, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, but if there happens to be a Picasso or Dalí in here, I think I’d have to auction it off. Why don’t you make me an offer, without the paintings? And unless they’re worthy of an auction, I’m sure we’ll find a solution for those, too. Mind you, the less money I have to spend on cleaning this place out, and the sooner we come to an agreement, the more money I can send to the state.”

  “Would you mind giving us a couple of minutes? To discuss it?” Nilas asked.

  “No, not at all. I’ll be in the hallway. Let me call my arts contact, see if he can swing by this afternoon to have a look at the house.” Annika got up and left Nilas and Casper alone in the kitchen.

  “So, what do you think?” Casper asked, subdued.

  “I’m honestly still in shock. I mean, when we left this house two months ago, I never thought I’d see it again. And here I am, in the kitchen, with a contract in my hands. I’m excited, but at the same time nervous as hell. Did you see the estimate? We can actually afford this.”

  Casper sighed. “Yeah, I saw it, but still, it’s a hell of a lot of money. Money we don’t have. This is going to eat up all of our savings, just for the down payment. What about the renovations? This place is a dump. It’ll take a lot of money to get it up to speed.”

  “Okay,” Nilas took both of Casper’s hands in his, “here’s my idea. Let’s knock a couple hundred thousand kronor off the estimate, and sign today. That way, we have a little bit of money left to buy paint, wallpaper, and stuff. There’s a lot we can do ourselves. And remember, at this moment, I don’t have a job. I could spend my days cleaning and scrubbing the place into shape, work in the yard and the garden, prune hedges and trees, mow the lawn. Once I get a job, and with your new pay as professor, we should be good. Besides, we don’t live an expensive lifestyle, and the cost of living in Gothenburg is a lot lower than Stockholm.”

  “I guess. But what if she doesn’t accept our offer? Besides, we also need to talk about furniture. We live in a one-bedroom apartment, beäjvviebájttuo. Even if we kept the master bedroom’s king-size bed, we’d still need to furnish an entire room, and what do we do with the atelier? Neither of us is particularly artistic.”

  “I think we should just turn that into our home office. I mean, come on, babe, how many hours do you sit at home, pouring over your books and research papers already? I have a hunch you might like to have a proper desk and a proper office to work in. With its own phone line. But yes, let’s talk about the furniture. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t like the living room stuff. It’s just, I don’t know, yikes! But the dining room and the library are amazing. I wish we could just keep the whole thing, clean it up properly and open it up to the library, to make the room brighter. And I really want to keep the closet upstairs, although maybe in a different room, you know, for guests. But I don’t think I want to keep any of the beds. Kind of, I don’t know, weird?”

  Casper had to laugh. “I agree. No beds. For all we know, Staffan’s wife died in that bed. That goes, so does the guest bed. Which still leaves us short a lot of furniture.”

  “Does it matter?” Nilas asked, squeezing Casper’s hands. “I mean, we’re still young, and we might be in this house for a very long time. Who says we have to furnish it all at once? We could do it slowly, as we can afford to.”

  Casper leaned forward and kissed Nilas on the forehead, then on the lips. “You are so smart. I guess that’s part of what I fell in love with.”

  Nilas blushed. “And the other part?”

  Casper got up, laughing. “You’re funny. When did you last look into a mirror? You’re positively gorgeous. Hasn’t anybody ever told you that? Those eyes of yours? They were the main reason I walked up to you that day.” He grabbed Nilas by the hand and pulled him up, and together they went to look for Annika.

  The next day, on a scorching hot Saturday morning, they signed the contract. Annika had the art and some of the furniture valued, and the expert had not assigned particular value to any of it, at least, not enough to warrant the extra time and cost of having it removed from the house, priced, and sold at an auction. They had haggled over the price for a while, and in the end, they managed to knock one hundred thousand kronor off the estimate. It wasn’t as much as the boys had hoped for, but on the other hand, they ended up with a house that was partially furnished and with some artwork. They also agreed to clean the house themselves, and to throw away anything they didn’t want, in exchange for being allowed to keep the Gustavian furniture in the dining room, which, unexpectedly, had turned out to be the most valuable items in the house, more valuable than the paintings. Those were procured from local talent, but not very well-known artists.

  With the caveat that the bank would approve the mortgage, they’d be moving in September first, just a couple of weeks after the beginning of the semester at the university.

  That night, the boys went out to celebrate their move. Casper had gotten the green light on the professorship just days prior to the funeral, and now they had two of three items on their list checked off. Which left Nilas finding himself a position, but they weren’t worried. There was plenty of work to be done around the house for now. They returned to Stockholm on Sunday and began to pack.

  They had their furniture shipped to Gothenburg by truck a couple of weeks later, just a few days before the semester began. It would be stored by the moving company until September first. In the meantime, they would stay in one of the university’s small apartments for visiting lecturers from around the world.

  1990

  You Fucking Faggot!

  The move to Gothenburg had been a blessing in disguise for Nilas and Casper. The new job at the university turned out to be the best thing for Casper’s professional career, and they really loved their ho
use. Nilas had yet to find work, but for now, he wasn’t overly concerned.

  He was still working for his old company, off and on, supplementing their income. While not working on the structural integrity of floors and walls, he was busy working on the house. One of the first things they’d done after moving in the previous fall was to get the outside in order, particularly the garden and backyard. And painting the outside wooden panels was on the to-do list for this summer. But since the garden was the first thing people noticed when walking by, Nilas spent many hours not just mowing the lawn to a perfect length and keeping it there, but he also trimmed the hedges, cut bushes to a manageable size—particularly the rhododendron in front of the kitchen—and he cut back some of the trees, for instance where branches were hanging out into the sidewalk or throwing their shade across windows and blocking daylight from spaces where it could be enjoyed inside the house.

  He had planted a lot of flower bulbs in the flower beds in the fall as well as a few perennials, and he decorated the house for every season. It gave him immense satisfaction to see the house so beautifully decorated for the different holidays, using heather, for instance—a very typical Swedish plant for the fall—along with decorative cabbage in large clay pots at the stairs to their veranda.

  Neighbors had quickly come by after they moved in, to compliment them on the “enormous” change to the house. Nilas had also made sure to decorate the windows with both curtains and traditional small window lamps, which gave the house character and made it look used and lived in—something the neighbors had obviously noticed, as Staffan had barely used most of the house during his final years.

  Curiosity about the odd couple who had moved into the neighborhood also played a role. It was a fairly unusual occurrence for a gay couple to buy a house together, but in general, people were mostly satisfied that the new owners would add overall value to the neighborhood, thus increasing the value of their own properties, should the need to sell ever arise.

  After having taken care of the outside, Nilas immediately proceeded to work on the inside of the house. They couldn’t afford to renovate the kitchen and bathrooms at this time, so instead focused on the things they could do themselves: paint, wallpaper, sand and oil the hard wood floors. Finding the right wallpaper wasn’t easy. Nilas had very specific ideas about the kind of décor and feel he wanted, namely a combination of classic Gustavian, which would go well with their furniture in the dining room, and light colors: mainly light blues, yellows, and greens. He also wanted to turn their living room into a more modern haven, as a contrast to the eighteenth-century feel of the dining room and library.

  The bedrooms were decorated with simpler, plain wallpapers, and each room was given a feel of its own. They were only able to afford to furnish one of the rooms beside their own, with two beds that could be moved together or separated, depending on who their visitors might be. Even though two of the rooms stood empty, Nilas made sure there were lamps and curtains, to give the appearance of a fully furnished house. Over time, they’d add more furniture, as their finances allowed. They had moved the large closet out of the master bedroom, having to completely disassemble it first, to get it through the bedroom door. They had to ask a carpenter for help as the closet had been standing in the same place for decades, and Nilas was afraid it would get damaged if he handled it without the proper care. While he was very good with his hands and no stranger to woodwork, he was no professional.

  It made the perfect addition to the first guest room. For their own bedroom, they’d paid a visit or two to the local IKEA to find the necessary closet for their clothing. They felt very adult as they assembled the piece one Saturday afternoon.

  Today, however, wasn’t a day for indoor work. Nilas had finished mowing the lawn on the fine and dry May morning, and felt the urge to go out for a walk or jog. He changed into his running gear and casually jogged down the street, turning right to head for the small pedestrian bridge from their side of the valley across the freeway and tram tracks to the large city park, Slottsskogen.

  Once in the park, he picked up the pace and proceeded to jog toward the seal enclosure, one of the popular spots in the park, where the inhabitants of the city could view a group of gray seals. A little farther up the hill, there was an old building housing Humboldt penguins. There, Nilas turned left and continued up the hill into rugged terrain. Most of the paths in the park were paved, but Nilas preferred to run through the forest in its natural state; jumping over roots and avoiding rocks and stones kept him on edge, focused.

  This part of the park was also known as a cruising area for the gay men of Gothenburg, and after dusk, many of them went there to find occasional sex—something that persisted despite the HIV epidemic. But that wasn’t why Nilas was there. Instead, it was the relatively open space, the gentle slope of the hill, that had caught his eye. Had he run to the other side, he’d have had to stay on paths and would’ve ended up in the zoo instead. So this was much better.

  He’d reached the top of the hill and stopped to rest for a moment when he heard the rustle of leaves behind him. Turning around, he noticed a group of four skinheads quickly approaching him. Nilas had read about gay-bashing in Gothenburg, and he was well aware of the reputation the West Coast had for being the home to many on the extreme right, but to this day he hadn’t seen any out in broad daylight. He remembered where he was, and that he’d just painted a huge target across his chest. Nilas had never thought he looked particularly gay, but being where he was, he would’ve been guilty by association even if he’d been straight. When the skinheads saw him, and noticed the panic spreading across his face, they attacked, picking up a running pace, quickly crossing the distance between them.

  Nilas didn’t have time to react. Before his muscles had a chance to recover, the skinheads were on him, kicking and punching him. Nilas curled into a ball and tried to protect his head and face with his arms and hands, to no avail.

  “We’ll show you to come into our park to go about your disgusting business, you fucking faggot!” one of them yelled at him, before another boot kicked him in the gut. Nilas felt as if his life was about to end, and tried to figure a way to get out of the situation alive, but he couldn’t. So, instead, he tried to relax, get it over with, and accept the inevitable with equanimity.

  He was hurting all over, yet due to the adrenaline rush, he was acutely aware of every kick, every punch, in slow motion. It was as if he were detached from his own body and watching the four youths kick and punch him from above, an out-of-body experience of sorts. Then it stopped. Someone was approaching, and the skinheads ran away, leaving Nilas lying on the ground, bleeding, in agony.

  “Oh my god! Are you okay?” the person approaching asked, kneeling down to help Nilas sit up. “Can you get up?”

  Nilas tried, but he couldn’t move. He was in too much pain. They had hit him badly in the face. His lips had split open and were bleeding; he tasted blood in his mouth; his one eye was swelling up quickly, and he was dizzy. His gut hurt badly from all the kicking, and he feared he’d suffered internal injuries. But for now, he was alive.

  His rescuer seemed to panic. “Please say something. I don’t know what to do? If you can’t walk, I’ll need to get some help, but I’m not out. I don’t want people to know. Please, what should I do?”

  Nilas tried to speak. “I, uh, ow-ah…” The pain was too much, and Nilas passed out.

  ***

  When he came to again, he was lying in a hospital room, surrounded by machines making odd beeping noises. He could hear his own heartbeat coming from one of them. He felt nauseated, but not in any great pain, even though he had this odd sensation that his entire body was feeling tight in a way—constricted, sore.

  A nurse walked by his bed and noticed he was awake. “Welcome back to the land of the living, young man. You were out for quite a while. How do you feel?”

  Nilas tried to speak, but his mouth was swollen, and his vocal cords denied his will. Nothing came from his throat but a
raspy, gurgled sound. The nurse nodded. “That’s okay. Take it easy. The doctor will be by in a while to talk to you about the injuries you suffered. You were found by a rescue team up on faggot hill. They were tipped off by an anonymous caller. You were lucky, given the state you were in. If only you lot would learn and stay away from that place.” She shook her head and never once looked Nilas in the eyes.

  Nilas felt himself blush. The nurse had a point, although her homophobic remark didn’t help. Little could she know he’d been there to run, not to fuck. It didn’t matter, really. He was alive.

  The nurse was checking his vitals on the machine, and making sure his IV was working properly. “By the way, you have a visitor out there. He says he’s your partner. If that’s true, it is above me how you could cheat on him like that. He’s a very handsome young fella. Don’t you people have any sense of decorum or the slightest sense of obligation to be faithful? No wonder God has sent you AIDS as a punishment!” With that, she turned around and left him alone to his thoughts.

  A couple of minute later, he noticed a pair of eyes staring at him. He’d almost fallen asleep again. He looked up and saw Casper’s teary eyes looking down at him. They were bloodshot, and he looked like shit. I wonder how bad I look, Nilas wondered.

  “Hey there, beäjvviebájttuo, how are you? You scared the hell out of me. What happened to you?”

  Nilas tried to respond, but his voice didn’t cooperate. He tried to lift his left arm, to point at his throat. It hurt like crazy, but he managed to point with his index finger at his Adam’s apple. Casper understood. “Shhh, don’t even try to speak, then. It’s okay. We’ll get the answers eventually. What were you doing over on faggot hill anyway? Don’t you know the nazis are hunting gays over there? Were you jogging?”