The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  “With the condition that I can have a forest scent and a greenish light on the premises. I mean organic lighting,” said Christina.

  “You can’t bloody well have lighting that makes everyone look nauseous,” protested Rake.

  Then Martha suggested that they could have different themes every month, for example seafaring the second month, perhaps flowers the third month, and so on. This calmed Rake and the discussion continued.

  “So to sum up,” said Martha, when they had talked this through a while. “This restaurant is to be nicely furnished and fitted and will always be undergoing renewal. An Eldorado for the elderly.”

  “Unless it ends up like a playground, of course,” Rake sighed.

  “No, I’ve had enough of your mean comments, Rake. Pull yourself together, or I’ll abandon this project right away!” said Christina glaring at him.

  “Oops, I didn’t mean it like that, I was just joking,” Rake ventured.

  “I understand exactly what you think. Come up with something better yourself, then! But you can’t, can you? You just criticize others.”

  “Dear friends, now I think we ought to calm down a little. What about a nice cup of tea with ginger in,” Martha intervened.

  “Ginger? Not that too,” sighed Rake.

  And with that, Martha realized that they wouldn’t get any further that day, so she suggested that they should go home to Djursholm. Christina could go directly to the National Museum of Nature and reconnoiter, if she wanted, find out what was available, and then they could use that as a starting point for further discussion.

  “I’ll go to the museum tomorrow and see what they have in their warehouse and that will be that,” said Christina, sounding unusually decisive. They all looked at each other in surprise but thought that it would be best to let Christina have her way. If she was going to be responsible for the restaurant, then it was logical that she should decide about the furnishings and decorations too.

  The next day, Martha (albeit with a certain degree of hesitation) let Christina go off with her children Emma and Anders to the museum to see if the director would be prepared to lend them some of the stuffed animals from the warehouse.

  “But if you bring something with you, then for God’s sake make sure it isn’t infested,” she said as a final piece of advice before she waved them off. She wasn’t entirely satisfied with Christina’s jungle ideas and had her forebodings. But having delegated the responsibility, she must now keep her word.

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN CHRISTINA AND HER CHILDREN drove up on the quayside, Martha saw that they had rented a large trailer. Curious, she went up to the trailer, lifted the corner of the tarp and gasped. Under the green plastic there was a whole collection of stuffed animals, everything from a badger and fox to a little elk calf and a roe deer—but, thank God, no bear. There was, however, a stuffed wolf.

  “They didn’t have a decent bear. They offered us one that was so moth-eaten that I didn’t dare take the wretched thing,” said Christina.

  “Perhaps it hadn’t had any bilberries for a while,” said Rake.

  “So you took the wolf instead? Well, of course, that animal is always in the news,” said Martha in an attempt to be positive, staring at the gray-white wolf. Christina had wanted a giant bear in the entrance, and this did at least demand less space. But . . .

  Martha turned to Christina. “Do you really think that we should have this in the entrance?”

  “Yes, we must welcome our customers,” said Christina.

  “With a wolf?” wondered Brains.

  “We can have a sign saying ‘WELCOME!’ next to it.”

  Then the others tried to propose furnishing the restaurant with books instead and decorating the walls with lovely quotes from the foremost authors, but Christina was not convinced. So they shook their heads and gave up. Without knowing it, they had let loose a force of nature.

  30

  OH MY! WHAT A WOMAN CHRISTINA HAD EMPLOYED! LIKE A whirlwind, redheaded Betty, the new waitress, came to the barge with her jolly laughter and her decidedly curvy figure. She wasn’t exactly young, but she was oh so feminine! Brains sank down in the armchair and closed his eyes to conjure up the picture of her again. And lo and behold, there she was, dancing in front of him while her trickling laughter whirled around the deck. He found himself smiling and not until a lock of hair fell down inside his collar did he come to his senses. Ah yes, of course, he was at the barber’s. And he must behave himself here.

  The members of the League of Pensioners regularly dyed their hair so that they would look younger, since they didn’t want to be recognized. When you are wanted by the police for bank robberies, you must look after number one and think about everything, and none of them wanted to end up in prison. It was admittedly better there than at a special home for the elderly, but they had got used to their free life. They ate good, nourishing food, did gymnastics regularly and led a life full of content which kept them in good condition. They had a comfortable home in their Djursholm villa and it was only this freedom that allowed them to give away the bank robbery money and help others. It was important not to get caught.

  “Is it OK like this?” the hairdresser asked, combing out Brains’s brown hair into a neat fringe. Brains had decided on a youthful style, very short on both sides and plenty of hair up on the top.

  “Yep, that looks fine,” said Brains, nodding.

  “And your beard?”

  “My beard?”

  “Yes, it doesn’t look so cool on elderly gentlemen. Looks rather untrimmed and streaked with gray.”

  “All right, then dye it, but I want to keep it,” said Brains firmly and remarkably quickly. He was proud to keep up with the times and his thoughts were on the redhead. Younger women often liked men with beards and he was not going to be old-fashioned, certainly not.

  “Well, if you want to keep it, I suggest we give it a trim.”

  “No, nothing. I want it natural,” answered Brains, who didn’t like being corrected. It was enough that Martha was always after him telling him what he should do. No, today he felt really rebellious. He had always thought that he and Martha went so well together, but now? She had indeed said yes when he had proposed, but she kept putting off the wedding. First they would have to give away the bank robbery money and now it was the restaurant project that delayed things. Not until that was all up and running—but the restaurant was Christina’s baby, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t his Martha just relax for once? He stroked his engagement ring with his finger. That day when she had said yes had been the happiest day of his life, but now? Perhaps she wasn’t suited to marriage, perhaps he ought to forget about her and break off the engagement? In fact, he was beginning to tire. One month ago, when the redhead had been employed and had smiled in that friendly way at him, he had found himself feeling joy and from his heart he had given her a warm and sincere smile back. He had felt appreciated, and he hadn’t felt like that for a long time. Love is not something that just carries on, it must be cared for, he thought. You could never take it for granted, like Martha did. And if you didn’t work for your love, then it will wither away, yes, just like a muscle that you don’t use. He had long thought of speaking his mind, but now it didn’t seem so important. Something new had come into his life.

  Brains’s thoughts returned to Betty. For every day that passed, she had come to mean all the more to him. And elderly gentlemen did actually pair up with younger women, he had seen that himself in town and at the movie theater. Of course, those men were usually very rich, but the redhead didn’t know anything about his finances and, besides, didn’t seem to care about such things. She liked him just as he was and had even talked about joining him on his motorcycle which he had parked on the afterdeck. Then he had felt the butterflies in his tummy start to flutter, and he hadn’t dared say that he was probably a bit too old to drive it.

  “Right. That will be seven hundred kronor,” said the barber, taking off the cape and brushing away some hairs from B
rains’s collar. He flashed a quick smile and went across to the cash register. Brains stroked his cheek a few times, got up in an unusually nimble manner for his age and followed him. Oh yes, his wallet. He had left it at home.

  “I can pay by Internet,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. He nodded, put on his overcoat and hat and went out.

  “But wait, wait, your card, we must swipe your card,” the barber shouted, but by then Brains had already vanished. He didn’t have a card either.

  “That doesn’t look good,” said Martha when he got back to the barge a little later. “Why didn’t you shave off that beard while you were at the barber’s?”

  “Martha, that’s my business,” answered Brains. He felt his chin with his hand and rushed past her. With firm steps he walked toward the kitchen in an aromatic mist of shampoo and hair spray. He looked around, expectant. Had Betty already arrived? On his way down the stairs he bumped into her and was so surprised that he almost lost his footing. He lowered his eyes.

  “You’re looking handsome,” she said and gave him a wink. “You look so youthful with that beard.”

  “You think so?” he mumbled and blushed deeply.

  She quickly brushed her hand over his newly dyed beard and laughed so that he completely lost the ability to talk. Amazing, he thought, that when you least expect it you can feel so warm and lovely deep inside you.

  31

  THE WEEKS PASSED AND THE OPENING DAY GOT CLOSER. Everybody expected that Christina would listen to the opinions of the others, but, no. Opening a new restaurant was a major undertaking, she explained, and it was best that one person was in charge and had full control.

  As time went by, the others became worried and even a little nervous, but Martha reminded them that the restaurant was Christina’s project and that they shouldn’t interfere too much. People who were given responsibility grew, and besides, Christina had experience serving food. During her time as a housewife with responsibility for posh dinners to entertain her husband’s business colleagues, she had learned all the dishes that were appreciated in such circles. Of course she had had cooks and waitresses to help in her Östermalm apartment, but she still knew the most popular menus by heart.

  “We shall serve our guests the very best and be organic without being fanatical,” she had said at their first meeting about menus, well aware that she must tread carefully.

  “Not fanatical. Well, that’s a relief,” said Rake, getting out his tobacco.

  Then Christina had opened a plastic folder with recipes and presented the various dishes. Green health dishes. Extremely green. It transpired that she had almost exclusively chosen vegetarian menus, slimming diets and the Paleo diet. Most of the dishes consisted of various salads.

  “Now listen to me, this isn’t a bloody greenhouse!” said Rake. “We can’t have a restaurant where people come to eat a starvation diet!”

  “Those slimming diets with algae and lentils are probably very good, Christina dear, but people must have something else to eat too!” said Martha, with a forced smile, suddenly aware that she might have given her friend too free a hand.

  “No, five days a week we shall have vegan and vegetarian,” Christina maintained. “I feel sorry for the animals. Just remember how badly they are treated.”

  “But what about free-range hens?” Martha asked.

  “Or why not free-range cattle?” muttered Rake.

  “Organic and green, wonderful, Christina, but we must have fish and meat too,” said Anna-Greta sounding very decisive. “Now let us sit down and go through the menus together.”

  But Christina refused and not until they had employed a cook with lots of sensible views could they agree on their Super Food menu. They all praised the cook (all, that is, except for Brains, who was grumpy because he had seen the cook sometimes pinch Betty on her bottom) and finally settled on a menu with twenty dishes with greens, nuts, fruit, berries and vegetarian hamburgers. But that was by no means the end of the problem. Christina had also let her intensive health fads affect her taste when it came to the interior decoration.

  One weekend when they had all agreed to take things easy and rest at home, she had snuck off to the barge with Anders and Emma, and when the friends had come on Monday morning, the interior of the barge was unrecognizable.

  The furnishings and decorations were all in green. It should be clearly evident on the walls as well that the restaurant was organic, Christina had threatened earlier, but now she had turned it into reality. In secret she had painted lots of watercolors in various shades of green, works of art that she had merrily nailed up on the walls, and from the ceiling hung lamps shaped like large gaudy leaves. Christina had certainly proceeded with great enthusiasm and transformed most of the restaurant into a dense jungle. With raised eyebrows and shocked looks, Martha and her friends had walked around in the greenery and examined the creation. There were at least some tables covered with flamboyant sunflower cloths and chairs with seats that resembled green moss, but there were no normal serving paths, only narrow winding forest paths. And in the midst of it all, from loudspeakers high up, you could hear birds singing.

  “Green gives such a feeling of summer,” said Martha bravely.

  “Yes, and we’re going to have different types of birds too,” Christina chirped enthusiastically. “On Mondays budgerigars, Tuesdays blue tits, Wednesdays seagulls and Thursdays great tits. Then we can have chaffinches on Fridays and woodpeckers on Saturdays and—”

  This was simply too much for Anna-Greta. “We’re not going to have a cacophony here! If you don’t have two silent days a week I am going to drop out of the project this very minute!”

  They all gave a start, because Anna-Greta had always had the ability to take things easy, but now she had raised her voice considerably and had protested sharply. Christina was so shocked that she became completely disoriented and, for the sake of peace, actually agreed that there would be fewer birds on the weekends. (Although she had already prepared an archive of Swedish birdsong, but she kept that information to herself.)

  Whatever one might think of birdsong in a restaurant, the sounds did fit in with the interior decoration. That consisted of deciduous and coniferous trees and, in some romantic booths, she had set up mirrors from floor to ceiling so that it looked as if you were in a real forest. Tree trunks were placed between the tables, and here and there were some bushes. A badger, a fox or a roe deer peeped out from behind a trunk when you least expected it, and a squirrel or a woodpecker sat on branches right above the tables. And the wolf? Christina had quite simply moved it into the VIP lounge, and by the entrance she had arranged a shot bar, so you could have a bit of the strong stuff as soon as you came in.

  “You mean so that they’ll come in a bit quicker?” asked Rake.

  “Of course.” Christina smiled and continued her presentation of the barge. “It is rather exotic, don’t you think?” she said and her eyes glowed. And she looked so happy that the others didn’t have the heart to say what they really thought.

  “We can call the restaurant ‘Keen Means Green,’” said Rake in an attempt to appease.

  “No, my dear. We must be more modern. I have given that a great deal of thought. Now listen. What do you think of ‘Silver Punk’?”

  There was a deathly silence. Silver Punk?

  “But this is a restaurant for the elderly,” Brains objected.

  “Punk? Isn’t it hip dop that’s popular now?” Anna-Greta wondered.

  “No, hip-hop,” Rake corrected her. “Besides, I think the restaurant should be called Silver Sailors. After all, this was a sea vessel in the past.”

  “That might be. But this is going to be a cocktail bar, we’re going to have all sorts and combinations. Silver-haired and those with a punk hairstyle. So Silver Punk fits well,” Christina explained. “In this restaurant, different generations should be able to mix with each other.”

  Of course, they had decided to start a Penshy Restaurant—a place for retirees—but Chris
tina was right, it would indeed be nice with some slightly younger guests too. Then they went on a final inspection tour of the barge and Martha, who test-drove her walker between the trees on the winding paths, found that she could actually get through, although she was a bit concerned about the romantic booths in the corners. Weren’t they perhaps a little too romantic and hidden in the dense greenery so that, in the worst-case scenario, unbecoming activities could take place there? She was just about to say this, when Christina stopped and pointed at the dating table.

  “There are twelve places here and they are going to be able to see each other’s faces properly so that they can flirt. And then there is a bit of space around the sides so that you can simply move around the table if you’ve got your eye on somebody. And we’re not going to have lots of distracting music here, but they’ll be able to talk with each other. Next to this, we’ve got a dating corner so you can have a beer and talk a bit more. Do you get it? Things are going to be lively here.”

  “I don’t doubt that for one second,” said Rake.

  “And who is going to serve at these tables, will it be Betty or . . . ?” Brains wondered and pretended to be indifferent.

  Martha gave him a suspicious look.

  “Who’s going to serve here? Well, it’ll sort itself out,” Christina commented.

  At the dating table, the lighting was warm and atmospheric, and Christina waved to the others to come closer. She put out the hand-painted invitations so that all could see, and picked one up and chirped.

  “I intend to invite guests from the business world, artists, actors, musicians and authors, not forgetting rap singers from the suburbs. Only the in-crowd and people with contacts. Then the press will write about us and the restaurant will become popular.”

  “Hang on a second,” Brains objected. “How wise is it to attract so much attention when we are on the police’s wanted list? And we must surely test the kitchen and make sure that everything works first. The burners and the espresso machine can break down and then perhaps the cook puts too much salt in the food. Wouldn’t it be best for us to test things before we invite a crowd of people?”