The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  “Good thing I thought about having this as backup. Now we’ll have some lights again,” he said contentedly, wiping his hands on his pants.

  “Thank you, Brains, what would we do without you?” said Christina as she saw how the lamps on the barge lit up again. “But perhaps it would be best to close for today,” she continued, pointing at the generator with her high heels. “That apparatus can hardly run a whole restaurant.”

  “Oh yes, a Bauer can run everything,” he exclaimed, putting the jerrican back in its place and closing the cupboard door. They started to walk toward the stern and had got halfway when the generator suddenly coughed and stopped. They stood there in the dark. Brains turned on his flashlight again.

  “There might be some water in the gas,” he muttered and returned to the bow with Christina trailing after him. He opened the generator cupboard, shone the flashlight inside and lifted the jerrican out again. Hmm, it was indeed a little old and rusty. He ought to buy a new one, a plastic one. Those old jerricans could get a rust hole somewhere and then water could seep in. He was just about to try to start the generator again when the cook came over with a flashlight.

  “Luckily, we’ve got a lot of salad, otherwise people would have complained that the food had gone cold,” he said in a voice dripping with irony. “Damned power cut. Dark everywhere. They said on the radio that it could last a long time.”

  “No problem. We can run everything with the generator. I’ve just got to fix a few things here,” said Brains bending down to check the pipes. No holes, no air bubbles, no water. It must be something else. Aha, it looked as if there was a loose wire. He fixed it and tried to start the generator again. He succeeded right away. “The cable. Careless of me, but now it’s humming away.”

  “But the restaurant is closed now. I’m not going to serve raw chicken,” muttered the cook.

  “Raw food is good for you,” Christina cut in. “A green restaurant—”

  “Greens are one thing, yes. We need power. Electricity, do you understand? You see, if everybody down there lights candles, we’ll have a forest fire!”

  “But the lights are back on now,” Brains concluded. “We’d better go down to the others.”

  Down in the dining room the guests were noisy, and most noisy of all were the flirting singles over at the dating table. Rake was trying to calm down the lovesick men, but in vain. His hair was standing on end, his face was blotchy with stress and he looked relieved when he caught sight of his friends.

  “Good job you fixed the lights, but the dating doesn’t work. Something must have gone wrong with the computer system,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter. We must close. People can come back tomorrow,” said Christina looking about her. Then she cupped her hands and shouted out in the dating corner: “Regrettably, we must close down because of the power cut. Our generator can’t deliver electricity much longer. Instead, you are welcome back tomorrow and we shall stay open half an hour extra.”

  Then she hurried down into the dining room and shouted out the same message. Guests finished their meals, had problems paying when the card system didn’t work, but everything went surprisingly well because Christina said they could come back the next day and pay then, if they wished. So the guests fetched their overcoats from the coatroom without getting rowdy and everything went smoothly . . . except in the dating corner where there was still a lot of chattering. In the dark, some bold gentlemen had taken the opportunity to grope the thighs of the women, so that one lady got a run in her hose, another kicked the offender in his shins, and a third excited lady had grabbed hold of the hairy, fumbling hand and refused to let go.

  Meanwhile, one or two of the more forward ladies had knee-flirted wildly there in the dark despite varicose veins and support hose, something that certain gentlemen—when the lights came on again—experienced as rather intrusive, since they were really there to see Betty. But one of the prettiest ladies had the worst of it; a seventy-three-year-old woman who looked very good for her age. At one corner of the sofa, three pairs of shoes (male sizes) had tried to toe-flirt with her at the same time, which had resulted in a chaotic mess of toes and shoes. With three heavy male feet on her left high heel, things went wrong. The heel snapped and the black party shoe with a rose on the toe crumpled up with a hissing sound. Most people had been annoyed because the system of lamps around the iPads had been knocked out by the power cut. Now they were flashing frantically everywhere, and nobody knew any longer whom they should flirt with. In what seemed like desperation, they were all courting everyone and there was no end to the confusion.

  “I understand that it can be hard to decide when everything lights up and flashes, but, on the other hand, it does make it that much more exciting,” Brains said, and he tried to calm people down.

  “Very exciting,” a fifty-five-year-old woman snapped at him, as she sat surrounded by three groping eighty-year-olds. And a ninety-year-old man who hadn’t been stylish even when he was in his thirties, sighed:

  “How infuriating that you turned the lights back on again. Just as I was about to score!”

  Brains patted him consolingly on his shoulder. “You will be welcome back tomorrow. Our guests usually return. Things will work themselves out, just you wait and see.”

  It took some time to evacuate everybody, but eventually all the dinner guests had left the barge. In the kitchen, too, they had finished up and were ready to leave the boat. The cook took the serving staff up on deck with him and when Betty went past, Brains tried to delay her.

  “Sit down and keep me company for a while,” he said taking her hand.

  “No, work is over, now it’s time to go home.”

  “But can’t I get you a drink?”

  “Are you crazy? No, I’m off to home now.” She pulled her hand away and hurried off.

  Brains was startled. What on earth had got into her? Quite clearly disappointed, he stood there with his arms by his sides. They had been on the same wavelength, a silent belonging-together based on mutual happiness and warmth. She had smiled with her whole face and always said something friendly whenever they had caught sight of one another. But now? He had evidently misinterpreted her. He shrugged his shoulders, pulled himself together and, muttering sadly to himself, did a round on the barge to check that nobody had been left behind. But just as he was about to conclude that everyone had gone home, he caught sight of Anna-Greta. She sat in her record booth together with an elegant gentleman in a blue sweater.

  “We’re closing now. Are you coming?” he wondered.

  “Oh right, we were just about to leave. But something has gone wrong with the iPads,” said Anna-Greta.

  “Yours too? Yes, the entire dating system has crashed. But you can straighten that out in the morning.”

  “Yes, of course. But first I must close the dating program properly so we don’t lose all the data. It won’t take long. This is Ernst Blomberg. He is really good when it comes to computers.”

  Blomberg, with his mouth full of cake, gave Brains a friendly nod in greeting.

  “Will you lock up, then?” Brains wondered.

  “No problem,” said Anna-Greta, delighted, and Brains thought that she sounded just a bit too eager.

  “And don’t forget to turn off the generator. You only have to twist the switch around.”

  “I know,” Anna-Greta called out after him. “We’ll just finish up here first.”

  “OK, be seeing you. But we’re leaving now. So you’ll have to take a taxi on your own later.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s fine,” said Anna-Greta somewhat absently and she didn’t even look up. I wonder if she’s fallen in love, Brains thought, glancing at Blomberg. As of late, Anna-Greta had spent all the more time with that guy. So what, that was her business, just as long as she was happy.

  “But don’t procrastinate too long. The gas in the generator won’t last that long.”

  “Things will work out,” answered Anna-Greta joyfully with a little pony laugh. Br
ains sighed, raised his hand in a farewell greeting and left the scene. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Anna-Greta and Blomberg again leaned over the iPad. That was what was weird about computers, he thought: the way a tiny little apparatus can have such power over people. Those two had been busy with the iPad all evening. And it was amusing, the way Anna-Greta had changed. She had been so shy and withdrawn previously, but since she had started that affair with Gunnar on the ferry to Finland, she had become a bit crazy about men. Oh well, at least she had smothered that horse’s neigh.

  When Brains had got his overcoat on, gone down the gangplank and joined the others on the quayside, they waved to a passing taxi which immediately turned in and stopped. The League of Pensioners, minus Martha, who was at home, and Anna-Greta, who was still on the barge, opened the doors and got into the taxi.

  “Djursholm, Aurora street, please,” said Brains before sinking down in the backseat, tired. As they were just leaving the quay, he noticed that the lights on the barge went out again. Then he remembered that he had indeed thought about filling the generator with the last of the petrol, but had actually forgotten to do so. The jerrican was still on the deck. For a second he wondered whether he should stop the taxi and go and help Anna-Greta, but then he remembered that she had company. Those two would be sure to manage in the dark. Excellent, he concluded, then he shut his eyes and settled comfortably in the backseat.

  43

  THE WATER LAY BLACK, AND FAR AWAY YOU COULD HEAR THE buzz of the city like a distant tone. A man was walking along the Hornsberg waterside path with his dog, and a drunk was sleeping it off on the deck of one of the boats down by the water. No one else could be seen. It was silent and there was almost no wind. The Weasel and Kenta tied up their little motorboat and went ashore. The stars lit up the road.

  “Fuck, what a mess, like. The power cut came just at the right time,” said Kenta looking around. The dark facades of houses could be made out along the street.

  “Yeah, at last we’ll get rid of that barge.”

  “But, seriously, are you OK with that?” Kenta wondered, pointing at the Weasel’s bandaged right hand. The bandage was a bit loose, was frayed and not properly fixed around his wrist.

  “I can damn well strike a match! The wound is almost healed.”

  “OK,” mumbled Kenta, although he wasn’t really convinced. His friend had got sepsis and had been forced to spend a few nights at Saint Göran’s Hospital. Now he claimed his hand was all right, but even so. They could have waited another week. But the Weasel had been impossible to talk with and had become totally fanatical. They had to get rid of the barge, and that was all there was to it. They passed the jetty and when they came around the corner, they felt the adrenaline rush. There lay the barge. No lights, no sounds. The Silver Punk restaurant was enveloped in darkness.

  “Fucking nice!” said Kenta and he prodded the Weasel in his ribs. “We just need to light the fuse. Not a soul will see us go on board.”

  “And then we leave in our boat with no lights on either.”

  They were really close now. You could see all the stars and the light from them was enough for the two to see where they were going. When they reached the mooring place they stood close to the barge’s starboard side. The Weasel held his finger in front of his lips and they stood completely still while they kept watch. But they saw nothing and heard nothing either. Even so, they waited a little while, but since they still saw no sign of life they snuck along the gangplank and out onto the deck. They made their way cautiously toward the bow and looked in through the dark windows. They could see some tables and chairs but that was all. No sign that anybody had stayed behind. The Weasel gave Kenta a thumbs-up and they continued in the same direction. When they reached the bow, Kenta took off his backpack and pulled out a lighter.

  “We’ll use this,” he whispered.

  The Weasel didn’t answer but instead went up to the blue-and-white fenders. He gave them a squeeze and smiled when he felt the cotton waste inside. Even the small holes they had drilled in the sides were still there. Everything seemed to be under control. The seniors had set up their little present with the tarred ropes and the prepared fenders just as they had hoped. Perfect! A pity about the retirees, perhaps, but the old bitch and her friends had simply asked for it! He was just about to light the lighter when he caught sight of a cupboard and an old-fashioned jerrican next to a large wooden box. What the hell? He picked up the jerrican and shook it.

  “Almost full.” To make sure, he leaned forward, unscrewed the top and sniffed. “Yep, it’s gas all right!”

  “Just what the doctor ordered! The cotton waste could do with a little extra!”

  “Talk about lucky boys! This is going to be a treat!”

  The Weasel smiled nastily, went a few steps forward and spilled gas onto the nearest ropes and fenders. Exhilarated, he put the jerrican down so that it splashed over. He screwed the top back on, noticed he had got gas on his hands, and wiped them on the back of his pants.

  “Right, gimme the lighter!” he said.

  “Shouldn’t we go through the boat and check there’s nobody still on board?” Kenta asked.

  “But it’s damn obvious. Not a fucking soul here!”

  But Kenta shook his head and, to be on the safe side, went up to the entrance and felt the main door. It was locked. Then he went toward the door to the stairs nearer the bow, but that too was locked. Having done that, he gave in and held up the palms of his hands as a sign that everything was quiet.

  “OK, off we go!” said the Weasel and he took the lighter. “Action!”

  “Yeah, yeah, but aren’t we going to check the box first?” whispered Kenta, pointing at the large wooden box next to the generator cupboard. “You never know. Best to check.”

  “Is it so fucking important? Bound to be life jackets. But all right then!” Muttering, the Weasel fumbled with the lid but couldn’t find the lock. Perhaps it didn’t have a padlock, but something else. Irritated, he felt with his hand along the lid but his bandage fastened on a nail and pulled on his wound. Without thinking, he quickly drew his hand back to get loose, which resulted in the bandage unravelling completely. Swearing, he wrapped it around his hand again. They had better be quick; what if somebody saw them? The power could come back on at any time.

  “Forget the fucking box. You don’t think the old ladies have dynamite on the barge! Nope, we’ll light it now!”

  The Weasel took two Marlboros from his cigarette packet and Kenta reluctantly handed over the gas lighter.

  “No bastards are going to compete with us. It’s going to end now!” he muttered. He lit the cigarettes and put them next to the coiled rope on one of the fenders. Then he took a step back and watched with satisfaction as the rope started to glow. Now they had a few minutes to calmly leave the barge. There was a nice smell of tar and the next second a small flame flared up. Then Kenta couldn’t wait any longer, but wanted to have a last try to open the wooden box. There could be something dangerous inside. He got out his sheath knife and managed to loosen the hinges. He quickly got his fingers in, and lifted the lid, but at the same moment the fire went out.

  “Oh, what the hell, we’ll have to splash a bit more on,” the Weasel announced. He opened the jerrican again.

  “No, hang on a second, I’ll just—”

  “No, forget that, action time now,” said the Weasel. He squirted and splashed gas onto the rope and the nearest fenders.

  44

  THE BARGE WAS EMPTY AND ANNA-GRETA AND BLOMBERG had stayed on in the dark. The generator had stopped but they had remained sitting in their record booth. Neither of them had got up to go out, and it was obvious that they weren’t sitting there to repair the iPad. It was something else. Blomberg felt how Anna-Greta sought out his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “Ugh, it’s so dark,” she said and took a firm grip of his fist. He pressed her hand in response and thought about how strange life was. At first he had flirted with
Betty, but now he was sitting there with Anna-Greta, who was at least fifteen years older than he was, and it was nice and cozy. Indeed, if Betty had this very second called out to him from the dating corner, he would have pretended not to hear her. He was doing very nicely here with Anna-Greta. In her company he could be himself and they were extremely comfortable together; it was a really familiar feeling. He glanced furtively at her in the dark. Would he dare give her a kiss? But what if she rejected him? Then he wouldn’t be welcome again on the barge . . . No, he didn’t dare. It was probably best to take things easy, safest if she took the first step.

  “A pity the generator failed. Do you think the power will return again this evening?” Anna-Greta wondered as they sat in the dark while she slowly stroked the back of his hand.

  “Yes, it ought to. We’d better wait until the lights come on again. Otherwise we might trip over something.”

  “Exactly. You are so wise,” cooed Anna-Greta.

  Indeed, that was what it almost sounded like, he thought. She seemed like a shy schoolgirl the way she sat close against him in the dark. Blomberg hesitated a moment, but then leaned a bit closer and pressed his knee against hers.

  “Ooh,” sighed Anna-Greta and she cooed even more.

  All right, she seems to be on the same wavelength, Blomberg thought, exhilarated. And actually she hadn’t rushed up when the generator gave up the ghost, no, she hadn’t even suggested that one of them should go up and see what had happened. After all, it might be something simple like needing filling up with gas. So there couldn’t be any explanation other than . . . well, that she wanted to stay down here with him! With his self-confidence boosted, he bent forward and tested things out with a little kiss on her cheek. Then he felt how her knee pressed against his and the next moment she had put her hands on his head and moved his face closer to hers. He put his arms around her and was just about to kiss her when a sound was heard from down on the quay. The barge rocked slightly, and that was followed by stealthy steps up on deck. Then there was silence again. Anna-Greta stopped and squeezed his hand hard. Then they heard a rustling sound which he couldn’t interpret and that was followed by a thud, as if somebody had put down something heavy.