The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  “Ernst. Ernst Blomberg. Nice to meet you.”

  “Martha, Martha Andersson,” said Martha and she smiled, although it felt more like she was chewing on some super glue.

  “Nice barge, isn’t it? And good food here at the Silver Punk restaurant.”

  “Yes, it is really nice here. And records and the Internet too.”

  “Very modern, everything, yes,” said Blomberg and he looked at Martha so intensely that it gave her the shudders.

  “Well, then, I was just about to leave,” Martha stuttered and she nodded to Anna-Greta. “Nice to have met you so unexpectedly. But now I won’t disturb you any longer.” She withdrew and hurried off. Blomberg sat down, white in the face, yes, almost nauseous.

  “Do you know her?” he wondered.

  “We usually say hello,” said Anna-Greta looking away. “Childhood friend.”

  “You know something, I have seen her before,” whispered Blomberg. “On camera recordings. Close to those banks that were robbed.”

  Anna-Greta sat there silently. She didn’t dare say anything. Just waited.

  “Those unsolved bank robberies in Stockholm, you know,” Blomberg went on. “I think she is involved, you see. She is the only person who is on the recordings from outside the Nordea bank and Buttericks. And she has also been seen outside the National Museum when the paintings were stolen.”

  Anna-Greta found it hard to talk and had to gasp for breath and words at the same time. “But my God! Martha is the kindest, sweetest and most honest person there is. She got a prize in school for good behavior!”

  “The biggest fish swim in the calmest of waters. She ought to be interrogated.”

  “Mindfulness!” Anna-Greta shouted out. “HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT?!”

  “What?” Blomberg gave a start. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Anna-Greta put her hand on his knee and pulled him toward her.

  “You know, if only you would relax and stop thinking about your old job, we could have a really nice time,” she said. And then she kissed him so that it really took his breath away. Yes, because Anna-Greta knew how to kiss.

  Later, when she had gone home with him and, without feeling shy, had cuddled and kissed passionately until midnight, she said an emotional goodbye and took a taxi to Djursholm. With her hair a mess and her lips slightly swollen, she snuck in through the door and sincerely hoped that nobody would see her. As soon as she reached her room, she turned on the computer and started to look for those account numbers he had clicked on. Were there really so many accounts in Russia? She searched and clicked but only got more and more tired, and in the end fell asleep where she was sitting.

  61

  THE NEXT DAY IT WAS TIME FOR A GENERAL MEETING. THE insurance money had arrived, and Martha set the table with coffee and the usual wafers and cloudberry liqueur up in the tower room. Brains and Rake walked in from the elevator with Samsung cellphones sticking out of their pockets. They had played computer games again, but didn’t want to admit that to the girls. And Christina, who had just had her hair done, came down the stairs with a new way of swaying her hips which perhaps she thought was suited to ladies in the seventy-plus age range. And she had changed her makeup too, as well as acquiring a new hairdo and a new color for her nails. Now Rake was sure to notice how stylish she was, wasn’t he?

  “My dear friends,” said Martha raising her glass with cloudberry liqueur. “You have done really well. I am very proud of you. How many scoundrels manage to steal more than one thousand million kronor in a year?!”

  “Hmm, we know that a bank robbery is only a bit of pocket money. And that the banks themselves steal hundreds of billions from us ordinary mortals,” said Anna-Greta with the look of an expert.

  “Yes, yes, but that is just pretend money that they lend out. We’ve got real money. And now we’ve just received the insurance money—” She didn’t get any further before a car was heard outside. The gang of pensioners exchanged anxious looks, got up quickly and went up to the window. A blue Volvo had driven into Bielke’s place and stopped in the driveway behind the motorboat. Two men in gray got out.

  “Oh look! Could they be from the Labor Exchange or the National Statistics Office or something like that?” said Christina, pointing. The two men walked around the house and peered in through the windows, looked into the sheds and examined Bielke’s motorboat. They took out a notebook, took some photos and some measurements. After about half an hour’s inspection, they got back into their car and drove off. As they turned into the road, Christina saw that it said “DANDERYD MUNCIPALITY” on the side.

  “What was that about?” she wondered when they had gone.

  “Ugh, that felt a little uncomfortable. What if they have been tipped off about the missing garbage truck?” said Martha.

  “Martha, dear, most bank robbers don’t bury trucks in concrete,” Brains consoled her. “It must be something else.”

  “But I’ve got a bad conscience about Bielke. We have really put him in a real pickle.”

  “A ruthless tax-dodger who lives in luxury and doesn’t share with others? No, it serves him right. Don’t forget why we steal, Martha. Today we have sent out twenty thousand payments with a bonus for the low-paid staff in home care. The health clinics and hospitals have benefited too, and the museums have got a million each. Couldn’t be better. And Bielke still has two motor yachts left,” said Anna-Greta and she put a portion of snuff under her lip. (Blomberg had advised her to stop smoking cigarillos because he was worried about her health.)

  “Yes, yes, I know, but even so . . .” Martha sighed. “We wrecked his swimming pool.”

  “But he’s got the entire Mediterranean and the Caribbean, if he wants. He doesn’t need a little pool here, no way. And just look what a nice garden it turned into.” Brains pointed at the well-tended lawn which lay where the swimming pool had once been. He put his arm around her shoulders and they looked out across the garden that somebody had been looking after over the last few weeks. Speaking of that, why had Bielke suddenly started to care about his garden? Had he changed his gardener, or was he going to sell? Three weeks later, the League of Pensioners had the explanation when a taxi pulled up outside Bielke’s house. The five heard the car and immediately went to the balcony to check what it was. Mr. Carl Bielke himself stepped out together with a woman who must have been at least twenty years younger. (Always so difficult, that, as Martha used to say. You never knew if it was a daughter or a new mistress.) They stood a long time in the driveway and just stared. Then he went up to his boat and ripped something off which had been taped on the side. Martha and the others watched as he read the piece of paper, then he shook his head and started to gesticulate wildly. Then the five couldn’t restrain themselves any longer, but went down the stairs and popped out into the garden.

  “Welcome home!” said Martha leaning over the fence.

  “Yes, welcome back. How are you doing?” Brains added in a friendly voice.

  “What the hell has happened?” Bielke yelled, waving the piece of paper. “I don’t understand this at all. The swimming pool is gone and this damned paper was stuck on my boat. Have you seen or heard anything?”

  “Oh my goodness, what could have happened?! We see and hear badly nowadays,” said Martha. “But there have been some strange people here now and then. We have seen that.”

  Bielke didn’t seem to be listening. He was quite simply too angry to be able to absorb any information.

  “I come home to have a vacation in the archipelago and then what do I find? I asked a friend to get the boat ready so that I could simply hitch it up behind the car. And just look!” He threw out his arms and groaned. “Somebody has cleared the garden and stuck a piece of paper on my boat. What the hell is going on?”

  “Is it serious?” Christine wondered, all innocence.

  “Have a look yourselves. You can’t have anything safe here.” He handed the piece of paper to Christina. “No, I’m never going to set foot in this country aga
in.”

  “Wait a moment, I need a magnifying glass,” said Christina and she signaled to Brains to go and fetch one. “Right, now let’s see,” she went on when he had returned. She unfolded the paper and read out loud: “‘This boat has been confiscated as we have ascertained that you have not paid any tax for it. If you wish to appeal this decision, you must do so before the end of June.’”

  The decision was signed by a certain Anne Forsen at the Tax Authority.

  “Oh goodness gracious, what an ordeal! You poor thing!” Christina exclaimed loudly and put her hands over her face in a theatrical gesture.

  “So those damned greedy bureaucrats have confiscated my motorboat! You have to pay tax on everything nowadays,” Bielke swore and spluttered so that one almost expected steam to come out of his head. “A tiny little boat like this, and they want to tax it! Fucking hell! And we don’t get anything for all this tax money either.”

  “Yes, it is dreadful, isn’t it?” said Martha with her most empathetic voice. “But one must understand the Tax Authority too, don’t you think? A lot of people don’t pay the tax they ought to, and then how can we afford good schools and hospitals?”

  “What the hell are you saying, you old fool? You must be crazy. To think that we have people like you living in Djursholm! A disgrace! I simply can’t live here any longer. This damned country is shit! I’m moving abroad!”

  “To the Cayman Islands, perhaps? I have heard that you will be left in peace there,” said Anna-Greta, a picture of innocence.

  “Well, I’m not going to stay in Sweden at any rate! No way! No, one can’t live here any longer, with all this fucking idiocy!” He took his lady under her arm and stormed off toward the house. But then he made a little mistake—just like Rake. He wasn’t looking where he was going, stumbled over the garden gnome, fell down onto the lion sculpture and hit his forehead on the lion’s paw. Then the League of Pensioners discreetly turned around and went back into their house so that he wouldn’t see them giggling.

  A MONTH LATER, BIELKE WENT AHEAD AND SOLD THE VILLA. With the garbage truck and all. Anna-Greta was curious and started to search the Internet for information about him. And yes, he still had his Facebook account and strangely enough even his blog. There you could see him smiling in a selfie next to an almost submarine-like motor yacht that reminded them of one that was owned by a Malaysian businessman—one of those boats with a price tag of more than one thousand million kronor. The yacht was anchored off Saint-Tropez and Bielke had written something under the photo:

  “Have bought a new boat, what a beauty! Now I am going to stick to just two boats, because it was too much work with more. Madeleine and I are going to get married in the fall and then we shall sail to the Caribbean. This boat can manage it. I love the sun and the sea. Who wants to be stuck in cold Sweden?!”

  62

  THE LEAGUE OF PENSIONERS HAD HAD TIME TO GET THEIR strength back and Martha had redecorated the gym down in the cellar. The walls now had climbing bars and she had bought some new mats, dumbbells and three treadmills for on-the-spot running. And even two exercise bikes. Every day she made sure that they did their exercises, and Brains had actually been very active recently. Perhaps he had finally realized how important regular exercise was? She didn’t know, but she was very pleased regardless.

  Brains had put down the dumbbells and was looking at his stomach. He had lost several kilos since he had started on Christina’s yoga and Martha’s gym sessions which the far-too-energetic women had arranged almost every day. But even though he was beginning to look really handsome (in his own opinion), Martha hadn’t even mentioned marriage again. They were engaged, and that was that, and since they had returned from Saint-Tropez he had really made an effort to please her. But now he was tired and felt he had come to a crossroads. He would either have to give her up and move on with life, or present her with an ultimatum. But before he did that, they ought to have a real talk, as the psychologist experts said. He took a shower, using his best shampoo and soap, and when he was finished he asked Martha if they could have a chat under the patio umbrella out in the garden. She looked at him, somewhat surprised.

  “Oh my, you look serious.”

  He mumbled a sort of answer and Martha went out via the kitchen and made them each a refreshing bilberry smoothie and added some strawberries. That ought to get him in a good mood. They sat down on two separate garden chairs.

  “Martha, you know that I like you, but it seems that you don’t want to marry me.” He said it like it was. Martha drank her smoothie so slowly that her teeth began to look an unseemly blue. And she felt very uncomfortable.

  “We’ve been so busy with coups and bank robberies,” she answered, evasively.

  “Yes, right. I have waited for our wedding for almost a year. And we have carried out all these robberies and thefts, but there has never been a wedding.”

  “No, as I said, there has been a lot going on,” Martha mumbled, and she stirred her smoothie so much that it would have been dizzy if only it could.

  “Perhaps you are dreaming of somebody else? Somebody with a lot of muscles?” Brains asked, looking furtively at his flabby upper arms which had, however, acquired a few new bulges.

  “Oh goodness me, what ideas! No, no, not at all.”

  So you don’t just dream about motor yachts, bank robberies and goody bags for the poor, then, he was about to say, but managed to stop himself. Instead he said:

  “I’ve been thinking. Getting married perhaps isn’t your kind of thing.”

  “No, that’s right,” said Martha, perhaps a bit too quickly and very relieved—but immediately she became aware of what she had said and now looked, if anything, even more embarrassed. “Well, marriage doesn’t guarantee love, nor does it guarantee love till death do us part. But if you live with somebody you love because you want to, well, that is something else. The real thing, sort of,” said Martha with her cheeks glowing red. Brains was silent for a few moments while he tried to understand what she meant.

  “The real thing? So you do like me, is that what you mean?” he wondered.

  “Of course I do. I love you,” she said right out. As soon as she had uttered those words, she realized what she had said. She didn’t dare look him in the eye because now she was more embarrassed than she ever had been in all her life. But Brains could see that. He got up the courage, went into the house and came out again with a beautiful little neatly wrapped package. It wasn’t a hard box or anything like that, but just a little soft one.

  “For you. I have thought about giving this to you for a long time. But there have been so many robberies and crimes and the like.”

  “Oh, that is nice of you,” Martha mumbled. She smiled and ripped open the package. “But it is six months until my birthday.” Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, she could see something black. A shiny black leather strap with tassels. Like the sort of thing that young people have on their wrists. And that the punks had had on the barge. Brains cleared his throat.

  “Yes, well, this doesn’t commit anybody to anything, and it doesn’t require us to go to the altar. But it does perhaps show that we are a couple,” he said, pulling a similar leather strap from his pocket. “Besides, this is more modern.”

  Then Martha simply had to smile again, and when she looked at him and the leather strap in his hand, she was so moved that tears came to her eyes. She put her strap on and tied the edges, and then put the other one on Brains’s hairy, firm wrist. It didn’t actually make them look like punks exactly, but it was cool.

  “Brains, a strap like this around my wrist is better than any marriage in the world. Because it means that you and I belong together.”

  “And love each other?”

  “Yes, what did you think?” said Martha.

  Then Brains took Martha’s hand and they went upstairs to their room. And that day the two of them stayed in their room for such a long time that the others got a bit worried. But when they came downstairs again, hand-in-hand, an
d with a black leather bracelet on their wrists, everyone understood. Christina hurried down into the wine cellar to fetch a bottle of the finest champagne, and Anna-Greta got out glasses, chips and olives. Then they toasted and celebrated together, even though Anna-Greta wasn’t really present—her thoughts were elsewhere. Without the others actually knowing, and despite them all having appealed to her, she had continued to meet Blomberg, but in secret. She couldn’t resist him. But she knew that it was dangerous.

  63

  SEVERAL WEEKS HAD PASSED AND ANNA-GRETA HAD YET again been to see their lawyer, Nils Hovberg, to arrange the business of the League of Pensioners. The sun shone and Anna-Greta played “My Way” with Frank Sinatra at full volume while she drove home in her Ferrari with a portion of snuff under her upper lip. Since they had come home, she had regularly visited Hovberg to keep track of all their transactions. There had, of course, been some complications with getting the insurance money from Lloyds, but they had had the certificate of ownership, the contract and all the other necessary documents, and with the lawyer’s help it had gone surprisingly quickly. Money that—as usual—did not go into their own pockets but to their fund which was now registered in the Cayman Islands under the name Fence. By now, they had transferred so much money to the fund that even their scoundrel of a lawyer had been extremely impressed.

  “You really are busy bees, even though you are retirees,” he said and whistled out loud when he saw the latest deposits.

  “We have had a whole life to build up energy, you understand,” answered Anna-Greta merrily.

  “But one thousand million kronor!”

  “Well, it is only the first million that is difficult,” said Anna-Greta nonchalantly and she looked for an ashtray until she remembered that she had given up cigarettes and now only used snuff.