Let the right one in (13 page)

He took one of the
Lektyr
and shifted closer to the door where there was more light. Still kneeling he laid the magazine out on the floor in front of him, flipped the pages. His mouth was dry. The woman in the picture lay in a deck chair wearing only a pair of high-heeled shoes. She was pushing her breasts together and pouting. Her legs were spread and in the middle of the bushy hair between her thighs there was a strip of pink flesh with a groove down the middle.

How do you get in there?

He knew the words from talk he had heard, graffiti he had read. Cunt. Hole. Labia. But it wasn't a hole. Only that groove. They had had sex education at school and he knew there was supposed to be a... tunnel leading in from the vulva. But in what direction? Straight up or in or . . . you couldn't tell.

He kept turning the pages. The readers' own stories. At the swimming pool. A stall in the girls' changing rooms. Her nipples stiffened under her bathing suit. My dick was thumping like a hammer in my swimming trunks. She gripped the clothes pegs, turned her little ass toward me, and moaned, "Take me, take me now."

Did this kind of thing go on all the time, behind closed doors, in places where you couldn't see?

He had started a new story, about a family reunion that took an unexpected turn, when he heard the basement door being opened. He shut the magazine, put it back under the sofa cushion and didn't know what to do with himself. His throat contracted; he didn't dare to breathe. Footsteps in the corridor.

Please God let it not be them. Let it not be them.

He squeezed his knee caps with his hands, clenched his teeth so hard he hurt his jaw. The door opened. Tommy was standing there, blinking.

"What the hell?"

Oskar wanted to say something, but his jaws were locked shut. He simply stayed where he was, kneeling on the rug of light that rolled out from the door, breathing through his nose.

"What the hell are you doing here? And what have you been up to?" Almost without moving his jaws Oskar managed to press out a ". . . nothing."

Tommy took a step into the storage area, towering over him.

"With your cheek, I mean? How did you get that?"

"I... it's nothing."

Tommy shook his head, screwed the light bulb so it turned on, and closed the door. Oskar got to his feet, standing in the middle of the room with his hands by his side, unsure of what he should do. He took a step toward the door. Tommy sank down in the armchair and pointed to the couch.

"Sit down."

Oskar sat down on the middle cushion, the one that didn't have anything stashed underneath it. Tommy sat quietly for a few moments, looking at him. Then he said: "Alright, let's hear it."

"What?"

"What happened to your cheek."

"...I... I just..."

"Someone beat you up. Right?" . .. yeah .. .

"How come?"

"I don't know."

"What? They beat you up with no reason?"

"Yes."

Tommy nodded, picked at a few loose threads that hung from the armchair. Took out a wad of chewing tobacco and tucked it into his lip, held out the jar to Oskar.

"Want some?"

Oskar shook his head. Tommy put it back, adjusted the wad of tobacco with his tongue, and then leaned back in the armchair, with his hands folded on his stomach.

"I see. And what were you doing down here?"

"Urn, I was just going to . .."

"Check out some of the babes, right? Because you aren't into sniffing yet, are you? Come over here."

Oskar got up, walked over to Tommy.

"Come closer. Breathe on me."

Oskar did as he was told and Tommy nodded, pointed at the couch, and told Oskar to sit down again.

"You stay away from that shit, you understand?"

"I haven't..."

"No, you haven't. But you stay the hell away, you understand? It's no good. Tobacco is good. You can try that." He paused. "OK, are you planning to sit there gawking at me all night?" He gestured to the cushion next to Oskar. "Want to read more?"

Oskar shook his head.

"OK, then get lost. The others are coming soon and they won't be too pleased to see you here. Go home, go on now."

Oskar got up.

"And Oskar ..." Tommy looked at him, shook his head, sighed. "No, forget it. Go on home. And one more thing. Don't come down here anymore." Oskar nodded, opened the door. He stopped in the doorway. Sorry.

"It's OK. Just don't come here anymore. Oh—you got the money yet?" tomorrow.

"Great. I made a tape for you with
Destroyer
and
Unmasked.
Come by and pick it up later."

Oskar nodded. He felt a lump growing in his throat. If he stayed here he would start to cry. So he whispered "thanks" and left.

+

Tommy stayed in his armchair, sucked on the wad of tobacco, and stared at the dust bunnies that had collected under the couch.

Hopeless.

They would keep beating on Oskar until he finished ninth grade. He was the type. Tommy would have liked to do something but once it got started there was nothing you could do. No stopping it.

He dug a lighter out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, and let out the gas. When it started to feel cold inside his mouth he took the lighter away, lit it, and breathed out.

A burst of fire in front of his face. But he felt no happier. He was restless, got up, and walked around. The dust whirled up around his feet.
What the hell can you do?

He paced around the small space, thinking it was a prison cell. You can't get away. Have to make the best of it, bla bla. Blackeberg. He was going to get away from here, he was going to be ... a sailor or something. Anything.

Swab the deck, go to Cuba, heave ho.

A broom that was almost never used was leaning up against the wall. He took it and started to sweep. Dust flew up his nose. When he had been sweeping for a while he realized he had no dustpan. He swept the dust pile under the couch.

Better to have a little shit in the corners than a clean hell. He flipped through the pages of a porno, put it back. Wound his scarf around his neck and pulled it tight until his head felt like it was about to explode, released it. Got up and took a few steps on the rug. Sank to his knees, prayed to God.

+

Robban and Lasse came around half past five. When they walked in Tommy was relaxing in the armchair and looked like he didn't have a care in the world. Lasse was sucking on his lips, seemed nervous. Robban grinned and thumped Lasse on the back.

"Lasse needs another tape."

Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Tell him, Lasse."

Lasse snorted, didn't dare look Tommy in the eyes.

"Uh . . . there's a guy at work . . ."

"Who wants to buy?"

"Mmm."

Tommy shrugged, got up from his chair, and picked the key to the safety room out of the stuffing. Robban looked disappointed. He must have been expecting some kind of amusing scene but Tommy didn't care. Lasse could shout out
"Stolen goods for sale"
from the rooftops at his job for all he cared. It didn't matter.

Tommy pushed Robban aside and walked out into the corridor, turned the key in the lock, pulled the heavy chain out of the wheels and threw it over to Robban. The chain fell through his hands, rattling to the floor.

"What's your problem? Are you high or what?"

Tommy shook his head, turned the wheel mechanism, and pushed the door open. The fluorescent lighting inside was broken, but there was enough light from the corridor to see the boxes piled up along one wall. Tommy picked up a carton of cassette tapes and gave it to Lasse.

"Have fun."

Lasse looked uncertainly at Robban, as if to get help interpreting Tommy's behavior. Robban made a face that could have meant anything, then turned to Tommy, who was locking up.

"Heard anything more from Staffan?"

"Nope." Tommy clicked the lock together, sighed. "I'm going over there for dinner tomorrow. We'll see." "Dinner?" "Yes—why?"

"No, nothing. Just thought cops ran on . .. gas or something." Lasse laughed out loud, glad the tension was broken.

Gas...

+

He had lied to his mother. And been believed. Now he was stretched out on his bed, feeling sick to his stomach.

Oskar. That guy in the mirror. Who is he? A lot of things happened to him. Bad things. Good things. Strange things. But who is he? Jonny looks at him and sees Piggy whom he wants to beat up. Mom looks at him and sees her Little Darling whom she doesn't want anything bad to happen to.

Eli looks at me and sees... what?

Oskar turned to the wall, to Eli. The two faces peeked out from between the trees in the wallpaper. His cheek was still swollen and tender, a crust had started to form on top of the wound. What would he tell Eli, if Eli came out tonight?

It was all connected. What he would tell her depended on what he was to her. Eli was new to him and therefore he had the opportunity to be someone else, say something different from what he said to other people.
What do you do anyway? To make people like you?

The clock on his desk read a quarter past seven. He looked into the leaves, tried to find new shapes, had found a little gnome with a pointy hat and an upside-down troll when he heard a knock on the wall.
Tap-tap-tap.

A careful sound. He tapped back.

Tap-tap-tap.

Waited. After a few seconds a new tap.

Tap-taptaptap-tap.

He filled in the two missing ones:
tap-tap.

Waited. No further tapping.

He took down the paper with the Morse code, pulled on his jacket, said good-bye to his mom, and walked down to the playground. He had only taken a few steps when the door to Eli's building opened and she came out. She was wearing tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a black sweatshirt with
Star Wars
written across it in silver letters.

At first he thought it was his own shirt; he had one just like it that he had been wearing a couple of days ago. It was in the laundry basket now. Had she gone out and bought one just like it to match his?

"Hey there."

Oskar opened his mouth to say the "Hi" he had had prepared, closed his mouth. Opened it again to say "Hey there" and said "Hi" anyway. Eli frowned.

"What happened to your cheek?"

"Phhh ... I... fell."

Oskar kept going toward the playground. Eli followed. He walked past the jungle gym, sat down in a swing. Eli sat in the swing next to it. They swung back and forth in silence for a while.

"Someone did that to you, didn't they?"

Oskar kept swinging.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Some ... friends."

"Friends?"

"Some kids in my class."

Oskar got the swing moving fast, picked up the rhythm.

"Where do you go to school anyway?

"Oskar."

"Yes?"

"Slow down a little."

He slowed himself down with his feet, looked at the ground in front of him.

"Yes, what is it?"

"You know what?"

She reached her hand out and grabbed his and he stopped completely, looked at her. Eli's face was almost completely blacked out against the lighted windows behind her. Of course it was just his imagination but he thought her eyes were
glowing.
At any rate, they were the only thing he could see clearly in her face.

With her other hand she touched his wound and that strange thing happened. Someone else, someone much older, harder, became visible under her skin. A cold shiver ran down Oskar's back, as if he had bitten into a Popsicle.

"Oskar. Don't let them do it. Do you hear me? Don't let them."

... no.

"You have to strike back. You've never done that, have you?"

"No."

"So start now. Hit them back. Hard."

"There's three of them."

"Then you have to hit harder. Use a weapon."

"Yes."

"Stones, sticks. Hit them more than you really dare. Then they'll stop."

"And if they keep hitting back?"

"You have a knife."

Oskar swallowed. At this moment, with Eli's hand in his, with her face in front of him, everything seemed simple. But if they started doing worse things if he put up resistance, if they . ..

"Yes, but what if they..."

"Then I'll help you."

"You? But you are ..."

"I can do it, Oskar.
That
... is something I can do." Eli squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, nodded. But Eli's grip hardened, so hard it hurt a little.
How strong she is.

Eli loosened her grip and Oskar took out the page of code he had written down for her at school, smoothed out the folds, and gave it to her. She wrinkled her forehead.

"What's this?"

"Let's go over to the light."

"No, I can see fine. But what is it?"

"The Morse code."

"Oh, right. I see.
Awesome!'

Oskar giggled. She said it in such a—what was it called?—artificial way. The word somehow didn't fit in her mouth.

"I thought... we could like ... talk through the wall to each other." Eli nodded. Looked like she was thinking of something to say. Then she said:

"That will be amusing."

"You mean fun?"

"Yes.
Fun.
Fun."

"You're a little strange, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Yes, but it's OK."

"You'll have to show me what to do, in that case. Not to be strange."

"Sure. Want to see something?"

Eli nodded.

Oskar showed her his special trick. He sat on the swing like before, kicked off. With each pump of his legs, with every arc a notch higher, something grew in his chest: freedom.

The illuminated apartment windows went past like multicolored, glowing strands and he swung higher and higher. He didn't always manage to do this trick, but now he was going to do it, because he was as light as a feather and could almost fly.

When the swing got so high that the chains loosened and started to jerk on the back swing he tensed his whole body. The swing went back one more time and then at the top of the next forward swing he let go of the chains, and pushed his legs forward, as high as they would go. The legs went around half a turn and he landed on his feet, bending over as far as he could so the swing wouldn't hit him in the head, and when it had gone past he stood up and stretched out his arms. Perfect.