Let the right one in (24 page)

"Thought I'd visit Herbert in the hospital. Coming?"

"Has his mind cleared up?"

"No, he's like he was before, I think."

"Then I'll pass. That kind of stuff gets me down. Last time he thought I was his mother, wanted me to tell him a story."

"And did you?"

"Sure. I told him the one about Goldilocks and the Three Bears. But no. I'm not in the mood today."

They kept walking. When Morgan saw that Larry was wearing a pair of thick gloves he realized his own hands were freezing and he pushed them—with some difficulty—into the narrow pockets of his denim jacket. The underpass where Jocke had disappeared came into view. Maybe as a way to avoid talking about
that
Larry said:

"Did you see the paper this morning? Now Falldin is saying that the Russians have nuclear weapons onboard."

"What did he think they had? Slingshots?"

"No, but. . . it's been there for a week now. What if it had blown up?"

"Don't worry about it. Those Russians know their stuff."

"You know I'm not a Communist."

"And I am?"

"Let's put it this way: who'd you vote for in the last election? The Liberals?"

"That doesn't mean I've pledged allegiance to Moscow." They had been through this before. Now they took up the old routine in order not to see, not to have to think about
it
as they approached the underpass. But even so their voices died away as they walked under the bridge and came to a halt. Both of them had the impression it was the other guy who had stopped first. They looked at the piles of leaves that had turned into piles of snow, and that had taken on shapes that made them uneasy. Larry shook his head.

"What the hell do you do, you know?"

Morgan pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, stomping his feet to keep warm.

"Gosta's the only one who can do anything."

They both looked in the direction of Gosta's apartment. There were no curtains; the windowpane was streaked with dirt.

Larry held out a packet of cigarettes. Morgan took one, then Larry, who lit them both. They stood there smoking, contemplating the snowdrifts. After a while their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of children's voices.

A group of children carrying skates and helmets came streaming out of the school, led by a man with a military air. The children walked at intervals of a few meters from each other, almost in step. They passed Morgan and Larry. Morgan nodded at a kid he recognized from his building.

"Going off to war?"

The kid shook his head, was about to say something, but kept on marching, afraid of falling out of step. They kept on going toward the hospital; they were probably having a field trip of some sort. Morgan ground the cigarette under his foot, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted:

"Airborne attack! Take cover!"

Larry chuckled, extinguishing his cigarette.

"Jesus Christ. I didn't think that kind of teacher even existed anymore; the kind who wants even the coats to hang at attention. Are you going to come along?"

"No, not up for it today. But you run along. If you hurry you'll be able to fall in step with the rest."

"See you later."

"Will do."

They parted in the underpass. Larry left at a slow pace in the same direction as the children, and Morgan walked up the stairs. Now his entire body was freezing. Soup out of a packet wasn't so bad, particularly if you put a dash of milk in it.

+

Oskar was walking with his teacher. He needed to talk to someone and his teacher was the only one he could think of. Even so he would have switched groups given the chance. Jonny and Micke normally never chose the walking group when they had field trips, but they had today. They had whispered about something this morning, looking at him. So Oskar walked with his teacher, not sure himself if it was for protection or because he needed to talk to a grown-up. He had been going steady with Eli for five days now. They met every evening, outside. Oskar always told his mom he was going out to see Johan.

Yesterday evening Eli had come in through his window again. They had lain awake for a long time, told each other stories that started where the other person stopped. Then they had fallen asleep with their arms around each other and in the morning Eli was gone.

In his pocket, next to the old, well-thumbed, worn one there was now a new note that he had found on his desk this morning as he was getting ready to go to school.

I MUST BE GONE AND LIVE, OR STAY AND DIE. YOURS, ELI.

He knew it was a quote from
Romeo and Juliet.
Eli had told him that what she wrote in her first note came from there and Oskar had checked out the book from the school library. He liked it quite a bit, even though there were a lot of words he didn't understand.
Her vestal livery is but
sick and green.
Did Eli understand all those words?

Jonny, Micke, and the girls were walking twenty meters behind Oskar and the teacher. They passed China Park where some daycare kids were sledding, their sharp cries slicing through the air. Oskar kicked at a clump of snow, lowered his voice and said:

"Marie-Louise?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know when you're in love?"

"Oh, I. .."

His teacher pushed her hands into the pockets of her duffel coat and cast a glance at the sky. Oskar wondered if she was thinking of that guy that had come and waited for her at the school a few times. Oskar had not liked the look of him. He looked creepy.

"It depends on who you are, but... I would say that it's when you know ... or at least when you really believe that this is the person you always want to be with."

"You mean, when you feel you can't live without that person."

"Yes, exactly. Two who can't live without the other . . . isn't that what love is?"

"Like
Romeo and Juliet'.'

"Yes, and the bigger the obstacles ... have you seen it?"

"Read it."

His teacher looked at him and gave him a smile that Oskar had always liked before but that he right now found a little disconcerting. He said quickly,

"What if it's two guys?"

"Then that's friendship. That's also a form of love. Or if you mean .. . well, two guys can also love each other in that way."

"How do they do it?"

His teacher lowered her voice.

"Well, not that there's anything wrong with it, but... if you want to talk more about it we'll have to come back to it another time." They walked a few paces in silence, arrived at the hill that led down to Kvarnviken Bay. Ghost Hill. His teacher drew the smell of pine forest deep into her lungs. Then she said:

"You form a covenant with someone, a union. Regardless of whether you're a boy or a girl you form a covenant saying that. . . that it's you and that person. Something just between the two of you."

Oskar nodded. He heard the girls' voices getting closer. Soon they would come and claim the teacher's attention. That's what normally happened. He was walking so close to his teacher that their coats touched, and he said:

"Can you be . . . both girl and boy at the same time? Or neither?"

"No, not people. There are some kinds of animals that. . ." Michelle ran up to them and shouted in her squeaky voice: "Miss! Jonny put snow down my back!"

They were halfway down the hill. Shortly thereafter all the girls were there and told her what Jonny and Micke had done.

Oskar slowed down, fell back a few paces. He turned around. Jonny and Micke were at the top of the hill. They waved to Oskar, who didn't wave back. Instead he reached for a big branch on the side of the path, stripping the small twigs off it as he walked.

He passed the reputedly haunted house that gave the hill its name. A giant warehouse with walls of corrugated iron that looked completely out of place among the small trees. On the wall that faced the hill someone had sprayed in large letters:

CAN WE HAVE YOUR MOPED?

The girls and the teacher played tag, running down the path along the water. He was not planning to catch up to them. He knew Jonny and Micke were behind him. He gripped his stick more tightly, kept going. It was nice out today. The ice had formed several days ago and now it was thick enough that the skating group could go out on it, led by Mr. Avila. When Jonny and Micke said they wanted to join the walking group, Oskar had seriously thought about rushing home to grab his skates, switchir five days now. They met every evening, outside. Oskar always told his mom he was going out to see Johan.

Yesterday evening Eli had come in through his window again. They had lain awake for a long time, told each other stories that started where the other person stopped. Then they had fallen asleep with their arms around each other and in the morning Eli was gone.

In his pocket, next to the old, well-thumbed, worn one there was now a new note that he had found on his desk this morning as he was getting ready to go to school.

I MUST BE GONE AND LIVE, OR STAY AND DIE. YOURS, ELI.

He knew it was a quote from
Romeo and Juliet.
Eli had told him that what she wrote in her first note came from there and Oskar had checked out the book from the school library. He liked it quite a bit, even though there were a lot of words he didn't understand.
Her vestal livery is but
sick and green.
"

Then they were on the ice. There was nothing for him to brace his feet against. They dragged him backwards, toward the sauna bathing hole. His heels made double tracks in the snow. In between them he dragged the stick, drawing a shallower line in the middle.

Far away on the ice he saw tiny moving figures. He screamed. Screamed for help.

"Holler away. Maybe they'll come in time to pull you out." The open water gaped darkly only a few steps away. Oskar tensed all the muscles he could muster and flung himself to the side, twisting with a sudden wrenching motion. Micke lost his grip. Oskar dangled from Jonny's arms and swung the stick against his shin; it almost bounced out of his hand when wood met leg.

"Oww, damn!"

Jonny let go of him and Oskar fell to the ice. He got up at the edge of the hole in the ice, holding the stick in both hands. Jonny grabbed his shin.

"Fucking idiot. Now I'll fucking . . ."

Jonny approached him slowly, probably not daring to run because he was afraid of falling into the water himself if he pushed Oskar like that. He pointed at the stick.

"Put that down or I'll kill you. Get it?"

Oskar clenched his teeth. When Jonny was a little more than an arm's length away, Oscar swung the stick against his shoulder. Jonny ducked and Oskar felt a mute thwack in his hands when the heavy end of the stick struck Jonny square on the ear. He fell to the side like a bowling pin, landing outstretched on the
ice,
howling. Micke, who had been a couple of steps behind Jonny, now started to back up, holding his hands in front of him.

"What the hell... we were just having some fun . .. didn't think .. ." Oskar walked toward him, swinging the stick from side to side through the air with a low growl. Micke turned and ran back to shore. Oskar stopped and lowered his stick.

Jonny lay curled up on his side with his hand pressed against his ear. Blood was trickling out between his fingers. Oskar wanted to apologize. He hadn't meant to hurt him so bad. He crouched down next to Jonny, steadying himself on the stick, and he was about to say "sorry" but before he had a chance, he
saw
Jonny.

He was so small, curled up into a fetal position, whimpering "owowowow" while a thin trickle of blood ran down inside the collar of his coat. He was slowly turning his head back and forth.

Oskar looked at him in wonder.

That tiny bleeding bundle on the ice would not be able to do anything to him. Couldn't hit him or tease him. Couldn't even defend itself. I
could whack him a few more times and then it's
all
over.
Oskar stood up, leaned on the stick. The rush was ebbing away, replaced by a feeling of nausea that welled up from deep inside his stomach. What had he done? Jonny must be really hurt to be bleeding like that. What if he bled to death? Oskar sat down on the ice again, pulled off one shoe and removed his wool sock. He crawled over to Jonny on his knees, poked the hand that he was holding to his ear, and pushed the wool sock into it.

"Here. Take this."

Jonny grabbed the sock and pressed it to his wounded ear. Oskar looked up over the ice. He saw a person on skates approaching. A grown-up. Shrill screams from far away. Children, screaming in panic. A single high, penetrating shriek that was joined by others after a few seconds. The person who had been on his way over, stopped. Stood motionless for a second, then turned and skated back.

Oskar was still kneeling beside Jonny, felt the snow melting, dampening his knees. Jonny had his eyes shut, whimpering from between clenched teeth. Oskar lowered his face closer to his.

"Can you walk?"

Jonny opened his mouth to say something and a yellow-and whitecolored liquid gushed out from between his lips, coloring the snow. A little landed on one of Oskar's hands. He looked at the slimy drops that quivered on the back of his hands and became really scared. He dropped the stick and ran toward land to get some help.

The children's screams from next to the hospital had increased in volume. He ran toward them.

+

Mr. Avila, Fernando Cristobal de Reyes y Avila, enjoyed ice skating. Yes. One of the things he most appreciated about Sweden was the long winters. He had participated in the Vasa cross-country ski race for ten consecutive

years now, and whenever the waters of the outer archipelago froze solid he drove out to Graddo Island on the weekends in order to skate out as far toward Soderarm as the ice cover allowed.

It was three years ago since the archipelago had frozen last, but an early winter such as this one gave him hope. Of course Graddo Island would be crawling with skating enthusiasts if the waters froze, but that was in the daytime. Mr. Avila preferred to skate at night.

With all due respect to the Vasa Race, it did make one feel like one of a thousand ants in a colony that had suddenly decided to emigrate. It was quite different to be on the open ice, alone in the moonlight. Fernando Avila was only a lukewarm Catholic, but even he could feel in those moments that God was near. The rhythmic scrape of the metal blades, the moonlight that gave the ice a leaden gleam, above him the stars vaulted in their infinity, the cold wind streaming over his face, eternity and depth and space in all directions. Life could not be bigger. A little boy was tugging on his pant leg.