Sacrifice (4 page)

L
eadership – tools and methods that produce results
.

She had agreed several months earlier to take the course, a long time before Thomas had come into her life. At a time when any of the infrequent breaks in her monotonous daily life had been more than welcome. Back then she had looked forward to the trip.

Now everything was different. Now she didn't know how she was going to make it through the four days.

A pharmaceutical company had offered to pay her course fee. Not for a moment had they managed to convince her that they were worried about her leadership skills or ability as a boss to motivate her staff. Perhaps they were worried about her ability to motivate her staff to select their company's brand of medicine when they were writing prescriptions, but both sides participated in the game. It wasn't the first time that a pharmaceutical company had shown some of the clinic's doctors a little extra appreciation. Nor would it be the last.

She didn't consider herself a particularly good boss, but as far as she knew the staff in her department were satisfied. Her poor leadership qualities seldom had any effect on them; on the contrary, she was the
one who usually took on the most extra work. Delegating tedious tasks had always gone against the grain; it was easier to do them herself and avoid resentment. She always felt a need to compensate in some way if she asked them to do something, keep them in a good mood. But actually it was more about ensuring continued goodwill towards herself. So that nobody would think badly of her.

In her role as a physician she had more self-confidence. If she hadn't been regarded as highly skilled and goal-oriented, she never would have been offered the job four years ago. The clinic was under private management with a foundation as the primary shareholder, and to be offered a position as head surgeon was a clear endorsement. There were nine departments in the building, and she was the head of General Surgery. Even so, her leadership skills could definitely use some work, and in her former life, the one before she met Thomas, she would have thrown herself into the assignment wholeheartedly. Now it no longer felt so important. Thomas thought she was fine the way she was, despite all her shortcomings. Right now she just wanted to enjoy that feeling.

Except that there was one shortcoming she hadn't revealed yet.

The nastiest, lowest of them all.

She stood at the bus station and waited. Thomas had given her a lift there, and despite the fact that they had been urged to keep their phones turned off during the four-day workshop, she had promised to call him every night. Now she was sorry she hadn't taken her own car. A woman she didn't know had called and
offered her a ride, saying she had got Monika's name and number from course management. And why not? At least that's what she thought when the matter first came up. Now she wished she could have the time to herself, that she could sit all by herself and enjoy the giddy feeling she was experiencing. Everything was suddenly transformed into a sense of warm, exhilarating anticipation. Things were perfect, she didn't need anything else. If this was what they called happiness, then she suddenly understood all human striving for it.

She looked at the clock. It was already eight-thirty and the woman had promised to pick her up at twenty past eight. It was almost 200 kilometres to the course venue, and if they didn't get going soon they would arrive too late for the first session. She always prided herself on being punctual, and she felt a slight pang of annoyance.

She turned round and glanced over at the newspaper kiosk. Involuntarily she scanned the placards with the headlines from the evening papers.

‘13-
YEAR-OLD
girl held as
SEX SLAVE
for three months.'

And then its competitor alongside:

‘8 out of 10 diagnosed incorrectly.
A COUGH
can be a
DEADLY DISEASE
. Test whether you are affected.'

She shook her head. One might almost imagine that the newspaper publishers were trained in neurophysiology. Appealing directly to their buyers' primitive alarm systems was a foolproof method of catching their attention. It lay embedded deep inside the ur-brain, and as in all other mammals its purpose was to search its surroundings constantly for possible danger. The placards acted as one big warning signal.
A potential threat that had arisen. But someone who was afraid needed to be informed
why
, not merely
how
, and especially not in disgusting detail. It wouldn't put a stop to any fears; on the contrary, and consequently she suspected that the evening papers' placards had a greater effect on the tenor of society than people realised. No one could avoid them, and what else could the readers do with all the fear that was constantly being forced upon them but hide it away in some nook and let it lie there, to be mixed with a suspicion of foreigners and a general feeling of hopelessness?

The fact that people bought newspapers that used placards like this was the triumph of the primitive ur-brain over the intelligence of the cerebral cortex.

A red van came driving at high speed from the direction of Storgatan, but she didn't pay it much attention. Painted on the side was
BÖRJE'S CONSTRUCTION
in big letters. If she remembered correctly, the woman had introduced herself as Åse. The van slowed to a stop with the engine running. The woman behind the wheel was in her fifties and leaned across the passenger seat to roll down the side window.

‘Monika?'

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase on wheels and walked towards the van.

‘I thought it might be you. Hi, I'm Monika.'

The woman shifted back over to the driver's seat and hopped out. She held out her hand to Monika and introduced herself.

‘I'm sorry you had to wait, but believe it or not my car wouldn't start. Jesus, what a hassle. I had to take
my husband's van instead, and I hope it's okay. I've tried to shove the worst of the junk off the seats.'

Monika smiled. It would take a lot more than a van to dampen her spirits.

‘No problem at all.'

Åse took her bag and tossed it in the side door of the van. Monika glimpsed a metal rack with carpenters' tools on it and a firmly secured table saw with a round blade before Åse slid the side doors shut.

‘It's a good thing there are only two of us. I tried to get hold of some others from around here, but luckily they'd already organised lifts, otherwise they'd have to lie in the back of the van.'

‘So, there are others going from here?'

‘Five of them. All I know is that some are from the Council and some from KappAhl, I think, or one of the big department stores, anyway I can't remember.'

Monika opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. A green pine air-freshener dangled from the rear-view mirror. Åse followed her gaze and sighed.

‘I dearly love my husband, but he has never had particularly good taste.'

She opened the glove box and tossed the pine tree inside. The aroma still lingered, and she rolled down the window before she put the car in gear and drove off.

‘Okay.'

The word was accompanied by a relieved sigh.

‘Finally, we're on our way. A couple of mornings like this a year are liable to shorten your life expectancy.'

Monika looked out the side window and smiled. She already felt like calling Thomas.

The course venue looked like it had once been a boarding-house. Yellow with white corners and a newly built annexe next door with all the hotel rooms. The journey here had been full of laughter and wise insights. Åse had proven to be both witty and funny, and perhaps humour was a necessary trait, considering she was head of a treatment centre for drug-addicted girls in their early teens.

‘I don't really know how I stand it, hearing all the things some of those girls have been through. But every time I realise that I've had a hand in helping some of them move on and break their addiction, it's all worth it.'

The world was full of heroic people.

And those who wished they were heroic.

On the schedule they had received in the mail, it said the course would begin with a reception and the introduction of the leaders and participants. The rest of the afternoon they would learn how to motivate their co-workers by ‘understanding people's basic needs'. Monika could feel her interest flagging. She wanted to go home, and as soon as she got her key and checked into her room she rang Thomas. He answered right away, even though he was in a meeting and really couldn't talk. And afterwards her motivation to ‘understand people's basic needs' was even less.

She already knew all about it.

‘Well, now you know who I am, so it's time for all of us to find out who you are. Your names are on your name tags, so you can skip that part. But the rest of us have no idea what you do.'

Twenty-three newly arrived participants sat in a circle and listened intently to the woman standing in the centre. She was the only one who seemed comfortable in this situation; those seated looked around the circle rather self-consciously. Monika was struck by how obvious it was. Twenty-three grown people, all in leadership positions, several wearing suits, had suddenly been hauled out of their comfort zones and were bereft of any kind of control. As if by magic, twenty-three scared kids now sat there instead. She felt it herself; the discomfort crept through her body, and not even the thought of Thomas made her plight feel more bearable.

‘With regard to the course content for this afternoon, I have a proposal and a request about what I'd like you to tell us about yourselves, so I thought I'd start with a little exercise.'

Monika met Åse's glance and they exchanged a brief smile. Åse had told her in the car that she had never been to a ‘personal development' course before and that she was a bit sceptical. It was the session about how to handle stress that had appealed to her.

The woman in the centre continued: ‘To start with, I'd like you all to close your eyes.'

The participants glanced uncertainly at each other, mutely wondering what this was about before they retreated one by one into darkness. Monika felt even more vulnerable now, as if she were sitting naked on her chair and no longer knew whose eyes to hide from. The leg of a chair scraped on the floor. She was sorry that she had let herself be talked into coming.

‘I'm going to say six words. I want you to pay attention to your thoughts and above all notice the
first specific memory that comes to mind when you hear them.'

Someone coughed to Monika's left. Only a faint whirring from the air conditioning broke the silence.

‘Are you ready? Then we'll begin.'

Monika shifted position on her chair.

The woman paused at length between the words to give them time to sink in.

‘Fear … Sorrow … Anger … Jealousy … Love … Shame …'

A long silence followed, and Monika was all too conscious of both her thoughts and the specific memory they had evoked. Six thoughts, straight as an arrow, which mercilessly forced her towards the precise memory she wanted to forget most of all. She opened her eyes to break the spell.

The urge to get up and leave was overwhelming.

Most of the people around her remained sitting with their eyes closed; only a few had fled from the experience behind their eyelids. Now their shameful gazes met, only to rush on in a desperate search for a way out.

‘Are you ready? Then open your eyes.'

Their eyes opened and bodies shifted. Some were smiling and others looked as though they were reflecting on their thoughts.

‘Did it go well?'

Many nodded while others looked more doubtful. Monika sat quite still. She did not reveal with any expression what she was feeling. The woman in the centre smiled.

‘It's been said that these six feelings are universal and that they're found in every culture on earth.
Since we're going to talk about people's basic needs in the next exercise, it would be rather stupid not to make use of our expertise. I think that what you were thinking of just now when we did this was the event, or at least one of the few events, that has been most crucial in your lives and that has influenced you most.'

Monika clenched her fists and felt her nails pressing into her palms.

‘When you introduce yourselves, if there's anyone who wants to tell the rest of us what they were thinking about, you're more than welcome to do so. But I can't force you, of course, and above all I can't check that you're telling the truth.'

Scattered smiles, even laughter from some of them.

‘Who wants to start?'

No one volunteered. Monika tried to make herself invisible by sitting utterly still and looking at her lap. She had come here voluntarily. At this moment that was impossible to comprehend. Then she sensed a movement to her right and saw to her horror that the man next to her was raising his hand.

‘I'll start.'

‘Fine.'

The smiling woman moved closer to read his name tag.

‘Mattias, go ahead.'

Monika was having heart palpitations. By raising his hand he had instigated a natural starting sequence and suddenly it would be her turn next. She had to think up something to say.

Something different.

‘Okay, well, I'll do as I've been told, like the
obedient student I am, and skip all the formalities and such and get straight to the important stuff.'

Monika turned her head and stole a glance at him. Just over thirty. Jeans and a polo shirt. He looked around the circle as a means of greeting everyone, and for a second their eyes met. His whole being radiated self-confidence without being full of arrogance. Merely a healthy sense of self that made the others relax. But it didn't help her.