Stallo (20 page)

‘We’ll do it now,’ he said, and pressed the button so that the window began to go down slowly with a scraping sound. ‘Give me one of those.’

Börje leaned out of the open window. He was holding his hands cupped against his chest.

‘Happy Christmas!’ he called.

The boy carried on walking for a few steps before he stopped and looked at the car.

Then he started walking again. Faster.

‘Where are you off to?’

There was no answer.

‘We want you to help us with something,’ Börje said, turning to Seved, indicating he wanted him to play along. ‘Your mum just phoned and told us.’

Seved leaned forwards and nodded.

‘We’ve got something for you,’ he said. ‘A Christmas present.’

The words aroused the boy’s interest and he stopped walking. After looking both ways he crossed the road. A few metres away from the car he stopped. He was wearing a hat with a spider-web pattern and his cheeks were red. It was cold, as low as minus fifteen, and clouds of snowflakes were being buffeted around in sudden gusts of wind.

‘Where are you going?’ said Börje, sounding tense. ‘Are you going home?’

He had already asked that, and it was obvious that the boy had become scared but without exactly knowing why; a feeling told him something was not quite right. He screwed up his eyes against the wind. Snow fastened in his eyelashes and the thumb of his mitten came up to rub it away.

‘Your mum said you don’t have to go home,’ said Börje. ‘She said you could help us with something, if you like. But we’ve got to make sure you’re the right boy. What’s your name?’

‘Mattias.’

Börje nodded.

‘Mattias. That’s right. Then it’s you we’re looking for. That’s lucky.’

Börje turned to face Seved.

‘Shall we show him then?’

Seved nodded.

Börje lifted up his cupped hands slowly and secretively until they appeared in the open window, like a puppet show. He gradually opened his fingers, and from between them poked a tiny delicate snout, although to be exact it was not a snout. It was a nose. A smile spread across the boy’s face and he quickly approached the car door, pressing himself against it to get a better view. But then Börje pulled his hands away.

‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re very nervous.’

‘What is it?’ asked the boy. ‘Is it a gerbil?’

Börje took his hand away as if he was sliding back a screen and revealed the agile little shapeshifter shivering in the cold air streaming into the car. Its grey furry tail lay coiled in the hollow of Börje’s palm.

‘You can have one of these, if you like,’ Börje said in a friendly voice, gently pressing his finger on the little creature’s back, where its shoulder blades protruded. ‘Not this one, but one just like it. In our pet shop in Jokkmokk we’ve got masses of them, and we need to give a few away because we haven’t got room for them all. But we can’t give them away to just anybody because they’ve got to be looked after properly. So if you like, you can have one to take care of. Would you like that?’

Mattias nodded.

‘Jump in the car then.’

*

The boy was allowed to hold it. With his hands pressed tightly together he made a little balcony against his chest, and there the mouse shapeshifter lay on its back, watching the boy’s face. It looked as if it was sunning itself in the wonder radiating from the child’s eyes.

‘What’s its name?’ he asked, as they swung south onto the motorway.

Seved could not see him: he was clutching his forehead with his right hand and staring out through the window. He must not start crying, but he felt very close to it. It was rising up inside him.

‘It hasn’t got a name,’ said Börje, over his shoulder. ‘But you can give it a name, if you like.’

‘Can I have it?’

‘No,’ said Börje. ‘Like I said, not this one. But you can give it a name. It makes them happy if they have a name. And we have so many it’s impossible for us to find names for them all.’

The boy was silent.

‘Have you got a good suggestion?’ he went on.

‘Perhaps Jim.’

‘Jim?’

The boy nodded.

‘Jim,’ said Börje, as if testing the sound of it. ‘That’s not a bad name, is it? Did you hear what a good name he thought up? Jim.’

Seved nodded.

‘It’s nice,’ he said softly. By this time he had twisted his face towards the glass so that the tears welling up in his eyes would not show. They would be streaming down his cheeks any second.

Time.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything passes with time.

He had been told that himself, and he knew it was true in a way. Time blotted things out. They lost their hold. Although of course there was no telling what would fade and what would remain. But it would get better. He would get used to it, even if he was sad to begin with. It vanished with time. A shell formed.

*

They had to drive through Jokkmokk, and they knew that was not entirely risk free. Partly because the boy would realise they had no plans to stop at a pet shop, and partly because they would have to drive relatively slowly through the built-up area, and then someone who knew the boy might catch sight of him. On the other hand, it was fairly dark.

They were not particularly worried that he would start screaming and struggling. It would take a lot for the boy to do that. But there must not be silence. Seved tried to think of something to say but his mind was a complete blank. It would be a disaster if the boy heard the crying in his voice.

They turned into the road that ran past the police station. Lights were shining in the windows of the ground floor. Seved
tried to see if Börje was nervous, but it was hard to tell.

‘Jim,’ repeated the older man loudly, and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the boy in the rear-view mirror. ‘That’s a really good name. How clever of you to come up with such a good name, Mattias.’ He put the indicator on and the Volvo began to tick. ‘If you like, you can name a few more, because I can never think of names that suit them. They have to be names they like, of course. And you can’t ask them because they can’t talk. But they can nod. They understand!’

‘Do they?’

‘Of course. Ask him if he would like to be called Jim.’

The boy sat and thought for a moment.

‘Do you want to?’ he said quietly.

He looked for a long time at the mouseshifter, which was lying very still and looking at him with eyes like dark dots. The little object did not understand a thing, it seemed.

‘Well?’ asked Börje. ‘What does he say? Would he like to be called Jim?’

‘I think so.’

The streets of Jokkmokk were lined with frozen birches, cars covered in white and high mounds of snow left behind by the ploughs. In the windows, Advent stars and candlesticks were shining. They passed an ICA supermarket and a pizzeria. Some way along a side road a car was parked with its headlights on full beam.

‘Well, Mattias,’ Börje said, ‘perhaps you’d like other toys too? What toys would you like to have? Do you like Lego?’

Mattias nodded.

‘You can build a house with your Lego for Jim to live in, can’t you? You could build a block of flats, and then Jim’s friends can live on the other floors, and you can build a castle …’

It was clear from Börje’s voice that he was running out of things to say, and Seved tried desperately to think of something. He swallowed, repeatedly. He was unsure of his own voice. It might let him down.

‘They like to wear clothes,’ he said, turning round in his seat to study the boy, who was trying to pat the little mouseshifter with his finger. ‘Like the mice in
Cinderella
. Have you seen
Cinderella
?’

Börje turned his head with a look that stung Seved’s cheek. That was exactly the kind of talk that had to be avoided. Nothing about home, nothing outside the car.

They approached a junction, and Börje slowed down because a car in front was pulling out. At the same time a woman came along with a kick sledge. Her glasses had misted up under her fur-edged hood and she passed by on Seved’s side. He looked at her and she looked at him. Stared, in fact.

As they began to move again he met Börje’s eyes.

And now he was no longer unaffected.

*

Seved looked at his watch. Over half an hour had passed.

‘Shall we phone Lennart?’ he said quietly.

Börje nodded, extracted his mobile from his trouser pocket and gave it to Seved.

‘Better still,’ he said, ‘send a text.’

Seved had never owned a mobile phone. He didn’t know how to send a text; he didn’t even know how to unlock the phone.

Börje had to instruct him, step by step.

When Seved had found the right place and worked out how the keys functioned he wrote:

‘WE HAVE THE BOY.’

Then he held up the phone so that Börje could check.

‘Now what?’

‘You’ve got to send it as well. Press YES.’

Shortly afterwards the phone rang.

‘LENNART BRÖSTH,’ it said in black letters against the grey display. Seved handed the mobile to Börje. He answered Lennart’s questions in monosyllables, and when the conversation ended he threw the phone into Seved’s lap.

‘Have you cleaned up the cellar?’

Seved shook his head.

‘Then you’ll have to call Signe,’ said Börje. ‘Lennart was in Glommersträsk, on his way to Skellefteå. But he’s going to turn round straight away, so it looks like he’ll be there before us. Tell her to clean up the worst of it. And make the bed.’

‘I think I want to go home now.’

When Seved heard the boy’s high voice from the back seat he felt a knot form in his stomach, and for a few seconds he could not even draw breath.

‘Home?’ Börje said at length. ‘Didn’t you want your very own little troll mouse?’

‘Yes, but I have to go home.’

‘We’ll drive you home as soon as we have collected the mouse,’ Börje said over his shoulder. ‘That’ll be all right, won’t it?’

Mattias had stiffened.

Seved unclicked his safety belt, put one boot on his seat and squeezed himself between the front seats and into the back, almost falling on top of the boy, who was holding his cupped hands in front of him. They were empty. The mouseshifter had slipped away. Now it could be anywhere in the car, and it would not be easy to get hold of it again.

Mattias stared out through the window. A tear had left a shiny
stripe down his cheek. His hat had ridden up his head and one ear was visible. It was a little red nine shape, surrounded by tufts of brown hair.

‘You mustn’t be sad,’ Seved said, using the back of his hand to wipe his own cheekbones, and then his moustache to get rid of the mucus that had collected there in a sticky fringe.

‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see. It’ll be all right.’

*

When they pulled up outside the house someone was moving about in the spotlight. It was Signe. She was on her way into the house and glanced at the car before disappearing through the door. Lennart’s Merc was parked in front of the dog enclosure, and they pulled up alongside it.

‘Come on,’ Börje said, opening the door for Mattias.

The boy did not move at first, so they had to help him out.

He walked between them, holding the mouseshifter in his cupped hands. Seved had heard a scratching in the moulded pattern of the floor mat and managed to catch hold of the little creature again. That was lucky. From what he could see the boy was once again mesmerised. The small eyes had fixed themselves on his.

Strangely, there was music in the kitchen, lively Christmas music. The notes from the CD player came from a disc that Seved had never heard before, and he realised Lennart must have brought it with him. On the plastic case lying on the windowsill there was a red price sticker.

The big man sat at the kitchen table, looking towards the door. The lump of his left hand was hidden under the tabletop and he had taken off his jacket. Seved realised he had never seen him without a jacket before, not even in the summer.

The table was laid. Two plastic bottles of cola were standing in the centre. There were ginger biscuits arranged on a red napkin on a plate, and on another plate were clementines. And bags of sweets in a big pile: chewy cars and jelly dummies and chocolate rice puffs. Lennart must have emptied the confectionery shelf at Q-Star.

Signe stood with her back against the draining board, her arms folded. At her feet sat a hare, staring vacantly ahead. Its ears were pressed back. Shapeshifters in the kitchen, thought Seved. What about that, Ejvor?