‘Because I’m so horribly evil. Why the fuck do you think? To contribute to research. To find a way of conquering death. To help humanity. I realise you two think you’re the heroes around here, but—’
This time Flora simply moved her hand, and he shut up.
‘I know all that,’ she said. ‘What I want to know is what you’re trying to achieve by cutting them up. On a purely practical level.’
‘That’s what I’m telling you. Think about all the people who die before their time, quite unnecessarily…’
Flora sighed and turned to Kalle. ‘You can hit him much harder than I can. Want to have a go?’
Kalle looked dubiously at Flora. She winked. He nodded and walked over to the bed; he rolled up his right sleeve and opened and closed his fist a couple of times. The doctor followed his movements with wide-open eyes. As Flora had hoped, the threat was enough. The doctor said, ‘I’m investigating the minimum conditions necessary for life.’
‘Which means?’
‘Which means that…we haven’t found anything at a cellular level, so now I’m investigating exactly how much one can…remove without life ceasing to exist. Which parts have a life of their own, which parts the body can’t do without.’
‘And how many of you are working on this?’
‘Three, normally.’
‘And the others will be here tomorrow?’
‘Yes, but this is a total bloody disaster for our—’
‘Good,’ said Flora. ‘In that case they’ll be able to untie you.’
She took Kalle’s arm and pulled him towards the door, the doctor protesting vociferously behind them. As they closed the door he started to scream. It wasn’t particularly audible through the thick concrete walls, and the thought field was almost gone now the reliving had left the building. He would probably have to stay there until the morning.
They drove out of the compound. At the gates the guard asked if Kalle had found what he was looking for. Kalle said he had, and they parted with a mutual goodnight.
At half past three in the morning they were sitting in Kalle’s kitchen. Kalle had drunk three beers, Flora one. There were so many questions to ask that his brain refused to work at all. After the third beer a pleasant warmth began to spread through his body at last.
‘There’s going to be trouble,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘Tomorrow.’ She looked at the kitchen clock. ‘I’m supposed to be at work in two hours. I think I might just take the day off.’
‘Making sandwiches?’
‘Making sandwiches.’
Something resembling a laugh emerged from Kalle’s mouth, sounding more like a weary gasp. ‘First this, and then…you have to stand there making sandwiches. Ups and downs…’
Flora nodded. ‘And this is just the beginning.’
‘What’s just the beginning?’
‘What we did tonight. There are several hundred left.’
Kalle rubbed his eyes. ‘How are we going to…’ He threw his hands wide, let them drop. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow.’
They went to bed and made love slowly, tenderly as if through sleep. When it was over and they were satisfied, sinking down towards genuine sleep, Kalle was still unable to take the final step. Flora was lying with her head resting on his chest. He stroked her ear with his finger and asked, ‘Aren’t you scared?’
Flora’s voice was thick, heavy with sleep. ‘Of what?’
‘…death?’
She didn’t speak for a few seconds, then eventually she replied, ‘She’s not dangerous. She just…does what she has to do.’
‘She?’
‘Yes…’
While Kalle thought about that, Flora’s breathing grew deeper and more regular. He didn’t want to wake her with more questions, so he lay there gazing up into the darkness until his eyes closed of their own accord and he fell asleep.
It felt as if he had only just dozed off when he was woken by the doorbell. It was a quarter past seven in the morning. He lay there staring up at the ceiling, his brain confused with sleep. In the silence between two rings of the bell he could hear a fly struggling to reach the light outside the window.
Fly. Light. Morning.
There was the sour taste of stale beer in his mouth as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his dressing gown. He went to the door and opened it without a single conscious thought. Only when he saw his father standing outside did the events of the previous night start to come back to him.
They stood there looking at one another for a while. Kalle was incapable of digging anything to say out of his sleep-befuddled brain, and judging by his father’s expression he too was lost for words. After a few seconds Sture came to life and pushed past Kalle into the apartment.
Kalle rubbed his face hard and yawned. ‘Yes?’
His father, who had made it as far as the living room, swung around and looked at him as if that was the most inappropriate thing he could possibly have said.
‘Yes? Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘Noooo…’ Another yawn forced its way out. It was as if he could stand here with his mouth open for ages, just yawning, yawning until this was over.
His father caught sight of the open bedroom door. He walked in and positioned himself at the end of the bed, pointing at Flora, who was still asleep.
‘Is that her? Your…partner in all this?’
Kalle didn’t like the idea of his father being anywhere near Flora, particularly when she was asleep.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about this later. I’d like you to leave now.’
Sture was taken aback for a moment. He couldn’t believe what his son had just said. His chin dropped and then he said, with a hint of fear in his voice, ‘You don’t know anything.’
Kalle scratched his chest. ‘No. So we’ve heard.’
Suddenly Sture grabbed hold of the bed and shook it furiously. He yelled at Flora, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’
Kalle grabbed Sture by the shoulder and shoved him away from the bed. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
Sture knocked his hand away, and Kalle couldn’t help being impressed by the old man’s stubbornness. Kalle could easily have picked him up with one hand and thrown him out. Through the window, for example.
Flora sat up in bed and Sture brushed the shoulder of his jacket as if he had got something dirty on it. Kalle said, ‘Say what you have to say and get out.’
Flora’s eyes were puffy. She looked from one to the other and asked Kalle, ‘Your father?’
Sture leaned against the foot of the bed. He glared at Flora, who wrapped the sheet around her.
‘Yes. Unfortunately. Young lady, are you aware of the extent to which you have destroyed your future? How much trouble you’re both going to be in?’ Neither Flora nor Kalle spoke. Sture went on, ‘Illegal entry into a protected area, unauthorised interference, physical abuse, possibly also manslaughter.’
Flora looked at Sture. For a long time. Then she asked, ‘Are the police involved?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘So when will they be involved?’
Sture snorted, and something akin to a laugh escaped from him. He looked at Kalle, then at Flora. Then back at Kalle.
‘Nice company you keep.’
‘Yes. Have you got anything important to say, or are you just going to…keep banging on?’
Sture fell silent. His eyes widened. At first Kalle thought it was surprise once again at the incomprehensibility of their actions, but then he heard the sound Sture had picked up. There was someone in the hallway. Someone was heading towards the bedroom. Sture grabbed hold of Kalle’s arm as if he were about to say something important, but before he had time to speak the visitor was in the room.
At a passing glance, Kalle would have taken the stranger for yet another suit. He was certainly wearing a suit, and a very loud tie. But the body was wrong. The first impression was that the man was fat, because a well-
filled belly stretched the shirt tight, with the tie resting on it rather than hanging. However, the legs and arms were spindly, the face small and narrow, almost emaciated. A famine victim in a suit.
The eyes didn’t fit either. Instead of the shiny, wide-open gaze of the starving, this man had small eyes that were so deep-set they looked as if they were burrowing into his skull.
The man folded his thin hands together, rested them on his stomach and gazed around.
‘I see the entire family is gathered.’
His voice was high, like a young girl’s. Kalle couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s face. He had a magnetic quality, and Kalle had to make an enormous effort not to move closer to him.
The man’s eyes rested on Kalle’s father.
‘How are you, Sture? Well, I hope?’
It was rare for someone to call Sture by his first name. It was Professor Liljewall or Father or Professor. Kalle tore his eyes away from the man and glanced at his father. Sture had shrunk, and was rubbing his hands together in an almost comical fashion.
Flora wriggled back towards the bed head. The man noticed the movement, strode forward and sat down beside her on the bed.
‘And you’re here too.’
Flora pulled the sheet more tightly around her to form a barrier between herself and the man’s body, his stomach. Something within Kalle told him he ought to intervene, but it was impossible to move. Flora whispered, ‘You can’t do anything to me.’
The man nodded pensively. ‘No. That’s true. But the number of willing bodies. At my disposal. Would surprise you.’
The man got to his feet. His movements were surprisingly supple, as if his belly weighed nothing. When he came and stood next to Kalle, that dark pull was palpable. It was like standing somewhere high up, looking down. The urge to take that step.
‘I realise this may be difficult to grasp. But your actions. Are threatening great human values. We are on the verge. Of a breakthrough. And I will admit. That it is difficult to foresee the consequences. But in the long run. I am convinced. That this will lead to greater happiness.’ The man turned to Sture. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Sture nodded. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’
Kalle stared at the man’s face. The mouth seemed to move entirely without the help of the facial muscles. As Kalle watched, a fly landed on the man’s cheek. The man didn’t notice, he simply carried on talking. The mouth moved and the fly, drawn by the same pull that Kalle felt, crawled inside without the man even pausing. The fly didn’t return, but the words kept on coming:
‘I also realise. That my direct involvement. May seem counterproductive. That it may serve only to strengthen your conviction. That you are doing the right thing. Is that correct?’
Both Flora and Kalle nodded, almost without moving their heads. There was an aura of immobility around the man that spread outwards, affected others. He went on, ‘I have however discovered that logical arguments. Have no influence on your…what I might call ideological point of view. And my experience tells me. That when faced with a case like this. Fear is the only remaining means of exerting pressure. Fear almost always conquers logic.’ The man turned to Sture and waved his thin hand in Kalle’s direction. ‘Sture, you may now punish your son.’
Sture licked his lips. ‘I don’t quite understand…’
‘He has been disobedient, and you must do your duty as a father. Punish him.’ Kalle was still incapable of any movement. The man looked him over as if seeking out his most vulnerable spot, then pointed: ‘Break his nose.’
Sture shook his head. ‘I can’t.’
‘I understand. You’re not used to it.’ The man walked over to the bedside table and picked up a solid glass cube that usually contained a candle and handed it to Sture. ‘There.’
Sture weighed the cube in his hand and looked at Kalle. If this was about fear, then Sture was the one most at risk. His lower lip was trembling and he was frantically licking his lips. Kalle wasn’t experiencing a feeling of calmness; it was more like indifference bordering on apathy. He couldn’t understand how he was still on his feet.
Tears sprang into Sture’s eyes. He positioned himself directly in front of Kalle and raised the glass cube. The man nodded. ‘Go for it.’
‘Stop,’ Flora whispered from the bed. She was getting up, the sheet still wrapped around her. ‘Stop.’
The man looked at her. ‘Is this some kind of negotiation? Are you offering to stop if I stop?’
Flora swallowed and said, ‘Yes.’
The man’s eyes locked into hers. He looked deep inside her for a second, then said, ‘You’re lying. Get back in bed.’
Driven by a will that was not her own, Flora lay down on the bed again. Kalle heard a drumming sound. Du-du-dunk, du-du-dunk. The only thing he could move was his eyes, and he searched the room, hunting for the source of the noise.
A sparrow was sitting outside on the window ledge, pecking at the glass. The bird hopped to and fro along the ledge as if seeking a point where the glass was less solid, then pecked again. The man glanced at it, then turned his attention back to Sture.
‘Let’s finish this.’
Sture’s arm was shaking as he raised it above his head to reach Kalle’s face. The bird let loose another burst of drumming on the windowpane. Sture drew back his arm, then jerked it forward with considerable force, as if he were going to throw the cube as far as he could. The solid surface hit Kalle right in the middle of his nose. He heard a muted crunching sound, and burning heat radiated across his face like a spider web as blood poured down into his mouth.
Flora screamed, the cube fell to the floor and Sture covered his face with his hands. The man leaned closer to Kalle’s face, inspecting the damage. He nodded, said, ‘Good,’ and turned to Sture, whose body was locked in a hunched position. ‘I thought you might deal with the girl as well, but…you seem to have exhausted your strength.’
The man went over to the window and looked out. The sparrow’s drumming grew more feverish.
‘I must say this building is one of the most tasteless I’ve ever set eyes on.’
Blood was pouring down Kalle’s throat, inside his dressing gown, tickling as it trickled down the sides of his stomach. His face was a receptacle for red heat that just kept on pumping and pumping. He wanted to reach up and feel how bad it was, but he didn’t have permission to move.
The man turned the handle and opened the window. With a couple of rapid hops the sparrow was inside the room; it circled around Kalle’s head before swooping down towards the man, who opened his mouth wide. The bird flew straight in, and it was gone.
As if he had done nothing more than take a deep breath, the man exhaled and grabbed Sture by the shoulder.
‘Come along. I assume you have no interest in staying here to explain yourself.’
Sture shook his bowed head and they walked towards the door. Before he left, the man turned back to Kalle and Flora. He studied them for several long seconds, then said, ‘I don’t think there’s much to add.’
Then he walked out, with Sture trailing behind him.
The room remained completely silent for a long time after the man had disappeared. A faint breeze wafted in through the open window, making the curtains billow. It was Flora who first managed to extricate herself from the net of impotence in which they were caught. She got out of bed on wobbly legs, went over to Kalle and said, ‘Come with me…’
Kalle allowed himself to be led to the bathroom, where Flora gently washed his face with toilet paper and lukewarm water. Even his tongue felt swollen, and he had to form the words very slowly as he asked, ‘What. Was that? What. Happened. There?’
As if his slurred words had opened the floodgates to the real world, where Kalle stood with a broken nose after being attacked by his father, Flora let out a single sob and clamped her lips together to stop herself from bursting into tears.
‘I don’t know, Kalle. I don’t know.’
Kalle looked in the mirror. His nose had swollen
to at least twice its normal size, and was pressed against one cheek. A fragment of bone was sticking out where the skin had split, and when he tried to breathe through his nose, it proved impossible.
Flora said, ‘We need to get you to the hospital. I’ll just…’
She dabbed at his cheeks, his throat and his chest with wads of paper, which she threw down the toilet when they were soaked in blood. Eventually she tore off a long length and folded it up to make a compress.
‘Here. Hold this against…’
She pointed and Kalle filled in the missing words: ‘…what used to be my nose.’
‘Nose’ came out as ‘dose’, and Kalle thought that was funny. He tried to laugh, but it came out as no more than a jerky, whistling sound through his mouth. Flora shook her head and gave him a hug.
‘You’re crazy. You’re laughing.’
Although it probably didn’t matter, they didn’t like the idea of going to Karolinska Hospital. Instead they headed out to Danderyd, where they had to wait only half an hour before Kalle was seen. His nose was straightened and a plaster dressing was applied, after which the doctor said Kalle should come back in a week for further adjustment, unless of course he wanted to end up looking like a retired boxer.
When they got out into the corridor Kalle looked at himself in a mirror and thought he looked like something out of a cartoon. The square dressing covering his nose, the long dreadlocks framing his face. The main character’s dopey friend in a Disney film, the one who says weird things and never quite knows what’s going on.
When they were sitting in the cafeteria, with Kalle drinking a milky coffee with some difficulty and pulling faces more than necessary just to find some humour in his situation, Flora said, ‘I think you’re weird. Aren’t you upset? I mean after all, it was your father who did this.’
Kalle shook his head. ‘No. In fact, I think it’s kind of…nice, in a way. Now we know exactly where we stand. I don’t need to bother about him anymore. He’s out of my life.’
‘But even so.’
‘I’ve hated him for years, actually. But I’ve never quite been able to admit it. It’s better this way.’