Shadow (15 page)

‘Since you’re the “master of good and evil”, I have to ask you something.’

‘Those are your words, remember.’

‘But that’s what people say about you.’

‘Oh, that’s something altogether different. But go ahead and ask, and I’ll do what I can.’

Suddenly she was eager. She stubbed out her cigarette and took a pen out of her handbag, looked for something to write on and pulled over an unused paper napkin. She drew two parallel lines across it and then drew small wavy lines between them.

‘This is a river full of crocodiles. No one can get across without a boat.’

She drew a square on one side of the river.

‘Per lives here. He loves Eva who lives on the other side of the river and Eva loves him. One day Per comes down with a serious illness and he rings Eva and asks her to come and help him. He explains how sick he is and asks her to hurry. But Eva has no boat, so she runs over to Erik, who lives on her side of the river and has a boat. She explains the situation and asks him to lend her the boat so she can row across and help Per.’

Axel was following her words with interest and looking at the little map taking shape on the napkin.

‘But Erik refuses to help Eva for free. He says that she has to have sex with him first, then he’ll row her over to the other side of the river.’

Axel raised his eyes and looked at her face, following the movement of her lips as she went on with her story.

‘Eva, of course, is broken-hearted, so she goes to Olof, who lives here…’

He forced himself to look at the napkin, where she drew another square between Eva’s and Erik’s houses.

‘… and tells him what Erik said. She asks him to come with her and talk some sense into Erik. But Olof doesn’t want to get involved and asks her to leave. So Eva sees no alternative but to do as Erik wants, and even though he’s a disgusting old man she goes there and has sex with him. Then he rows her across the river.’

Torgny came back and leaned across the table to look at the napkin.

‘Are you telling that one again?’

‘Don’t bother me, go away.’ Halina shooed him off.

Torgny sighed and left, stumbling a little as he went.

Halina continued filling in details on the napkin. Axel preferred looking at her rather than her drawing.

‘Is this the plot of the book you’re writing?’

‘No, it’s a moral dilemma. Shhh. Eva finally arrives at Per’s house and tells him what’s happened. Per is furious that Eva had sex with Erik and throws her out. Eva then goes to Sven and tells him that she was forced to have sex with Erik so she could help Per, who then threw her out. Sven flies into a rage and goes to Per and beats him up.’

Halina looked up.

‘Are you following this?’

‘I think so. People seem to be on neighbourly terms in this town.’

She put down the pen and took out a cigarette, lit it, and blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

‘What I want to know is which of them was most in the wrong. Grade them from one to five, with the one who was most in the wrong a five.’

‘Am I supposed to decide?’

‘Not decide. Just tell me what you think. This should be a topic that appeals to you.’

‘I generally focus on asking interesting questions rather than answering them.’

‘But you must have an opinion, don’t you? Here’s a taste of your own medicine.’

He pulled over the napkin and looked at her drawing. She had even drawn in a little crocodile, on the riverbank next to Erik’s house. He glanced up again and could see her nipples under her jumper.

‘What do you think?’

She leaned back and looked at him. Torgny’s distinctive
laugh resounded through the room, and both turned to look his way. He had sat down on a sofa with a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other.

Halina took a drag from her cigarette.

‘I know what I think.’

‘Who is it then?’

‘Olof.’

‘Olof?’

She nodded.

‘But he’s the only one who didn’t do anything.’

‘That’s precisely why.’

For a moment he recalled the first years with Alice. All the dizzying conversations that had enriched their writing. The dialogue that had now broken off and fallen silent. He looked at Torgny, who was leaning back in the sofa with his eyes closed. He never would have believed that anything Torgny had would ever arouse his envy. But now he felt it, a painful jealousy. To have a woman it was possible to talk with.

‘I was nine years old when the war ended and I was liberated from Treblinka.’

She pulled up her sleeve and showed him a row of tattooed numbers.

‘My mother was shot as soon as we stepped off the train, but my sister and I managed to survive for three years inside the barbed wire. Just before the liberation she died of exhaustion.’

Axel searched for words.

‘I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you.’

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Halina stubbed out her cigarette. All around them the partying continued.

‘The evil I saw in the camp was inconceivable. It’s impossible to understand how human beings can behave that way, how something like that can happen. But one thing I do
know: many of the people working in the camps thought that they were doing the right thing; they didn’t consider themselves evil. They were driven by their convictions and believed that the men who made the decisions and gave the orders possessed the truth. Because who decides what is good or evil? From what angle must one look to get the right view?’

Axel refilled their glasses.

‘Perhaps by trying to see the whole thing through the eyes of an opponent.’

Halina snorted.

‘And you think that people are capable of that? If we were, the world wouldn’t look the way it does.’

‘But that wasn’t what your question was about. You asked how we should act.’

Halina raised her glass but set it down again without taking a drink.

‘I believe that what is most dangerous for a society is when people turn over their responsibility to others. When they stop thinking and acting for themselves.’

She reached for the napkin and drew a circle round Olof ’s house. She crossed it out with repeated strokes.

‘All those people who knew what was going on, who thought it was wrong but still did nothing, isn’t that evil? You Swedes, for instance, who saved your own skin by letting the German trains pass through to Norway and even fed the soldiers along the way. Your king who apparently wrote a letter to Hitler congratulating him on his successes on the Eastern Front. All your banks and companies that continued doing business with the Nazis and made tons of money and never had to answer for it later. Isn’t that evil? How many of the banks’ or other companies’ customers do you think care about that today? Or take Hugo Boss. He was the one who designed and sewed the uniforms of SS officers. That’s not something they use in their advertising.’

She drew small circles on the napkin.

‘I was only a child, and every day I waited for someone to come and rescue us. I was sure that if only someone found out what was happening, they would come for us. That’s what hurts the most, finding out afterwards that so many people just let it happen, even profited from it. Afterwards they simply switched sides and went on with their lives as if nothing had happened.’

Axel listened as she continued her story, how she travelled alone, exhausted and malnourished to Sweden on a hospital ship. How she lived at first in a sanatorium where she regained her strength and then went to live with her grandmother’s sister, who had managed to flee to Sweden only a few days before her friends and family were shut in behind the walls of the Warsaw ghetto.

‘And don’t believe that we were welcome in Sweden, not with a J for Jew in our passports. She was smuggled in on a fishing boat and never dared register here, not even after the war was over, although I tried to talk her into it. She died of pneumonia in the late fifties because she was too scared to go to the doctor. When I finally got her there it was too late.’

He recalled the government’s decision the year before the war broke out, even though he was too young really to understand and only afterwards grasped the cynicism behind it. A foreigner could be refused entry if it was suspected that the person intended to leave his homeland for ever. At the same time in Germany, the law was that a Jew could get an exit visa only if the person promised never to return. For an immigrant to be granted a residence permit in Sweden, financial guarantees were required, and at the same time Jews emigrating from Germany were not allowed to take their property with them. The opinion in Sweden had been clear. They wanted to prevent the risk that a great mass of fleeing Jews would come to Sweden. By the time the war broke out, Jewish immigration had almost completely ceased.

Halina fell silent and picked at the napkin. He wanted to put his hand on hers but couldn’t pluck up the courage.

‘Have you any other family in Sweden?’

She shook her head and took a gulp of wine. He watched her, fascinated. She was a survivor. And as beautiful as could be. He sat quietly and searched for something to say. Suddenly she shifted in her chair, as if she wanted to shake off what she had told him, let the conversation take another tack.

‘You know, they’ve tried this moral dilemma on a great many people. Almost no one puts Eva at the top of the list.’

‘Well, I’d say she’s most likely to be thought of as self-sacrificing. Nothing she does is for her own sake.’

‘But one thing is rather interesting. If instead of calling her Eva we give her a foreign-sounding name, the result is altogether different. I don’t recall the percentage, but a good number of people suddenly think she’s the one who is most in the wrong.’

‘Can that really be true?’

‘Yes, really. A foreign name is not an advantage, I can tell you that. A publisher I was in touch with who liked what I wrote told me straight out that I ought to write under a pseudonym if I wanted to get anything published.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

She said nothing, but looked at him for a long time. Then she gave a little smile.

‘You’re pretty naïve for someone who’s supposed to be so wise and so brilliant.’

‘I’m no more brilliant than anyone else; a rumour often grows larger than the source itself.’

A comfortable silence followed.

‘So are you happy?’

He smiled and thought it over for a moment. ‘That depends on what you mean by happy.’

She gave a little shrug. ‘Happy as in content with life, I should think.’

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

With a resolute movement she crossed her arms.

‘You never answer questions, do you? You just bat them back.’

‘Do I?’

‘You’ve just done it again! Is it so awful to let somebody get close to you?’

‘That depends.’

Her arms relaxed and she leant forward, resting her chin in her hand.

‘On what?’

It was so long since Axel had been challenged he no longer knew how to react. He felt both annoyed and excited. Annoyed because she was threatening his integrity, and most people refrained from doing that. Excited because she dared to do so, because she offered him a resistance that was worth countering.

‘Nowadays happiness is looked on as a right, almost as an obligation. There’s a great risk of being disappointed if one’s expectations are too high.’

‘So are you afraid of being disappointed?’ The whole time she was smiling, as if she were teasing, her eyes fixed on his. Both of them were aware of what was going on.

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

‘There you go again.’

‘I’d already answered.’

She took a sip of wine. ‘I read somewhere that someone who always puts caution first stifles the life he’s trying to save.’

Suddenly her finger stroked his hand. A quick caress was all it took.

No one in the room paid any attention; they were all deeply involved in their own conversations. His cock was throbbing, and he needed to adjust his trousers, but didn’t dare lower his hand. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, so long since he had touched anyone else. What he’d thought was dead had suddenly come to life, a glimpse of the man he had once been.

‘What about you? Is Torgny the man who makes you happy?’

She pulled back her hand.

‘Torgny is my friend, but not my man. We’re not a couple or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She glanced at Torgny over on the sofa. He was asleep with his mouth open.

‘He’s… a little too shallow, one might say.’

The next moment her eyes were on his, and he felt her foot between his thighs.

‘I like it better in deeper waters.’

White noise filled his ears. The others in the room were no longer there. Only her foot on his cock and the bra-less swelling under her jumper. There was no writer’s block, no Alice, nothing was important any more. Only the goal of his desire, within reach on the other side of the table.

Why should he say no? Nobody would thank him. Least of all Alice, who no longer wanted him.

Why in the world should he say no?

‘N
o person has had so great an influence on my father and his writing as a man by the name of Joseph Schultz. He was my father’s ideal and a great role model. I remember my father telling me about him and I suddenly understood that although it’s certainly good to think good thoughts, it is only through action that genuine goodness is born.’

The stalls in Västerås Theatre were almost full. Kristoffer had taken a seat at the back, but only a few minutes into the lecture he wished he’d sat closer to the stage. He had finally found himself in a place where something important would be said, and he didn’t want a bunch of fat necks and greasy hairdos between himself and the speaker. He listened attentively to Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s account.

‘Seven of the eight in the patrol did not hesitate; they were ready to obey the order and raised their weapons. But Joseph Schultz suddenly felt that he’d had enough.’

Kristoffer looked around. The audience sat spellbound. They appeared to feel as he did, amazed at finally having stumbled upon someone who was saying something important, who really had a mission. Someone who kept his head above water in the sea of superficialities and cynicism that was so typical nowadays. A person who dared to believe in his audience’s ability to think, their will to be enlightened.

‘How was it possible for a person to make the choice that Joseph Schultz did? What characteristic was it that differentiated him from the others in the patrol?’

Kristoffer was reminded of the science book he’d read
several times by now. It said that what made it possible for human beings to leave the primitive stage and develop a civilisation was that the strong defeated the weak, the skilled the incompetent, the intelligent the slow-witted. He had wondered whether it might be true that this weeding-out was still going on. But in that case, why did the incompetent and slow-witted take up the most space and were heard the most often?

‘Perhaps Joseph Schultz realised that death would strike him even if he chose to remain with his patrol and fire his weapon. Perhaps he realised that if he chose to obey the order he would also extinguish the last little fragment within himself, the one that made him human.’

Kristoffer smiled. He was meant to hear this; fate had reached out its hand and accompanied him to Västerås so that he could hear Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s words. The hope for humanity, so difficult for him to maintain, had acquired new strength, and feeling gratefully calm he let himself be touched by the rest of the story about Joseph Schultz.

To risk his life for his beliefs, to die rather than conform.

A true survivor and role model.

He had longed to be able to find someone like this. Everything he had heard convinced him he was on the right track. Maybe it was high time for the natural leaders to rise above the mediocre masses and take command. The creators of the new and the courageous who refused to let themselves be enslaved, who would promote what was genuine and were intelligent enough not to let themselves be duped. He’d read about people who bought environmentally friendly cars, but when the ethanol got a few pence more expensive they went back to using petrol. He had confronted customers who would walk right past the cartons of organic milk and organic vegetables, claiming that they were too expensive, while their shopping basket overflowed with soft drinks and sweets. Maybe it was genetically determined. Maybe some people were better suited from birth. So few people tried to set a
good example and take responsibility. Now it was time for the visionaries to take on the task of crushing the tyranny and begin shaping the future. The others, those who had renounced responsibility and subjugated themselves, had to accept guidance. What was needed was a revolution, since the bovine masses didn’t know what was good for them.

‘My father and Joseph Schultz both knew that our actions are like our children; they live on, and they continue to have effect independent of us and our will. Joseph brought to life the proverbial phrase that the silent consent of good people is just as abominable as the outrages of bad people. He proved that, by conquering our own fear, we also conquer our mightiest foe.’

The applause that followed was spontaneous, and Kristoffer felt almost proud. There was so much that united him with the man up on stage. Everything he had so often thought, and had made him feel so alone. Jesper was the only one he could share his thoughts with. Humanity was being killed by entertainment. Everything challenging, enlightening or the slightest bit thought-provoking was screened out. He was convinced there was a conspiracy behind all of it. That the Power sat pulling the strings, making sure the people were dumbed down and kept dim-witted and docile, and thus easier to control. Finally, finally, he had found a comrade-inarms. Someone he could respect.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed and Ragnerfeldt began to read from one of his father’s books. His voice was astonishingly similar to his father’s. Kristoffer leaned back and enjoyed the shimmering art that arose in the spaces between the words.

He felt strangely consoled.

Afterwards it was time for questions. The house lights came on and a roaming microphone was sent out into the audience. Ragnerfeldt gave the floor to someone in the stalls that Kristoffer couldn’t see. The voice was that of an elderly man.

‘First of all, I would like to thank you for a very, very fine and thought-provoking reading. I actually had the honour of introducing your father on this very stage many years ago. It must have been in the early seventies, because it was before he received the Nobel Prize. I remember the audience being just as enchanted then as we have been here tonight.’

Ragnerfeldt smiled and bowed.

‘Thank you very much. Yes, if I recall correctly, he did give occasional readings around that time.’

‘I would like to ask what your father’s doing today, whether he’s still writing?’

‘No, unfortunately he’s not.’

Ragnerfeldt hesitated before he went on.

‘He’s been stricken with the infirmities of old age that prevent him from writing anymore. But he sent his good wishes to everyone here tonight, and I see him almost daily. Are there any other questions?’

Kristoffer was reminded of why he had come here this evening but naturally he couldn’t ask him here and now. It would have to wait until later. All his nervousness was gone; the fact that he had ended up here tonight was a sign that he was on the right path. His questions about Gerda Persson had been transformed into an opportunity. A chance to get to know Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt.

He remained in his seat after Jan-Erik left the stage and the auditorium began to empty out. He was slightly hesitant now that the time was at hand. He would let Jan-Erik have a moment to himself at least before he went backstage; he knew that actors in the theatre usually appreciated being left undisturbed straight after a performance.

Finally he and a woman who’d been sitting in one of the front rows were the only people left. Kristoffer pretended to be searching for something he’d dropped. He glanced at the stage and saw the woman go up the stairs at the side of the stage and disappear into the wings. He sat back down and
looked at his watch. He had an hour and a half before his train left. There was plenty of time.

He sat there for a good while. Then he realised that Jan-Erik might leave if he didn’t do something soon; yet he waited and let the minutes pass. What was easy to do in his mind was not always as easy to carry out. He tried to convince himself that his mission was important and that Gerda Persson was a sufficiently strong bond between them. It should be of some interest even to Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt. Just as he was about to get up, a man came out on stage. He walked over to the podium and suddenly noticed Kristoffer.

‘Are you waiting for someone?’

Kristoffer stood up. ‘I’d just like to have a word with Jan-Erik if possible.’

The man looked towards the wings and then back at Kristoffer.

‘Does he know you’re here?’

Kristoffer hesitated for a fraction of a second before the lie took shape on his tongue.

‘We’re good friends and I wanted to surprise him.’

The man relaxed and began unscrewing the reading lamp.

‘Well, go through the door at the back and then turn left. It’s the second door on the right.’

Kristoffer hurried to the stage and followed the route the woman had taken. He gave the man at the podium a friendly smile and felt his way behind the black curtains. The lie had been justified. Sometimes the boundaries of truth could be stretched in the service of a higher goal.

Outside the door he hesitated. He was standing in an empty corridor, but he could hear voices. He put his ear to the door but there was no sound behind it. He knocked cautiously. Nothing happened. Maybe Jan-Erik had already left. Cautiously he pushed down the handle and opened the door a crack. There was a light on and he saw a coat hanging on one wall.

‘Hello?’

He heard a sound and in the next moment Jan-Erik appeared. His shirt was untucked and he had red spots on his throat.

‘Yes?’

Kristoffer sensed impatience in his voice.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, but my name is Kristoffer Sandeblom and I wonder whether you might have time to chat for a moment.’

Ragnerfeldt glanced at something hidden behind the door. Kristoffer suddenly felt uncomfortable in front of the great lecturer.

‘What’s it about?’

He tried to find a way to describe why he was there as quickly and concisely as he could.

‘It’s about Gerda Persson.’

Jan-Erik’s face changed. Once again he glanced behind the door.

‘I just want to ask a couple of questions, if possible.’

Jan-Erik seemed to have trouble making up his mind, but then he turned and went over to the coat on the hanger and took something out of the pocket.

‘Darling, just go on ahead and I’ll be there soon.’ When he turned round he had a perforated plastic card in his hand. ‘It’s room 403.’

Now Kristoffer understood what was hidden behind the door. The woman he had seen disappear into the wings emerged and took the card from Jan-Erik. Her finger stroked the back of his hand.

‘Just don’t be too long.’

Kristoffer looked the other way and felt even more un comfortable. The woman took her jacket and smiled at him as he took a step into the room to let her pass. She closed the door behind her.

‘I didn’t mean to bother you.’

‘It’s no problem. That’s my wife – we’ll see each other later. She comes with me sometimes when I’m out lecturing.’

Jan-Erik stuffed his shirt into his trousers and asked Kristoffer to have a seat. He opened two bottles of mineral water and offered him one. Kristoffer took a gulp and put the bottle down.

‘I have to start by thanking you for an utterly phenomenal lecture. It was so illuminating, absolutely fantastic. It’s rare to hear anyone talk about anything important nowadays, it was really liberating.’

Jan-Erik looked down. ‘Thank you so much, it’s good to hear that you liked it, thanks.’

For a moment Kristoffer thought that Jan-Erik was blushing, but he decided it must be a trick of the light.

Kristoffer suddenly felt at a disadvantage. Something in him wanted to prove his own worth, that he just wasn’t any old audience member, but someone whose compliments carried more weight than the words of many others, for he knew what he was talking about. He wanted to impress Jan-Erik, make him feel a little like he had just felt.

‘I’m a playwright, so I found it all very inspiring. I’m writing for a theatre in Stockholm at the moment, and if you like I could see to it that you and your wife get an invitation to the première.’

Jan-Erik looked at his watch. ‘Oh, so you’re a dramatist?’

‘Yes, I wrote the play
Find and Replace All.
It was produced a couple of years ago, perhaps you’ve heard of it?’

Jan-Erik frowned pensively.

‘No, I don’t think I have. I’m afraid I don’t go to the theatre very often.’

There was a moment’s silence. Jan-Erik took a gulp of water.

‘Do you write too?’

‘No, no. I have enough to do with Pappa’s works. What did you say your name was? I didn’t catch it.’

‘Kristoffer Sandeblom.’

‘I think I recognise that name.’

‘Marianne Folkesson probably mentioned me. I got your
name from her. I’m the one that Gerda Persson named as her heir.’

‘Quite right, that’s where I heard it.’

Kristoffer picked up the bottle and drank some more water to give him a moment to think. Where should he begin?

‘The thing is, I didn’t know who Gerda Persson is, and as far as I know we’ve never even met. I have no idea how she even knew me.’

The frown on Jan-Erik’s face returned.

‘That’s odd.’

‘Yes, it is. Although I think she must have been the one who sent me money every month for years, at least since I was about eighteen. It wasn’t a huge amount, but still. So I don’t really know what I’m asking, but I thought you might know something about her that could explain things.’

Jan-Erik slowly shook his head.

‘I don’t have the slightest idea. You know, I haven’t had any contact with Gerda since about 1979, 1980. She worked at my parents’ house, but I’d already moved out by 1972. She stayed on another few years, but I was abroad most of the time.’

Kristoffer listened attentively. Nineteen seventy-two. Back then he’d still been living with his parents. The calm he had felt was now gone. As always when he got close to the truth.

Jan-Erik slapped his hands on his thighs as if to say that everything important had been said and it was time to call it a night. But Kristoffer still sat there wondering what exactly he should do. For the first time in his life he wanted to tell someone, reveal his secret to this man who tonight had proved himself worthy. He had finally found a link to what he’d always been searching for; it was almost as though he’d found part of his family.

Jan-Erik looked at his watch.

Kristoffer felt a pang of annoyance at his lack of interest, but he’d made up his mind. Everything was ready and could not be called back, yet he could hardly expect Jan-Erik to
understand what was remarkable about the situation before he had explained it.