The Beast

     He
shouldn't have.

    They're
coming now. There they are.

    Walking
down the slope, past the climbing frame. Twenty metres away now, maybe thirty.
They've reached the plants with red flowers. They're like the ones at Säter
secure unit, near the front door. He guessed they were roses. Or whatever.

    He
shouldn't have.

    It
doesn't feel the same afterwards. Not so strong, it's like the sensation's
gone.

    There
now. Two of them, walking along, their heads close together, talking. They're
friends, it's easy to spot. Friends talk in a special way, using their hands as
well.

    It
seems the dark-haired girl is in charge. She's a live wire, wants to get
everything said in one go. The blonde one is mostly listening. Maybe she's
tired? Maybe she's a quiet one, who never talks much. Quiet ones don't need
their own space to feel sure they're alive. Maybe one is dominant and the other
one dominated. Isn't that always the way?

    He
shouldn't have wanked.

    Still,
that was then, this morning, twelve hours ago. It mightn't matter now. The
effect might've gone.

    He'd
known it first thing, as soon as he woke up, known that everything would work
out tonight. It's Thursday today, and it was Thursday the last time.

    It's
sunny and dry today, and it was sunny and dry the last time.

    They're
wearing the same kind of jacket. White, thin material, like nylon, a hood
dangling at the back. He's seen lots since Monday. Both have small rucksacks
hooked over one shoulder. They all carry rucksacks, all their stuff's in a mess
inside, they've just thrown it in. What's the point? Weird.

    They're
close, so close he can hear them talking and laughing. They're laughing
together now, the one with dark hair laughs the loudest, the blonde is more
cautious, not anxious or anything, she just doesn't need the space.

    He
had dressed with care. Jeans, T-shirt, baseball cap worn back-to-front, that's
something he has noticed, he's been watching the kids in the park every day.
They wear caps like that, with the visors round the back.

    'Hi
there!'

    They're
startled and stop. It's suddenly very quiet, the kind of silence you get when
an ordinary noise ceases and your ears are forced to listen out. Maybe he
should've done an accent, like he was from down south. He's good at accents and
some of them pay more attention. It sounds important somehow. Three days he
spent collecting local voices. People here don't have a southern accent. Or a northern
one; folk are into proper Swedish in this place. No drawly vowel sounds,
nothing like that, not much slang either. A bit boring, actually. He fiddles
with his cap. Turns it right round, pushes it down more firmly over the back of
his neck, still back- to-front.

    'Hi
there, kids. You allowed out this late?'

    They
look at him, then at each other. Ready to move off. He tries to relax, leaning
lightly against the back of the bench. What's it to be? An animal? A squirrel,
or a rabbit?

    Or a
car? Or even sweeties? He shouldn't have wanked. He should've prepared himself
better.

    'We're
going home, if you must know. And we are allowed to be out this late.'

    She
knows she mustn't talk to him. She has been told not to talk to grown-ups
who're strangers.

    She
knows it.

    But
he's not a grown-up, not really. He doesn't look like one. Not like most of
them, anyway. He's got a cap on. And he doesn't sit like a grown-up, they don't
sit like that.

    Her
name is Maria Stanczyk, the surname is Polish. She's from Poland, or rather,
her mum and dad are. She's from Mariefred.

    She's
got two sisters, Diana and Izabella. They are both older than she is,
practically married. They don't live at home any longer. She misses them, it
used to be good having two sisters around. She's alone with Mum and Dad now,
it's like they've only got her to worry about, and they keep asking where she's
off to and who she's seeing and when she'll be back home.

    They
shouldn't fuss so. She is nine, after all.

    The
brunette speaks for them both. Her long hair is tied back with a pink ribbon.
She sounds quite bossy, foreign too. She's got attitude. She's looking down her
nose at the blonde, who's a bit tubby. The brunette makes the decisions, he
realises that, feels it.

    'I
don't believe it. You're too young. What's so important you've got to be out at
this time?'

    He
likes the slightly plump blonde best. Her eyes have a sneaky look. Eyes with a
look he's seen before. By now she dares, she steals a glance at her dark-haired
friend, then at him.

    'Actually,
we've been training.'

    Maria
keeps talking, always. She fancies herself. She's the one who says what they
think.

    But
it's her turn now. She wants to say something too.

    This guy
isn't dangerous. Not angry or rough or anything. His cap's nice, just like
Marwin's.

    Marwin
is her big brother. She's called Ida. She knows why, it's because Marwin was so
keen on that book about Emil and Ida. So her mum and dad figured her name should
be Ida. It's ugly. She thinks it's horrid. Sandra is nicer. Or Isidora. Imagine
being called Ida. It's like, you're the one they play silly tricks on, perching
you on top of a flagpole. Stuff like that.

    She's
hungry, it's ages since she had something to eat. The food was yucky today.
Stew, with meat in it. Training always makes her hungry. Usually they're in a
hurry to get home to supper, not like now, Maria has to talk and talk and the
guy with the cap keeps asking her things.

    No animal.
No car. No sweeties. No need for any of that. They're talking to him and that
means everything is fixed. When they talk, it's fixed. He looks at the slightly
plump blonde. She, who dared to speak, and he hadn't thought she would. She,
who's naked.

    He
smiles. They like it. If you smile, they trust you. When you smile, they smile
back.

    Only
the blonde. Only her.

    'You're
kidding. Have you been training? Training for what? I'm just curious.'

    The
slightly plump blonde smiles. He knew it. She's looking at him. He grabs hold
of his cap, twists it round half a turn until the visor is in front. Then he
bows to her, pulls the cap off, raises it, holds it in the air above her head.

    'Hey,
do you like it?'

    She
raises her eyebrows, glancing upwards without moving her head. As if fearing
that she might hit her head against an invisible ceiling. She pulls herself in,
makes herself small.

    'It's
great. Marwin's got one like that.'

    Only
her.

    'Who's
Marwin?'

    'My
big brother. He's twelve.'

    He
lowers the cap. That invisible ceiling, he's pushed through it. He strokes her
pale hair quickly. It's quite smooth, soft. He places the cap on her head. On
that smooth softness. The cap's colours, red and green, suit her.

    'It's
good on you. You look great.'

    She
doesn't say anything. The brunette is just about to speak, so he'd better be
quick.

    'It's
yours.'

    'Mine?'

    'Yes,
if you want it. You look pretty with it on.'

    She
looks away, gets hold of the brunette's hand. She wants to pull them both away
from the park bench, away from the man who had been wearing the red and green
cap.

    'Don't
you like it?'

    She
stops, lets go of her friend's hand.

    'Yes,
I do.'

    'You
can keep it.'

    'Thank
you.'

    She
curtseys.

    That's
rare these days. Girls did things like that in the past, but not now. Everybody
is equal these days, meant to be anyway, so no curtseys to anyone. Nobody bows
properly either.