“Congratulations, sweetie.”
She spoke to a door that was already closed. With a sigh she went into the living room. The thought occurred to her: Could be a bomb. After all, she had screwed things up for the Hell’s Angels, and she knew what they were capable of. The package was big and flat. Sent by Mona Söder, Stockholm. She took down the framed Miró print from the wall.
TWO BIG yellow butterflies with black markings on their wings hovered over a vast landscape, a shimmering stream in the valley and blue-tinged mountains in the distance. In the foreground there were beautiful meadow blossoms. The blue of the forget-me-nots was dominant, but there were also splashes of white and pink flowers that she recognized but couldn’t name. They came so close to the observer that it felt as if she were lying on her stomach among the meadow flowers and peeking over the edge down into the long valley, up toward the two gaudy butterflies. The sky was not blue, but a silvery white circle above the mountains dispersed a strong light that became a warm pink at the outer edges. It was not the sun and not the moon. It was the Light.