Then Irene noticed the painting. 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.
“What do you see?”
Jonas’s question made her jump.
“The painting. . it’s wonderful!”
She smiled at Jonas and her gaze was pulled down into his. Down there she saw the contrasting picture. Darkness, despair, dread, and loneliness. But also a great calm. The knowledge that everything is one. If he hadn’t possessed the contrasting image, he never would have been able to depict the Light.
“It’s me and Chester. The swallowtail butterflies. I painted it the week after he died. I finished it in twenty-four hours, but then I collapsed. It was blood poisoning,” he said in a clear voice. He looked at her with eyes wide open. All haziness seemed to have vanished.
“The top butterfly is Chester. He’s already in the tunnel of light. On the beach by the river of Life lies his congealed blood.”
Only then did Irene notice that the beach had a pale pinkish brown tone. Closest to the waterline there was a sharper bloodred line. In the left corner the bloodred color was repeated until the flowers took over.
“In the left corner you see my blood. It’s running out. Running out … of the picture.” He coughed and breathed more heavily.
“The butterfly flying below is me. I’m still tied to the earth, which is symbolized by the flowers. But I’m on my way. Upward.”
He was silent for a long time. Irene was fascinated by the painting. It was big, surely two square meters. Despite the fact that the interpretation he had given her should have made her sad, the picture prompted no feelings of sorrow whatsoever. On the contrary, she felt a joy of life and a sense of optimism flowing toward her.
“You have to understand, Irene, that I look forward to dying. Not because I want an end to my suffering, because I don’t have much pain anymore. But I have no dignity left. I shit myself and have to use a catheter and diaper. I can’t even jerk off. I feel anxious when I have shortness of breath and because I can’t walk anymore. But I don’t want to end it. Life is a gift. All the way to whatever you are given.”
It was much too long a speech. The coughing fit that followed seemed as if it would never end. The shaking of his emaciated body made Irene felt powerless. Mona put her arm around his shoulders to support him. She spoke softly and soothingly, as all mothers do when they comfort a sick child. Although this child was a grown man. Who was dying.
Jonas nodded off for a while. Mona and Irene looked at the other painting that was in the room. It hung on the wall facing Jonas’s bed so that he could easily see it. It was a portrait of a dark-skinned man. In the background was a saxophone, music scores, and notes. There was a gold sheen over the entire picture, from the saxophone to a faint misty gold over the man’s mouth and eyes. Irene turned to Mona and asked, “Who is the man in the picture?”
“Chester. Chester Johnson, jazz musician. He became my son-in-law in April. They were married at home, because Chester was too sick to go to the city hall. Jonas was going through a slightly better period just then. But since Chester passed away he just hasn’t wanted to go on. Except when he painted the butterflies.”
Jonas woke up and cleared his throat. He started talking again in a weak, slightly slurred voice.
“I’m curious. It’s a journey we all have to make. But not alone. Just as in the painting, Chester will be with me. He’s leading me and holding my hand if I get scared. He’s been with me several times the past few days. But he did the right thing. It’s better to die in the summertime. It’s warmer and more beautiful, with all the flowers. People won’t have to freeze their feet off at the cemetery the way they will at my funeral. Poor planning on my part. On the other hand, there might be a lot of snow and then it would be beautiful with the flowers against the snow. Although it will be cold in the grave.”
His chest heaved violently, rattling ominously. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. His strength was gone and soon he fell asleep. Mona signaled that they should go out into the corridor.
“It’s almost seven o’clock. Can you catch the train back to Göteborg? Otherwise you’re welcome to stay with me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll make it. The train goes at eight-thirty.”
“Shall I drive you?”
“No thanks, I’ll call a cab.”
There was a brief silence between them. Simultaneously they both took a step toward each other and exchanged a quick and awkward hug. Embarrassed, they muttered “I’ll be talking to you” and “Call if something happens.” Irene hurried off to the elevator. A painful lump sat in her throat, and her eyes were blurred with tears.
NATURALLY SHE was there. Just as grayly correct as on the trip to Stockholm. She sat a few rows farther back, with the same binder on her knee. Irene had a quick vision of the gray woman spending her days sitting on X2000, traveling back and forth, back and forth, back and … Irene couldn’t stop herself. Just before she sat down she flashed a movie-star smile at the Gray Lady. In return she received a wildly startled look, filled with naked terror. A look that revealed recognition that she was locked in an Intercity train with a total madwoman, with no possibility of getting off!
After fifteen minutes the detective inspector fell into a restless and dream-filled sleep. Somewhere in the dark the terror was approaching. Before her she saw Jenny and Katarina. Unfazed, they walked straight toward the threatening darkness. She tried to call out and warn them, but found herself completely mute. Since no sound came out when she screamed, she tried to run and catch them. But something was holding on to her feet. Behind the girls’ backs, darkness closed in and soon hid them completely.
With sobs of fear pounding in her chest, she woke up with a start, only to find that she had gotten her right foot stuck between the seats in front of her.
Chapter Ten
A S SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON EMERGED from the commissioner’s room he just caught a glimpse of Irene disappearing into the elevator, on her way to Central Station and Stockholm. He had a sudden impulse to call her back. It would have been nice to have a chance to go in her place. Bengt Bergström’s order to “keep him continuously informed” was aggravating. No, a trip to Stockholm would have done him good. Speaking of doing him good. . with a sigh he realized that Irene couldn’t try on pants in his place. He would just have to stay where he was.
To cheer himself up a little he decided to go and visit Ivan Viktors. It’s not every day you meet your idols on the job, so you should take advantage of the opportunity. He knocked on the door and was greeted by Jonny’s annoyed voice.
“Now what is it? Can’t you see I’m busy. . Oh, pardon me! This is the superintendent.” He addressed the latter remark to a man with silver-gray hair and a distinguished appearance. When he stood up to shake hands, he was almost a head taller than Andersson.