In the evening, only the mother in the next bed had an unbroken night's sleep. Maternal duties kept the rest of them awake. She heard them chatting quietly about their babies. He cries such a lot, I think it's his slow bowels. She always prefers the left breast – knows what she wants already, little madam. Look, he almost smiled, isn't he lovely!
She slowly got out of bed. If she hauled herself up sideways, it only hurt just before her feet took her weight.
The corridor outside was empty. She walked past the window to the nurses' station without anybody noticing her. The babies slept next door. She looked into the babies' room and it was empty apart from one plastic box on wheels in the middle of the floor. It was a baby-carrier of the kind that was wheeled along to the other mothers in the ward. Her heart was pounding as she cautiously closed the door behind her and tiptoed into the room. A little head.
A tiny head, covered in dark hair. This was her child. Now she was trembling all over. Looking intently into the cot, she saw her baby's ID number on the note behind his head.
Her son.
She slapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from moaning aloud. He had been part of her and grown inside her. Now he was lying there, all alone. She had abandoned her baby boy.
He was so very tiny, lying there on his side sleeping. She could have made a pillow for his head with the palm of her hand. Gently, with one finger, she stroked the dark hair. He twitched and drew a deep breath, making a little noise like a sob. She bent over him, putting her nose to his ear.
This was intolerable. The emotion was welling up suddenly inside her.
They shouldn't have been allowed to do this, not for any reason. He was her child. They had to kill her before she let him go. She knew with her whole being that she could never betray him, never abandon him. Never leave him alone in a plastic box crying himself to sleep.
Now she had become more courageous. She slid her hands carefully underneath his small body and lifted him. She held him close, very close, feeling that this was how it should be.
He stayed asleep. She inhaled his baby smell with the tears running down her cheeks. She was cradling her little boy in her arms. Now she was no longer alone.
The door opened.
'What are you doing?'
She stayed where she was. She recognised the nurse, who had helped her into the doctor's room earlier that day.
'Sibylla, you must put the baby down. Come on. Let's go back to the ward now.' 'He's my son.'
The nurse seemed uncertain about what to do, but reached out her arms in order to take the baby away. Sibylla turned her back.
'I'm not letting go of him.'
Now she felt the other woman's hand on her shoulder. She shrugged to get free and the movement woke the child in her arms. He whined a little, but stopped when she gently stroked his head.
'Hush, hush my darling. Mummy's here.'
The nurse was on her way out of the room. Sibylla put her hand behind his head to get a better look at his face. His eyes had opened, small dark blue eyes moving about in order to find something to focus on.
A moment later, they were back. Four of them this time and one of them was a man. He walked straight up to Sibylla and spoke to her authoritatively.
'Put the baby down now.'
'He's my baby.'
The man hesitated for a moment, Then he pulled out a chair for her.
'Why don't you sit down?' 'No thanks. Sitting still hurts.' One of the others came up to her.
'Listen, Sibylla, behaving like this doesn't solve anything. You're just making it worse for yourself.' 'Worse? How?'
They looked at each other in turn. One of them left the room.
'Sibylla, everyone has agreed the child is to be adopted. He'll have the best possible opportunities, so you mustn't worry.'
'I haven't agreed to anything. And I want to keep him.'
'Sibylla, I know it's hard and I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do about it, you know.'
They were crowding her.
Three against one and the fourth presumably on her way back. She might bring reinforcements. Everyone was against her, they were all playing in the opposing team. She was facing them alone, with only her baby on her side.
The two of them against the rest of the world. So what? She wouldn't abandon him.
The man pushed the chair away.
'There are two ways to deal with this situation. Either you put him back in his cot yourself and leave quietly. Or else we'll have to force you.'
Her heart was beating hard. They were going to take him away again.
'Please, can't you see? I'm his mother. You know that. You mustn't take him away, he's all I've got.'
The tears were coming now. Her whole body shook and her head was spinning. She closed her eyes. I shall not fall ill again. Not ill.
When she opened her eyes again, it was too late.
The man was about to leave the room, holding her son in his arms. Two other men in white clothes had arrived. They grabbed her arms.
Her child was crying. She could hear the sound disappearing down the corridor.
She never saw her son again.
That's a fucking crime! Were they allowed to do that?' She didn't reply. She was wondering what had made her tell the story especially since she had never even mentioned it to anyone before. Her loss had been gnawing at her all the time, like a swallowed shard of glass. Its unyielding edge had kept the wound raw, but she had never before expressed her grief in words.
Maybe she had told him because he was about the same age as her son. Or maybe because of everything – the hopelessness of it all. No more point in keeping quiet.
'But what happened afterwards?'
She hesitated. These were memories she had tried hard to forget.
'They had to lock me up. I was kept in a mental hospital for almost half a year. By then I just couldn't hack it any more.'
'Jesus… were you, you know, like… crazy?'
She couldn't be bothered answering. They sat in silence for while.
'How do you mean, couldn't hack it? Did you go on the run?'
'Yes, I did. Not that I think they chased me that much. I wasn't exactly a danger to the public' Not like now, that is.
'What about your Mum and Dad? What did they say?'
'Good question. Well, they said I couldn't stay with them. I was an adult and had made my own bed and could go lie in it and so on.'
'Fucking sickoes.'
Indeed.
'Then what did you do?'
She looked at him.
'Are you always this curious?'
'I've never talked to a drifter before.'
She sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Well, then. Listen and Learn.
'First I went to the nearest biggish town – it was Vaxsjo. I was scared silly that they'd find me and send me back to the hospital. I was moving about for a couple of months or so, sleeping in basements and eating what I could find.'
'How old were you?'
'It was just after my eighteenth birthday.'
'That's three years older than me.'
'Than I.'
He turned to look at her. 'Than what?'
'You should say "older than I".' He snorted.
'Were you a damn prefect at school or what?' She was smiling into the darkness. No, never a prefect. They didn't pick her.
'No, but I was rather good at Swedish – at writing essays and things.'
'Why didn't you ever get a job?'
'I didn't dare tell people my name. They might recognise it, you see. I thought they were looking for me, that I was wanted by the police.'
The last phrase brought her right back to the present. Where exactly was this chat taking her? Time to cut it short, now. 'Good night.'
He lifted his head, leaning on one elbow. 'Hey, you can't stop now.'
He sounded disappointed, but she turned her face towards the wall.
it's almost eleven o'clock and I'm tired. So, good night.'
'Please, just one more thing. How come you ended up in Stockholm? Can't you tell that bit too?'
She sighed and turned again. The lamps illuminating the clock-face were throwing their white light into the attic, but its corners remained pitch dark.