‘He wants to come to the funeral at least.’
Alice snorted again. ‘Yes, he probably thinks that Axel will be there so he can ingratiate himself again.’
‘Mamma,’ he said, trying to appeal tactfully. Before, he had only needed to worry when she wasn’t sober. Nowadays he was never sure. Inappropriate behaviour that previously had remained within the family now came out more and more often when they were with other people. He considered taking Axel along to the funeral. Get him into the wheelchair and take him there, no matter how much he waved his little finger, which was now his only means of communication. But he had no intention of having this discussion with his mother while estate administrator Marianne Folkesson was watching.
‘If there’s anything you need assistance with before the funeral, we’d be only too happy to help,’ Jan-Erik said, with a kindly smile for Marianne.
‘If you could think of some suitable music, I’d be very grateful, if you know the sort of music she liked. Or if there’s anything else you think might make the funeral service more personal. Do you know, for instance, what kind of flowers she liked?’
‘Roses.’
Alice shot him an astonished look. He had said that to beat her to the punch. He said the name of the first flower that popped into his head. He suddenly recalled an argument one afternoon over forty years ago. His mother out on the lawn, dressed as usual in her dressing gown, and Gerda standing silent with her head bowed. The shouting about the dandelions that he was afraid would be heard all the way to the neighbours’. His mother’s rage that Gerda hadn’t weeded them.
‘Roses?’ Drawn out and suspicious. ‘Where in God’s name did you get that from?’
‘I remember her mentioning it once.’
His mother let the subject drop but gave him a look that said it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Jan-Erik felt an increasing need to bring the meeting to a close. Something told him that his mother must have had a drink or two just before he arrived, and the effect was kicking in now.
Marianne was writing in her notebook. Then she leafed forward a few pages. Unaware of what was going on in the room, she was in no hurry to ask her next question.
‘Do you know a Kristoffer Sandeblom?’ she asked.
Alice gave a heavy sigh and braced herself to get up.
‘Never heard of him.’
She headed for the kitchen and Jan-Erik watched her go.
‘No, I don’t believe so. Why?’
He knew what his mother was after, and he felt more and more anxious to get Marianne Folkesson out of the flat. She raised her cup and took a sip of coffee.
‘He’s listed as beneficiary in her will.’
He glanced at the doorway through which his mother had just vanished.
‘I shouldn’t think he’d get very rich on that,’ his mother called.
Jan-Erik laughed to cover up the comment from the kitchen and wondered whether Marianne also recognised the sound of a metal top being unscrewed from a bottle.
‘She stipulated expressly that all bills be paid first, but that what remained, including the proceeds from the sale of her possessions, should go to him. I was wondering if any of you might know who he is.’
‘No idea. How old is he, approximately?’
Marianne checked her book. ‘Born in 1972.’
Alice appeared in the doorway, standing with her arms crossed.
‘Then perhaps it would be better to contact him instead of us, since he seems to have been on such close terms with her.’
‘I’ve tried. I left a message on his answer machine but unfortunately he hasn’t called back yet.’
Jan-Erik raised his arm and looked at his wristwatch.
‘If that’s all for now, I’m afraid I really must be going.’
Marianne scanned a page in her notebook.
‘There isn’t anything else. Just the music, if you could think of something that would be suitable. Oh yes, I need a photograph of Gerda if you have one. I usually make an enlargement and frame it to put on the casket. We found one in her flat, but it’s too blurry to blow up. If you have one I’d very much like to borrow it.’
Jan-Erik stood up. ‘Of course. I’ll see what I can find.’
They shook hands and Marianne thanked him. Alice said goodbye when they met at the doorway, then went back to sit on the sofa. Jan-Erik accompanied Marianne out to the hall.
‘I’ll be calling you soon. I’ll see if I can find a picture.’
‘Thank you, and if you think of anything else that might help, please give me a ring.’
Jan-Erik assured her that he would, and then she was out of the flat. He stood in the hall for a moment and looked longingly at his shoes. Just to walk. Walk somewhere far away from here. But the day was not over yet. There was one more filial visit remaining. It was important that his father’s rehabilitation take place in close co-operation with the family, the doctor had said, and today it was time for another such encounter. Like pearls on a string the times kept cropping up in his diary, and he was the one who was family. His mother wasn’t particularly interested, even though she’d gone with him once for appearance’s sake.
He heard her calling from the living room.
‘Darling, come and sit on the sofa a while with your old mamma, you can surely spare that much time. It would be so nice to talk with you a little. It’s so lonely here in the daytime.’
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow he would be able to leave on a trip.
He was counting the hours.
8
Kristoffer got up from his desk and went over to the window. A steady rain was veining the glass and obscuring the view over the cemetery at Katarina Church. He pressed his forehead against the cool window and closed his eyes, not moving until he found the words he was groping for. Then he hurried back to the computer and typed them out standing up. After that he sat down again at the desk, took a deep breath and began to read the words on the screen.
ACT 2
(The MOTHER and FATHER are sitting at a kitchen table set for breakfast. Around the table are four chairs. The mother is dressed in high-heeled red patent-leather boots, a micro-miniskirt and a tiny glitzy top. The father is wearing a pin-striped suit. The room is dark except for a number of TV sets of varying sizes, all showing different programmes. News, adverts, porno, action, music videos.
The mother is knitting. The father is reading from a computer screen.)
(They sit in total silence for a minute.)
FATHER: What are you doing?
MOTHER: Knitting.
(They sit in silence for another minute.)
FATHER: What are you knitting?
MOTHER: Mittens.
FATHER: Why are you knitting mittens?
MOTHER: I’m going to give them to the collection for Rescue Africa.
FATHER: What do they need mittens for?
MOTHER: So they won’t freeze.
(The SON, 13 years old, comes onstage. He is dressed in a Guantánamo-orange jump-suit, a black blindfold and a wide rubber shackle connecting his ankles so that he can only take short steps. From his ankles, chains connect to his hands, which are handcuffed.)
SON: Could you lock me up?
(The mother locks the handcuffs.)
MOTHER: Do you really have to wear those today?
SON: Give me a break.
MOTHER: It’s below freezing outside. I don’t want you to catch a cold.
FATHER: Just make sure that outfit is clean on Saturday when we go to the Svenssons’ wedding.
MOTHER: You know what it cost? Four thousand kronor.
SON: I paid for it myself. With the money I got for Christmas.
MOTHER: Can you see anything at all?
SON: There are holes here, you know that.
(Lifts his cuffed hands as far as he can and points to tiny holes in the blindfold)