‘So are you afraid of being disappointed?’ The whole time she was smiling, as if she were teasing, her eyes fixed on his. Both of them were aware of what was going on.
‘I don’t know. Are you?’
‘There you go again.’
‘I’d already answered.’
She took a sip of wine. ‘I read somewhere that someone who always puts caution first stifles the life he’s trying to save.’
Suddenly her finger stroked his hand. A quick caress was all it took.
No one in the room paid any attention; they were all deeply involved in their own conversations. His cock was throbbing, and he needed to adjust his trousers, but didn’t dare lower his hand. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, so long since he had touched anyone else. What he’d thought was dead had suddenly come to life, a glimpse of the man he had once been.
‘What about you? Is Torgny the man who makes you happy?’
She pulled back her hand.
‘Torgny is my friend, but not my man. We’re not a couple or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
She glanced at Torgny over on the sofa. He was asleep with his mouth open.
‘He’s… a little too shallow, one might say.’
The next moment her eyes were on his, and he felt her foot between his thighs.
‘I like it better in deeper waters.’
White noise filled his ears. The others in the room were no longer there. Only her foot on his cock and the bra-less swelling under her jumper. There was no writer’s block, no Alice, nothing was important any more. Only the goal of his desire, within reach on the other side of the table.
Why should he say no? Nobody would thank him. Least of all Alice, who no longer wanted him.
Why in the world should he say no?
17
‘No person has had so great an influence on my father and his writing as a man by the name of Joseph Schultz. He was my father’s ideal and a great role model. I remember my father telling me about him and I suddenly understood that although it’s certainly good to think good thoughts, it is only through action that genuine goodness is born.’
The stalls in Västerås Theatre were almost full. Kristoffer had taken a seat at the back, but only a few minutes into the lecture he wished he’d sat closer to the stage. He had finally found himself in a place where something important would be said, and he didn’t want a bunch of fat necks and greasy hairdos between himself and the speaker. He listened attentively to Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s account.
‘Seven of the eight in the patrol did not hesitate; they were ready to obey the order and raised their weapons. But Joseph Schultz suddenly felt that he’d had enough.’
Kristoffer looked around. The audience sat spellbound. They appeared to feel as he did, amazed at finally having stumbled upon someone who was saying something important, who really had a mission. Someone who kept his head above water in the sea of superficialities and cynicism that was so typical nowadays. A person who dared to believe in his audience’s ability to think, their will to be enlightened.
‘How was it possible for a person to make the choice that Joseph Schultz did? What characteristic was it that differentiated him from the others in the patrol?’
Kristoffer was reminded of the science book he’d read several times by now. It said that what made it possible for human beings to leave the primitive stage and develop a civilisation was that the strong defeated the weak, the skilled the incompetent, the intelligent the slow-witted. He had wondered whether it might be true that this weeding-out was still going on. But in that case, why did the incompetent and slow-witted take up the most space and were heard the most often?
‘Perhaps Joseph Schultz realised that death would strike him even if he chose to remain with his patrol and fire his weapon. Perhaps he realised that if he chose to obey the order he would also extinguish the last little fragment within himself, the one that made him human.’
Kristoffer smiled. He was meant to hear this; fate had reached out its hand and accompanied him to Västerås so that he could hear Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s words. The hope for humanity, so difficult for him to maintain, had acquired new strength, and feeling gratefully calm he let himself be touched by the rest of the story about Joseph Schultz.
To risk his life for his beliefs, to die rather than conform.
A true survivor and role model.
He had longed to be able to find someone like this. Everything he had heard convinced him he was on the right track. Maybe it was high time for the natural leaders to rise above the mediocre masses and take command. The creators of the new and the courageous who refused to let themselves be enslaved, who would promote what was genuine and were intelligent enough not to let themselves be duped. He’d read about people who bought environmentally friendly cars, but when the ethanol got a few pence more expensive they went back to using petrol. He had confronted customers who would walk right past the cartons of organic milk and organic vegetables, claiming that they were too expensive, while their shopping basket overflowed with soft drinks and sweets. Maybe it was genetically determined. Maybe some people were better suited from birth. So few people tried to set a good example and take responsibility. Now it was time for the visionaries to take on the task of crushing the tyranny and begin shaping the future. The others, those who had renounced responsibility and subjugated themselves, had to accept guidance. What was needed was a revolution, since the bovine masses didn’t know what was good for them.
‘My father and Joseph Schultz both knew that our actions are like our children; they live on, and they continue to have effect independent of us and our will. Joseph brought to life the proverbial phrase that the silent consent of good people is just as abominable as the outrages of bad people. He proved that, by conquering our own fear, we also conquer our mightiest foe.’
The applause that followed was spontaneous, and Kristoffer felt almost proud. There was so much that united him with the man up on stage. Everything he had so often thought, and had made him feel so alone. Jesper was the only one he could share his thoughts with. Humanity was being killed by entertainment. Everything challenging, enlightening or the slightest bit thought-provoking was screened out. He was convinced there was a conspiracy behind all of it. That the Power sat pulling the strings, making sure the people were dumbed down and kept dim-witted and docile, and thus easier to control. Finally, finally, he had found a comrade-inarms. Someone he could respect.
The lights in the auditorium dimmed and Ragnerfeldt began to read from one of his father’s books. His voice was astonishingly similar to his father’s. Kristoffer leaned back and enjoyed the shimmering art that arose in the spaces between the words.
He felt strangely consoled.
Afterwards it was time for questions. The house lights came on and a roaming microphone was sent out into the audience. Ragnerfeldt gave the floor to someone in the stalls that Kristoffer couldn’t see. The voice was that of an elderly man.
‘First of all, I would like to thank you for a very, very fine and thought-provoking reading. I actually had the honour of introducing your father on this very stage many years ago. It must have been in the early seventies, because it was before he received the Nobel Prize. I remember the audience being just as enchanted then as we have been here tonight.’
Ragnerfeldt smiled and bowed.
‘Thank you very much. Yes, if I recall correctly, he did give occasional readings around that time.’
‘I would like to ask what your father’s doing today, whether he’s still writing?’
‘No, unfortunately he’s not.’
Ragnerfeldt hesitated before he went on.
‘He’s been stricken with the infirmities of old age that prevent him from writing anymore. But he sent his good wishes to everyone here tonight, and I see him almost daily. Are there any other questions?’