In the period that followed, everything was Axel this and Axel that. Her constant comments about his brilliance. His books that she kept reading, over and over again. They were spread out all over the flat, a visible confirmation of Axel’s superiority. Torgny tried to swallow the hurt but she noticed straightaway and used it against him during their arguments. When it seemed that nothing could get any worse, the intimations came sneaking in – that they’d spent the night together in Västerås behind his back. The sly passing of little notes and letters that proved the contact had continued. The excruciating jealousy he’d felt.
Axel Ragnerfeldt, always his superior, demonstrably possessed a greater gift than he had. Who had achieved all the respect that Torgny had always coveted.
In the end also superior as a man and lover.
He thought about the day when Halina packed her bags and took Kristoffer with her. He did nothing to stop them. He had believed her when she said that Axel was waiting for them. He hadn’t begun searching until it was too late. When it became obvious that Axel was still living with his family, and Halina and Kristoffer seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth.
He got up and looked at the painting. Her gaze that always followed him. Whenever he looked she was there, her elusive eyes taking in his every meaningless step. Eternally young, constantly present, always within reach. Like a chronic disease she had lodged in his chest and refused to let go. Was it her he still loved, or merely the idea of their love? Had time beautified the colours, toned down her moodiness and unforgivable betrayal? Was she only a stubborn melody playing over and over, bewitching him?
His prison consisted of all that remained unfinished, his longing for an explanation; everything was laid open with no means of closing it up again.
At first he had felt utterly paralysed. When he was forced to give up his search and no longer knew what he should do, the walls of the flat, emphasising her absence, kept creeping closer and drove him outdoors. In the crush of people there was no one like her; each meeting became an insufferable reminder. Then, in his despair, he had begun to write. He shut himself in the flat and tried to recreate her, deep in his heart, hoping that she would return the day she read what he’d written. When she got a chance to see how brilliant he was.
The Wind Whispers Your Name became the best thing he had ever written.
But not even that lured her home.
Once again he was beaten. The glowing reviews had been pushed off the cultural pages. All the news was about Axel Ragnerfeldt and his Nobel Prize; his literary triumph, Shadow, which had finally convinced the Swedish Academy. Praised to the skies, the book had been named the novel of the century. At first Torgny didn’t want to read it, but curiosity won out. He needed to see with his own eyes what it was that made this man so superior. And made Torgny a nobody.
He remembered his reluctance when he bought it at the bookshop.
And his shock when after only the first page he’d understood.
A year after the terrible day when he’d stood in the Ragnerfeldts’ living room and been forced to apologise, he realised the enormity of the lie.
Torgny didn’t even bother to ring the doorbell. He just opened the door and walked right in, feeling fully entitled to do so. No more tiptoeing round a man who was worth more contempt than he could possibly muster. Gerda saw him from the kitchen as he passed by, but she was so surprised she didn’t say a word. She just came dashing after him as he strode towards Axel’s office. Torgny had already opened the door by the time she caught up. Axel jumped out of his chair but managed to control himself. Yet Torgny had time to see the glint of fear in his eyes.
‘It’s all right, Gerda, I’ll handle this.’
He didn’t even look at Torgny as he walked past and closed the door in Gerda’s worried face. Without a word he went back to his desk, sat down in the chair and folded his hands in front of him on the desktop. For a moment they were both silent, then Axel gave an awkward smile as if to test the waters.
‘Torgny, it’s been a long time.’
Wary but not unfriendly.
Torgny was still standing by the door. The sight of Axel’s discomfort made him want to drag things out for a while. His feigned politeness, a red flush at his throat. Torgny felt a strange sense of calm. With truth on his side, for the first time he had the upper hand. The power he felt was intoxicating. He sipped at the situation as if it were expensive champagne.
‘I must congratulate you on being elected to the Swedish Academy.’
‘Thank you.’
Torgny held his gaze slightly too long but then released him and looked around the room. He went over to one wall, peering with interest at the certificates and photographs, well aware of the uneasiness his silence was creating.
‘Was there something particular you wanted?’
Torgny continued studying the wall with his back turned. He ran his finger along the top of a frame and shook off the dust.
‘I think Gerda’s missed a bit.’
He turned round and walked slowly across the room to the bookshelf. With his head cocked to one side he read the spines of the books, and after a while he found The Wind Whispers Your Name.
‘Well, look here. Have you had time to read such trivial literature? And there I was, thinking you were busy writing your own books.’
‘Can I offer you something? Coffee? Whisky?’
‘No thanks.’
Silence again, and he ran his finger along the row of Axel’s books.
‘I assume you’ve come on some business. I didn’t know you were going to drop in, and I do have other plans.’
Torgny stopped.
‘So you think I’m here on some business?’
‘Yes.’
He looked at Axel. ‘And what sort of business do you think that might be?’
Axel didn’t answer.
Torgny went back to The Wind Whispers Your Name and plucked it from the shelf. For a moment he stood weighing it in his hand.
‘Do you know who this book is about?’
‘I’m sorry to admit that I actually haven’t had a chance to read it yet.’
‘No, I can understand that, you’ve been busy. I’ll tell you, so you don’t have to waste your precious time. It’s about Halina. Perhaps you remember her? The woman we had such a pleasant conversation about out in your woodshed a year ago. Does that ring a bell?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
Torgny put on a thoughtful expression.
‘Now, let’s see. I believe I can recall that conversation pretty much word for word. One usually does when an experience is so unpleasant. I remember one detail in particular, since it made me feel so relieved at the time. It was when you said that nothing had happened between you and Halina. Isn’t that what you said?’
‘And nothing did, either.’
‘You said that you hadn’t had anything to do with each other.’
‘What are you getting at?’
The flush on Axel’s throat had spread to his face.
Torgny shook his head.
‘You know, Axel, there have been times when I’ve been jealous of you, when I’ve been forced to admit that you actually had something special, not only because of your books but because of what I thought you stood for.’
He looked at Axel’s clasped hands. The knuckles had turned white. With clenched teeth he let Torgny’s words pass without countering them.
Torgny could no longer maintain his poise.
‘How the hell can you sit there and keep pretending when you know you’ve been exposed, that I know what a fucking charlatan you really are?’
Axel’s arms began to shake and he thrust his hands into his lap. Torgny put his book back on the shelf and took down a copy of Shadow. Axel saw what he was doing but quickly looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to see what was happening. Torgny watched him, careful not to miss a drop of his evaporating dignity.