Then you have the relationships where people are suddenly gathered together by chance. It could, for example, be a major experience or a crisis. It can happen to anybody at all, even to cement people. When it occurs, they can suddenly become totally open and share their innermost thoughts while at the same time being really anxious to get to know their fellow human being. The sense of presence is total, and they are absolutely convinced that they have created an honest and open bond that will last forever. And that of course might happen. But at home in the cement factory of everyday life, the miraculous relationship can often stiffen into a strange and unfamiliar lump.
Astra sits behind the wheel and speeds southwards from Stockholm in her large car. Malin is sitting beside her on the passenger seat, and Lenny’s tall dad is half-lying across the rear seat. It wasn’t easy to find him, but they succeeded in the end.
The situation has got all three to open their hearts to each other. There are no cast-iron roles here. They realise that they must get to know each other in a hurry, so they are almost all speaking at the same time.
Astrid tells the story of Titus Jensen and his important book project. Of a man who was going downhill but who now is on the verge of a new, perhaps final, possibility; that there is something fishy about the relationship with Eddie X and that it looks as if Lenny too is mixed up in it some way or another. Now she must get Titus to the book fair, whatever the cost. Eddie X would also be at the fair, he always is. As a rule he performs in the middle of the fair floor, in the crowd, and is usually a mega-success every year. She says that she has been close to falling in love with Eddie but that she can’t really interpret her feelings. Is he a charming guy or just a charmer? The last time she saw him, he was obsessed with Titus. Mysterious and suspicious. Where Lenny fitted into all this, she couldn’t really say.
Malin is very worried about Lenny. She tells of her relationship with him and about his strained relationship with Eddie. The two of them have been mates all their lives, and sometimes Lenny cares more about Eddie that he cares about her. It is not fair. She can’t understand why Eddie has such a strong influence on Lenny. And actually ‘influence’ is the wrong word; ‘power’ is nearer the mark. Eddie lords it over Lenny. Lenny is Eddie’s slave, almost. Yeah, Lenny has been super weird all summer and she doesn’t know at all where she stands with him. She wants him to take some medicines but he just gets grumpy and says it’s not necessary. Perhaps he has started with hard drugs instead. She has read that lots of people with Tourette’s and similar problems medicate themselves with alcohol and drugs.
Lenny’s dad for the most part sits there listening. He asks a lot of supplementary questions and wonders how this and that ‘feels’. His face is sad. Sometimes he takes deep breaths and releases cavernous sighs. Now and then he directs Astra so that she takes the right road to the cottage. He says that he has known this day would come sooner or later. When Lenny’s mum died a few years earlier, Lenny broke off contact with him totally. But he had understood that Lenny has sometimes secretly been to the cottage. In some ways that has made him hopeful. Now he is a bit happy but mainly worried. If everything goes all right then he’ll never let go again. Now he is going to support Lenny. That, he’ll promise.
There is a very serious atmosphere in the car.
CHAPTER 37
Party Prison
Titus blinks slowly when he tries to follow the course of the smoke ring on its way to the bunker ceiling. The ceiling is completely soft and slowly whirling around the cable that the light bulb is hanging in. Unpleasant. He turns his gaze away, looks down instead.
With clumsy fingers he squeezes the cigarette butt between the back of his thumb and the top of his index finger. With a comparatively nimble flick of his finger he sends the fag-end flying towards a large pool of cognac that he has spilt in the middle of the floor. When it lands there is a swoosh and a crackling and the pool burns up.
‘Haha, what a suuuuperb floor flambé. Nice consissstency, without a doubt. Haha…’
Titus tries to roar with laughter.
‘HAHA! Hahahaha! Haha…’
He can’t get it right.
In a hoarse and leisurely voice he tries to talk himself into action again.
‘Give me a P – P, give me an A – A, give me an aaaaR – aaaaR, give me a T – T, give me a Y – Y, and give me a P – P, give me an aaaaR – aaaaR, give me an I – I, give me an S – S, give me an O – O, give me an N – N. And what do you get: Paaarty prison. I can’t hear you – wha’d’ya get? PaaaaRTY PRISON! Make an effort now, one more time…’
Jesus, what a fucking boring earth dugout.
He has tried everything. He has sung all the drinking songs he can remember. He has told all the jokes he can recall. He has roared and yelled, pulled all the funny faces and laughed. He is one hell of a party animal, one in a million.
But now he can’t get it together.
He reels like an old heavyweight boxer that some greedy promoter has managed to resuscitate a final time with the promise of regaining his honour – if only he will allow himself to be knocked about just once more. But this vegetable has stopped defending himself years ago. He’s taken knocks in many long rounds without so much as lifting his hand in defence.
Now all that remains is that final fall to the floor like a lump of lead. With his hands hanging loosely by his sides and with his nose as the bow door, Titus slops off the chair and down onto the floor.
Titus Jensen has gone quiet. Silence reigns now.
Dark red blood runs out of both nostrils and mixes with the dark earth colour of the floor.
A couple of minutes – that could just as well have been a couple of hours – pass.
The bundle on the floor moves.
He rolls onto his right hand side and first opens half of his left eye. Looks around. A half-empty bottle lies an arm’s distance from him. With a final effort he stretches his left hand after it, gets hold of it and, with a shaky hand and considerable effort, manoeuvres it towards his mouth. He frees his right hand, which he has been lying on top of, and helps his left hand to get the bottle into his mouth. With their joint resources, the two hands manage to stick the neck of the bottle into Titus’ throat. No more vomiting reflex; it’s a long time since his muscles have tried to do battle. He hyperventilates through his nose since his mouth and throat are full of the bottle.
Then he turns on his back. The bottle sticks right up out of his mouth. A cross on a grave.
The contents gurgle slowly down his throat, into his stomach, bowels, lungs, blood, brain.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Active euthanasia. A suicide attempt. Help to self-help.
The hours are like minutes, which could be seconds.
He doesn’t have a body any longer. Yet his back seems to be pushed against the ceiling. As if he had turned gravity upside down and was lying there resting on the ceiling. He can see himself lying down there on the cellar floor. Bloody and very much the worse for wear. But still with some respect, despite the cross in his mouth.
Still.
Not moving a muscle.
Not taking a breath.
A black iris circle closes in around the picture of the body on the floor. In the middle, the light gets all the stronger. The body gets slowly smaller and smaller and is mixed up with the white light. The white circle gradually disappears like the opening in the tunnel behind an underground train.