recognize him, so he walked past her at a distance. He wondered what her name might be. He wondered about the man standing next to her—he was older, thirty maybe. Scruffy and disheveled. He hoped that she was not a prostitute, but did not want to be naive either. Addictions cost money. A lot of money. Once again he went to the Cash and Carry, and as always he went to the deli counter and bought a meal for one. A heat-and-serve casserole. God only knows when that girl last had a decent meal. Alvar walked home slowly. He heated up the food and sat down by his dining table; he felt terribly privileged. Yes, he really did. He was all alone in the world, but at least he was able to take care of himself. Not everyone was. However, it did not follow that she was a bad person—that much he understood. At the same time he was a little nervous. She had unsettled him. She had clung on to the blue mug and her glance had demolished his defenses.
He thought about her a great deal in the days that followed.
Not all the time, but in brief snatches he remembered her frozen body and her eyes circled with black kohl. The spiky, thin fingers, the pointy ankle boots. Every time the gallery bell rang he would glance quickly at the monitor, but she did not return. It was not that he hoped she would come back, but he was unable to forget her ice blue eyes. She looked like a fallen angel, he thought, with her blond strands of hair and her frail shoulders. She had to belong to someone. Surely someone as young as she could not be all alone in the world; he refused to believe that. Every day when he left the gallery he looked out for her on Bragernes Square, but it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Other lost souls wandered restlessly around, begging alongside the pigeons. From time to time they managed to get a few crumbs too, a five or a ten kroner. In the course of a long day it probably added up to one shot of relief. A miserable but simple existence, Alvar thought, with only a single aim: more drugs.
Alvar was getting ready for Christmas. He always spent Christmas on his own, and he knew how to pamper himself. He bought ribs, sausages, and sauerkraut. He placed poinsettias on his windowsill, he lit candles. He burned incense; he enjoyed its sweet smell. On his door he hung a wreath of the kind normally placed on graves—they were his favorite kind. He enjoyed listening to Christmas carols on the radio; he liked the lights and decorations in town. Christmas never highlighted his loneliness, he simply treated himself to a little extra. Sometimes he bought a chocolate yule log, cut it into thin slices, and placed the slices in an elegant fan shape on a plate. He also made gluhwein for the customers in the gallery. Sales increased dramatically. In fact, the last two days before Christmas were usually their best days in the whole year. When people came at the last minute they parted with their money more easily. Ole Krantz had invested in some beautiful shiny wrapping paper, and the small lithographs sold like hotcakes. Life’s good, Alvar thought. I can’t complain, I’m doing fine. I’m a very contented man.
New Year’s Eve brought cold temperatures and an abundance of fireworks over the town. Even the dome of the light bulb factory paled in comparison to the colorful visions in the night sky. He went to bed at half past midnight. A new year had begun. He did not think that it would bring any exciting changes, but on the other hand he was not looking for exciting changes. Though minor, unexpected events were not to be sniffed at.
You never could tell.
Chapter 8
“H ELLO, IT’S ME AGAIN , sorry to disturb you. Shouldn’t you be working?”
I nearly jump out of my chair. Alvar appears behind me. He leans forward and reads a few lines on my screen.
“I’m writing a letter to a good friend,” I reply tartly. “Is that all right with you?”
He nods, a little contrite.
“Just wanted to drop by as soon as possible to
He thought about her a great deal in the days that followed.
Not all the time, but in brief snatches he remembered her frozen body and her eyes circled with black kohl. The spiky, thin fingers, the pointy ankle boots. Every time the gallery bell rang he would glance quickly at the monitor, but she did not return. It was not that he hoped she would come back, but he was unable to forget her ice blue eyes. She looked like a fallen angel, he thought, with her blond strands of hair and her frail shoulders. She had to belong to someone. Surely someone as young as she could not be all alone in the world; he refused to believe that. Every day when he left the gallery he looked out for her on Bragernes Square, but it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Other lost souls wandered restlessly around, begging alongside the pigeons. From time to time they managed to get a few crumbs too, a five or a ten kroner. In the course of a long day it probably added up to one shot of relief. A miserable but simple existence, Alvar thought, with only a single aim: more drugs.
Alvar was getting ready for Christmas. He always spent Christmas on his own, and he knew how to pamper himself. He bought ribs, sausages, and sauerkraut. He placed poinsettias on his windowsill, he lit candles. He burned incense; he enjoyed its sweet smell. On his door he hung a wreath of the kind normally placed on graves—they were his favorite kind. He enjoyed listening to Christmas carols on the radio; he liked the lights and decorations in town. Christmas never highlighted his loneliness, he simply treated himself to a little extra. Sometimes he bought a chocolate yule log, cut it into thin slices, and placed the slices in an elegant fan shape on a plate. He also made gluhwein for the customers in the gallery. Sales increased dramatically. In fact, the last two days before Christmas were usually their best days in the whole year. When people came at the last minute they parted with their money more easily. Ole Krantz had invested in some beautiful shiny wrapping paper, and the small lithographs sold like hotcakes. Life’s good, Alvar thought. I can’t complain, I’m doing fine. I’m a very contented man.
New Year’s Eve brought cold temperatures and an abundance of fireworks over the town. Even the dome of the light bulb factory paled in comparison to the colorful visions in the night sky. He went to bed at half past midnight. A new year had begun. He did not think that it would bring any exciting changes, but on the other hand he was not looking for exciting changes. Though minor, unexpected events were not to be sniffed at.
You never could tell.
Chapter 8
“H ELLO, IT’S ME AGAIN , sorry to disturb you. Shouldn’t you be working?”
I nearly jump out of my chair. Alvar appears behind me. He leans forward and reads a few lines on my screen.
“I’m writing a letter to a good friend,” I reply tartly. “Is that all right with you?”
He nods, a little contrite.
“Just wanted to drop by as soon as possible to
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